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forestwater87 · 3 years

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Hey! It's the one who wanted fanfiction writing advice and how to sorta join the fandom. So, I am currently writing a werewolf! au for Gwenvid, and I was wondering if I could ask you something (well, multiple somethings lol)? One, what are things you would like to see in a Gwenvid fic? Two, do you have any advice for writing a good first chapter? Mine is kind of short and not too good, but yours are super good. Three, how would Gwen react to becoming a werewolf? Scared or excited? Thanks!

Oooh, fun! I don’t know if I’m the best authority on this, but I think I have a couple followers who might also have some good insights. Let’s see . . .

Things I personally go feral for in Gwenvid fics:

That UST. Pining, longing, yearning -- whatever you wanna call it, all those little glances at each other then looking away when they get caught staring, getting distracted by a brush of skin against theirs or the other one looking amazing just out of nowhere, standing too close without realizing it and then awkwardly coughing and backing away . . . all of it. These two goobers in love with each other and completely oblivious is just . . . idk, it’s obviously personal preference, but that will-they-won’t-they dance is one of my favorite things about pre-established-relationship Gwenvid, and something I never get tired of. (Also, just saying: werewolf transformations have the distinct side effect of the werewolf waking up partially or completely naked in the forest. It’s a scenario ripe for awkward and/or hilarious situations.)

If they’re in an established relationship already, it’s all about those little domestic things. I mean, there can be domestic things even before they’re dating, because they live together for like 3-4 months out of the year so they have a routine going, but things like one of them keeping the light on for the other without thinking, making coffee/tea and leaving everything laid out just the way the other one likes it, communicating (or even arguing) with just a look, all the casual lil touches of two people so comfortable with each other that it’s automatic at this point. It’s an essential part of fluff that I sometimes feel is overlooked in favor of more dramatic hurt/comfort (which is also excellent, to be clear).

BANTER! It’s not so much a canon thing as a fanon one, but the artist formerly known as Ciphernetics basically established flirty teasing and back-and-forth as a staple of Gwenvid’s charm in their earth-shatteringly beautiful fanfiction (that I can’t link because tumblr softblocks posts with links, but if you look at my blog for like 10 seconds you’ll be able to figure out what I’m talking about), and I think everyone’s writing, including my own, needs more banter. They’re so different, after all; why not have them butt heads in a fun way?

Please please please don’t do NSFW if you’re uncomfortable with it, but there is nowhere near enough of it in Gwenvid-land. Just because we’re wholesome doesn’t mean we can’t also be kinky! (Oh man, I just realized I have no idea how old you are. Uhhhh if you’re not an adult just skip this one on by! Or if you are an adult and this ain’t it. It’s like it wasn’t ever here! Poof! I should probably just delete this, but maybe it’ll awaken a spark of inspiration in someone. Lord knows I haven’t been driving the smut train for a while, so I’m just hoping someone else will do my job for me. Plus Gwen would want me to include this suggestion, especially if there are werewolves involved.)

You know, there’s not a lot of action-hero Gwenvid out there, is there? Most of it’s relationship melodrama and domestic fluff, which I love -- obviously, I write it literally all the time -- but with a werewolf AU you have the opportunity for gratuitous violence, and both David and Gwen have proven they can kick a whole lot of ass and deal out (or take) a lot of pain. If you need two people fighting monsters -- or fighting as monsters -- you could do a lot worse than those two. It’d be a fun change of pace that’d work well with their character dynamic.

Writing a first chapter:

I don’t have a ton of advice here that isn’t pretty common, but the biggest thing is to start in the middle of action. This can range in terms of drama: a camp activity going horribly wrong, a nightmare, maybe even David discovering Gwen’s a werewolf. Your story doesn’t have to go in chronological order, after all, so if you have to backtrack in later scenes or chapters that’s not a bad thing in the slightest!

