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ellethespaceunicorn · 18 days

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The Howling in Claw Creek Forest, Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: Every Rose Has Its Thorn

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors – DNI

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Reader

Word Count: 2.8K

Series Summary: You live in a small town called Claw Creek, surrounded by a deep, dark forest. Since you were a kid, an urban legend of the creature in the woods has been told. If the distant howls at night and mutilated livestock are anything to go by, you fear the stories to be true.

Chapter Summary: A flashback into the love life of Sy and “Bug”, and a look toward the future with Wolfie and Pup.

Warnings: mentions of military deployment, p-in-v sex, creampie, emotional moments

A/N: Thank you for being patient with me, guys! And I see y’all reblogging the masterlist for the series. And I thank you so much for keeping this story alive! A special thank you to @peyton-warren for being my lovely beta and soundboard for this story.

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

The rumble of that old truck coming down the lane had you leaping off the couch to run to the front door. You swung it open, followed by the screen door; your bare feet padding on the old wooden porch warmed from the sun. You saw your man scramble to park before he jumped out and ran across the lawn to you. You threw open your arms as he took the stairs in one step to meet you.

The feeling of his lips against yours was just like the first time. And after he had been gone for the past six months, it felt glorious. Your arms around his neck allowed your hands to slide over his shaved head. You hated when he got rid of his curls before he shipped out, but you understood that it was less fashionable and more functional.

At least he got to keep the beard that you loved so much.

He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue along the seam of your lips, and you obliged his entry. He savored every little moan that escaped your mouth, putting on quite the show for his neighbors, who were surely looking out of their windows at this point. They hadn’t heard his truck in months, and now it’s back to annoy them.

When his hands started to wander from your hips to your ass with a healthy squeeze, you knew it was time to bring this show of affection indoors. You broke the kiss and pulled him into his house. He had given you a key shortly before leaving so you could look after the place. You had only been together for less than a year, but you liked where you were headed.

After you are both inside, he pins you against the front door. He’s kissing your neck before pulling away to sniff in the direction of the kitchen. He sighed when he turned around to look back at you.

“I have missed your cooking so much. I’ve missed you so much, Bug. Every night, I wished I could be back here with you so I could hold you close and kiss you goodnight. Every morning, I would wake up with the goal of making it back to you,” he professed, getting down on one knee before taking your left hand in his. “I wanted to wait to do this; I did. But I don’t want to wait anymore. While this ring may have been an impulse buy, I know that yours is the only hand I would ever take in marriage. That is if you’ll have me. What do you say? Will you marry me, Bug?”

He holds up the ring, and your eyes blur from unshed tears. You truly had not expected this, but you couldn’t be happier. Sy was the man of your dreams. He was funny, loving, and protective; you wouldn’t have picked anyone else to spend the rest of your days with. You realized you had been quiet for almost a minute and spoke up.

“Yes! I will marry you, baby,” you gasped, nodding furiously as he put the ring on your finger.

Standing up, he wrapped you in a giant bear hug before picking you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, so happy to feel his warmth against you again. Once he started toward the bedroom, you knew you weren’t going to be having your meal any time soon. At least, not until after some unfinished business took place.

Sy made love to you, worshipping your body, and leaving hickeys everywhere he could. The man was never subtle in his lust for you. He missed you, and he was going to make sure you knew how much. Rocking his hips into you, he had you right where he wanted you. In between huffs of air and moans of pleasure, Sy kissed every part of you that he could reach.

As he brought you over the edge repeatedly, he talked you through it. Nothing was better than that moment, having him so close as he played your body expertly like he always did. Listening to him grunt as he chased after his release was music to your ears as his hips stuttered soon enough.

Between moaning your name, praising you, and his filthy dirty talk, he had you wrapped around his little finger. Well, technically, he had you wrapped around something substantially bigger…and that’s why your brain short-circuited when he began whispering sweet things in your ear.

“Look how fuckin’ beautiful you look takin’ me so well, Bug. Missed you so much, and couldn’t wait to be with you again. Just like this, watchin’ you fall apart so pretty for me,” he praised, one of his giant hands coming to rest on your tummy while he continued his onslaught. “All I could think of was coming home and starting our little family. Bug, I want you to make me a Daddy. Please, please, please…” he trailed off.

The guttural groan he made as he finished was beastly. And you loved every second of it. What can you say? You were a fan of when men weren’t afraid to be especially vocal in the bedroom, be it moaning or speaking. More often than not, it was Sy’s voice that the neighbors tended to hear when you two were hot and heavy.

You waited until he had come down from his high to ask about what he said. He rolled off of you and laid next to you, opening his arm so you could lay on his chest. This wasn’t the first time he had brought up starting a family. He had the same idea before he deployed for six months. But this time seemed different. He was practically begging you to get pregnant, and you wanted to slow the brakes a bit.

But you can’t always get what you want.

“Sy, can we put a pause on baby talk? You only just got back. I want some time with you before I’m knee-deep in diapers and midnight feedings,” you confided, hoping post-nut clarity would come to him.

“So, before I left, it was because you would be alone. And now, it’s because I’m here with you? Come on, Bug,” he scoffed, running a hand over his buzzcut.

“That’s not fair. It’s not exactly like your body is gonna be the one going through changes. And yes, I am worried that you want to start a family, and we don’t even know when you could be called upon. Then what? I just sit here and wait for you to meet your kid after missing my whole pregnancy?” You supposed, picking your head up from his chest and meeting his eyes.

“You’re right, ya know? I might have to be deployed again. But don’t forget that I’m fighting for my country. That’s not easy either. And I would still be providing for you, Bug. Does that mean nothing?” He countered, leaning on one elbow.

“I appreciate what you do; don’t get me wrong. But I refuse to start a family until I feel comfortable enough to do so. I mean, we got engaged an hour ago, and you’re already planning children. I love you, but this is too much for me right now,” you reasoned, pulling yourself up to a seated position and staring at your ring.

He took your hands in his as he sat up. “I love you too, and I want to start a family with you. That means marrying you and having kids together. I wanted it then, I want it now, and I’ll probably always want it. But if you don’t feel ready, I won’t make you. All I ask is that you think about it,” he implored.

You promised him that you would think about it, and he gave you the space and time that you needed. Two whole days spent in your house, ignoring your phone and your life. Two whole days of thinking about how to make up your mind. You’d never wanted children until you met Sy. He would make a great dad, which wasn’t what you were worried about. You were worried about how much time he would get to be a dad. Or whether he would make it back to you at all.

When you made up your mind, you went over to Sy’s house to talk with him. Very few words were said, but the point was made when you gave him back his ring. As much as you wanted him, you couldn’t be the perfect little Army wife that he wanted, and quite frankly, that he deserved.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, the memory of Sy’s distraught face behind your eyelids. With a heavy heart, you decided to drown yourself in work and forget about love. And it was working so well, at least for a while.

You are awoken by a deep voice calling your name and a hand shaking your shoulder. Opening your eyes, you come face-to-face with a steaming mug of coffee. You sit up fully and accept the mug, looking up to thank who brought it to you.

Sy’s face is neutral as he lets go of the mug. He sips from his cup as he motions for you to let him sit next to you. Neither of you speaks for a minute or two, unsure of what to say. The last time you two shared a bed was pretty eventful, and now it’s the only thing on your mind.

“How long have you been awake?” you ask, not knowing what to say.

“Couple hours. Just couldn’t sleep. Went for a run to clear my head, and that worked for about five minutes. Now, all I can think of is the last time you were here. Then, I think of last night and how good it felt to have my arms wrapped around you,” he laments, sipping his coffee before continuing, “Anyway, I figured it would be best if I let that ship sail long ago. But you just had to come back into my life, didn’t you? You don’t make it easy, woman.”

“Technically, if it wasn’t for Liv, I’d still be out of your life. Maybe I should thank her. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss you,” you admit, looking into your coffee mug.

“Yeah, thank her for me, too,” he laughs, bumping your shoulder with his.

You giggle, looking up into his eyes. “Do you think we can try and be friends? I know last night was fucking strange. And I can’t guarantee it won’t be weird sometimes. But you’re important to me. You always will be,” you confess.

“Of course, we can be friends. I want you in my life, Bug. And if that means that I had to be a damn wolf to get back to you, then I guess I can live with that,” he jokes.

“You’re a handsome wolf if that’s any consolation,” you say, holding in a giggle.

Sy fixes you with the look he used to give you when you were being bratty, and it still works. You can feel the heat rise to your face as you look down and sip your coffee.

“Well, look. It’s just about 10. What do you say we stop procrastinating and get you back to your boyfriend before he comes sniffing around? I’m sure he’s beside himself waiting for you. I know I’d be doing the same,” he insists.

“You’re right. I’ll get changed, and we can head out,” you sigh, feeling like the weight of the world is on your shoulders.

Sy nods, taking your mug. He exits the bedroom, pulling the door shut, and you hear his footsteps leading away from the door.

You get dressed quickly, your mind running through different scenarios of how this could all go down. Your anxiety level rises when you think of having your first fight with Walter. Unsure of whether or not you are still upset with him, you push all thoughts away and exit Sy’s bedroom.

Sy notes your solemn expression and pulls you into a hug, whispering into your ear, “Trust me, if anything, he’s gonna be so happy you’re back in his arms that I’m sure he’ll wanna be done with this little fight o’ yours.” Giving you a little squeeze before he lets go, he pats your back, and you appreciate him for trying.

Soon, you and Sy are on the road to the cabin. He drives while you direct him on where to go. The closer you get to the cabin, the more your leg bounces up and down. When Sy reaches a hand to rest on your knee, you stop only to start biting at your thumbnail. He pulls your hand from your mouth and holds it for the rest of the drive.

As Sy pulls into the driveway, the front door swings open. You’re suddenly frozen in your seat until Sy reaches across you to open your door. “Go on, now,” he directs, a sad smile on his face.

You exit the truck, gravel crunching below your feet. Walter jumps off the porch, stopping on the lawn just past the house. You look up at him as you approach, your feet moving faster once you see the hurt puppy look on his face. You throw your arms around his neck, his scent strong in your nostrils. His arms wrap around you, picking you up off your feet.

You don’t see when Walter and Sy exchange a nod. A lot can be said in one simple head tilt.

When Walter places you back on your feet, you both start to talk at the same time. “I’m so sorry, Pup, I-” “Wolfie, I’m sorry-”

Apologies give way to surprised laughter, and you rest your forehead against his.

“Gimme a sec, ok?” Walter asked, stepping past you to walk over to where Sy sat in the truck. You watch as they talk for a minute or two, unable to hear what is said. They shake hands, and Sy smiles at you. Walter walks back to where you stand, kissing your forehead and smiling down at you. Before you can speak, he lifts your arm and ducks his head under it to heft you over his shoulder.

“Ooof, Wolfie!” is all you get out as Walter makes his way back into the cabin. You watch over his shoulder as Sy drives off.

As Walter kicks the front door shut, you hear Jace’s laughter at your predicament, followed by a snort from Olivia.

“Good luck, bestie. Have fun!” Liv chuckles from her seat, cuddled up against Jace.

You’ll have to ask her about that later. Right now, you are being carried upstairs by your boyfriend, who missed you something fierce. Ending up in his bedroom, he plops you down on the bed and jumps you. Leaving a trail of kisses from your jaw to your collarbone and back. All the while whispering how much he missed you.

“I missed you too, Wolfie,” you gasp as he sucks on a particularly sensitive area of your neck.

Putting himself between your legs, he finally kisses your lips. When you moan into his mouth, his clothed sex comes into contact with yours. You feel each other’s body heat, and it’s mere seconds before you are both undressed.

With the thrust of his hips, you feel his apology. With each kiss and nip, you feel how much he cares for you. He brings you to the brink over and over, until you are an emotional mess that clings to him. You’re impossibly close and you wish you could be even closer to him. Wrapping your legs around his waist tighter, you tangle a hand in his hair as he rips one more orgasm from you.

You throw your head back, a long whine exiting your throat as you ride out your high. When you bite down on Walter’s shoulder, his hips falter and he buries himself deep inside you. You can feel every twitch of his length and every spurt that paints your walls. He fills you slowly but surely, resting his head in the crook of your neck as he comes down.

Rubbing his back, you kiss where your teeth barely made a dent in his skin. His tired groan vibrates through your body, and you can’t help but shiver. His softening girth slips from you, and you both gasp. Walter starts to move off of you, but you pull him back, not wanting to lose his warmth.

He chuckles, happy to be your weighted heating blanket. He settles in with his arms around you until you hear soft, grumbling snores. Feeling his breath puff on your neck, you let out a yawn and give in to your own tiredness.

Everything else can wait for now. You are right where you want to be.

To be continued...

A/N: I would love to know what you think of this chapter!

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soliarus · 11 months

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Fangs and Claws

-fluff, angst, fantasy world, vampires, werewolves, elves, ect ect... mentions of blood and some fighting, war, poor Momo gets wacked in the head

: it was a bright day until two unexpected visitors fall, literally, at your doorstep under the likes of war

words 3.2k

werewolf!momo x vampire!sana x gn!elf!reader

The sky was clear, and the sun shined brightly in its place in the sky. The day got off to a terrific start. You spent the early morning tending to the crops that grew next to your house and watering the plants that grew on your windowsill. All of this is in a miniature garden that you created yourself, complete with an irrigation system. You put a lot of effort into tying it to the adjacent creek. You were proud of what you accomplished considering your tiny stature, even though the fences were a little wonky because they leaned a bit too much to the right and the gate wouldn't close without a sizable boulder in front of it.

Not as little as the other creatures that wandered your world, but considerably smaller. You were an elf who had left the elf village two years prior. Despite opposition from your neighbors, local business owners, tailors, and farmers, you no longer desired to reside in the overcrowded hamlet. You desired to experience independent living under your own norms rather than those of others. Since the beginning of the battle against vampires and werewolves, which didn't seem to be coming to an end anytime soon, the Elf Regime has established a great number of new regulations, making it difficult to pursue your desire for freedom. So you decide to locate yourself in a peaceful, undiscovered region just outside the village.

You have your own way back, of course, where you shop for your goods every month or two. You try your best to shop for all your essentials before your next trip, but the looks and whispers cause a sore to form in your jaw by the time you come back due to clenching it so often. But you do befriend all the soft little critters that visit you, from soft gray bunnies to a wobbly-legged doe. You tend to their wounds if they’re hurt, and you talk to them as you do your chores.

When you tell them about your time in the village and ask them about the high mountains or the wide oceans you've only heard about in legends, you never receive a response—just innocent looks and subtle head tilts that indicate they need more carrots or celery.

You would never want to give up that kind of life. But on this lovely day, lunch was just around the corner as you were watering your new heads of lettuce that were starting to poke out of the ground. The air suddenly turned gloomier. And when you raise your head, you notice a large cloud advancing over your vicinity. When a howl sounded out amid the trees, you winced and got a chill down your spine. You could see the animals around jump and flee deep into the forest, which appeared to frighten them as well. You knew that sound anywhere; it was a werewolf. And they sounded close—very close. You grabbed your shovel and dashed inside your cottage, where you shut the door, covered your windows, and lowered your blinds as you waited.

You lay against the door, shoveling your shovel close to your chest, catching your breath and waiting for any sounds. Why would a werewolf be here? They were at war with the vampires. And the elves decided to remain neutral in the conflict, announcing that they would never take part in the fighting. The vampires and werewolves acknowledged their decision and declared that they had no intention of ever setting foot on elf territory, ever.

The silence thickened the air, but it was only short-lived until the noises came all at once. Growls, groans, and grunts. Immediately outside your teeny, one-person cottage. The shrubs rustle, clay pots fall, and you hear a loud crack of wood followed by a frustrated yell, oh god, please let that not be your fence. As you listen to the sounds of suffering and rage, your breath becomes labored. Then something slams into the door, sending you slightly forward as the grip on your shovel tightens. This continues for a while, causing your house to shake with each slam and your body to tremble with each grunt.

You hear two solid thunks and then one thud before another, and suddenly it all goes back to that increasing stillness. The big cloud appeared to disappear as the light started to pour through your drapes and blinds. Even if it was just a few minutes, you wait what seems like hours before opening the door carefully and silently reminding yourself to put in a door viewer. As you prepare to swing the shovel, you look down and see two soldiers who were knocked unconscious just in front of your tiny welcome mat in the shape of a rainbow. Their wounds were covered in blood, and their helmets shielded their faces.

You falter as your eyes widen at the scene. One wore black matted armor, maroon feathers flaunted the top of the helmet, a commander. They held a high position in the army, judging by their appearance. The other soldier had shiny gold armor, and this time royal blue feathers displayed their helmet. Another commander, but this time a werewolf. When you were younger, an elder elf who frequently sat under this big peach tree told you about the war. His main concern is that if they fail to cease their battle soon, the elves might have to get involved. You stare at the two figures, squinting to see the rise of their chests.

You've heard that vampires are brutal; rumors of them kidnapping elves who accidentally enter their territory and turning them into their own personal blood bags were frequently propagated when you were growing up. Werewolves weren't much better; they had a reputation for snatching elves who crossed their borders and forcing them to present as members of one of their lower castes. Any elf seen entering either of those territories was never to be seen again.

Why were there two high-ranking officers (both on opposing teams) unconscious in front of your doorstep? You were astonished, to put it mildly. How did they even get so deep into the woods? Weren’t these protected grounds? There was no war in the land of the elves; it was a rule that everyone followed. And these two disregarded the laws. To gain a better look at the two, you gently walk out. The soldier in the gold sighed as they unexpectedly rose to their feet; you gasped and swung your shovel; a loud bang resounded through the trees; birds flew in dread of the noise; the soldier groaned and then sank back down.

Your shovel still holds high as you take in deep breaths, eyes glaring down at the figures from the sudden scare, but then they falter, and you put your hands down. They definitely don’t look too well; their armor is heavily scratched up. You don't realize you've stepped in blood until the cool liquid starts to seep into your sandals.

You groan; this is going to be hard to get off on your favorite pair too, gosh. You exhaled, a little irritated. You shouldn't actually abandon them here. You felt horrible, especially because you probably gave one of them a concussion. There were two extremely strong and helpless beings in front of you. And you, the smallest and weakest, an elf, have the power to decide whether or not they live.

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Well, unlike the stories you’ve been told about them, you’re not heartless. You grouse your way into pulling the soldiers by their dead weight onto your little bed. You took a deep breath before lifting the injured vampire, and with great peril you succeeded, as they plopped down right next to the werewolf. As you took a step back, you tried not to sneer at the tiny blood splotches that now adorned everything from your floor to your sheets.

You watched as your bed sank further beneath their weight and sighed, At least it's long enough. Your bed was meant to fit only one person, and that was you, an elf, not a vampire or werewolf, and definitely not both of them together. Their heads were just inches from the headboard, and their feet barely touched the footboard. They are rivals, and you are a little uneasy about how close they were and how their arms were brushing against one another, but you ignore it since you assume that since they were unconscious, it didn't matter.

You brought a bucket of water, some washcloths, and a fairly large first aid kit. When it came to patching them up, you decided to take off their armor but leave on their scrubs underneath. Slowly you grasp onto the helmet of the werewolf, and just as you pull it off, out flows graceful and flowy long hair, and you’re met with a face—a really pretty face. You blush before moving onto the vampire, and out comes a second pretty face with soft, silky hair. These beaten-up, almost about to meet their maker soldiers are hot as fu-

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Momo groans when she wakes up; her body aches, but her head—oh god, her head. With great struggle, she looks to the left; this isn’t her room in the barracks… nor is it her room back at home. It’s much smaller than she’s used to, and she doesn’t seem to have the willpower to lift her head.