It’s much better to start with a really exciting, gripping situation and then backfill in the information that matters than starting off with all that boring worldbuilding and exposition. Don’t get me wrong, that worldbuilding and exposition are necessary, but they’re also like . . . I dunno, salt. It’s essential to the recipe, but no one would say it’s their favorite part of a meal, and having to eat a whole pile of it before they get to the good stuff wouldn’t be enjoyable at all. It’s better sprinkled throughout to add flavor to your story as needed.

I like that metaphor! It’s kinda cliche, but I think it still gets the job done.

So yeah, start with something exciting and know it’s okay for your readers to go, “wait, what the fuck’s going on?” That’s kind of a great thing, actually; it establishes mystery and introduces higher stakes, and just gets your readers going. It’s also more fun to write, which is good! (For example, I just read a really great book call The Chill, which opened with a woman tying a bag over her head, weighting herself down with chains, and throwing herself into a river to “join the work.” Who is this person? What work? Did she know she was going to die -- it definitely doesn’t feel like a suicide, but what else did she think was going to happen?? I’m instantly on board, even if the next few scenes were focused on establishing exposition and actually kinda boring. It’s all about that hook.)

To be fair: I don’t do this all that often in my own fics. For every “starting the story with a botched assassination attempt,” we have “starting the story with waking up.” It’s important to have a first chapter that matches and sets the tone of your story; if it’s going to be a rip-roaring action/horror adventure, you’re going to want to start things off with all that stuff I mentioned before. If you’re writing cute fluff, there’s nothing wrong with your in media res chapter opening being an adorable fluffy scene. Compelling doesn’t have to mean scary or action-packed, but more serve as a teaser for what the rest of the story is going to bring. I’ve been leaning on action or thriller stuff because a werewolf AU implies some level of creature-feature monster spookiness, but any tone works as the start of a fic, as long as it’s not “here’s a laundry list of the universe’s rules,” because that’s boring and you can weave that into the rest of your story later.

As for your other comment, short isn’t bad at all; in fact, if you want to make your first chapter a really short, compelling scene, that can be a great way to draw people in. But I also am a proponent of writing until it’s done, and couldn’t stick to a page or word count to save my life. My chapters are all over the place, and sometimes I’ll randomly chop them up if I feel like it’s going too long but usually I don’t bother. The more you write, the more you develop a feel for when the story, chapter, or scene needs to end, but as you’re starting out you might wanna snag a beta to help you find that stopping place.

Wow, this is long! Awkward! Sorry about that! I’ll make this last one short:

Gwen the werewolf:

I can’t imagine any universe in which she isn’t psyched as hell. I think she desperately wants to be more special and important than she is, and having a sexy monster superpower would only be a good thing to her, regardless of whatever its drawbacks may be. She might get tired of certain aspects of being a werewolf as the honeymoon phase wears off, but in the beginning I think she’d be excited and maybe even relieved.

Anyway, I hope that helps! It’s a lot of rambling, but I imagine you’re used to that by now. :)

#ask forest #campcamp #gwenvid #yeah i'm putting this in the main tags even though it's long as balls #fight me #cc gwen #campcampfanfan

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bytheangell · 4 years

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5 Things to Put in a Pentagram to Summon Raphael Santiago

(Read on AO3) Square Filled: Pentagram for @shadowhunterbingo Pairing: Saphael (Simon Lewis/Raphael Santiago) Rating: Teen and Up – Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: fluff, fluff and humor Summary: Simon, desperate for any hint of what Raphael likes in an attempt to flirt with him, resorts to memes in a subtle attempt to trick the answers out of him. -------------

Simon sends another one of those ‘about you’ sorts of memes to Raphael - this one is meant to be a list of choose ‘this’ or ‘that’ options, except Raphael doesn’t answer any of them and instead sends a wall of text back about why anyone would choose either of those options, or that he hasn’t even heard of the actors or shows listed, and-

Simon sighs, dropping his phone onto his chest as he sits on Clary’s sofa.

“Trouble in paradise?” Clary asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It isn’t working,” Simon says with another dramatic sigh. “I keep sending him those question memes to try and find out something he likes that I can use, but he just keeps criticizing them instead of giving me anything to work with.”