A groan rings through her ears, and it’s not from her. It’s from her right, and she notices a figure begin to wake up; her eyes blur as she tries to make out who the person is. Maybe a nightly fling from the pub, she notices how the figure groans again. Holding onto her stomach, Momo rubs her eyes, and the first thing that catches her eye is a set of pointy canines.

While ignoring the pounding in her head, she raises her fist to throw a rapid punch, but it is immediately blocked. "What are you doing here, Sana?" she snarls out. "I could say the same to you!" The red-eyed girl's grip tightened as she made every effort to ignore the pain.

"You brought me into enemy lines... Couldn’t handle a one-on-one fight?" Momo practically sits on Sana’s lap as she tries to press her against the bed. "As if! Seems like something a mutt like you would do!" Sana scoffs, and both their arms begin to shake, neither of them letting up.

“You gaslighter!” Momo yells,

“What?! That’s all you! why the hell did you sleep with me anyway? Did you feel a little lonely?” Sana mocked her with a fake pout, trying to get Momo off of her.

“No you!” Momo grunted, pressing down harder, before Sana shifted, causing her to falter. They begin to scratch at each other’s skin, and Sana abruptly sits up; surprising for the very little energy they have, they’re still at each other's throats. Their bandages begin to tear, and wrapped up wounds begin to seep out blood.

“That doesn't even make any sen-” Suddenly something catches Sana’s eye, and she stops. Momo, who’s close to poking her eye, also stops confused. She follows Sana’s line of sight, and she’s shocked. You stand there, eyes widened at their position, a bloody mop in one hand and a cleaner’s bucket in another.

“I guess this place isn’t yours…”

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You remain silent; you seriously don’t know what to say. You notice a bandage on Momo’s arm has begun to unwind, and more blood was seeping into your sheets. You almost cry at the sight of your poor sheets getting all bloody again. Quickly, you move Momo off of Sana, not even looking the two in the face as you begin to fix their bandages.

“You’re a elf” Sana blurts out, she’s never seen an elf before, ever since she was born she was forced to train and train to join and fight alongside the vampire army. The same goes with Momo; she’s never seen your… kind… before and she’s absolutely star struck. Your ears are pointy, definitely pointier than a vampire’s, more refined, and your eyes are blown wide, hazel shaped, with the prettiest brown she’s ever seen.

They were dark and held so much mystery… Your hands are nimble and soft; they work with so much care, contrary to all the rough handling she has received on the training grounds, not even the barrack wolves treat her with so much care. You nod, you stand up and look around Momo to see if she has any other places she has reopened, and then move onto Sana.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any clothes that might fit…”, you whisper as you look at their torn garments. You feel really bad; they were dirty with grime and muck, and damn it, they were on your sheets. You’ll definitely wash them four times…at least.

“It’s okay you’ve done much already I- we can’t thank you enough,” Sana softly clasps your hand in hers as you look at the ground, slightly taken aback by her gesture. “I’m Sana, and that dog over there is Momo, what's your name cutie?” the latter scowls at the title, mumbling out a ‘damned bat’,

You glance at Momo and then stare up at Sana mumbling your name before letting her continue,

“and we’re both grateful for what you’ve done. Sorry uh- for the intrusion…” Sana also looks guilty, and Momo hangs her head in shame? The tension in the air lowers to a more somber tone.

“Oh, no, it's really nothing! Really!…”. You say, trying to diminish any guilt they might be feeling, “It’s okay.” You suddenly prep up as you remember something, “Oh right! Wait here for a few, yeah?” The two hesitantly nod, and you walk out, looking back before leaving the room.

Momo glares at Sana. “Dog, really?” She harshly whispers. And Sana rolls her eyes, "Oh, be quiet don’t think I didn’t hear you mumbling out a ‘damned bat’ too”.

Momo growls, “Just you wait once we leave this place I’ll rip your-” She stops when she smells something. Something delicious. She turns and notices you walking back in, carrying a tray with two bowls.

You place the tray on the nightstand and hand them their soup, “I’m sorry I don’t have any meat..or blood,” You stutter out the word, eyeing Sana, who looks at you with wonder, “I just had the ingredients for some vegetable soup,” you mumble, handing them each their bowl.

“It’s okay, you didn’t have to make us anything” Sana reassures you, she seems to be doing most of the talking, but you don’t mind as long as they don’t trash your bedroom by going at each other’s throats.

"No, it’s alright! I don’t get very many...guests anyways,” you handed Sana a red bowl before handing Momo her blue one, “cute” Momo murmurs as you shyly handed her the bowl and spoon. Your blush reddens before you swiftly bow, leave the room, and shut the door. Leaning against the closed door, you let out a sigh of relief. That could have been worse.

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“We’re very sorry for everything, sincerely. And thank you so much for the help.” Sana apologized once again, placing her armor in a woven basket that you gave her, and sliding her sword into her harness, same goes for Momo, who gratefully looks over the pieces, noticing that you even wiped them down, making them look like they were newly forged.

“Anytime…” You mumble really just waiting for them to leave, so you could go wash your precious sheets and get back to mopping, “Are you sure you don’t want some food for your journey back?”

“No need, you’ve done more than enough, she definitely won’t be needing any food anyways, not after I defeat her on the battlefield, with my sword finally ridding her body from that hideous face” Momo snarls glaring at Sana who in return smirks at her,

“You wish, I’ll rid you of your blood and dine on your neck like fine wine” Sana levels herself with Momo, their heads barely grazing your ceiling as they stand tall, challenge one another and, puffing out their chests in pride,

“Umm please don’t kill each other here, I just wiped the floors…” You shakily spoke to the stronger beings before you.

“Of course not, Little Elf, for a vampire always keeps things classy and not messy, unlike those mutts who call themselves werewolves,” Sana takes your palm in her hand, leaning to give it a light peck. You blush at the action, a little ‘oh my’ leaving your lips as you look away with a light giggle. Momo scoffs at the mushy vampire before walking out. They had to duck their heads whenever they left a room. A gasp leaves her lips when she steps out your front door.

“We really did a number on their place…” Momo mumbles out, looking at the conditions right outside your tiny little cottage. Sana walked out and gawked at the sight, they full on trashed the place like it was their playground. Your walls had cracks scattered everywhere, your bushes were ruined, flowers that grew in carefully decorated pots were laying all over the ground, pieces of clay were separated from one another, and even dried blood was spread along your path. Gosh, it was terrible.

“Oh…” you lighty uttered, you’ve been so focused on cleaning inside and making the soup, now finally getting a good look at your outside, and it really didn’t look the best. You wince at your broken fence, goodness, that took you ages to build. You look up at the other two, noticing how their faces screamed liability, “hey no- it’s okay, really, no need to worry. I’ll just fix it up, you two should really get going before it gets dark” You try your best to console the two, trying to convince them it’s all right.

"No,” Momo murmured, and you questioned her with a little ‘hmm?’. “I said no, we did this, you, elf, have done nothing to deserve this, any of it. I will stay here and fix everything I broke, you don’t need to lay a finger” Sana agreed with her with a nod and a little, “me too”.

You nodded before doing a double take, “wait…what?”

────────────────────

“Here drink something girls, don’t want you two passing out… again” You sigh as you hold two glasses of homemade lemonade. Momo was currently working on a new fence, her muscles flexing through a top that you had quickly sewn for both of them after finding out they were planning on staying. Sana was fixing up your bushes, trimming lovely shapes such as hearts and stars to accommodate your little aesthetic.

“Coming!’ They jogged over and took a glass,

"Wow, this stuff’s really good!” Sana beamed at the taste, and sighed as she let the flavors sink into her tongue. Momo swiftly nodded at her words, the bandage still wrapped around her head. You stared at the two with a small smile on your face. They seem to be getting along just fine; the war is really what keeps them from being close. Who knows what they’ll do to each other once they leave?

#twice x reader #twice imagines #momo x reader #sana x reader #momo imagines #sana imagines #twice imagine #twice

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teecupangel · 1 month

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Since a lot of animals have been suggested as Desmond reincarnation, I thought about a more angst path idea, Desmond as a feral child.

It would go somewhere that Desmond had run away from home around a very little age, growing up around (idk it depends of the character(s) you want to take care of him like an eagle for altair or a wolf pack for the whole Kenway's-Auditore's- Ibn-La'Ahad's as family's, even all the assasins as a big pack idk) but neither the Creed nor the Templars can find him, all they know is that he is nowhere to be found, since Desmond didn't go to the city as or try to get the motorcycle as the original. The whole Farm would have look around near forests, city's, towns, everywhere, everything, but they just found and old stuff animal (also yours to choose) ripped apart, and some drops of blood, no signs of fight, just the infance of the little boy left behind. From his things where missing some clothing and a little knife so at leat he could defend himself. Even Minerva and Juno start to freaking out, because time is running away to save the world, and their key is missing.

I mean…

Black Hills is pretty isolated and it’s a mountain range so they will definitely have problems finding him. Just trying to search the entire range is dangerous even for Assassins.

In this one, maybe instead of running away, it’s a training gone wrong?

Desmond did say in his memories in AC Revelations that they have exercise before breakfast and used the creek to get clean (I assume this meant that they would clean up after exercise before returning to the Farm) so maybe, in one of these exercise sessions, things got chaotic.

Maybe Desmond was separated from the others.

Maybe a wild animal forced them to run in different directions.

Maybe the weather turned severe all of a sudden…

Whatever the reason may be, it ends with Desmond being separated from them. He’s too young and lost so he keeps walking until he meets a wolf cub who hears his crying. The wolf cub leads him to their den and he sleeps there.

From there, he ends up being raised by a pack of wolves that acts… both wolf-like and not wolf-like at all.

What they find later on would be the ratty remains of Desmond’s clothes, dirty with specks of blood. Enough blood for them to fear the worst.

If they had the proper equipment they would have known it wasn’t human blood but animal blood.

They were the sounds of howling sometimes but they never see the wolves.

(Instead of weaponry though, there are articles that talk about how feral children have similar characteristics as the animals who raised them so, in this scenario, Desmond would rely on sharpened claws and teeth)

After the world burns, humanity tries to build from the ashes but chaos and distrust rule among them.

They do hear the whispers of a wolf pack with a strange humanoid being with them. The wolf pack is well known because they travel into cities. Many believe that they are traveling to cities maybe because the Solar Flare had destroyed their original habitat.

The strange thing is…

The wolf pack seemed more intelligent than normal canines.

#ngl #i kinda like the idea of desmond becoming more like san from princess mononoke #but she’s not feral enough #maybe if desmond was adopted by the wolves around the great purge (13)#we can make it work?#otherwise #the only thing keeping desmond from being fully feral #is his pack being the reincarnation of his ancestors and certain assassins of the past #so he’s maybe sorta three-fourths feral only #assassin's creed #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #desmond miles

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flygefisk · 7 months

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i will not ask you where you came from i will not ask and neither would you

syndor (he/they), who lives a humble life. he seems content, with his garden and his chickens, but there's something behind his eyes. maybe he's running from something.

howl (any pronouns), who has a second chance. it died with blood under its nails and came back different in some ways- but the wildness is still part of him.

(tw for blood, death mentions under the cut)

once, long ago, there was a god. it was a wild, ancient god, one of blood and lust and life. a forest god.

the god scented blood on the air, dragon blood. it cared little for the civilized folks, as most gods do. it cared little whether they lived or died. but it was a curious god, so it tracked the scent, bounding on deer's hooves to its source.

the god's paws left no tracks in the blood-soaked earth around the dragon's remains. the god considered the creature for a moment: the blade buried in its stomach, hands and coverings stained dark, its face contorted in rage. there was another scent here, under the obvious blood and rot, one even more familiar to the god.

a wild something, indescribable even to the god of such things, coiled around the body that was once its own. it stared up at the god, its teeth bared. the god raised its head and howled in its many voices, joined soon by the wolves and coyotes and hawks and hares of the forest, a mournful harmony of all wild things.

the something howled too, until its song became a scream, letting loose all the sorrow and love and rage of a life that would never have been enough.

the forest went silent. the god lowered its head and nuzzled the something, like a doe to her fawn, like a bear to her cub. wild things understand each other. they don't need words. the god heard the something's quiet plea:

another chance.

-----

once, not so long ago, there was a man. he walked through an overgrown forest, dirt on his hands and his shovel. he loved walking in the forest, listening to the sounds of nature. it was calming.

he paused near a burbling creek to wash the sweat from his face. he sighed in grim satisfaction- tired, sore, numb. but it was over, at last.

the man realized, after staring into the water for long minutes, that something was different. wrong. the forest was silent here. his eye was drawn to a large stone behind him- half his height or more, veined with black and glittering white patches. on its face, a hand print painted with something dark.

a strange impulse took over, something wild within him, and he began to dig.

-----

once, now. a scraping sound. crumbling earth. cracking twigs. then, light. sunlight. warm and bright and so welcome after so long in the dirt.

the creature reached out from its grave. its hands- long, clawed, discolored- shook as it pulled itself up. it blinked against the morning light, yawned as though waking from a long nap.

it almost didn't notice the man with the shovel. he stared at it, his expression unreadable. it ignored him, letting the world wash over it: a cool breeze on its face, the sound of the water, of birds and insects, of wind through the leaves, the cloying scent of dark earth giving way to flowers and trees.

finally, the man held out a hand- blistered, rough, covered in soil- and the creature let him pull it from the earth.

the man removed his cloak, wrapping it around the creature's broad shoulders. it rubbed the fabric between its clawed fingers- soft, warm, dark like good soil- and smiled. it should have been frightening, with its sharp claws and sharper teeth, but the man just smiled back.

wild things understand each other.

#flight rising #&howl #&syndor #howl is so gender tbh #if i had a nickel for every oc ive made #who was treated terribly as an afab in a medieval-ish setting #and took in dark magic to transition + take revenge on those who mistreated them #into a big ol monster with a thick curly mane #id have 2 nickels which isnt a lot but its weird its happened twice #(referring to king) (theyre pretty different in p much all other ways tho)

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anniesocsandgeneralstore · 6 months

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not hungry anymore | werewolf!rhett x oc

Summary: Rhett and Tessa, two young pups playing in the fields, quickly realize that it's time to grow up. Their pack is dying, some even say it's cursed, and the only saviors anyone can see...are them. (wc: 4781)

Warnings: made-up werewolf lore (part of the echo universe), violence, blood, injury description, trevor tillerson is a creep, time skip, and a cliffhanger

✎……to round out falltober, the spookiest of all, a werewolf au! i have more of this au planned, so if you would like to see more please let me know!

✎……MAIN MASTERLIST || FALLTOBER MASTERLIST

Tessa chased him through the wide, open fields that made up the Abbott land. Her four pawed feet thumped into the ground, large claws digging into the earth — kicking up dust in the dry season. A laugh echoed in her mind as she banked sharply to the left in her pursuit.

Rhett was faster, though. His big, wolf face turned to look at her over his shoulder as he ran. Dark brown coat covered in blades of grass and dirt stains. Eyes sparkling golden in the fading light. She could hear his returning cackle like her own thoughts as he evaded her.

“Com’on, Tess! Keep up!” he called.

Her breathing quickened as she tried to pump her legs harder. “M’tryin’! Y’know m’small!”

He just laughed again. His head thrown back as he howled and kept on galloping.

“Oh, m’gonna get you,” Tessa grumbled to herself, knowing that Rhett could hear her in his own mind.

She didn’t feel tired, not yet. That would take hours upon hours of running through the Wyoming fields and wild country men feared to venture into. But she could only go so fast and Rhett was nearly a head taller than her — in both wolf and human form. There was no way she would ever catch him, trailing him like this. So she stopped and skidded to a halt, leaving overturned dirt in her wake. Rhett kept on going. They were running along the edge of the forest that skirted the west pasture. They didn’t usually go here. The east pasture having the creek to roll and splash in, and the north having more dense forest to get lost in.

A snort escaped her as a plan formed. Tessa trotted into the woods, the shade beneath the pines darkened as the sun tipped under the horizon. But it gave her the perfect cover as she ran west after Rhett.

“Tess? Where’d you go?” Rhett’s question appeared in her mind.

She could hear his giant paws stamping in the earth as he turned to look for her. But, she didn’t respond. Kept every thought and word silent as she ran through the trees.

“Oh, com’on, tha’s not funny,” he said.

Her lips pulled back in a snarling grin, showing sharp canines and pink gums. Suddenly she saw him, standing out in the open, turning in circles as he searched for her. Ears perked, listening. His head jerked at the sound of her breaking through the brush. There was no time to waste. Tessa charged into a sprint and broke the treeline. Head ducked down and shoulder turned, she slammed into Rhett’s unsuspecting side. He let out a surprised yelp as they tumbled to the ground together.

They rolled once, twice, and then Rhett was flat on his back — Tessa standing triumphant over him.

“Ha! Pinned ya!”

He huffed. “Only ‘cause ya scared me.”

“Still counts,” she replied.

Rhett glared. Then suddenly two paws were kicked into her belly. All the air got knocked out of her lungs as she fell to the side, Rhett quickly rolling over to pin her to the ground.

“Pinned ya,” he mocked.

Even in his wolf face, she could see his smirk. Smug and victorious. She knew she would never get out of this the way he did. Rhett was not only bigger but stronger than her too. She had only been able to turn into a wolf for a few months, but still, she had learned tactics in order to get away from enemies even twice or three times her size. She bit his leg. Not hard enough to break skin, just play, but he still yowled and rolled off of her.

“Ow! Tess, cut it out! Cut it out!” Through his protests, he was laughing.

He returned her bite with one of his own, nibbling at her side and making her giggle and howl. And they continued to roll around in the long grass, laughing and biting and tussling. A soft, warm breeze blew through the fields. The sleeping sun turned the clouded sky into brilliant shades of pink and purple. Crickets began their chorus and an owl hooted as its hunt began. Two young wolves forgetting the world for a moment.

“Well, what do we have here?” a new voice asked, their low, whispering voice cold as ice in their minds.

Rhett and Tessa instantly sat up, dust settling around them as they searched for the source. Their hackles stood on end, the skin beneath cold and tingling despite the heat. It had to be another wolf, the voice wasn’t spoken aloud. And only wolves could talk to each other through their own thoughts. But the source wasn’t hard to find.

Two larger wolves were approaching them slowly from the west. Each of them with coats a dirty blond and bigger than even Rhett. Nearly fully grown. Their eyes shown bright as stars in the coming darkness, white, devoid of all color. Omegas. Tessa’s heart sank into her stomach, anchored down by a fear garnered from scary stories told around bonfires.

“Looks like new toys, t’me,” a different voice said, one of the wolves’ lips pulling back in a snarl.

Rhett and Tessa scrambled to their feet. Tessa huddled close to Rhett’s side, ears pinned to her head as she stared down the approaching wolves. Unable to look at anything else. Out of the corner of her eye, Rhett’s ears remained upright. Pricked for any noise. She wondered if he was forcing them to be that way to appear braver than he was.

“Tillersons,” Rhett spoke low, hoping only Tessa would be able to hear him.

But he was wrong. “Tha’s right, kid. You’ve earned y’rself a prize.”

“What’d he win?”

“A warning.” One wolf stepped forward, the smaller of the two staying behind, circling the younger wolves with his head hung low. “Gettin’ too close to our land, kids. If we find ya out here again, m’gonna —”

“This ain’t your land,” Rhett spoke up, head swiveling to keep up with the stalking Tillerson wolf. “We c’n be here.”

“Rhett,” Tessa hissed, coming in closer to his side with her tail tucked between her legs — unable to hide the terror flooding her veins.

“By the moon, Billy, get over here!” the circling wolf called to the other, then he looked back with a wicked grin. “We got ourselves the spare son himself.”

“Who’s the other one?” Billy asked as he stepped closer.

“Abernathy by that fur.”