“You could just ask him,” Clary points out.

Simon balks at the idea. “Oh, yeah, sure, because it’s so simple. Let me just go up to the leader of the vampire clan and ask him what his favorite flowers are so I can get them for him.”

“It’s clearly better than sending him memes that ask if he prefers roses or carnations,�� Clary points out.

“Because the answer is neither, they’re both so cliche,” Simon offers. “At least I’m getting a great idea of what he doesn’t like. Soon I’ll be able to narrow it down, right?”

Simon flips through his social media, his eyes catching on another meme - but this one is perfect. It’s practically fate that he finds it now of all times.

“Clary, I got it!” he yells victoriously, jumping off of the sofa to walk over and shove his phone in her face.

“The pentagram meme?” Clary asks dubiously. “Why is this your sudden revelation when all the others failed?”

“Because,” Simon says. “5 Things to Put in a Pentagram to Summon Me. It’s flawless. He’ll tell me five of his favorite things, or at least five things he at least vaguely likes, and I can use that!”

Simon hits send and waits. He knows Raphael is meeting with Magnus so he’s probably too busy to keep checking his phone, but whenever he does get it--

Simon’s phone dings and he opens the message from Raphael immediately.

His face falls.

Raphael- ...why would you need 5 things, you know all it takes is grave dirt to summon a vampire, right? You don’t even need a pentagram.

Simon sighs. “Fine, you were right. I give up.”

-------------

Raphael’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he doesn’t have to check to know that it’s Simon. Again.

“Are you going to see who it is?” Magnus asks. “It could be important.”

“Or it could be Simon with another ridiculous question game,” Raphael counters. He does check his phone because he’s the leader of the Brooklyn Vampire Clan and the one time he decides to ignore his phone would be the time the Dumort ends up on fire or something, but he only proves himself right when he sees Simon’s name and opens the message to find something about a pentagram.

“This is the fourth one this week,” Raphael mutters as he types out the obvious answer to what would be needed to summon him anywhere, which Simon definitely already knows.

“What are they, exactly?” Magnus asks. There’s something about the too-curious, lead-in tone of voice he has that makes Raphael immediately doubt the innocence of the question.

“They’re questions… ridiculous ‘would you choose this or that’ questions, or pointless lists of favorites, or this… honestly, I don’t even know what this last thing one is.”

Magnus hums to himself, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“What?” Raphael demands. He doesn’t like that look at all.

“Can I see them?” Magnus asks, holding his hand out expectantly. Raphael can’t imagine how it would hurt so he hands his phone over, and watches as the smirk on Magnus’ face only spreads the more he scrolls down. “Oh, that poor boy,” Magnus mutters to himself while laughing. “Raphael, I don’t know how to break it to you… but I believe our dear Simon has a crush on you.”

Raphael nearly chokes on the air he doesn’t need to breathe, an instinctive reaction of shock. “I beg your pardon?”

“He’s trying to find out things you like,” Magnus points out, like it should be the most obvious conclusion to draw. “This last one? ‘5 Things to Put in a Pentagram to Summon Me?”

“A ridiculous question, you know that-”

“Yes, yes. But this isn’t meant to be realistic, it’s a silly mundane meme. You were supposed to tell him your five favorite things. And I’ll bet you any money if you did, he’d find a way to get them for you.”

“Why wouldn’t he just say he likes me? Or ask me what I like?” Raphael says, grabbing his phone back and scrolling through the messages from Simon again. With that new idea in mind, he can see what Magnus is implying even if he doesn’t quite believe it or understand it.

“I mean… you are a little intimidating.”

“I am not,” Raphael says, but knows the words are a lie before he finishes them. Perhaps he is a little intimidating, but it comes with the territory. But also, perhaps he’s been a little extra dismissive of Simon lately, in no small part because he hasn’t known what to do with how close Simon keeps trying to get to him. At least now he knows why.

“I should call him and ask if he’s trying to flirt with me,” Raphael decides. The moment he goes to pull up Simon’s number his phone is snatched from his hands.

“Absolutely not, you’ll scare him off forever. He’ll never admit it like that,” Magnus explains with a shake of his head.

“Then what do you propose I do?” Raphael sighs. He’s entirely out of his element here.

“Well,” Magnus starts slowly. “If you’re not entirely opposed to the idea…” he lets the sentence fall off in a question and Raphael groans at the realization that Magnus is going to make him say it out loud.

“I’m not. He’s… endearing. In his own way.”

“I thought so,” Magnus beams. “In which case, you answer his pentagram question. Give him five things to woo you with.”

“Okay. I can do that.” Raphael takes his phone back and considers his answer thoroughly before typing.

Raphael: But if we’re ignoring the laws of vampire summoning, then I suppose my pentagram would be made of my car, a very strong bloody mary, a well-tailored suit, Charlie Chaplin movies, and the smell of my mother’s cooking.

He isn’t sure what Simon is going to do with that information, but at least now he can get on with the actual business he came here to discuss with Magnus.

-------------

It takes Simon a few days to get everything he needs. His timing, however, couldn’t be better. Raphael’s been very tense the last few days, with a new fledgling testing his patience even more than Simon had when he first arrived, tensions with the werewolves again, and that was all on top of his usual grumpiness.

The poor guy needed some time away, or at least a break from the constant pressure he keeps putting himself under. So while he’s out one night Simon gets everything ready for his return in the morning - he got his hands on an entire collection of Charlie Chaplin movies, a batch of bloody marys Maia promises are strong enough to knock even Raphael off his feet, and even though he’s set up a relaxing atmosphere with the piles of blankets and pillows carefully arranged in a pile on the floor in front of the projector, instead of wearing the pajama pants Simon so desperately craves he’s dressed in a very well-tailored suit. In fact, it’s the suit Raphael let him borrow for Alec’s wedding that he may or may not have very intentionally forgotten to give back. And, to top it all off, in the corner burns a candle Simon found called ‘Homesick’ meant to smell of Mexican spices and cooking.

He couldn’t work in the car, because how is he supposed to work an entire car into this definitely-not-a-date, but he hopes that four out of five is good enough.

Simon paces relentlessly, going over what he wants to say in his head a few times. He has a few lines he’s been practicing, about Raphael deserving to be taken care of and to be happy. That’s usually as far as he gets before it dissolves into increasingly panicked rambling about how he’d totally understand if he isn’t the one Raphael wants for those things, and even in his head it usually ends with Simon fleeing before he can embarrass himself too much, which doesn’t really bode well for how things will actually go when Raphael shows up.

All he can do now is wait.

-------------

Raphael is in a worse mood than usual when he gets back to the Dumort with mere minutes to spare before sunrise. He’s exhausted and frustrated, and beyond any limit on his patience after the full night of ‘territory debate’ he engaged in with the local werewolves after thinking they were beyond all of that these days.

“Why does the hotel smell like food?”

It’s the first thing that hits him the moment he steps inside. It’s faint from the first-floor entryway but present to his heightened sense of smell.

“No one knows. It’s coming from Simon’s room but he won’t let anyone in here. Just told me to tell you to go up there when you’re back, so I guess you’re going to be the lucky one to find out,” Lily says with a curious look on her face.

Raphael sighs. He isn’t in the mood for whatever miniature disaster Simon’s got going on right now, but he does at least go up to tell Simon as much before he plans on retreating to his room to decompress for the remainder of the day.

Raphael gives a single courtesy knock before turning the handle and opening the door.

“Simon, I don’t have time for whatever-” Raphael starts, but the words fall silent abruptly at the sight before him. He catches Simon pacing and muttering to himself in front of a pile of pillows and blankets in front of a projector with a stack of DVDs next to it with Charlie Chaplin at the top and a pitcher of bloody mary. The smell from before is much stronger now, and also a lot clearer - jalapeno, butter, cream, caraway, a hint of smoke… It smells like home. Not Brooklyn, but Mexico, where he was born. He can practically see his mother standing in front of him cooking just from the scent of it as he closes his eyes and breathes it in fully.