Tessa glanced back at her wolf body, at her creamy-white coat now dulled with dust. A trait inherited from her father, passed from Abernathy to Abernathy for generations — distinct to anyone who knew better. Billy got closer, sniffed at Tessa as she cowered into Rhett’s side. She wanted to just turn tail and run. Never look back and never go to the west pasture again. But she wouldn’t dare leave Rhett behind, knowing he would stay and fight if he had to.

Anything to prove himself.

“Hey!” Rhett snapped his teeth at Billy’s snout, who backed off with a surprised wail. “Stay away from her!”

The other wolf laughed and jeered. “She’a bit of a soft spot for ya? Huh, Spare?”

“Quit callin’ me that,” Rhett growled, front paws widening like he was going to pounce.

“She’s a pretty lil’ thing. Maybe, if ya don’come near our land again, I’won’t jus’take’er for myself.”

Tessa could feel her legs shaking as she backed away from the wolf’s pale hungry gaze. Feeling only slightly comforted when Rhett put himself between them.

“We’re not on your land,” Rhett answered, low and growling.

“Close enough!” the wolf shouted, making them both flinch at the harsh sound only in their minds. “Y’re old enough t’turn, y’re old enough t’know our history. Honestly, we should jus’kill ya righ’now. One less Abernathy — one less Abbott to worry about.”

“Trevor,” Billy warned — but it appeared his brother didn’t want to listen.

“One less thing standin’ in our way of runnin’ Waya Pack.”

Trevor stalked closer. Hackles raised, ears back, teeth bared to show his red gums. The air was dry and hot, the light of day gone. Replaced with the vigilant eye of the moon who seemed content to watch how this played out. Silence fell upon the world as a blanket, even the chirping of crickets had ceased in the presence of the oncoming violence. Tessa’s heart pounded in her chest, she could hear her own blood flowing in her ears, as she stared wide-eyed at the Tillerson wolf ready to kill her. Just for her name. Just for their history she barely understood.

“Tess, run!”

Rhett swept at Trevor with his great paw. Slashing him across the face with his claws. Trevor yelped, red blood instantly flowing from the cuts and into his snarling face.

She didn’t have to think twice. Taking off in the opposite direction, she didn’t even look back. Her legs pumped hard with real and present danger at her heels. Her heart raced, dry air like a thousand needles in her lungs. Why didn’t she remember that the Abbott’s west pasture abutted Tillerson land? Why did she let Rhett convince her to come out there in the first place? They both knew better than to go messing with a Tillerson. That werewolf family that wanted them dead. That walked around with no alpha to lead them all because their patriarch didn’t think Rhett’s father was cut out for the job — despite his right as the latest in a long line of Abbott Alphas. Who would stop at nothing to see the Abbott line ended and Waya Pack under their control.

She didn’t want to look back. She wanted to forget. She wanted to play in the creek and bite at Rhett’s ankles and be a wolf pup. But Tessa did look back. When she heard a whimpering bark echo through the dark behind her. From a voice she knew all too well. Whose pain she felt somewhere deep within her chest.

Rhett was on the ground, covered by a blond mass of fur with a bleeding eye. They rolled around in the grass, much like he and Tessa were only minutes before, but these bites were meant to draw blood. Claws digging in and growls rumbling the very earth.

“Rhett!” Tessa cried as she turned, fumbling over herself like a fawn on ice to get back and help him.

Even if it hurt. Even if it cost her her life.

How could she go back to being a kid after this?

She roared as her shoulder collided with Trevor, using all her momentum and all her weight to knock him off of Rhett.

“S-Stay back!” she barked, shooting for confident but hitting terrified. “We’re goin’ home. We w-won’t come back here’gain. Please, jus’leave us alone.”

Rhett groaned on the ground behind her as she backed up over his form, covering him as best she could with her smaller frame. Her limbs shook, her fur stood on end, as Trevor got up and snarled at her. Blood poured from his face, blotching out his right eye in red. Rhett’s blood glistened on his sharp teeth as he bared them at her, stalking closer.

“Such a pretty lil’thing,” he repeated.

It made her sob.

Then, a great and mighty roar echoed in the clearing. Deep and booming, a noise from a crack in the earth. An Alpha’s roar. Tessa instantly bowed her head, forced into humble submission by the call of the Alpha. Instant relief, instant calm. Her Alpha was here. Everything was going to be okay. Even Trevor, an Omega belonging to now pack, could not resist. Curling in on himself as he halted in his tracks.

Not a moment later, Royal Abbott lept over Tessa and Rhett, who still lay on the ground. He growled low in his throat as he landed with a thud, his wolf form as big as a truck. Brown fur spotted with grey glittering in the moonlight. Trevor could do nothing but cower in the face of such power — even though he claimed not to submit to it.

“Get lost before I rip out y’r throat,” Royal sneered.

Trevor scrambled to his feet and ran off whimpering. Billy followed quickly behind.

As soon as he was gone, Tessa turned to Rhett. She could feel her muscle and bone shifting, fur receding — the wolf retreating back inside her human form. The calm brought on by her Alpha’s presence and the oncoming exhaustion forced her to change. Just as Rhett seemed to have done as he lay there just a boy, twitching and bleeding.

“Rhett,” she sighed as she dropped to her knees beside him. “Oh god.”

There were claw marks on his neck and collarbone. An indent of teeth and canines torn through his t-shirt at his side, blood still weeping to the surface. He clutched at his stomach, where the bleeding was the worst, fingers digging in as he tried to make it stop.

“M’gonna be fine, Tess,” he rasped out, his free hand curling around her wrist. “Don’cry.”

She didn’t even realize she was. But she could feel it now. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks and blurred her vision to vague shapes as she clutched at his torn shirt. Put her hand over the cuts on his neck to somehow make the healing go faster. Imbue him with some of her own power just to make it stop.

She had never seen so much crimson in her life.

“What the hell d’you think y’were doin’?” Royal bellowed suddenly, rounding Rhett’s prone form to stare his youngest pack members down — eyes still burning red even in his human state.

Beyond her control, Tessa felt her mouth open and words begin to fall out, “We-We were just playin’. Horsin’ around. Th-They came outta nowhere.”

Royal put his hands on his hips. “You cross the fence line?”

“No!” she shouted, tears making her throat burn. “Couldn’t even — see it.”

“Dad, let off’er,” Rhett croaked, trying to sit up. “We weren’t doin’ nothin’. Swear.”

Royal was silent for a moment. His shoulders heaving and nostrils flaring as he stared down at the two of them. His youngest betas, freshly turned born wolves only fifteen years old. So much to learn. So much they didn’t know. So must he wanted to keep from them just to preserve them as they were when they left the ranch house an hour ago. Laughing together. Playing together. As young pups should.

But now his son lay bleeding. The girl who would follow him anywhere by his side, blood all over her hands and clothes. Fear in both their eyes. In the tremble of their hands. In the way they looked to him for answers he didn’t possess.

They couldn’t go back to being those children now.

“Com’on,” he spoke simply, quietly.

In a moment, Royal was overcome by his wolf once more. Standing tall and proud before lowering his belly to the ground. Tessa helped Rhett to his feet, then with her arm around his waist — careful of his injury despite it no longer hurting him — she assisted him over to his father. The exhaustion was really starting to set in now. Deep in her bones. Not only from the horror with the Tillersons but merely from the transformation. Girl to wolf and back to girl again. She wouldn’t be able to get back to her wolf form until she was rested even if she tried.

Rhett climbed up onto his father’s back first. Smearing blood into his fur. Then Tessa followed, settling in front with her fingers tangled in the long coarse hairs.

“Hang on,” Royal’s nearly imperceptible rumble sounded in her thoughts.

And then they were off at a trot. She squeezed her legs around Royal’s middle, much like she did when she rode her horse. Rhett slumped against her back, hands bracing himself against her thigh and waist. He groaned as they bounced along, forehead coming to rest against her shoulder.

“They hurt you?” he asked quietly.

The crickets were chirping again. An owl hooted somewhere — mouse in its talons.

“No,” she replied, looking over at his sweaty hair drenched in moonlight. “M’okay.”

He only grunted in reply. A confirmation. A sound she had heard so many times before but this time it made her smile. A relieved sort of thing as she leaned back against him just a little more. It was a sound she could have never heard again. The thought scared her. Made her blood run cold as she looked back at the west pasture one final time. A line of trees and swaying grass disappearing as they turned north. Never to return. Her Alpha didn’t even have to say it for her to know.

When they arrived back at the Abbott ranch house, her parents were standing outside waiting for her. Her father with his hands on his hips, her mother holding a shawl around her shoulders, hand pressed anxiously to her neck. Rhett’s older brother, Perry, stood on the porch with his mate under his arm. Rebecca, turned by the bite only a year ago, her hand resting on her rounded belly. Rhett was no longer leaning on her as much, hands retreating from her as his strength returned. He didn’t even need help getting down from Royal’s back — sliding off first as soon as his father came to a stop.

Once on solid ground, her parents rushed her. Her mother squeezed up and down her arms, looking all over for any sort of wounds or marks. Her father cupped the back of her head and gently forced her to look up at him. His face was stern but his eyes swam with a fear she had never seen before.

“M’okay. M’not hurt,” she assured, even as her mother continued to fuss. “S’Rhett that needs tendin’ to.”

She looked over her mother’s shoulder to her friend as he lowered himself down onto the porch steps with a grimace, clutching his side. It was true that his wounds were already beginning to heal. What would have still been bleeding and most likely killed an average person, was already clotted. But precautions still had to be taken, wounds bandaged and sealed together to help the healing along.

Tessa’s mother, as Waya Pack’s healer, turned to the young boy. But stopped when Royal growled.

“In his room, June,” he gruffed out as he walked past, blood stains on his jacket. “I wan’both of’em inside and kept tha’way till mornin’. Burn their clothes.”

He pounded up the steps past his son, barely sparing him a glance. Then he disappeared inside the house, the screen door slamming shut behind him. Perry and his bride followed suit. Only Rebecca looked back at Rhett with a kind of sympathy Tessa had never seen an Abbott display before, pretty blonde hair flicking over her shoulder.

Her father came to collect her clothes an hour later. T-shirt and jeans covered in dirt and blood and darkness and glowing white eyes. He wouldn’t meet her eye and she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to. Tessa’s hair hung damp around her shoulders as she passed off the bundle through the small crack she had made in the door.

“Y’alright, bug?” he asked softly, clothes held at his side.

No she wanted to say. She wanted to burst into tears like a child and have him hold her in his lap like he would back then. Put on cartoons and give her a treat to help her forget. But those days were over and done. Her friend almost died. She almost died. The Tillersons were still out there. Watching them from only a few miles away. Waiting to strike.

She just nodded instead. “S’Rhett okay?”

Her father sighed and smiled, a small knowing thing. “He’s jus’fine. Should be all better come mornin’.”

Tessa nodded again and he shut the door with a goodnight. But how could she possibly go to sleep? When she still heard Trevor’s cold whisper in her mind like an icy wind and saw the tearing of flesh from bone? She lay in her bed, quilt pulled up to her chin, and stared at the popcorn texture of the ceiling. It made sense why they didn’t return to the Abernathy home across town. The pack needed to stay together after such an event. But so much like the child she felt she could no longer be, she craved her own bed. Her own quilted blanket her mother made while pregnant with her. Her own popcorn-textured ceiling. For her and her friend never to have gone into the west pasture in the first place.

After what felt like several hours of trying, Tessa threw back her blankets and got out of bed. The floorboards creaked and groaned as she crossed the room to the window. The world was a black void. Only illuminated by the bright, shining disc of the moon. Almost full. She could feel its power tingling in her chest, in the tips of her fingers.

Cecelia Abbott, before she passed on from this life, used to say that the Moon Goddess had cursed Waya Pack. Abandoned them to a world set against them. Why else would the Tillerson family turn away from the pack and their numbers shrink to barely seven? Waya was a pack the Goddess wanted dead — for what sins Cecelia could never say. But Tessa did not think, as she looked up into the pale moon’s comforting face, that the Goddess could be so cruel. She was of blessings and curses, but she cared for her children. Even in the bleakest of hours.

Opening the window, knowing the whole house could hear her, she climbed out onto the roof. The shingles were rough beneath her bare feet, but she didn’t mind. With the night came cooler air, still dry, but somehow more tolerable.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” a voice asked.

She jumped and turned, only to see Rhett sitting there in his pajama bottoms, hugging his knees. Shoulder and side held together with crimson-stained bandages. His blue eyes looked swollen from crying in the moonlight, but she didn’t comment on it.

“No,” she said as she crawled over to sit next to him.

Rhett took a shaky breath. “M’sorry. We shoulda…Shoulda jus’gone t’the creek.”

“S’not y’r fault.”

He didn’t say anything to that. Only sniffed and leaned back on the heels of his hands, legs outstretched. “Waddaya think’s gonna happen now?”

“I don’ know,” she said with a shrug, looking up at the stars spattered across the sky like spilled salt. “Now tha’we’re full wolves, I guess we’ll find out.”

Now that we’ve seen blood. Now that we’re not kids anymore.

Rhett grunted that familiar low noise and Tessa looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Not yet boy and not yet man. His hair was cut short like his mother preferred but Tessa knows he hates. A lone curl brushed his forehead. Blue eyes like stormy skies turned towards the moon. To the goddess who felt so far above.

She knew they weren’t mated. If they were, they would know by now. Her mother having long before told her the signs. That unexplainable draw to them, that connection. She knew she didn’t have that with Rhett, but it didn’t stop her from feeling something for him. It didn’t stop her heart from racing anytime they shared looks across rooms or tables, secrets and jokes and promises to laugh later. It didn’t stop her stomach from filling with butterflies anytime he touched her. It didn’t stop her from dreaming about one day, maybe, them being together. Taking residence in the little cottage on her parents' land and filling it with pups of their own. It was a fool's dream, but a good dream.

It didn’t stop her from wondering if his actions today were some evidence that he felt the same.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” she asked, he just turned his head to look at her, eyebrows raised expectantly, so she went on. “Why’d you…Defend me like that to the Tillersons?”

Her hand inched across the shingles towards his own, grating against her palm like sandpaper. A fool’s hope. What if…?

The corner of his mouth ticked up before he said, “‘Cause y’re my best friend. Couldn’t stand’em talkin’bout you like that.”

Heart no longer racing. Butterflies put to rest. Of course. They were friends. Nothing more. Always would be. Tessa drew back her hand. Turned her face towards the moon, the Goddess’ eye hung so high, high up in the sky, and said nothing more.

Two years later, Rhett and Tessa were still just pups in everyone else’s eyes. Though Rhett was now nearly as big as his father in wolf form and even taller than him as a boy. Strong and powerful — ready for a fight. Tessa remained the smallest member of the pack, but she was stealthy, quick and quiet — her eyes keen.

The two of them grew even closer. Sticking together both in and out of school. Tessa never brought up her feelings for Rhett, no matter how much they grew as they grew too. They were friends, best friends, and always would be. Wolves in the same pack. Together until the end.

And nothing further had happened with the Tillersons. That Omega clan. But Waya Pack remained ready, vigilant, cautious.

Until one day Rebecca went on a walk to left off some steam after a fight with Perry.

She never came back home.

They searched for three days on their own, wolf noses turned to the earth, following her scent. Eventually, they crossed the west pasture and the smell of death. Perry howled, a sorrowful sound that rattled the trees, ready and willing to go onto Tillerson land and kill them all. But they were too many, and Waya was too few. Even more so now that Rebecca was gone.

So Royal turned to the law. Hoped they could find something to lock Wayne and the rest of his spawn away forever. But the sheriff couldn’t find a shred of evidence, going so far as to turn the blame back on Perry after hearing about the fight they had.

They searched for a year, but eventually, the police just stopped looking.

Their little daughter, Amy, was only two years old. Eyes as big and blue as the sky and bright blonde hair down to her ears. The spitting image of her turned-wolf mother. Tessa held the toddler on her lap as the sheriff delivered the news that Rebecca was gone — and there was nothing to be done.

Waya Pack, settled in Wabang and ruled by Abbott blood for over 200 years, was down to six fighting wolves. Dying — on the brink of extinction. Cursed. For what sins Tessa still didn’t know, but she tried to repent of them regardless. To save her family, her friends, her way of life.

Her everything.

Seven days after the police gave up on their search for Rebecca, three days after Tessa’s eighteenth birthday, Royal asked the Abernathy clan to come to dinner.

Not an unusual occurrence. In fact, the families had dinner together multiple times a week in those days. When the world seemed to be caving in around them and their only hope was each other. But the air felt…Off as they sat around the cramped kitchen table and ate their chicken and potatoes. Gone was the usual quiet calm, the strength that comes with being together as a pack. It was replaced by a tense silence, parents sharing sidelong glances, and the uneasy scraping of cutlery against China.

She glanced at Rhett to see if he was feeling the same and he gave her a look back. He was. He felt it too. They wondered if the storm would break during or after their meal.

After, it seemed it would be. As Royal led everyone into the living room and her parents decidedly sat in the armchairs on either side of the couch, Royal choosing to stand by the fireplace. Rhett and Tessa shared another look. Eyebrows furrowed, lips turned down in frowns. What is going on? They sat down on the couch together slowly, looking around at everyone with shifting eyes — noticing that Perry did not join them. The storm clouds were dark, ready to burst at any moment. Their parents kept looking at them anxiously, almost with pity.

Rhett opened his mouth to tell them to just be out with it.

But Royal beat him to the punch:

“The Abernathy’s’n I’ve been talkin’. You two’re goin’t’get married.”

The storm had only just begun.

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ylva-syverson · 18 days

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My dear, can I just say I love your blog header?? I sometimes just look at that pic and think of sweet Sy. Like, this is the Sy that is in my story, The Howling in Claw Creek Forest. And guh....I can't swoon enough...

The curls, the beard, the ever-present smile....*melts*

Anyway, hewwo!!

💚💚💚 thank you! Here’s teddy bear Sy!

#friends #asks #captain sy

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searchingforserendipity25 · 11 months

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myths + finrod!!

thank you @that-angry-noldo! this was a very interesting combination to work with. prompt from this list.

it was said of felagund that he felled a wolf with his teeth - nay, two. three, one beast with foul thick and dark as night, and one pale as the woeful face of the moon, and one grey as the waters of the sirion were grey after melkor breathed on them.

three wolves, all three greater than any wolf ever seen by men. felagund fought them in chains, and they each bit him, yet all three did he bite ere he died, finghting them as wild things fight, turning in the ground and making claws of his ringless hands.

afterwards he went uneaten; for all three wolves stumbled away from the teeth-bared wreck of the king, and sickened and howling in the horrible dungeons of sauron died. for all knew, and know still, that elves are strange and terrible when roused, and the eyes of even the kindest among them glow in the dark like the eyes of poisonous snakes, smooth to the touch and deadly as they strike.

balan was enchanted. enthralled. these all the tribes of men that were not counted among the edain knew: the people of balan had laid down to sleep in a safe grove, and in the night a fairy had come and enthralled them.

thereafter they did its biding always. went to the kingdoms of the spirits of the woods and the stone, and dwelt in their golden halls under the mountains hewn by the dwarves. there balan the proud, chieftain and hunter without equal, served gladly as a vassal, pouring the endless cups of endless wine that the fairy king might drink deep.

so it happened, in that strange time, when the crossing of the mountains made such a strange difference between the people of men who lingered, and the mad and hungry and ambitious ones who dared to cross.

there were emissaries of monsters walking under the high firs, in those days, and strange green fairies who strode from the failed boughs to walk upon the wavering ferns, weightless and soulless. chieftains made accords with dangerous beings for their people’s sakes, and did not dare to either lie or speak truthfully.

a time of trickery and great deeds, with ghosts walking through the mists, and monsters sat singing in the dark. not even the great heroes of that time could escape their snares.

well they might try to escape the dark one, the killer of light, lord in the ice! well they might try, and count themselves free, and rest their heads upon the moss and the wildflowers; and still be caught by the spirits of the shining eyes, the greedy and whimsical and ever-young fairies from the west.

they grew strange, the people of balan. their names were never one only, but many. they sent their best sons to serve and learn and worship the ways of the elves, the shining elves from the far land across the uncrossable sea: and in exchange they had safe passage and safe fields, many heads of herding cattle and new mills.

and it was said that it was the enchantment of finrod the enthralled that lead such misfortune and grief to befall that bold line of men, and the first entwined and doomed beren one-handed with the fate of the great spirits, well-before he was born, that night when his forefather awake to a music more beautiful than the mannish heart can bear to hear.

it is said in tírion-upon-tuna, and valimar the golden, and sea-loved alqualondë, that none of those gone beyond the sea may return unchanged. mandos may heal, and lórien may console, and estë may teach the bearing of memory; but the thing gone is not the thing returned. so it is debated by the noldor, and decreed by the vanyar, and found just in sea-loved alqualondë.

so it goes. there is a new voice in the forests, careful, slow and then enthusiastic, lilting short inquiries of birds and deer, laying down on its belly to peer with wonder at the perseverance of a hundred tadpoles swimming on the gentle curve of a creek. the golden pollen of many flowers gathers on its hair, and arien’s light lingers resplendent upon the up-tilted face, the upturned cheeks. the air is ever so warm, in the shadows of the most beautiful trees of arda. very warm, and very alive.

is it said, and well-said, that none that return come back unchanged. yet it might be said also, of finderáto who walked down the aisle of the tree, lonesome down the pathless groves, till he heard the far voices and silver sounds of music, and running found his way to his father: there is much that remains. the revenant that returns, strange and restless, does tend to know its way home.