By the time Raphael’s taken in the little details of everything Simon clearly took the time and effort to gather and set up for him, Simon is already fumbling out an apology over Raphael’s initial outburst of annoyance.

“Sorry. I should’ve asked if you were busy first. I just… shit, just pretend none of this exists, and-”

“Is this for me?” Raphael cuts him off. He knows it is - it’s almost everything he listed out on his text to Simon the other day - but even as he looks at it he doesn’t quite believe it.

“Yeah,” Simon says, the smallest hint of a hopeful smile making its way back onto his face. “You’ve just been so stressed lately, and I thought… I thought I could do something nice for you.”

“You’re wearing a suit,” Raphael observes. “You know, I never did get to see that on you when you borrowed it before. It looks good on you.”

Simon practically beams at the compliment. It’s a short-lived expression that’s replaced immediately with panic at Raphael’s next question.

“Is this a date?”

Simon sputters. “I... I mean, it doesn’t have to be. We can just… hang out. Or I can leave. And you can just relax on your own. In fact, yeah, you do that and I’ll just go now,” Simon says, the jumbled words coming out very quickly.

Magnus was right. Simon was trying to flirt with him. How did he not see it before?

“Simon, wait,” Raphael says quickly, before Simon can get to the door. “I’d like it if you stayed.”

“You would?” Simon asks, obviously surprised.

“I would,” Raphael confirms. “And I wouldn’t mind if it were a date. If you wanted it to be.”

Simon gapes. “Oh. Oh! Okay. Then… yes. This is definitely a date. I would like for this to be a date.”

Raphael laughs. “This might be the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a very long time, you know,” he admits.

“You deserve it,” Simon tells him simply. “Do you like it? And be honest. I can take it.”

Raphael refrains from telling Simon that if he said he didn’t like it he’s pretty sure Simon might actually burst into tears, though it doesn’t matter because he does like it, much more than he imagined he would. In fact...

“I love it,” Raphael promises. “The suit part was more for me, though. You don’t have to keep that on if you don’t want to.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Simon sighs. “Because it’s nice and all but I cannot imagine sitting through all those movies in this. Be right back.”

When Simon returns in jeans and a band t-shirt they play some of the movies while sharing the pitcher of bloody mary, with Raphael explaining that they’re his favorites because his mother would play them all the time while he was younger. She always loved how universal they were, being silent movies and given that she spoke very little English when they first arrived in the States and that they reminded him of her as much as the smell of her cooking did. Simon tells him all about the ‘homesick’ candle he found called ‘Mexico’ so Raphael can order more for when he’s feeling particularly nostalgic. They laugh at the silly, mindless comedy and by the middle of the day Raphael can barely remember why he was in such a foul mood earlier.

“Thanks, Simon. I really enjoyed this,” Raphael says when the movies are over, the drinks are gone, and they both need to get some sleep.

“Does that mean you’d want to do it again sometime, maybe?” Simon asks hopefully.

“Only if you promise to actually ask me on a date instead of sending me internet quizzes,” Raphael counters.

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Simon argues. “But fine. Will you go on another date with me?”

“Yes,” Raphael agrees. “But I’m planning the next one.”

“Deal,” Simon agrees. He hesitates by the doorway for a moment and Raphael can practically see him overthinking whatever gives him pause. Then Simon moves back into the room to put a hand on either side of Raphael’s shoulders, placing a quick kiss onto his cheek before he turns again and leaves.

Raphael refuses to admit how charming that kiss is. He does, however, grab his phone and send Simon the ‘5 Things to Put in a Pentagram to Summon Me’ meme. He has a second date to plan, after all.

It doesn’t take long for his phone to buzz with a text back from Simon and Raphael’s never been more grateful to be alone so that no one can see the entirely-too-fond look that crosses his face at the reply.

Simon: You, You, You, You, and You.

#simon lewis #raphael santiago #saphael #shadowhunters #shadowhunterbingo #magnus bane #clary fray #SORRY FOR THE ANGST LATELY here have some pure fluff #also i missed writing these two #long post #elle writes a few deadbeat lines

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shotsbyshae · 5 years

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Devil’s Playground

Warnings: Language, Murder, Bloody, Smutty (18+)

Words: 2.1k

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Song: Devil’s Playground by The Rigs

A/N: Monster of the Week. The second part of Kill of The Night.

You can tread where demons play.

3 Months Earlier

Silver. Iron. Salt. Holy water.

You had prepped Steve on the more basic monsters: ghosts, ghouls, vampires, werewolves, and demons. Ever the perfect student, writing in his notebook, as he asked follow up questions. This wouldn’t last long once you had America’s golden boy in the field though. Captain America wasn’t a killer and to be a hunter usually meant kill or be killed. This guy wouldn’t stand a chance and you could still hear the sound of Dean’s laughter on the phone at the idea of it. He was nothing like you, it takes a special breed to be a hunter and Steve Rogers wasn’t cut out for it.

“Here’s the address,” you handed him a slip of paper. “Meet me there around nine tonight. Don’t wear the suit.” You punctuated the last sentence, pointing your index finger at him.

“I’ll be there.”

And he was.

Early in fact, dressed in boots, jeans, and a long-sleeve blue Henley, which clung to every serum enhanced muscle a man shouldn’t even possess.

It was ridiculous.

You wish he’d worn the fucking suit instead.

“Ready?” he questioned you, which snapped your thoughts back to the task at hand.

“Yea,” you passed him a machete. “Remember, off with the head. That’s the only way.”

“Got it.”

The two of you had made your way into the rundown facility slowly, home to a small nest of vamps, four to six. Enough to be a challenge for you, but not enough to get Captain America killed.

What happened next you weren’t prepared for.

You had moved quickly, blade slicing easily through the first vamp who lunged for you, all while keeping an eye on Rogers. Two women rushed toward him while guttural snarls ripped from their chests as they revealed their fangs. Without hesitation Steve moved with more finesse than a hunter with twice your experience.

You hesitated.

He twirled the machete in his hand as two separate heads bounced off the concrete around him, bodies dropping where they stood. Another vamp was making its way towards him and you couldn’t tear your eyes away as Steve went toe to toe with that one. Why was he fighting it instead of killing it right off and you realized he wasn’t fighting, he was playing with it.

Like a cat with a mouse.

You stood there slack-jawed even as one lunged for you. A quick back handed swing and you had decapitated your attacker without even looking – perks of vamp hearing. Steve kicked the next guy, knocking him back, and you had saw the expression on his face.

He was enjoying it.

Captain America wasn’t a killer.

But is wasn’t Captain America, it was Steve Rogers.

His jaw clenched as he swung the machete with his right hand like a baseball bat. An almost primal sound escaped his lips, and you knew it was him, because there were no more vampires in the building.

Blood was splattered across his face, staining his shirt in small splotches of dark red. The muscles in his arm rippled underneath the material as he gripped the machete tighter in his hand. A slight rise and fall of his shoulders as his breaths came slow and shallow. He scanned the room slowly for anymore vamps, before his gaze landed on you.

The look in his eyes was cold – dark.

You had underestimated him.

For a moment you wondered if he’d kill you too.

“What?” he questioned you as you stared at him in bewilderment.

You shook your head, “Nothing.”

“You know,” he began as he pointed the machete at you, barely able to contain the morbid excitement in his voice. “I read a newspaper article earlier. I think there might be a werewolf two towns over.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes at him, “Easy tiger. One hunt at a time.”

Now

The ping of your phone alerts you to a text message and pick it up from your desk to read it.

Steve: Road trip? I have us a case.

You let out a sigh and quickly type in your response.

I can’t. I’m busy.

There’s an immediate knock on your door and you glance over in annoyance before standing up and moving over to open it.