#finrod #myths #asks and answers #this guy sure is myth-shaped!#house of beor #beor #finarfin #silm fic #the silmarillion

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jjungkooksthighs · 4 years

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Claws of Carnality | jjk (2)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: smut, fluff and angst, abo/werewolf, fantasy

Rating: 18+ / nsfw

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: mentions of violence (hunting), mentions of sex this chapter is really tame but it’s set up so yeah

Summary: In the aftermath of your presentation, you recollect on some the dreams that had been visited by the alpha you have met to meet. What happens when he makes good on his promise and finds you?

A/N: OKAY SO I REALLY FEEL LIKE THIS SUCKS, BUT HEY, THIS GIF APPLIES TO THIS CHAPTER IF YOU SQUINT! Let me know if you guys like this and I will write more. If not, I can always just leave this where it is (which is fine, but alpha koo is so cool to write omg)

part 1 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9

By the time that you’ve finished scrubbing away the evidence signaling your growth into maturity, the soiled sheets containing such proof had been stripped from your bed to be replaced with new, freshly laundered ones. To keep the essence of you there would firstly be unsanitary, but it was also a means of caution put in place to keep unwanted alphas from attempting to lay their claim on an unmated omega before one could be presented to all the available potential candidates. Part of you wonders if your alpha had caught your scent in all the bustle that surely was going on, for you surely had caught his even if you didn’t know what he looked like even what his name was.

Dark hair colored like the earth’s floor surfaces through your mind as you peer down at the article of clothing your grandmother must have laid out for you while you’d been bathing, a wave of excitement falling over you as you quickly set about putting it on. You fasten it with practiced ease after many years of helping your own omegean friends into their own unique pre-ceremonial dress.

It is a custom of your pack that, on the eve of the Offering Ceremony, newly presented omegas wear clothing that pays respect to the moon that guides the shifting, hunting and gathering of the wolves while also paying homage to the celestial system that, in the ancient legends, would selectively steer the most compatible of hearts towards one another in the tales of soulmates that would lead their pack into prosperity for generations to come.

It was said that the truest of a pair would complete each other in body and mind, their wolves complementing each other like the yin and yang of peace that was so desired amongst your kind.

As you pull your arms through the black lace that covers a fine silk of the same color, you can’t help but to notice the way the underlying material shimmers in the sunny light that glints off it in the small constellation of silvery spritzes to the silk that mirror the stars that, in the dark color of the body of the dress, perfectly recaptures the night sky. In the modestly cut ‘V’ style of the bodice, the trim on each side eventually intersects where the skirt begins and is colored a rich chrome color after the moon.

It matches with the thin band that crosses horizontally over your stomach to hold the bodice closed. Below that, your skirt is fitted just enough that it doesn’t hug your skin, but it is open enough to let air trail between your legs as it stops just along the underside of your knees. You make sure to tie a thick matching silk choker over your neck to nearly cover it in its entirety in effort to complete your ensemble, for it is another custom that newly presented omegas must partake in that you have to obey.

Such was put in place to lessen the temptation of alphas to try to scent an omega, for the show of skin in such an intimate place for wolves that were unmarked was a declaration of intent. To walk around without such a covering was dangerous, for it often would ensue fights between alphas and betas over the omega that had been unheedful of such consequences.

You did not want to be involved in attention like that, for you had always been a quiet, shy presence throughout your years on the compound. What your heart did long for, however, was to find its equal and thus to bask in the notice of he who had visited you in your fantasy, of he who had promised to find you. You truthfully had no idea who he was, but he was no stranger to your dreams. Well, he hadn’t been since the eclipse, anyway.

The first time you’d seen him, he’d been laying on his back while staring at the stars you enjoyed connecting the constellations of within the middle of a forest clearing, the silvery moonlight illuminating him in an ethereal light that had him glowing in radiance.

You’d been tentative to encroach on him and, in your timidity, had tried sinking back into the shadows only to snap a twig under your feet. He’d sat up quicker than lightning, his muscles tensed and ready to pounce as brilliant golden irises darted to the source of the sound only to pierce your own as you’d sucked in a breath at how deep and beautiful his eyes were despite how profoundly they dug interestedly into your own, effectively halting you were you stood as he rose from his place on the forest floor.

Your legs had been rooted in place under his commanding gaze and he’d cocked his head to the side like the wolf he was while he’d appraised you, your heart racing as you watched his brows knit together in confusion the picture of his ideal mate paired with the concoction of smells that coalesced into something that was uniquely your own yet had him drawn like a magnet in how deliciously your aroma swirled under his nostrils, his own pulse quickening as he instinctively lowered his head as you tilted yours back in silent submission that pulled at every fiber of your being in the presence of such a strong, handsome alpha.

It had been instant. His eyes widened when he’d daringly nudged at exposed your scent gland, his irises growing in size at the poignantly tempting aroma of you that clung salaciously to his lungs and very being. In turn, you gasped when the strong headiness of him insistently prodded at you until you were overtaken by its delicious amalgamation of smells, your muscles relaxing at the same time his did a turn of events that you did not understand for you believed it was all just a dream.

The second time you’d seen him, he’d found you next to a steady, crystalline stream with the moon as your light source and upon offering you his hand with some coaxing, he had led you through a field of flowers colored after every hue in the rainbow as he told you how you’d enchanted him with your beauty and scent that had so begun to saturate his every thought, his adulations rapidly bolstering your confidence in the sureness with which he declared them.

The third time, he’d followed you to a creek and had watched you dip your feet into the cool water that was such a balm to the hot air of the night only to step further into the body of water and be embraced by it still clothed in the dress that made you shine brighter than the moon in his eyes. It was you who had eventually asked him to join you after reddened cheeks and stuttered breaths upon realizing he’d been looking at nothing but you the entire time with brightened, enlarged irises.

Somehow, his competitive nature had stoked your playful side and before long, you were splashing each other with water and laughing heartily until your foot had caught on a sharp rock and you’d yelped in pain. Concern had been quick to shift his expression, not that you could that under the mop of hair that had veiled the upper part of his face, but you could hear the emotion in his voice as he reassured you that it would be okay before, to your surprise, he’d wrapped one arm around your back and another under your legs to carry you like some kind of bride before you setting you down on a rock to rip at the edge of his shirt in a show of strength that had your insides turning to mush as he promptly wrapped it around your foot while asking if you were alright and if you were in pain.

An irrational need to clear the worry away from him filled you and before you’d let yourself think about it, you’d laid your hand over his to thank him, not thinking too much on the way his skin was so hot to the touch. As if your words were the medicine he needed, the emotion drained away while you both had stared at each other. You hadn’t realized you’d been leaning forward until you nearly collapsed on top of him, lost as you had been in those expressive eyes of his.

The fourth time, you’d been incapable of resisting his call of howls only to find him thrashing in a cave growling for you. It was as if someone was hurting him from the inside in the pitch of his sounds, but you didn’t have any idea what to do. His shirt had been torn all over and in the dim light that reached into the cave, you thought you could make out the etchings of the extensive muscles that lined his chest, your mouth watering at the sight and yet you’d blamed on being in need of water in your inexperience to know what your body was doing.

You had stayed by his side regardless to bring him water and edible plants that you’d gathered in his lack of exiting the confined space, fondness for him swelling within you in your want to take away whatever pain was wracking him. You’d not been aware of what he wanted and the fact that neither of you had exchanged names made it difficult to console him since you were simply the girl from his dreams to him (or so you thought).

The fifth time, it had been you who had been sequestered to a grassy, woody den in the forest. Your body had quivered with need for something that you had yet to ascertain, but your companion had stayed true to you just as you had to him. Compassion shined in those golden irises as you’d wailed, your arms crossing over your stomach as you rolled back and forth irrationally in the tremors that violently shook your body. When you’d needed new foliage to lay on, he’d gotten it for you. When you’d wanted the cool creek water to be poured over your burning skin, he’d done that, too.

And when you’d asked for some meat to eat, it had taken all but five minutes for him to secure five rabbits that you ate the majority of in your insatiable hunger that only seemed to stretch on the more that you drank him in.

All had preceded the fantasy you’d had last night and you try to piece them together in what they could possibly mean as you grab what your thin arms can carry between pillar candles and tea-lights. You don’t stop stuffing them between your arms until you’re sure you can’t possibly carry any more, and every omega that passes by the storage closet in the omegean den where you currently are makes sure to congratulate as they pass much to the reddening of your cheeks at some overly obscene remarks of what is likely to come. It’s all so new and thrilling to you.

You’re honestly a little surprised that they all already know that you’d woken to the taint of your essence lathered all over you, but such is the way of things in that news spreads like wildfire amidst the close comraderies of omegas.

It should make you feel uncomfortable, but such monumental events are looked at as blessings amongst your pack and in the bustle of energy that the sudden ceremony has sparked in everyone, you can only feel the excited surges of anticipation as you and you alone begin to set about the preparations for the event at the break of dawn since you’d been the final omega in your rank and age group to present.

Through it all, you never lose the subtle trail of him, his scent lingering just enough for you to find yourself trying to move toward its origin, but never thick enough to pinpoint him completely despite your wolf urging you to continually to go to him, to find him.

You wonder what your alpha could be doing right now and what he might be thinking as you make your way through the green grasses that open up to frame the circular wooden stage that is overlooked by the timbered den of the elders. It is an impressive structure in how very imposing and tall it stands and the stage itself is longer, you are sure, than five meters across and back.

There are already stone braziers set strategically next to the stage that are used for annual selections for unbonded pairs of wolves and initiations of pups, but you can’t deny your favorite use for it would be the dance performances that are put on to celebrate each event.

Amongst the alphas in your pack, Park Jimin, Jung Hoseok and Kim Taehyung are among the three bachelors that woo all of the omegas and betas in the compound with the calculated ways they move their bodies that successfully has everyone, even you, swooning.

However, can’t say they hold a candle to the one alpha, in particular, that some believe to be an apparition in how little he is seen despite the fact that every time you catch his shadow, he’s always stolen away your breath and ability to think straight. The way that this alpha moves, in specific, demands your attention in how expressively calculated he is in his artistic movements that combine modern and old dance into a style that is completely his own.

You have only seen him perform twice, but by the moon above, you would never forget it. Each time, you swear his golden irises have shot through the whole crowd of screaming women and even men straight into you only to sink deliciously into you as he dances. It has set your blood alight each time, your pulse quickening in exhilaration at the prospect of that he may have noticed you.

You had noticed him first for this and, hungrily wanting to learn more about the enigmatic figure that could disappear without a trace for months on end without being seen or heard from, you had come to find out through utterances of longing by many omegeans that he was the pack alpha’s son, which made him next in line for assuming control over the entire compound.

You had also come to discover that, among his looks that were crafted by the gods, he came from a pedigree only of purebreds. This meant that he was one among the seven alphas- including the three bachelors already fawned over amongst the compound-in your pack that were gifted with bolstered speed, strength and abilities of which the majority of alphas today did not possess. Such made them extremely desirable to many of the omegas and betas, but for the life of you, you couldn’t see how they were any different from a regular alpha.

As you set out the tealights along the edges of the stage, you can’t help but to ponder why the alpha that had anchored himself to your thoughts long before your dreams is coming to your mind now and it’s when you’ve placed a pillar candle from under your arm onto the mounted holder, that’s when your thoughts are halted.

In the distance, you can discern the pervasively pungent stench of alphas and that’s when your eyes widen. You had forgotten that because of the Offering Ceremony, it was tradition for alphas to go on a hunt at the crack of dawn in effort to make a show of their prowess and ability to provide. This was done in effort to please or attract potential mates in the kills they would secure and gift to their selected omega or beta. You chastise yourself for taking too long, for an unmated omega was not supposed to be in the vicinity of an unbonded alpha due to the pheromones that could cause a premature heat. Your body is unstable right and now and that’s why-

Amongst the flurry of odors that pervade your sensitive nose, there is one that you pick up on, one that wafts deliciously like fresh cookies under your nostrils and around you before caressing your skin with the gentle wind that carries it to you. It is gently insistent in the way it encourages you to turn, to move. You’ve smelled this scent before, you know that you have.

Distantly, in the back of your mind, something tries to poke at your consciousness, but you pay it no mind as you try to complete your task futilely as the aroma whisks itself over you like whipped cream as it inches closer and closer, the soft crunching sound of grass underneath feet growing louder as it does.

You try to take deep breaths and regulate the shallow rise and fall of your chest that is not aided by the hope that twists heavily in your gut and when you clumsily try to make it appear as if you’re doing something constructive, you manage to knock the white pillar candle off of its place so that it lands on the ground with a thud.

Without thinking, you turn only to for you to hitch your breath as the solid planes of a golden and salaciously chiseled chest take up your vision. Your mouth goes dry when your irises dip downward at how obscenely low his ebony shirt dips with one side crossed over the other in a style that isn’t entirely different from the bodice you now wear save for the fact that it is a darker shade of black and is held together by a thicker band that circles a slim, hourglass shaped waist.

The lapels of his garment fold over each other and are accentuated by the charcoal colored pelt that lines his shoulders and trail lengthily down his body to cease around calves covered by dark black trousers that hug his corded thighs lewdly and you have to shut your mouth to stifle the sound of appreciation your body had traitorously wanted to release. If you had spit, you probably would lick your lips, but you don’t. Instead, you settle for trying to swallow the sudden lump in your throat, which is also non-yielding of the result you’d wanted.

“You know, I heard you omegas weren’t supposed to be near us big, bad alphas so soon,” he rumbles amusedly as your heart stutters at the familiar voice, “So, what are you doing out here all alone, pretty?”

You gulp animatedly, your irises refusing to move from the canvas of his chest because you know where you’ve heard that voice before, you realize as your skin pebbles in response to the same deep voice that drips deliciously atop it as your wolf cries for you to answer, to submit.

“I-I… I was setting up for the c-ceremony, that’s all.” You stutter as the alpha in front of you chuckles, the sound making your blood sing in response to the melodious sound as his golden irises inspect your familiar features, surety setting in for him that you really are her, the girl from his dream.

“Ah, so you are.” He muses as he cocks his head interestedly at you.

He had chosen to lead the alphas to a different hunting location today because he believed a new area would be a rich hunting ground, but he’d also come this way for another reason. As a purebred alpha, his nose was far better than any average alpha. Therefore, despite the clothes that you wear of which the threads of your dress have been dipped into oils that mask your own potent pheromones he knows to be on overdrive since your presentation, they are still ineffective in putting off his strong nostrils in how easy it had been to detect and find you like he’d wanted to.

His lips curl up when you fidget in a way exactly like she had, your hands clasping nervously together along your front and he’s struck with the irrational want to have you feel less distressed in his presence, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable around him.

The more pressing thing though is to look upon those eyes of yours that he’s been so bewitched by, for he hasn’t yet looked up those entrancing irises that had belonged to her and has to make sure, his wolf clawing at him now to find out as his deep voice fills the space between you, your own wolf preening under the attention as he says, “Come now, pretty omega, won’t you look at me? I won’t bite.”

With way that his velvety voice envelops you, you really can’t bring yourself to do anything but obey as your slowly trail your gaze along his Adam’s apple that is so defined it makes you want to salivate before continuing your ascent up to perfectly plump, soft lips crafted by the stars themselves. Those same lips had done so much to you in your dreams and images of it flash through your mind as you take a shaky breath that he mirrors in the anticipation that is nearly palpable in how heavy it settles over you both. When you finally settle your gaze on those golden irises that had taken up such a permanent residence in your thoughts, that’s when he utters, “Well, would you look at that...I always knew it would be you, but I never would’ve thought this would happen.”

At the same time that you had peered into his eyes while he gazed curiously at you, your irises had changed from the silver of the moon he had always been bewildered by to the gold of the sun like his own. In the exact moment, you’d witnessed his own do the same, his eyes changing to the color of your own.

Jungkook has always taken pride in his abilities as a purebred. They’d never steered him wrong before and they hadn’t now, either. It is why he hadn’t doubted the magnetizing pull that had brought him here as encouraged by his nose that could track anything. It is also why his very being is colored with entertainment at your cute reaction that he’d had some inkling of some time ago.

What is a pleasant surprise, however, is the fact that the moon itself has chosen you as his mate in the gift it had bestowed on the two of you. And as his eyes rove over you, he can’t help but grin. He’d always had his eye set on you, anyway.

You gasp in incredulity when you realize what’s just happened and to whom it has happened with as you fall back against the stage, completely floored by the howling of your wolf to go to him and accept it.

You’re just supposed to accept the fact that the alpha you’ve pined so badly for has been selected for you by the moon itself in the legendary soulmate’s gift of sight, which allows two fated wolves to see their eyes in the mate that completes them. You’re just supposed to casually accept that your fated mate is the alpha that everyone wants, including you. You’re just meant to easily believe that the alpha you begged to be claimed by while he had his cock rammed inside you within your fantasy is Jeon fucking Jungkook and that he’s your alpha.

As you splutter and try to find anything to say in the shock that will soon leave your legs trembling, the alpha just smirks as he cards a hand through his hair in a display that has you licking at your lips despite everything as he flicks a brow, “What’s wrong, pretty? Cat got your tongue?”

#werewolf!jungkook #bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts #jungkook #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts abo

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hrina · 3 years

Text

The Thrill of the Chase, Pt. I

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 3.6k REQUESTED: no

hi! it’s been a while since i’ve posted something on here lol, i wonder if anyone still remembers me 🤕

this is PART 1 of the hunter!AU that i’ve been writing. while the story is a patreon-exclusive, my patrons gave me permission to post the first chapter here on tumblr for anyone who’s curious about the kind of content i offer on patreon.

if you want to read the rest of this series and unlock access to my other exclusive work, you can sign up for my patreon here. and as always, please reblog the fics you like and leave feedback for the authors, because we pour a lot of time and effort into our stories. happy reading 💌

~*~

Harry’s life is simple.

He performs only the essentials—wakes up and eats an apple for breakfast. Drizzles some lemon juice into his flask of water to keep his teeth healthy and clean. Shrugs on a few heavy furs. Lets Magnus outside to keep him from howling and pawing at the door. Sharpens his arrows. Knocks on the threshold of the cabin once for good luck. Goes hunting.