“No, you’re not,” Steve states as soon as you pull open the door, brushing his way past you into your room.

“Really?”

“Tony’s out of the country. Everything’s quiet,” he says, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Let’s get out of here.”

He acts as if he didn’t have his tongue down your throat almost a month ago. Neither of you have brought it up, spent more time doing damage control on Tony finding out you’re a vampire. It was purely an adrenaline rush – blood rush. That’s why you stick to blood bags, less emotion that way.

“I don’t know Steve.”

“Please,” he says it softly.

It’s not like he can go to anyone else, no one else knows what you and he do in the shadows. A secret only the two of you share and you sigh because Steve Rogers is going to be the death of you.

“Fine.”

***

“No,” you stomp your foot like a hormonal teenager. “I’m done. I need a drink. A bed. A real shower. Preferably not in that order.” Steve stares at you, there’s blood splattered across your cheek and a chunk of something bloody and gooey in your hair. He reaches to pull it out gently, tossing it to the side before you can see it. “It’s been three days. First the ghost, then a wraith, now a ghoul. I need a break.”

The two of you have been going non-stop since you left the compound. He’d been going non-stop. You were only along for the ride. There’s a freedom in hunting, unlike anything he’s found before. The stress of being the strait-laced leader. The one everyone looks to for guidance. It can take a toll on even the strongest of men.

“Okay, I saw a hotel on the way in,” he comments.

“It better have a bar.”

It does, as well as large suites with king size beds and giant jacuzzi tubs, much nicer than the rundown fleabag motels you’re used to staying in. Being an Avenger has its advantages. Unfortunately, being a vampire has its disadvantages. You’re hungry. You hadn’t planned on being gone so long and now your out of blood bags. Having used your last one to heal the damage when the wraith had slammed it’s spike into your chest.

After a long, scorching hot shower, you get dressed and head down to the bar. Intent on drinking idly while searching for someone you can use. You don’t like it, but you won’t take much, and they won’t remember a thing.

Steve stops as he enters the room, seeing you at the bar. The black dress you’re wearing is Romanoff’s, he recognizes it, wondering if you found it on the quinjet. Your legs on full display, shimmering in the blue glow of the bar lighting. Hair falls down around your face and your eyeshadow is dark, a contrast to the almost red tint to your lips.

It’s obvious you’re hunting a different prey.

Beautiful, breathtakingly so, is how anyone else would describe you, but they don’t know you like he does. Those manicured fingers can rip out hearts, he’s witnessed it.

He loved it.

You’re fucking dangerous, gorgeously so.

“Any luck?” he questions, moving to sit beside you at the bar.

“No,” your tone sounds irritated, “and I won’t as long as you’re sitting there.”

“So,” he remarks with that cocky grin you’ve grown to despise.

“Really? That’s low. I’m hungry,” you shake your head at him. “I would never stand between you and a cheeseburger.”

“Who said I’m standing in the way?” he leans back, raising an eyebrow as his hands subtly turn inward towards himself.

“Not a good idea,” you say, picking up your glass.

“You’ve done it before.”

Now he wants to talk about it, you think to yourself as you take a sip of your Crown and Coke.

“That was different,” you finally say.

“How so?”

“It was an emergency.”

“Bull shit.”

“What?” you cut your eyes over to him incredulously at his tone, the smug smile playing at his lips angering you.

“I think you liked it,” he says smoothly, “and I think that scares you.”

Steve watches your jaw clench, his words striking a nerve, causing a rage to boil just under the surface of your façade.

Madness contained.

You stand calmly and turn sharply on your heel, walking away from the bar without so much as a word to him.

He catches up to you on the elevator, sliding inside before the doors close and you roll your eyes as he leans against the opposite wall from you, arms folded across his chest.

“I didn’t – that came out wrong,” he stumbles over the words. “I’m sorry.”

You stare straight ahead, refusing to look at him, urging the elevator to move faster. Desperately needing to be away from him.

“I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t ask me?” his words are soft.