Upon returning, he crouches next to the firepit, laying out his kills and skinning them. He cooks one for himself—something small, like a squirrel, or a rabbit. Others, he saves for the market—fox, deer, coyote, boar. The pelts, tusks, and antlers are extremely sought-after (particularly by nobles), and often earn enough coin to carry him through the rest of the week.

He doesn’t entertain visitors, because who in their right mind would trek up the side of a mountain just to seek out one lonely hunter? Despite that, he’s come to appreciate his solitude. The silence is familiar—comfortable. Besides, Magnus proves both excellent and useful company, if the sheer volume of their kills offers any indication.

A simple life for a simple man.

Harry doesn’t need anyone else.

“Ready to go, mutt?”

He scratches behind Magnus’ droopy ears. One of the hound’s hindlegs thumps frantically in response. Harry chuckles, slinging his bow over his right shoulder and pulling open the cabin door.

“Come on, then.”

The sky is a dark, cloudy grey, and the smell of oncoming rain is unmistakable. Still, the two of them persevere, ducking past the trees at the edge of the clearing.

It’s a bad day to hunt.

With the threat of a storm looming just above the canopy, the animals have forgone their typical foraging patterns in favour of taking shelter. Harry only manages to kill a rabbit, and even then, it’s a messy shot. He usually gets them right through the eye—a quick, neat splice that results in minimal suffering. This time, however, his foot slips on a damp stone; he fumbles, and the arrow buries itself into the creature’s stomach.

“Fuck.”

The rabbit is still alive when he reaches it, its furry body heaving with shaky, uneven breaths. Harry kneels down, apologising quietly. His hand finds the scabbard strapped to his waist, and he draws a silver dagger from its depths.

He slits the poor hare’s throat just as rain begins to fall.

It’s easy work, after that. He pins the animal’s fluffy forelimbs together, tying them in place with thick, coarse rope. Magnus whimpers as Harry slides the creature’s limp body over his shoulder. He shoots the hound a tired look and shakes his head. Damp brown curls stick to his temples.

“Think that’s enough for today.”

The two of them have nearly made it back home—Harry’s boots squelch as he jumps over the small creek that flows close to the clearing—when Magnus perks up, lifting his snout and sniffing the air.

“What is it, mutt?” Harry asks.

Magnus releases a loud bark and takes off in the direction of the cabin. Harry sprints after him, one hand clutching his game while the other wraps around the leather grip of his bow.

“Magnus!” he yells.

The dog skids to a stop next to the wide trunk of a tree. He barks again and wags his tail feverishly.

Harry releases his bow, approaching with slow, cautious steps.

“What’s got you so—shit.”

You’re slumped in the mud, unconscious. Harry’s gaze rakes over your form, from your tattered blue gown to the leaves and twigs tangled in your hair. There are a few cuts littered across your face, arms, and chest. Rivulets of blood trickle down your wrist, spiderwebbing across your skin.

Magnus sticks his tongue out and pants.

“Good boy,” Harry mutters, bestowing a rugged caress atop the hound’s head.

He gathers you into his arms, paying no mind to the extra weight of your sodden dress. Your neck lolls over his bicep, sternum rising and falling with shallow, barely-there breaths. Harry carries you out of the forest and into the clearing. When he kicks open the cabin door, your eyelids flutter.

“Bear?” you mumble, lifting your head slightly. Your voice is grating, hoarse.

He looks at you. Your face contorts for only a moment before you slouch back into oblivion.

He sets you down onto the thick, woven rug splayed out in front of the hearth. He works quickly, shrugging off his furs and his game and discarding all of it without a second thought. Rain thrums against the roof, but the sound is lost amidst his heavy footsteps.

He hurries into his bedroom and pulls open the top drawer of his wooden dresser, fumbling for a glass jar and a spool of bandages. When his fingers finally make contact with the desired supplies, he darts back into the other room and kneels beside your motionless body.

He draws his dagger again, gripping the intricate material of your gown and slicing through it. Your corset proves far more challenging, practically embedded into your skin. He sets his knife aside, not willing to risk it. Instead, he hooks his fingers beneath the top of the girdle, rough knuckles brushing against your soft bosom. With a mighty tug, the structured fabric splits under his palms.

He screws open the lid on the jar and dips his thumb inside. The salve is sticky, viscous, and smells faintly of lavender. He smears it across your scrapes before inspecting your wrist.

The flesh is slashed and bloodied—how did you acquire such an injury? Canines? Claws? Harry uses the frayed edges of your dress to clean the mess. He then unwinds a few bindings from their roll, expertly bandaging your wound.

Once he’s finished, he sits back on his haunches, expelling a stale breath. His work is far from over—he needs to wash you, to scrub off all the dirt and grime staining your skin. He’ll go down to the creek with a cloth, he thinks, and saturate it with cool water. He’ll pick the leaves and branches out of your hair, and cover you in spare furs to keep you warm. He’ll prepare a hot meal so that you may eat when you wake. You’ll be ravenous, certainly.

These thoughts whirl around in his head, along with the realisation that you might expire here, lying on an old rug in the middle of a stranger’s secluded home. Still, he watches your chest rise, swelling with proof of your vitality. The sight puts him at ease.

Harry aims a cursory glance over his shoulder. Magnus is stationed at the door, wet snout resting on the ground. The dog gazes at your limp body with big, solemn eyes, as though he somehow understands the severity of the situation.

“Don’t worry, mutt,” Harry tells him, knees shuffling against the floor. “I won’t let her die.”

~*~

Three days pass.

Harry curtails the duration of his hunts. He kills only the essentials: a hare or a squirrel, something small enough to cook over the fire. He has enough coin saved up from his previous trades to last him another few trips to the market.

Every morning, he prepares a simple, homely meal for you should you wake. When you do not, he eats the food in your place—he’ll be damned if it goes to waste.

On the fourth day, he carries a bowl of soup into his room. He’s expecting to see you tucked into his bed, still unconscious. Instead, you’re alert, sitting upright and studying your surroundings. The furs that previously covered your body now pool around your waist, exposing your naked chest. When you catch sight of Harry lingering in the doorway, you gasp, fumbling for the pelts and clutching them to your sternum.

“You’re up,” he says gruffly, stepping through the threshold.

You scramble back, eyes widening in fear. He pauses.

You’re afraid, he realises, tilting his head to the side. This may be more difficult than he initially thought.

“Soup,” he says slowly, holding out the small clay bowl in his hands. “You need to eat.”

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice is patchy and frail. “Where am I?”

He sets the dish down onto his dresser before shooting you a stern, expectant look.

“Eat.”

Upon exiting the room, he strains his ears and listens carefully. The creak of a loose floorboard—you’ve climbed out of bed. The sound of nimble footsteps pattering across the ground—you’re moving toward the door. And finally, the quiet scrape of clay against wood, indicating that your hunger has prevailed.

He nods to himself.

You’re not dead. That’s a start.

~*~

That evening, Harry is perched next to the firepit outside the cabin. The orange sun crawls down the horizon, kissing the tops of the trees. He basks in the warmth, knowing that it will soon be eradicated by the cool chill of nightfall.

He fiddles with the spit poised above the flames. He caught another rabbit, today. The creature’s fur is laid out across the grass, scrubbed clean of blood. The rest of it cooks over the fire, darkening with each passing minute.

A faint creak reaches Harry’s ears. He perks up, glancing at the door.

You hover just beyond the threshold, leaning nervously against the strong wooden beams. Harry relaxes and turns back around. He uses a long stick to poke at the charred logs; the kindling pops, and a few embers float into the air.

“What are you doing?” Your inquiry is soft, shaky.

His reply is curt: “Dinner.”

You approach warily, bare feet treading through the grass. When you spot the hunk of meat roasting over the flames, a feeble gasp tumbles from your lips.

“That’s barbaric.”

Harry rubs his palms against his thighs. “That’s sustenance.”

He stands, and you retreat. His attention then falls to your torso. You’ve covered yourself with the furs from his room; they hang just past the swell of your bottom, rendering you exceptionally vulnerable. Goosebumps crop up on your bare thighs, visible in the golden light of the sunset.

He hums. “You need clothes.”

You look down at the ground.

“That would be nice,” you whisper at last.

He merely grunts in response.

You follow him back inside, albeit from a distance. He strolls into his bedroom, pausing in front of a large trunk shoved against the far wall. Twin latches click open, and he begins rifling through its contents. After a few moments of silence, he produces a pale linen shirt and a pair of dark leather trousers.

“Here,” he says.

He dumps the fabric into your arms. You huff in surprise, instinctively relinquishing your hold on the pelts covering your body. They fall to the floor in a heap, exposing every inch of your skin.

An embarrassed squeak echoes in the back of your throat. Harry averts his eyes, staring pointedly up at the ceiling.

“Put those on,” he murmurs.

You nod quickly, sidestepping his broad frame. Now that you’re no longer in his line of sight, he lowers his gaze. Part of him wonders if he should say something else, but he decides against it. His legs carry him forward, and he disappears through the door.

~*~

You emerge from the bedroom a short while later, smoothing your hands over your hair in an attempt to look a bit more presentable. Harry resists the urge to tell you that here, in the mountains, appearances are hardly significant. He doesn’t own a mirror—such luxuries can only be afforded by the rich.

His clothes are too big on you, but that was to be expected. You’ve rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt and cuffed the brown leather trousers so that they cinch at your ankles. You’re anxious, incisors gnawing on your bottom lip and eyes darting around the clearing, like you’re waiting for a monster to burst forth from the bushes.

“Here.”

Harry cuts a sliver of meat from the cooked rabbit carcass resting on the spit. You sit down on a wide, round tree stump as he holds the food out in your direction.

At first, he thinks that you may vomit. Fortunately, though, he finds himself mistaken. After a long moment of deliberation, you accept the protein, bringing it up to your nose and sniffing it warily.

“It’s good,” he rasps, slicing off another strip for himself. “Rabbit—all white meat.”

He pops the piece into his mouth and chews. Slowly, you copy him, sighing happily as newfound flavour erupts over your tongue. You waste no time, then, impatiently shoving the rest of the meat into your mouth.

Harry’s lips twitch.

“Thank you,” you say after swallowing.

He simply nods. The two of you continue to eat in silence, grinding the remnants of supper between your teeth.

Eventually, your curiosity overwhelms you.

“What’s you name?” you ask, timid.

Harry sits back, wiping his dagger with the hem of his cotton shirt.

“Harry.”

“And how did you find me, Harry?”

A low chuckle resonates in the back of his throat.

“Wasn’t exactly hard. You were lying in a puddle of mud not far from here.”

Your lips part. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Three days.”

“Three days?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember any of it,” you say softly, playing with your fingers. You hesitate before elaborating: “But I—I remember seeing your face. I thought you were a bear.”

He recalls that day, how you lifted your head weakly and uttered the word before sinking back into unconsciousness. It led him to believe that you’d been attacked. Your side of the story, however, proves much more entertaining.

“Well,” he says, exhaling brusquely, “I’m not.”

You examine him with big, tender eyes. He shifts awkwardly under the intensity of your gaze.

“No,” you finally agree. “You’re not.”

He swallows and flips the conversation around.

“Who are you?”

You stiffen, caught off-guard.

“That is…hardly relevant.”

“Perhaps,” Harry says. “But it is fair.”

When you don’t reply, he continues.

“You’re a lady, aren’t you?” he guesses. “A duchess. Your gown was too pretty to have belonged to a commoner.”

“My gown?” You perk up at the mention of the dress. “Where is it?”

“Gone. I tore through it.”

You gasp. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“It was the only way to keep you alive,” he says simply. “Your corset was impeding your ability to breathe.”

“My corset…” you mutter, mostly to yourself. You grimace after registering the implications of his words, thoroughly scandalized. “So, you—you—?”

“Yes. I had to.”

“God,” you choke out, covering your mouth. “How dare you? You should have just—!”

“Let you die?”

His query successfully squashes your disapproval; your lips flatten into a thin line, and you say nothing else. Harry watches the creases in your forehead dwindle as you realise that he’s right. You fiddle with the collar of your shirt, turning to the side and regaining your composure.

“Thank you,” you finally murmur, trying to hide your face from his piercing stare, “for not letting me die.”

He grunts. “You’re welcome.”

Brief silence ensues. A light breeze blows through the clearing, tousling the curls atop Harry’s head. The gust is enough to extinguish the last few flames frolicking over the kindle, until glowing embers are all that remain.

“I am a lady,” you suddenly add, though you refuse to meet his eyes. “But not a duchess.”

Harry leans forward, prodding at the residual ash in the firepit.

“What were you doing in the woods?”

You tinker with the bandages wrapped around your injured wrist.

“I was to be wed,” you confess, peeking up at him. “But I—I could not bear to go through with it. One should not marry for duty, but rather—”

“For love?”

You pause at his intrusion, lips parted in surprise.

“Yes,” you breathe. “For love.”

Your gazes lock. He clears his throat, breaking the contact quickly.

“You ran away, then.”

It’s not a question. You nod, and he hums.

“What is it?” you ask, brows knitting together.

“Nothing. It’s just…I may find good fortune in this situation.”

“How so?”

He shrugs. “Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.”

Though he’s not looking at you, he can tell that you’ve recoiled.

“Please don’t,” you whisper.

He examines your face in the periphery of his vision. Your eyes glisten with unshed tears.

Just then, Magnus races out of the cabin, his tail wagging eagerly behind him. He trots over to you, sniffing your shoulder and releasing a high-pitched whine. You use one hand to swipe hastily at your cheeks; the other migrates to his head, tickling his floppy ears.

Harry watches the interaction unfold, completely stunned.

“He—he likes you.”

You glance over at him, still wary of his previous threat.

“I suppose he does,” you say quietly.

Magnus paws at your thighs. You direct your attention back to the keen bloodhound, pressing a feathery kiss to the tip of his wet nose.

Harry blinks a few times, trying to pinpoint the reason for his mutt’s newfound behaviour. At first, he wonders if his eyes are simply playing tricks on his brain. Yet with each flutter of his lids, the sight before him only seems to solidify.

“He doesn’t usually take well to strangers,” he mumbles.

When you don’t respond, he clenches his jaw tightly. Countless thoughts zoom through his head, spinning like wheels, tangling like thread.

Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.

Harry is not a sensible man.

~*~

The three of you retreat indoors when the last shards of sunlight fade from the sky. Magnus circles the large woven rug poised in front of the hearth. Eventually, he collapses onto the mat, his snout drooping over his front paws. You stretch your arms into the air and yawn gently.

Harry is the last one to enter the cabin; he shuts the door behind him.

“Thank you again for dinner,” you say lightly.

You spin around and nearly crash into the hard barrier of his chest. Reflexively, his hands fly up to grasp your biceps, steadying you. He peers down at your face in the darkness, his thoughtful gaze tracing the contours of your cheeks. Your eyes are wide, lips split apart as you suck in air.

“Sorry,” you say, frozen in place.

He only grunts, releasing your arms and stepping away.

Your attention lingers on him as he approaches a wide pile of furs stacked into the corner of the room. He’s been sleeping on the makeshift cot for the past three nights, and though his back is always sore the next morning, he has yet to find a better alternative.

“What are you…?” You hesitate, rethinking your question. “What is that?”

“My bed.”

“Do you…always sleep there?”

“No,” he rasps, lowering himself onto the thick pelts. “I prefer to sleep in my room.”

He shoots you a pointed look, and you frown when the realisation sinks in.

“We—we can switch,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “I don’t want to impose.”

“No.”

“I insist.” You try again.

“As do I.”

You clamp your mouth shut, unsure of how to respond. Magnus has already dozed off—his soft snores filter through the heavy silence hanging over your heads.

“He’s lovely,” you suddenly say, referring to the quiescent hound. “Well-trained, too.”

“I won’t take credit for that,” Harry grumbles, rubbing his palms against his thighs. “He was a palace dog.”

You blink. “W-what?”

“A palace dog,” he repeats. “I found him alone in the woods after a hunt. His leg was broken—the guards left him there to die.”

“That’s awful.”

He hums in agreement.

“You took him in, then,” you say. When he nods, you add, “It seems that you have a knack for nursing others back to health.”

He doesn’t reply.

“The hunts—” you start, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. “Do they…occur frequently?”

“Why do you ask?” Harry says. His shoulders wobble with a hollow chuckle. “Are you afraid of being caught?”

You inhale sharply, and he realises that yes, you are.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Subconsciously, his voice drops an octave, taking on a soothing quality. “They don’t come around often. And even if they did, I doubt that a single runaway lady would be of much concern.”

You blow out a relieved sigh, though the uneasy expression on your face never wanes.

“You’re probably right.”

A few hushed seconds draw out, during which neither of you speak. Your bare feet shuffle clumsily against the cold floor. You appear to be waiting for some sort of cue—a sound, a gesture, anything.

“Er—” Harry breaks the peace, cocking one eyebrow. “I sleep naked.”

“Oh.”

The exclamation is unbelievably breathless. Your throat bobs amidst a difficult swallow, and you totter back.

“Of course,” you stammer. “I’ll just—”

With a trembling hand, you motion toward the entrance of his bedroom.

He nods wordlessly.

“Right,” you mumble, retreating. “Goodnight, then…Bear.”

At that, he pauses. Your cheeks twitch with a feeble smile, but you don’t comment on the sweetness of the simple endearment.

Harry remains completely still as you scurry into his room. He sits there for a prolonged moment after the door shuts, trying to make sense of his thoughts. Your features have been stamped onto the backs of his eyelids, practically seared into the skin.

At last, warm air spills past his lips, and he allows himself to utter the low, relentless reply pulling at his tongue.

“Goodnight.”

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #uhhhh yeah so here u go. if this flops it never happened i guess #hunterry #harry writing

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dark-tides-rp · 3 years

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Hello folks! Following up our last post with another batch of folklore for you all. Best to keep your wits about you; you never know who, or what, is watching.

MICHIGAN DOGMAN – Also known locally as the Beast of Grady Lane. Reports go back all the way to 1835 when a lumberjack named Cecil Peters encountered a creature he could only describe as an eight-foot-tall beast with the torso of a man, the head of a dog, and a howl that sounds like a human scream. First sighted on the mainland, the dogman has been reportedly seen in the area of Grady Lane on the outskirts of the Red Harbor city limits. Though less often, there have recently been reports of the dogman on Fallen Oak Island near the Fire Creek Woods. THE BLACK WITCH OF MADELINE ISLAND – Most commonly sighted as a female figure dressed in black, the Witch of Madeline Island is long thought to be Madeline Callaway locally referred to as Mad Maddy. Tragically, in the late days of the 19th century, Madeline Callaway was widowed by her husband Clyde when he fell to his death from the widow’s walk of their home on Heart Island. Only a year later, the couple’s son, fifteen-year-old Christopher Callaway, was accidentally shot and killed by a poacher hunting in the Heart Island woods. Mad with grief, Madeline fled to the Island bearing her name. No body was ever found but beware nighttime visitors for legend has is it that Mad Maddy’s wail is the only warning one receives before she tries to drag you into the bog with her. MISHIPESHU – A creature reported by many of the First Nations in the Great Lakes area, Mishipeshu is described as an underwater panther, an amalgam of parts from many animals: the body of a cougar; the antlers of a caribou; a serpentine tail, and upright spines along its back and razor-sharp claws. It is said to be a guardian living in the deepest parts of Lake Superior responsible for many great storms. Sometimes a faint roar or hiss may be gleaned from the sounds of storms or rushing rapids, a flash of yellow eyes in the water. CURSES, HEXES, AND MAGIC SPELLS – There is very little about the practice of magic that is flashy or stereotypical Hollywood. No one is conjuring fireballs, levitating objects, or glamouring their appearances to look like other people. In the simplest terms, performing magic is harnessing the energy that radiates from ley lines in order to craft a specific outcome. The craft is rooted in old pagan rituals and modern Wiccan practices. There is nothing simple about casting a spell or placing a curse and most times there’s nothing to show for the effort. It relies on the caster to speak the right words, at the right time, in the right place; all the while combining the right ingredients in the right order. It is a science as much as an art and very few people are knowledgeable or skilled enough to be successful. Of course, sometimes accidents happen. GHOSTS, SPIRITS, OTHERWORLDY ENTITIES – There are stories and legends in every culture across the world about the human soul and its ability to live on after death. Red Harbor is no different and has its fair share of ghost stories. In fact, it could be argued that its position on a nexus point of intersecting ley lines makes it more prone to ghostly encounters. Some say the land is cursed, others say it’s blessed, either way, it isn’t unusual to experience cold spots, fantom forms in the night, objects moving inexplicable, disembodied voices, and even the occasional full-bodied apparition. Exorcisms are quickly becoming an annual occurrence, the Callaways have been known to hold seances in the lady’s parlor on Saturday night, and everyone knows the shiver they get down their back when looking at Outer Island Sanatorium is because of the suffering souls that lost their lives to the place. THE SINGING SANDS – Pause a moment: can you hear that noise? Stories say that the beaches in Siren Bay sing when walked upon. Striking it quickly makes a sharp barking noise, not unlike your neighborhood dog. This is a phenomenon that can't be replicated on any other beach in the area. Scientists say the sand sings when perfect conditions are met such as the size of the grains, humidity, and the makeup of the sand – however, they don’t completely understand what creates the phenomenon, and locals will tell you it’s the voices of those lost to the lake. Most Red Harbor locals have visited the area at least once in their lives to see the spectacle for themselves. THE MISWKÁ LIGHT – Fairly isolated, Red Harbor and the Miskwá Islands don't have a lot of light pollution. Perhaps that's why people often report a light in the forest on those dark, clear nights. A light too bright to stare at for too long; a light that seems to call you forward from the darkness – but do well not to heed its call. Some of Red Harbor's most foolhardy have tried to follow the light and find its source, only to stagger back into town the next morning, pale and stricken. One of the most widely circulated legends tell of a mother looking for her lost child, her lantern fitfully swinging as she tears her way through the brush. Others say it's the eye of a legendary beast shining from deep in the pines. Whatever its true nature, best to steer clear.

A brief update! The development contest ends today at 6pm EST, so if you’ve posted dev be sure to claim your second reserve – and if you haven’t, don’t fret! We will be opening general reserves tomorrow morning. Additionally, our discord is now open and we’ve had such a nice turnout. We’re so excited to get to write with you all!

Now down to what you’ve all been waiting for: that’s right, we open tomorrow evening, Friday Oct. 1st, at 6pm EST! We will post that update both here and on the discord.

Hang tight, tidelings. Uncharted waters lie ahead 🧭🌊

#update #folklore #dark-tides-rp #site buzz #jcink rp #jcink premium rp

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ellethespaceunicorn-masterlist · 8 months

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🎧Elle the Space Unicorn's Masterlist🎧

Reader inserts will have no descriptors, OFCs will be black and plus-sized(unless otherwise stated). I love being able to give girls/femmes who look like me the chance to romance some of their faves.

🎧Bless my current muse...🎧

I love to write fanfiction. Right now, my main muse is Henry Cavill. But I also like some Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan characters (see below who I will write for - send prompts or requests to @ellethespaceunicorn HERE).

Masterlist is under the Cut...

Bright Like The Moon (ongoing)

Love, Napoleon (ongoing)

Scrapbook (finished)

Daddy Knows Best (possibly on hiatus)

Don't Take My Sunshine Away (possibly on hiatus)

Touch and Go (possibly ongoing)

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest (ongoing)

What Are You Doing, StepBro?

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Humphrey x Stepsister!Reader

Summary: You and Humphrey don’t have the best start, but before long you will reach an arrangement.

Hold Me Til I Scream For Air To Breathe

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Sub!Clark Kent x Domme!Reader

Summary: Clark needs to give over to his submissive urges, specifically he yearns to be tied up and owned.

I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Napoleon Solo x Reader

Summary: Napoleon wines and dines.

Make That Kitty Purr {DARK FIC}

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader

Fandom: Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU

Summary: Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend.

Make That Kitty Purr [Director's Cut] {DARKER FIC}

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader

Fandom: Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU

Summary: Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend. This is the darker pre-edited version.

Some Things You Just Can’t Refuse

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Dom!Clark Kent x Sub!Reader

Summary: A collection of first times with Clark Kent, and one last time.

Happy Birthday, Cupcake

Rating: General

Pairing: Clark Kent x PlusSize!Reader

Summary: Clark surprises you for your birthday.

Treat Me Like A Slut

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: August Walker x Reader

Summary: August has had enough of your antics, and you’re going to pay for it.

Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: As you were getting close to Sherlock, he stops visiting. You pop over to Baker Street and share an eye-opening moment.

Don't Take Your Eyes Off It

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Steve Rogers x Black!Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day, and you have a surprise for Steve!

Don't Kill My Vibe

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Clark Kent x BestFriend!Black!Fem!Reader

Summary: You help Clark ease the pain of his broken heart.

Fifteen Minutes

Character: Walter Marshall x Unnamed Black!OFC

Rating: Explicit

Summary: What Walter does with 15 minutes of his time.

There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

Pairing: Syverson x Reader

Rating: Mature

Summary: When an unexpected pregnancy rocks your already uncertain world, you decide the best option is to run. Apocalypse AU.

Pretty As A Picture

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: What started as a hobby day in the park turns into Lloyd Hansen showing you why taking photos of strangers is a bad idea.

Something Old, Something New

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Nick Fowler x Reader

Summary: Your childhood best friend invites you to your old vacation spot for her wedding, and you have been catching up with your first crush: her recently divorced big brother Nick.

Oxytocin

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Older!Black!Fem!OFC

Summary: At a New Year's Eve party, Ransom Drysdale's life is forever changed by a chance meeting with Ivy Kensington.

My Little Strawberry

Pairing: Syverson x Black!Reader (Peaches)

Rating: Mature

Summary: A follow-up to Shape Up. Sy has a conversation with his baby girl while she’s still in your stomach.

Doing Something Unholy

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Charles Brandon x Reader

Summary: This is a prompt fill for some teasing of Charles Brandon and then him taking over.

Praise You

Rating: General, pure fluff

Pairing: Clark Kent x Insecure PlusSize!Reader

Summary: Clark Kent loves everything about you, especially what you think are your flaws.

Get My Pretty Name Outta Your Mouth

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Reader

Summary: You hate everything about Detective Walter Marshall. He feels the same about you. Now, kiss!

Shape-Up

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Cpt Syverson x Black!Reader (Peaches)

Summary: Syverson and his girl, Peaches, try and trim his beard without causing a ruckus. Spoiler alert: they fail.

Follow-up to Shape-Up: My Little Strawberry

The Paganini Problem

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader

Summary: Being Sherlock’s wife proves to be difficult when a case stumps him.

Power Play: After Hours

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Assistant!Black!Reader

Summary: What happens when Lloyd sees you, his assistant, in something other than what you usually wear? Well, you should be worried about what he does when he sees you.

No Good Deeds

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Landlord!Ari Levinson x Reader

Summary: Moving out on your own is challenging, but your landlord, Mr. Levinson is kind and helpful. But he may want more from you than your tenancy.

Executive Temptation

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: CEO!August Walker x Employee!Reader

Summary: You’ve caught the eye of CEO August Walker. What happens when he asks you to go to his private office?

Walter Marshall - Hobbies

Lloyd Hansen - Family, Quirks/Hobbies, Sleep

Lloyd Hansen - What happens when reader starts dressing to match lloyd?

Walter Marshall (Night Hunter)

Geralt of Rivia (The Witcher)

Clark Kent (Man of Steel, BvS, Justice League)

Humphrey (Stardust)

Charles Brandon (The Tudors)

Mike (Hellraiser: Hellworld)

Napoleon Solo (The Man from U.N.C.L.E.)

August Walker (Mission: Impossible - Fallout)

Will Shaw (The Cold Light of Day)

Sherlock Holmes (Enola Holmes films)

Captain Syverson (Sand Castle)

Evan Marshall (Blood Creek)

Melot (Tristan and Isolde)

Thomas Apreas (Hotel Laguna)

Chas Quilter (The Inspector Lyndley Mysteries)

Stephen Colley (I Capture the Castle)

I DO NOT WRITE RPF FOR HENRY

Lloyd Hansen (The Gray Man)

Andy Barber (Defending Jacob)

Ransom Drysdale (Knives Out)

Steve Rogers (Avengers films)

Curtis Everett (Snowpiercer)

Ari Levinson (The Red Sea Diving Resort)

Nick Gant (PUSH)

Jake Jensen (The Losers)

Frank Adler (Gifted)

I DO NOT WRITE RPF FOR CHRIS

Bucky Barnes (Marvel)

Charles Blackwood (We Have Always Lived in the Castle)

Steve Kemp (Fresh)

Max (Sharper)

Nick Fowler (The 355)

Lee Bodecker (The Devill All The Time)

Chris (Destroyer)

Justin Capshaw (Law & Order)

I DO NOT WRITE RPF FOR SEBASTIAN

Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz, so far only these categories 😁 Let me know if you ever want to be removed!

General Fanfiction (Everything)

Henry Character Fanfiction

Chris Character Fanfiction

August Walker

Bright Like The Moon

Love, Napoleon!

Daddy Knows Best

Don't Take My Sunshine Away

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest

~Please DON'T ask me to tag you in a series that you've never 'liked' or 'reblogged'. It's just kind of rude. Also, don't ask for an ETA on the next chapter.~

*Blog Header, Cover Art for fics, Masterlist Header/MDNI 18+ Banner, Support/Reblog banner and Masterlist Dividers made by me in Canva*

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ellethespaceunicorn · 2 months

Text

Listening to my Syverson playlist while writing the next chapter of The Howling in Claw Creek Forest.

And I am once again in my feels over my characters again.

#ellethespaceunicorn speaks #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #the howling in claw creek forest #ellethespaceunicorn listens #spotify #Spotify

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the-ipre · 3 years

Text

hold me fast and fear me not

changelily ballad of tamlin au, because creativity is a flat circle

The Forest Queen’s procession is a decadent thing to behold. A train of horses whose hooves hardly make an imprint on the frost of the forest floor, flowering vines that enforce celebration, despite the atmosphere that wilts them with every passing moment.

The Queen herself leads them, antlers arching high above, no branches daring to tangle with them. Her expression is set, detached amusement written in the arcs of her brows, no breath moving the collar of lichen creeping up her throat. The forest bows around her, taking heed of its matriarch and making way for her march.

Margaret, hidden behind a boulder, does not spare her a second glance.

Instead, she looks across the masked riders, dismissing each almost as soon as she sees them. Although she can not see their faces, she knows bone-deep that none are hers. Too tall, too graceful, none make her heart ring.

Then, ivory-white and striking against the mottled greens and browns of the procession: a shock of hair that she would recognize anywhere. One that she has run her fingers through more times than she can count, one that swoops back from the ivory raven mask and rests about its bearers shoulders.

Travis is slumped lazily to one side, but Margaret can just make out his white-knuckled grasp on the reins.

As much as Travis acts his Sovereign-may-care act, Margaret knows the lines of his body better than her own.

She takes a deep breath, smooths her hands down the front of her dress.

The procession carries forwards, Travis’s head bobbing with the movement, and Margaret exhales.

If the Forest Queen will throw away one of her own so easily, she can not be blamed for whoever will step forward to claim him.

Margaret breaks free from hiding, sprinting to the white steed and ignoring the gasps that chorus up, instead pulling her true love to her and holding him close.

His arms wrap around her in turn, and she knows that neither of them will let go.

It was an unusually kind spring that saw Margaret enter the Forest Queen’s lands for the first time, clad in white and green and gray and filled with purpose.

There were stories of a monster, of a man, sharp and vicious and just plain rude.

Margaret intended to find him.

When she came to a clearing she paused, woolen hood down as she tilted her face to the sunlight that filtered through the leaves. A light wind brought the forest to life with the noise of a thousand things moving through their days, and if Margaret did not know whose lands she stood on she would almost have felt at peace.

Someone cleared their throat behind her, and she turned with an open smile and the confidence of a woman who had every right to trespass. “Hello?”

A man with silver hair and clothes too elegant for the forest surrounding him looked up from where he was inspecting his nails. “Oh, don’t let me stop you from making yourself at home.”

“Much appreciated, Mr...” Margaret said, letting the question hang in the air.

He leaned against a tree, uncaring ease outlining the movement. “Most people around here call me Travis Matagot.”

Margaret cocked her head, the dance of names and pleasantries an unfamiliar but not unknown one. “Is that your real name, Mr. Matagot?”

He threw his head back in a laugh, exaggerated but almost genuinely delighted underneath. “Oh, because I’m a big idiot who gives out his name to every Tom, Dick, and...?” Travis looked to Margaret in what was an obvious trap. She looked back with a smile.

“Lily.”

“You don’t look like a Lily,” he said. If Margaret knew better, she would almost say he was pleased she hadn’t fallen for it.

“Well, you don’t look like a Travis.”

“Don’t I?”

Margaret grinned. “Travis is the name of a strapping young man. You-”

Travis gasped, offense that she was mostly sure was faked. “You come to my-” The word caught in his throat, and he had to veer slightly to continue. “My lady’s forest just to be rude?”

“I had a day off,” Margaret said with a shrug, before taking off her cloak and laying it on the ground, sitting down and uncovering her picnic basket.

Travis almost looked genuinely caught off guard by that, blinking down at Margaret as she pulled out a hunk of bread, but managed to wrangle his voice back into its disaffected norm. “And what are you doing now, if I’m not interrupting you?”

“This seems like a lovely clearing to have a picnic, I’m sure lovely company could be found.” Margaret inclined her head towards the empty side of her cloak. “Or do you need to stop me?”

Travis heaved a beleaguered sigh but walked over anyway. “Oh no. Stop. Don’t.” He almost seemed more leg than man when he sat, rummaging around in the basket. “Orange?”

Margaret smiled, and so they shared the first of many meals.

For one perfect moment Travis wraps his arms around Margaret, fingers tangling in the back of her dress and face pressed to her neck, and then he lets out a cracking scream that rattles through her bones. The sounds of tearing fill the woods as his body is reshaped under the Queen’s sharp gaze.

Margaret holds onto her love even as he shrinks beneath her hands, tangled as tight as ever around her but with none of the kindness of moments before. Scales under her fingers and around her chest and he is a snake, writhing and angry.

There is a sharp pain against her shoulder and Margaret cries out, Travis’s fangs sunk into her flesh. It burns and she grabs his head to pull it back, arms bound and chest tight but holding his face in front of hers to look into eyes that have no trace of her love left in them.

“I will not let you go.”

It was a burning summer that found Travis and Margaret sitting on the banks of a creek, pants and skirts rolled up to let their ankles rest in the current.

Travis’s lackluster objections had done nothing to stop Margaret from returning often, and despite his transparent protests his walls had begun to crack. A flower tucked behind an ear here, a blush there, and the brush of their pinkies where their hands rested on the grass between them.

The sun was hot and the two of them did not speak, but it was a gentle quiet that surrounded them. World softened by the noises of the creek, there was not much need to talk, and it was that fragile peace that allowed Travis to link his pinkie with Margaret’s, eyes still cast out across the glittering water.

Margaret curled her finger around his, the touch of skin against skin burning more bright than the sky above. The words she spoke next were casual as a spur of the moment decision, and heavy enough that she had carried them around for weeks.

“May I kiss you, Mr. Matagot?”

She saw him stiffen, frozen like a rabbit caught, but the smile that burned across his face was not as unaffected as it was likely intended. “And here I was, thinking you’d never ask.”

“Perhaps I was waiting for you to ask.”

Travis turned to face her. “You should really know better, I don’t do things.”

“Well, we’ll see about that.” Margaret glanced down to his lips, placed her hand on his neck, revelled in the growing heat she felt under her palm.

When she leaned in to kiss him Travis leaned towards her as well, caught in the gravity of their touch.

It was the first of many, and one that would never be forgotten.

Travis’s fangs are bared in a hiss as Margaret holds him, but it is drowned out as once more his form cracks and warps with a whine, untangling from her body and fur growing soft underneath her hands. His teeth grow shorter but do not lose any of their sharpness, and Margaret holds a struggling coyote in her arms.

Even as he snaps at her she pulls him close, heedless of the claws digging into her arms and the frantic scrabbling of his limbs.

Travis barks out a horrible rasping laugh and his eyes roll back until they're all whites and still he struggles, snapping against any part of Margaret that he can find to sink his teeth into. She wraps her arms around him tighter, holding his head against her chest and burying her head against his.

“You are my Travis, and I will not let you go.”

The fall had not yet begun to rot when Travis and Margaret found themselves curled together under the trees, skin against skin and Margaret’s cloak keeping them from the forest floor. Margaret’s arm was around Travis’s shoulders where he laid against her chest, thumb brushing against his skin in an absentminded motion.

The sun was close to setting and the shadows were deep when Travis spoke, never breaking his gaze from the slight rustle of the leaves overhead.

“My name is William.”

The words were barely audible on the breath that carried them, hanging in the air for only Margaret to hear. Her hand paused its movement against his shoulder as the weight of the name settled in her mind, solid and priceless and real. When she spoke, her words were careful.

“What would you like for me to call you?”

He pushed his head against her chest, still looking away, voice aiming for a joke and landing on an exposed heart. “Call me yours and I’d be happy.”

“Well, my love, my name is Margaret.” She could almost feel the change of pressure in the air as she gave him her name, tangible in the slanting light.

When the sun set and he was changed, it was in her arms.

Margaret can feel Travis’s pained howl echoing through her ribs, claws retracting from where they dig into her arms as the Forest Queen’s frown deepens and her fracturing hold tightens. His cracking form shrinks once more, and as he tries to fly away with blood-fresh feathers Margaret grabs onto one of his feet, talons scoring her palms.

His wings beat frantic enough that it is painful to watch but still Margaret holds on, pulling him back in to herself even as every inch of him struggles against it. There are tears on her cheeks from the pain of fresh wounds and what has been done to her love and what she must do to him still but still Margaret holds on, struggling to pin his wings down. Travis lets out a raspy keening noise that cuts deeper than any talons but still Margaret holds on, pressing him tight and immobile against herself.

Kneeling on the ground, folded around her love, Margaret whispers words meant only for him.

“You are my William, and I will not let you go.”

The winter set in with teeth. Travis arrived in the clearing long after Margaret, grimace bared and shoulders so tight they refused to shake.

“She’s throwing me away.”

The orange Margaret had been peeling fell from her grasp. “What?”

Travis was pacing the clearing, trapped with nowhere to go, hair loose and limp and hiding his face. “Guess I’ve stopped being interesting enough to play with, turns out that she’s handing me off to the Sovereign.”

“William-” Margaret started, but paused at the flinch he couldn’t contain at the name that had been the Queen’s sole property for too long. She held out a hand to him instead and he pauses in his pacing to take it, fingers tight enough to hurt. His breathing was that of a caged animal and he couldn’t look her in the eye.

Over the year that they had known each other Travis had begun to let down his walls, but whatever had happened had peeled them away with a crowbar, leaving him nothing but raw nerves and a desperation to hide.

Instead, he drew close to Margaret, close enough that she could hold him in her arms and feel the tremors shaking him apart.

“All those years she said I was hers,” Travis said, spitting out the word, bloodsoaked from a decades-long fight. His fingers caught in the fabric of Margaret’s dress, hidden between them where no one could see.

“Dear heart...” Margaret paused, the enormity of what she held in her arms difficult to find the words to encompass.

Travis’s laugh was hollow. “Never thought she was the type for hand-me-downs, but hey. I thought she would always protect me, so who’s the idiot now.”

“She is,” Margaret said, not caring if the forest heard her words. Travis tensed in her arms, but did not loosen his grip. “Anyone who would let you go doesn't deserve to have you.”

“Well, she hasn’t exactly had sole custody in a while,” Travis mumbled. “Ever since you walked into this forest and refused to leave…”

“You could have stopped me, if you’d tried.” It was a well worn conversation.

Travis’s response was new in its vulnerability. “I never wanted to.”

Margaret rested her chin on his shoulder, whispered words only for Travis to hear. “I would have you if you would have me.”

“I-” Travis swallowed, and she could feel the motion. “That’s a big hypothetical for this time of day.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Do I have to answer that?” Travis paused. “Fine. Yes. Of course I trust you.” His voice softened. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Margaret echoed the words against his cheek.

They planned long into the night, knowing that they only had the one chance to steal his freedom.

It would have to be enough.

The desperate fluttering of Travis’s wings slows, swells, and he breaks apart in Margaret’s hands as he grows, reforming as a rabbit that wants nothing more than to escape, legs kicking and breathing fast and long ears pressed back against his head.

He is struggling in her arms and she mumbles gentle words against him, love’s and darling��s and dear heart’s, and still his fragile body scrabbles against hers. Margaret almost feels like she is breaking apart alongside him, splintering into pieces as she holds onto a love that fights against her arms.

It is not her love that attempts to break free, though. The Forest Queen looks down over this final exacting of control, fingernails growing through her palms as the rabbit makes one last desperate attempt to escape, rattling a gasp that sends fear down Margaret’s spine as his claws scratch across her stomach.

Through the pain and the fear and the heartache, Margaret focuses on the man she loves, the man who loves her, and speaks against the fur he is trapped in. “You are my love, and I will not let you go.”

The Forest Queen’s hold, already thinned when she decided to give up her changeling, shatters, and her anger shakes the trees.

Travis is silent as he comes back to himself, cold and shaking in Margaret’s arms. It is awkward to take off her cloak with one hand and wrap it around him, but after all they have been through she has no plans to let go of him.

He hovers a hand above the scratches on her stomach. “They warned you that there was a monster in these woods.”

“Well, I don’t see any.” Margaret presses a kiss against his forehead, his cheek, and Travis turns to catch her lips in a kiss of his own.

The cracking of branches echo around the forest and they pull apart, looking up to the Queen, towering above them on her steed. Margaret stands, pulling Travis up alongside her, and the arm he puts over her shoulders would appear careless if it were not for the shaking of his newly remade legs.

The Forest Queen’s profile is severe, glittering teeth revealed when she speaks in a voice that slivers the air. “You can not take one of mine from my lands.”

“He is no longer yours, you made sure of that. You have no claim on either of us, and so we will now take our leave.” Margaret lifts her chin, Travis warm beside her against the ice of winter. “Don’t worry, we won’t come back.”

The Forest Queen’s grin would rip them to shreds if it could. “I would love to see you try.”

"I'm sure you would." Travis packs as much disdain as he can into those words, the last ones he will ever speak to the faerie who held his life for so long.

Margaret turns to him. "Shall we?"

Travis takes his first free breath in decades, links his arm through hers. "Oh, why not."

Together, they walk out of the woods.

#skyjacks #campaign skyjacks #changelily #travis matagot #margaret skyjacks #ash writes #link in rb

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weakzen · 4 years

Text

No Take Backs

Her offer affords him some fun advantages, Mason supposes.

pairing: female detective/mason rating: m series: part 1 of 7

AO3 version

also submitted for @otomefandomevents wayhaven week 2020 ♥ day 1 – dawn/dusk

Mason leans over the walkway railing and takes a long drag from his third cigarette.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the familiar and all-too-brief sting that burns down his throat and explodes across his lungs. Smoke chokes him with overpowering and comforting acridness, blanketing his face in soft heat when he finally exhales.

But it's still not enough to cover the sickly sweetness of fresh-cut grass blasting through the air to coat his tongue.

Or to shield him from the scorching light melting his clothes into his skin. Or muffle the unrelenting, jumbled blare of air conditioners, lawnmowers, TVs, radios, and every other goddamned electronic object in the vicinity.

A piercing shriek from one of the kids playing nearby stabs into his ear and he flinches slightly.

Or that too.

Mason groans as a headache begins to rumble at his temples. He sucks down another long, deep drag and steadies himself against it the best he can. The fatigue makes it difficult. Annoyingly more difficult. Exhaustion weighs on him, subtle yet heavy, trapping his mind and his every little movement beneath a sense of sluggishness.

Though—at least it's starting to lessen somewhat, now that the sun is finally fucking setting.

He ashes his cigarette over the balcony with a flick of his thumb.

And at least it's not as boiling hot as it was earlier, he supposes. And summer's almost over, too.

Thank fuck.

But it'd be better if that storm would finally roll in to cool everything off.

He squints up at the cloudless and faintly hazy sky. Far above the town, the wind continues to whip in from the west. And every time it shifts to slice closer to the ground, he catches the scent of rain.

Sure is taking its fucking time getting here, though.

With a final drag, Mason pushes off the railing to crush his cigarette into the ashtray she'd placed on the windowsill by her door. The one she insisted he use if he 'absolutely had to smoke here.' The one that she grinned over, then told him he needed to stop being a butthead, right before she snorted herself into a cackle at her own stupid pun while he stared at her and wondered why exactly he found her so attractive.

Shaking his head at the memory, Mason lights another cigarette and resumes his perch.

As he waits, the sun slinks closer to the trees. The kids scream endlessly. His headache builds and his cigarette burns shorter.

Obnoxious cawing bursts from somewhere behind the apartments too, joining the rest of the noise crushing in around him. Probably those birds she's always feeding.

Mason rolls his eyes and huffs out another cloud of smoke.

His eyes scan over to the parking lot, to that gleaming silver shitheap of hers, the low sun highlighting every scratch and painting every pockmarked dent in deep shadow.

Where the hell was she, anyway?

Frowning slightly, he glances back at her building, to the grassy courtyard below, the cracked sidewalk, the concrete stairs leading up to the second story, the chipped white railings that bend along the exterior walkways in front of a wall of red brick and a row of doors and windows. His gaze slows as it passes one window in particular.

That nosy fucker is watching him again through a slit in the blinds. He glares hard and directly into the eyes widening behind the glass.

The gap immediately snaps shut.

Mason chuckles a little as the fucker's heartbeat spikes.

Then his chuckle breaks into a loud laugh when he hears the panicked sound of a body crashing into a table.

He takes another drag on his cigarette, smirking as he shakes his head.

But… his amusement doesn't last. And when it finally fades, it just leaves him with a scowl and even more irritation than he felt before.

Where the fuck was she?

…And why was he even waiting for her?

If she couldn't be bothered to show up on time, then fuck it. Her loss. He isn't sticking around. Mason grabs his jacket from the railing, whips it over his shoulder, and strides toward the stairs.

He makes it halfway down them before the realization slams into him that something might have happened to her.

That could explain why she's late today.

His hand snaps out to catch the railing, jerking his movement to a sudden halt at the bottom of the steps. Annoyance twists uncomfortably in his chest, drawing his brow into a furrow when it briefly claws up into his throat.

And if something did happen to her, then it would be entirely on him.

Adam would never let him hear the end of it, just stern glares and disappointed frowns forever—and Mason doesn't even want to think about what Agent Black would do.

And… he doesn't want anything to happen to her, either.

She is one of them after all.

Annoyance still coiling inside him, Mason exhales deeply and almost flicks his cigarette away into the grass.

Then he groans even more deeply and runs back up the stairs to smash it into the ashtray before he takes off.

–o–

He traces her usual route home back to the station, but only finds the night shift volunteer at their desk and Officer Bobblehead in front of the copy machine, singing to herself while she dances to the rhythm of spewing paper.

Scoffing in disgust, he tries the Square next, staying only long enough to guarantee she isn't there before he immediately veers away from the nauseating confection, greasy food, and overwhelming wave of people. He lands at her boxing club after, where there's nothing but stale sweat, grunts, and the echoing cracks of fists hitting bags.

And when he sends her a text to ask where the hell she is, he receives no response.

Mason frowns heavily, annoyance clawing at his throat again as he runs his hand through his hair.

Then he pushes out of town, into the woods, up to the trail that she likes to run by the lake.

Branches whip by him in a blur of green. His feet trample ferns and bounce off moss-covered logs. The rich aroma of damp earth and organic decay invades his lungs as he opens his senses fully to the rustle of every leaf, animal, and insect. The forest howls with life, tearing into him with such a vicious, primal resonance that his body trembles beneath the sheer force of it.

But he pushes on. He cuts through the roar with focus sharpened for one thing only.

Until he finally catches it at the very edge of his hearing, soft and quiet beneath the screaming.

A familiar heartbeat that makes his own jolt in recognition.

Immediately, he turns and streaks toward it. It's calmer than its usual tense tempo, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything good.

He spurs on faster.

Blazing through gaps in the timber and sunken banks of mist.

Over tangled deadfall, slick boulders, and the wide creek he clears easily in a single bound.

Light begins to flicker between the trees. And Mason bursts through the edge of the forest, his momentum carrying him forward—but something even stronger slamming him back, forcing him to skid to a halt, one hand scraping a long trail through the dirt behind him.

Sunset bathes the lake in brilliant red as thousands of sparkles glitter across the water. A felled tree rests on the shore, its trunk worn smooth by time. And in the middle of it, she sits with her back to him, her arms spread out to her sides while her hair ignites like a flame in the light.

Something catches in his throat then.

Smoke, maybe. From that fire up north.

He clears it away and pushes himself up, wiping his hand on his pants. Then he folds his arms, a slow smile spreading across his face.

If there's one good thing about summer at-fucking-all, it's the sleeveless shirts and cropped tops.

His eyes draw over the muscled slope of her bare shoulders and arms, down the curve of her side, briefly dipping into the band of exposed skin above her jeans before sliding back out and around the swell of her ass, only to repeat the journey up the other side. Her hat ruins the effect somewhat, a big black circle silhouetted atop her head that blocks part of his view.

But, all in all…

Mason bites his lip. The image is almost enough to make him forget about how goddamn annoyed she's made him.

Almost.

He kicks a branch out of his way and strides towards her.

“Finally,” he barks out as he nears. “Could've let me know you were gonna be late tonight. Or texted me back.”

She gives him a lazy glance from over her shoulder, followed by an even lazier smile. Oversized sunglasses conceal her eyes.

“Turned my phone off,” she replies, then shrugs slightly. “And I didn't realize we were meeting, sunshine.”

Mason scoffs and stalks across the shifting jumble of rocks and splintered wood that pass for a beach. He tosses his jacket down and plops onto the log beside her, facing the other direction.

“Yeah, not like I don't come over every night to tuck you in when it's my turn to babysit,” he says, glaring at her from over his shoulder. “Some of us have a schedule to keep, sweetheart. Try to be a little more considerate.”

She only laughs, her head falling back with the motion while her tits bounce enticingly. Mason presses his lips together as he watches, his irritation crumbling away.

Just a bit.

“Oh, of course. I'm so sorry,” she says a moment later, her voice even huskier than normal with amusement. She rolls her head to the side to glance at him again, her smile broadening as she tugs her sunglasses down slightly, just enough to meet his eye. “I completely forgot all that smoking and brooding aren't gonna take care of themselves. Next time, I'll be sure to send a text.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs again, turning away as his own smile pulls at the corner of his lips. “Apology accepted.”

She chuckles and bumps her shoulder into his.

As she pulls away, he follows, spreading his arms out behind himself too, until their shoulders press faintly together and his hand nearly touches her thigh. Heat rolls off her body—and excitement too, a skittering little thrill that prickles electrically across his skin to bury itself in his stomach. She gives no outward indication of it though, other than the smallest hitch in her breath and the gentle sigh that escapes her lips.

Mason smirks slowly, temptation urging him to lean even closer and draw his finger up her leg to put a deeper crack in that facade, but…

He finds himself more content to just leave her undisturbed, to let her keep relaxing into the moment.

…And to enjoy it himself.

Cool moisture drifts off the water behind him, but it flows over his back pleasantly, softened by the sunlight and her warmth. A lazy breeze presses through the air, brushing against his cheeks and ruffling his hair. He briefly catches the tang of rain on it again, before it disappears beneath her scent and the pines and the distant smoke of wildfires.

The forest rustles around them, and his gaze passes over it appreciatively before ambling up the mountains that cradle the lake. The craggy, purple behemoths tower into the sky above, their snow-capped peaks bathed molten orange in the sunset.

He closes his eyes to a vision of their afterimage.

Waves lap against the shore. Birdsong slows in the trees. Her heart beats in a steady, soothing rhythm with her breath.

And that's all he hears.

Even at the very edge of his senses, he can't detect any other people.

He sags slightly as tension he hadn't even realized he was carrying uncoils from around him.

For a long moment, there's just… peace.

And the world isn't scraping him raw.

–o–

He doesn't open his eyes again until some time later.

When she shivers against him and the pink glow of twilight surrounds them both, the first smattering of stars visible overhead.

Mason leans over to let his breath tickle hot along her neck. “Need me to warm you up?” he asks, teasing his lips against her ear.

Another shiver ripples across her body, and she turns to smirk at him.

“Eventually.”

She looks at him for a moment longer, her smirk softening into a quiet little smile, but he can't see anything more of it behind the sunglasses.

“Should probably get home before it gets too dark,” she adds, pushing up from the log.

He grunts in reluctant agreement.

As she stands, she raises her arms above her head to stretch, her joints cracking from the effort. His eyes follow her movement, roaming appreciatively once more along the lean lines of her body, slowly tracing around her familiar curves as he bites his lip. She picks up her ratty denim jacket from where she was sitting on it, shakes it out a few times, and slips it on.

Mason almost groans.

Then she slings her backpack over her shoulder and glances down at him. With a sigh, he pushes himself up to put on his own jacket and join her.

They walk alongside each other in silence, rocks crunching beneath their feet as they follow the dusty, packed trail that hugs the curve of the lake. Frogs croak from the water, joined by the chirp of crickets and the sharp chittering of bats overhead. A sliver of moon hangs in the darkening sky with them, while the air rapidly begins to cool below.

She pulls her jacket tighter and folds her arms.

Without looking, he lazily throws his arm over her shoulder and tugs her closer. A moment later, her arm circles around his waist, her hand slipping beneath his jacket to curl hot against his side.

His lips quirk in a faint smile as she shifts into him, her body heat bleeding through his clothes and into his skin. Her touch always pleases him, of course, but right now he's more grateful for the shared warmth.

Already, the cold slices him deeper. Sounds grow louder. His vision stretches further, into even sharper detail, while his limbs glide with powerful fluidity. And within it all, he feels far more alert and awake than he has all day, his body thrumming as nightfall gradually returns his strength and draws his senses to a heightened pitch.

…Which only makes it even worse when they finally reach the fork in the trail that breaks away towards the trees.

The little wooded path that cuts back into town.

A frown catches on Mason's lips. At least her apartment isn't far from there.

They turn to take it, eventually emerging onto an empty, dead end street.

The springy dirt of the forest floor blends into a blanket of windblown pine needles before yielding to crumbling asphalt that makes their footsteps snap echoes against the buildings. Electricity crackles in the power lines above, surging down to spool in the streetlights with a shrill whine, readying them to spill their ugly orange light everywhere. In the distance, dogs bark, children shriek, sprinklers sputter and hiss, and the din of heartbeats pound against each other, rising in volume, tangling around the tinny blare of electronics, fragmented conversations, grating laughter, shouting, arguments, screeching music and more abrasive noise than he can clearly identify until it all becomes a jagged and overwhelming roar that tears into him painfully.

Mason inhales and tenses against it reflexively, his jaw tightening—

But then Alex shifts closer into him, stroking his side with her hand briefly before giving him a soft squeeze, and all of it just… fades away.

Disappears beneath her touch and her quiet presence and her calming heartbeat.

His brow furrows deeply as something swells in his chest. Something strange and light and somewhat uncomfortable, if only because of its sudden appearance and unfamiliarity, but... it's not entirely unpleasant.

It's not unpleasant at all.

Frowning, Mason drags his hand back through his hair and exhales a quiet sigh.

The weird sensation lingers for a while, floating gently inside him as he uneasily enjoys it—until she suddenly turns sharply, and he nearly stumbles to keep in step with her. Annoyance jolts through him, a reprimand snapping hot and immediate to his tongue, but… then he realizes they've only arrived at her building.

And all she's done is lead them up the walkway toward it.

He frowns, his irritation fading as he blows out a breath.

Then his frown pulls even harder as she disentangles from him.

She shifts her backpack around to unzip the front pouch. And as she does, a black shape swoops down from the trees to land on the wire that stretches between the apartment and the utility poles.

The crow caws down at her.

She chuckles and holds her hands up, fingers extended and empty. “Don't have anything for you right now, bud.”

It caws obnoxiously a few more times, seeming to understand. Then it flies away with a piercing screech and an annoyed flap of wings.

Chuckling again, she shakes her head and pulls out her key ring. “Yeah, you're welcome, you little bastard.”

“Why the hell do you feed those things anyway?” he asks, glancing at her from the corner of his eye as they continue up the sidewalk.

She shrugs. “Because they're smart and a little ridiculous? I dunno, they're fun to watch. I like them,” she says, then purses her lips. “Except for when they're cawing right outside my bedroom window at five in the morning, but… well, even that's a little funny too.”

His lip curls. “Ugh, if you say so.”

They head up the stairs to her door. She stops outside of it for a moment, then turns around to face him.

“You know… I do have something for you, though.”

Mason immediately smirks.

“Yeah? I have something for you too, sweetheart.” He slides his hands over her hips, thumbs brushing over her bare skin, before he hooks his fingers into her belt loops and tugs her closer. “You want it in there—” he asks, his voice rumbling low as he skims his lips along the length of her neck to press a few quick kisses to her mouth “—or out here?”

Her heart beats faster as her lips move to keep kissing him, but then she just smiles against his mouth and breathes out a quiet little chuckle. “Probably in there,” she says, resting her hand on his arm, “but… let's take care of my thing first.”

He shrugs and gives her a parting kiss before he leans away, letting his fingers flick free of her belt loops. “If that's what you want.”

She glances at him for a moment longer, then inhales deeply and shifts her bag around to unzip the front pouch again. Her hand slips inside and returns with an unexpected object that she holds up between two fingers.

He raises an eyebrow.

“A key?”

“Yep.”

“To what?”

“My apartment.”

Mason tenses slightly, shifting his weight.

“Why the hell would I want that?”

“So you can let yourself in.”

He scoffs and glances away, running his hand back through his hair. “I don't need a key to do that, sweetheart.”

“Probably not,” she agrees, and he can hear the faint grin in her tone, “but it would help me out if you did. You're scaring the shit out of the neighbors with all of your skulking and your scowling and your glaring and your general… you-ness.”

A laugh bursts from him and he glances back to her. “I don't see how that's a problem.”

“Well, maybe not for you, but some of us still have to live here.” She huffs a stray hair out of her face and leans against the door, resting her foot against it too as she lets her bag slide to the ground. Then she folds her arms. “You know, I still can't believe no one has complained to the landlady about all of the smoking… and the noise.”

He smirks and chuckles again. “Sounds like I should keep scaring them so they don't.”

She cocks her head and fixes him with a look that not even her sunglasses can hide. His smirk widens.

“I like this building. I don't want to move. And I'm tired of you banging on the door every time it's locked until I come and answer.”

Mason angles himself towards her, licking his lips as he brings his arm up to rest on the door above her head. “Yet you still let me in every, single, time,” he drawls, his voice low and teasing as he grins at her.

She stares up at him. “Do it again and I won't.”

The telltale combination of reactions ping loudly and immediately against him—the nearly imperceptible crack in her voice, the subtle shift of tension in her stance, the faint and brief spike of her pulse.

He leans down toward her, his grin sharpening. She inhales slightly as he approaches, but holds her ground and his gaze. Pressing his face in close, he teases his lips up her neck again, to her ear, her head tilting to the side to allow it.

“You should know better than to lie to me of all people, sweetheart,” he whispers against her, his words brushing hot across her skin.

She inhales again, more sharply this time, as a shiver ripples down her body. Heat prickles across her face quickly after, and he lingers for a moment to savor it before pulling away to enjoy the view of her flushed cheeks.

“Yeah, well…” she begins, then huffs in that usual way she does whenever she rolls her eyes. “If I didn't answer, then you'd probably just creep around behind the building and start pounding on my bedroom window instead.”

“Probably,” he agrees. “That does sound like more fun, now that you mention it. Less of a walk for both of us, too.”

She groans a loud noise of exasperation, but the smile playing at the corner of her mouth undercuts it slightly.

Then, with a shake of her head, she pushes away from the door and holds the key up to him by the tip.

“Well—do you want it or not, sunshine?”

They stare at each other for a moment. But even with his vision, the only thing Mason can see clearly on her face is the faint movement of her eyelashes brushing against the twin reflections of him and the hand she's extending towards him.

He glances down at the key, and back up to her face.

“I don't need it.”

Her breathing stills for a moment and her lips press together slightly. Something rolls quietly through her chest to bump something uncomfortable into his.

But she inhales deeply and it's gone.

Then she simply shrugs.

“Okay,” she says, her voice unusually flat. And she slips the key into the front pocket of her jeans.

Alex turns away from him—

But his hands snap out to spin her back toward him.

Then they're pushing her hat from her head and her sunglasses up into her hair and curling around the back of her neck and her waist as he leans in to kiss her hard.

His mouth muffles the sound of her surprise, but not the way it reverberates against his skin—and not the heated rush of arousal that quickly follows as she kisses him back.

A moment later, her arms loop around his neck and he yanks her tighter against himself in response. He deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue into her mouth while his fingers tangle into the soft hair at the nape of her neck. Her arms circle him tighter, squeezing, as she presses into him fully, standing up on the tips of her toes to reach him better, and he slides his palm across her lower back and down to her ass, where he squeezes too, lifting her slightly in encouragement.

She moans into his mouth—and he can't help but do the same in return as her desire crashes into his electrically and bursts pleasure across his body.

Fuck, he wants her.

Mason pushes her against the door, her tits crushing to his chest, his cock grinding into her hips, and he presses his thigh between hers, dragging it upward to the sound of her gasping moan. He captures her lips again immediately, unrelenting, and kisses her deeply while he glides his hand over her bare stomach, across the hot and silky expanse of her skin, before he teases his fingers down the front of her pants.

He slides them in past her jeans, past the band of her underwear, until his fingertips and knuckles brush into soft, warm hair and press on a little further still. She sucks in a breath, her stomach rolling exquisitely beneath his touch as her hips rock forward to match it, grinding pleasure from his leg. He smiles against her mouth briefly before kissing her again, rolling his hips in time with her movement while his thumb dances circles around the button on her jeans. He lets her anticipation spiral with it, winding it tighter inside of her until she's ready to spring.

And when she is, he clutches the front of her jeans and pulls them up into her instead.

She arches against him, a moan tearing from her lips, her pleasure crackling white-hot between them and surging straight into his cock.

He inhales deeply in excitement, breathing hard against her lips, anticipation making his own limbs tremble faintly—but despite it, despite the alluring scent of her arousal on his tongue and how much he wants to stay, how much he fucking wants to push his fingers down even further and slide them back up inside of her, he forces them out of her pants instead, to leave her even more wanting. He teases them away across her waistband as she shakes with breathy, groaning laughter against him.

And then he clenches them hard around her hip when she catches his lip between her teeth and nips down

Pain and pleasure singe fire across his body, burning free a guttural snarl that rips past his own teeth. He smirks sharply against her.

Then goes for the throat.

To that spot of hers they both enjoy so much.

As he moves his mouth mercilessly against her, as she moans and shudders beneath his teeth, as they grind together, her pleasure arcing into him on waves that amplify his own throbbing need, his fingers play against her stomach, teasing along her waistband once more.

Then he carefully slides two of them into her pocket.

And pulls out the key.

Mason doesn't understand why.

But he knows immediately what to do next.

He glides his hand down from her hair, his palm pressed flat and wide, fingers trailing over the bumps of her spine, past her thrumming heartbeat, dipping in to the curve of her back before finally settling on her ass. Once there, he grabs her again, groaning as he squeezes a firm handful of her, partially for pleasure, but mostly to shift her weight as he urges her hips forward. Chills ripple across her body as he continues kissing her neck, grazing her with his teeth, dragging his tongue across her pounding pulse and the intoxicating taste of her skin, until her nipples harden and dig into his chest wonderfully, and her fingers claw into his shoulders, and her thighs clench around his, and she moans so deeply into his ear that he knows she's focusing on nothing but him and the pleasure he's giving her in the moment.

Then—in one quick motion—he slips the key into the lock, turns it, and throws the door open.

A gasp tears from her lips as she falls backwards.

Her pulse spikes, surprise flashing with it as her hands scramble at his shoulders to keep hold. Her foot kicks up off the ground as she plummets, her body almost parallel to the floor before he snaps forward in a flash and whips his arms around her to catch her.

She stares up into his eyes as she jerks to a halt, gaze wide, cheeks flushed, arms clinging to him desperation while she breathes heavily and her heartbeat thunders against his chest.

He just smiles.

And holds her there for a long, enjoyable moment, taking in the stunning view of her knocked off balance in more than one way.

Then he pulls her back upright and against him.

She takes a deep, steadying breath, her hands sliding downward from around his neck to rest on his chest—right before her eyes suddenly snap to the door. He chuckles slightly, and reaches around her to tug the key from the lock, her gaze following his movement closely as he holds it up in front of her between two fingers.

“I guess it could come in handy for some things,” he says, smirking.

She raises an eyebrow and huffs a loose hair out of her face. “Guess so.”

Mason slips the key into the front pocket of his jeans.

Her eyebrow shoots up even further.

Still smirking, he bends to grab her things from the ground, then flings that hat of hers over the top of her head into the living room like a frisbee. She watches it fly by and immediately gives him a look that only makes him chuckle in response.

When he swings her backpack behind himself like he's about to do the same, she sighs deeply.

Then she grabs him by the front of his pants and yanks him inside.

Mason slams the door shut behind them, grinning widely as he tosses her bag away with a heavy thunk and presses himself against her again. Her jacket quickly follows the bag, and he groans appreciatively as he runs his hands over the soft and bare skin of her arms and sides. He grabs her waist, squeezing her slightly as he leans down to start kissing her again—but she only lets their lips brush together before she weaves her head away to fix him with another look, raising a pointed finger between them.

“One rule,” she says, pushing her fingertip firmly up against the bottom of his chin. “You better not smoke in here.”

He smirks and pulls her finger away.

“Can't make any promises, sweetheart.”

Her eyes narrow with dangerous intent—but a gleam of playfulness flickers in them too.

“Then give it back, asshole.”

“Make me,” he replies, his smirk slowly widening. “If you think you can.”

They stare at each other for a moment, amusement twitching at the corner of her mouth as tension builds between them.

“But I have some doubts about your capability,” he adds.

Her heartbeat spikes as her eyes flash wonderfully.

Then her hand whips toward his pocket, but he catches it and spins her around instead. He pins her wrists together against her stomach with one hand as he hooks his chin over her shoulder and holds her body tightly against his.

“Nope,” he growls into her ear, bending them both forward so he can grind his cock against her ass. “It's mine now.”

A frustrated noise rumbles low from her chest, vibrating into his. He chuckles deeply and starts kissing down her neck.

“Fuck you, sunshine,” she says, hissing her words through a laugh as she tilts her head to encourage him. “Give it back.”

“No,” he replies, smiling briefly against her before continuing his kisses. As he does, he roams his free hand down the front of her body, stopping along the way to grope her tits before moving onward to pry her fingers from around her keys. He tosses them away with a jangling clink. “And don't worry—” he murmurs, his voice dipping into a low and rich tone as he slides his hand down to cup the heat between her legs “—you'll be fucking me soon enough.”

Mason rolls his palm against her firmly, excitement swelling between them both as she sucks in a breath through her teeth.

“I promise,” he adds, then nips down sharply on her neck.

She yelps out a surprised moan and arches into him, her thrill of pleasure crackling hot across his skin to buzz euphorically inside of him. He inhales deeply and groans, her scent filling him too, as anticipation and sheer, overwhelming want for her jolt straight into his cock.

He quickly scrambles his hand downward to tear at the laces tying their boots. Another one of her rules. Shoes off by the door.

The last fucking things keeping them here.

As he rips the knots free, as he reaches to peel his boots off and kick them away, she laughs quietly against him, shaking his body with her own while she squirms beneath him in less of less of a struggle and more of a sly, calculated grind. Her movement stokes pleasure as much as it puts him on guard—but not nearly as much as it pulls a broad smile across his face.

For a brief moment, that strange sensation returns, spreading softly across his chest.

And distracting him just enough for her to twist free from his grasp.

She bolts upright and her hand races toward his pocket again—but he recovers faster, swerving his hips so she lands somewhere much better. In a flash, he grabs her by the ass and crushes her against him, trapping her hand between them both directly on top of his cock.

Mason smirks deeply.

“Find what you're looking for?”

Cheeks flushed, she flashes him an answering smirk before giving him a good, long, and very generous squeeze.

“Maybe.”

He can't help the groan that rumbles low in his throat, or the way his eyes shutter closed and his hips roll forward into the heat of her touch.

He also can't wait until his jeans are finally fucking gone and there's no goddamn awful barrier between them.

She takes in his reaction through half-lidded eyes, a smile growing slowly on her lips. “I'll get it back eventually, you know.”

“I wouldn't count on it, sweetheart.”

And with enough said, he curls his hands under her ass and picks her up.

Her arms and legs wrap around him immediately, her lips finding his just as quickly too. She barely manages to pull her boots off with her feet, kicking them away to clatter down the hallway before they're both at the bed and he's leaning over to drop her onto the edge of the mattress. He takes only the time to rip free of his jacket before he presses himself against her again, kissing her deeply as her arms and legs lock around him once more. He remains halfway on the floor as their mouths move together, her tongue gliding hot against his, and his hands sliding across every part of her body he can reach, completely unwilling to move or break away from her at all, even as she fumbles at the hem of his shirt and tries to pull it off him.

Eventually, she succeeds.

And eventually, he moves away from her lips to kiss down her neck, down her chest, her stomach, groping his way along the entire time, until he guides his fingers to finally unfasten the button on her jeans. When he tugs her zipper down after, an idle question rolls across his mind.

One that asks if he can keep her waiting on the edge for as long as he waited outside her door earlier.

Mason smirks into her skin—and yanks her pants and underwear down in one smooth motion.

Then he skims his mouth up her inner thigh, determined to find out.

–o–

Mason returns to the Warehouse around dawn the next morning, his patrol complete.

Shoulders hunched, he swipes his key card at the hidden door before he jams his hand back into his jeans and stalks inside. His other hand remains curled in his pocket, absently fiddling with the key nestled in his palm, spinning it slowly as his fingertips trace idle laps along the bumpy ridges and smooth metal warmed by his touch.

As he passes by the living room on his way to bed, he makes the mistake of glancing inside.

Felix catches his eye and immediately flips backwards off the sofa from his upside down perch. In a flash, he appears in the doorway, swaying off the frame under his own halted momentum.

“What exactly are you so pleased about?” he asks, grinning.

Mason pauses by the door, then shoots him a smirk.

“It was my turn to babysit. What do you think?”

Felix's eyes narrow as a wide and sly smile unfurls across his face. “I think there's more to it than just that.”

Mason rolls his eyes. “Think whatever you want.”

“Oh, I absolutely will,” he replies, his amber eyes gleaming.

Shaking his head, Mason continues down the hallway toward his room while Felix's gaze drills a hole in his back.

“Night,” he calls over his shoulder without looking, raising a hand to wave.

But not the one holding the key.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #wayhaven week 2020 #twc mason #twc m #mason #the detective #felix hauville #twc f #zfic #alex/mason #alexandra black

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bigscaryyanderewriter · 4 years

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Idea there is a horrid beast that terrorized the villiage, Every night killing the live stock, demolishing buildings, killing villagers. But luckily they found a way to stop the beast. Every few generations there is a ritual held to sastify the beast and leave the villiage alone. The ritual is the offering of someone who fits the description of the beast's old love, for the beast to take away to his den. 1/2

The beast (bakugo) was cursed to roam the lands forever and have his love ripped away from him. His love's soul is reincarnated every few years to live life again, growing up, looking the same when they first met bakugo but no longer holding the memories of their past life. I can only imagine the utter confusion of being locked away with someone who claims to know who you are and yet you have no recolection of who the heck the person infront of you is 2/2

So um, I took creative liberties, but omg... I really liked writing this.

Tw: Implied Sexual Assault, Yandere Themes, Captivity, Restraints

1.5k words

You were the beast’s. Marked untouchable from such a young age, that you couldn’t really remember anything else. Your family ripped from you. It was tradition for your bloodline at this point, but you didn't know that. Once you started showing the true signs of what you were to be to the village, they forced the mantle of being the next sacrifice onto you. It started when you were very young. Daily lessons on how to act and drilling. They taught you what your place would be from the day you first bled.

That's why you were going to run away.

Originally? You accepted it. You knew no other way for yourself. Only the future as the wife of a beast who wanted the you from the past. A dead woman who was dust at this point, taken back into the earth.

It didn't change suddenly, but something in you questioned it. Questioned why you had to do this when everyone else made their own choices. They got to marry or court whoever they wanted. Bringing this up resulted in a talk about duty and the future of the village. Why should you care for the future if you may not live to see it? No one truly knew why the beast wanted girls like you. It could be companionship, a snack, or just to have fear control the village.

Though, it was also the things people didn't think you hear when it came to what they actually thought on your situation. About how they pitied you and how you were unfortunate. No, you weren't going to sit idly by and just be someone they told you to be. The beast could get over himself. Nothing could convince you to go with him. You had even forgotten your true family due to being separated at a young age. You were deprived of a childhood by the priests of your village. Everything had to be for the sake of the village and it sickened you. It wasn't your place, no matter how much they tried to train you.

It all clicked, the unfairness of it. The fact you wanted out. You wanted to run farther from here, to the other side of the earth. Anyway to escape this fate.

So you came up with a plan.

You crept through the dark night and into the forest to see the woman who would save you. The Gorgon. An old crone who took in girls who seeked to escape arranged marriages and abusives husbands. Even saving girls slavery and prostituting. Medusa was her name. Your mission was to find her. You heard whispers from servants at the temple of this to women who had blackened eyes and cuts from glass that their husbands caused. No one would protect anyone here, but you could leave.

No one would know who you were there. You would be free. Free to be happy for once.

You didn't know where the crone lived, but you knew the way to go. The trails to follow. You packed for a three day journey and took the golden coins from the offering to the gods to pay for your safe haven. Hopefully the gods would smite you if this didn't work out and you would be in no shape to marry the beast.

The snow fell, it was the week before you were to be sent to damnation. Darkness hugged the earth like a thick blanket, but warmed nothing. The cold cut through your layers like a knife and chilled you till your fingers shook as you avoided the eyes of others. The hood of the cloak you had stolen was up, hiding your face as the frost crunched beneath your feet.

The forest you could see was taller than anything you had ever known. It would be dense and full of danger. The danger kept the men and others who would seek to harm the sacred home of Medusa away… Wolves and cougars, things that could haunt your nights for years lurked there. With the right intent though, you could survive the journey. Just follow north and look for the creek with five heads of marble. You would be fine.

Before you could step through into the forest. You heard the alarm bells sound, torches were lit and chaos broke the village behind you as you proceeded to run.

They knew you were gone and the howling dogs called you back to your cage as you heart thumped in your ear like a war drum. It was the cold wind slapping your face and the fabric flying behind you as you sprint. You would never outrun the dogs. You needed to though.

This was so you could live!

The weight hit your back though and the wind escaped you. Everything turning frozen as time seemed to stop. You couldn't move. The freezing paws chilled you through the cloak as you laid in the snow. The dogs whining and yelping, barking as the swarmed you. You could feel the tears rolling down your cheeks as you looked at the dogs who were too kind to even bite you, pulling on your cloak. Snarling when you would try to get up though.

The horse hooves as the townguard brought you back, hands tied and lifted onto the horse. Being led back as you sobbed, finding yourself filled to the brim with nothing but despair. A warm bath waiting for you and a proper scolding like you are a petulant child.

"Don't you know what you could have done? You could have doomed us all. If it wasn't so close to the festival…"

The high priestess hissed, giving you a scowl. If she were given the chance to be a sacrifice, you know that she would in a heartbeat. She seemed to want to marry the beast far more than you ever would. Not that she could, she never showed any care though about that fact though. Or the fact she could be ripped limb from limb by it. You knew the horror stories of the blood running through the streets and the livestock being ruined… The town left ablaze and many other things that happened.

After more yelling, you were sent back to your room. A small bed with a comfortable mattress and a warm blanket you've had forever. The dress from the ceremony was hung on the wall, prepared for the festival. Prepared to be worn by you. It was white with red accents, a hair piece ready to adorn you and everything was set for it to happen.

The week of the ceremony was filled with ritual fasting, feasting and everything between. There were ribbons binding you to your seat. Food you hated, food that was her favorite, colors that were HER favorite, flowers that she had loved. You hated every single thing present. Gifts and offerings laid before you as you sat on the altar. An offering yourself. Not a person, but an object for the beast to take. They fed you and you could feel yourself getting fatter with the rich delights that left you vomiting after they took you back to your chamber. You would be locked in there now. The priests knew you wanted out and they would not lose the power they had over you, claws in too deeply for you to struggle against their wishes. It was hell. This was hell.

The night before the last day of the festival, they gave you wine and made you drink until you could barely stay awake. The high priestess whispering in your ear, only you could not understand. You could feel as her cold, porcelain colored hand ran up your thigh, other followers watching with fascination and laughter. The games that they made you play. How they trained you.

You heard the growl. The screams. The High Priestess gasping as she stood, going to bow, but finding a red mouth opened on her neck. Crimson rolling down. Jewels of a ruby necklace covering her neck as she fell. You saw fangs and claws like steel flashed through the crowd. The torches fell from the motion and a bloodbath took place as you fell into darkness, still tied to the altar. Fear still possessing you through the haze of your inebriation. You swore you saw the red eyes of the beast staring at you. A demon's gaze.

It made you feel the hollowness within yourself.

The heat and the sweat feeling like you were being crushed.

Katsuki wasn't going to let anyone touch his soulmate. He would have never let you stay here this long if he had known.

"Don't worry… You're safe now and I'll never let them hurt you again." He murmured into your ear, a voice hoarse and deep that made a shiver run through your core. His breath was soothing as he lifted you, warmth radiating from his body. Calluses on his hands scraping against your soft skin as he held you to his chest, bridal style. Horns twisted through his hair and fur.

#yandere bnha #yandere my hero academia #yandere x reader #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere mha #yandere bakugou x reader #yandere bakugou #bakugou x reader #reader insert #x reader #beast x reader #beast bakugo

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