You glance up at him as the doors open. How he can be so rough and cocky, yet soft and innocent at the same time still astounds and agitates you. He follows you off the elevator, walking past the door you stop at to his.

“I won’t ever ask,” you state as you open the door, glancing over at him. He’s swiping his keycard into the lock as he looks back you. “I don’t like who I am when I feed.” You begin to walk into your room, his next words stopping you for a moment.

“You should, because everything about you is amazing.”

There’s a moment of silence before you close the door to your room, leaving Steve to enter his alone. He tosses the keycard on the small table by the door before moving to sit in the desk chair beside the bed. Grabbing the remote from the desk he presses the power button, bringing the flat screen across the room to life and discards the controller haphazardly on top of the duvet cover next to him. He pulls the boots from his feet, staring blankly at the TV screen as a black and white film plays quietly.

The turn of the lock on the door which separates your room from his draws his attention away from the TV and he leans back in the chair. The door jerks open revealing you, still in the black dress, but your feet are bare, and you stride purposefully towards him. Steve locks his eyes with yours as you lower yourself onto his lap, a little roll of your hips making him shift under your weight. His hands are still at his sides, still unsure of what’s happening, and he feels you grab his right wrist in your hand. Watching as you pull his arm up between the two of you, keeping your eyes locked on his as you place your lips on his pulse point.

A soft, tender kiss.

The pure rawness of the moment twists something deep within him. His free hand moves to the side of your face, thumb sweeping gently across your cheekbone as your lips part revealing your fangs. Strikingly white against the red tint of your plush lips. The slight pinch as you puncture the vein causes him to twitch against the fabric of his pants and you feel it, grinding your hips against him again. Desire pulsing through him as you draw him in. Watching your face soften from the ecstasy of it, your eyes full of need – for him.

When your lips pull away from his wrist, his hand drags your face to his, pressing his lips to yours gently. You taste like cherries and copper and it’s heaven. He tries to hold back, fighting the urge to devour you, but you don’t as you force your tongue roughly into his mouth. His hands tangle in your hair as yours tear at his pants. A wet, hot, need radiating from your core as you free him and moan against his tongue as you slide down around him. His fingers claw into your hips as he fills and stretches you with each rise and fall of your hips. He peppers kisses down your neck until he reaches the pulse point there, scraping his teeth against your skin until he bites down on your flesh, feeling you clench around him. The small cries that slip past your lips against his ear are raw and so intimate as he shatters you, that it’s enough to do him in.

He’s spent a lot of time fighting his demons. Not embracing his dark side.

Then you happened. Hunting and monsters.

You freed him.

He finally stopped fighting his demons.

Because your demons play well with his.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #marvel #mcu #avengers fanfiction #fanfic #steve rogers smut #monster of the week #hunter steve #hunter steve series #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #fanfiction #avengers #avengers fanfic #supernatural #supernatural/avenger fanfiction #supernatural crossover

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alienatedchic · 3 years

Text

Know them

Sirius Black. Black. The name was enough to make witches and wizards bow their heads before him. Why not? He was a Black! The Black family is the most ancient and purest blood family in the Wizarding world; they were one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. They were most respected and honored in the society and had highest status. Their wealth was unlimited; generations could stay unemployed and yet will have enough money for luxuries. Sirius was raised to feel proud for who he is, his family and his name. His dear mother, Walburga Black, was always there to remind him and his younger brother, Regulus, of how pure they were, how handsome and perfect they were, how much worthier and better they were than half-bloods and muggle-borns (“scums and mudbloods” in her wording). However Sirius never bought any of this. Deep down, Sirius was always curious about muggles and why blood purity mattered so much. And if he ever mistakenly thought of it loudly, he would receive another deep cut on his small back. He and his brother was taught only about blood status and how important it was for them to keep it safe and pure as they were the only male Blacks born in their generation.

Being a rebellious kid, Sirius decided to break generations of Black tradition by getting sorted to different house but Slytherin when he received his Hogwarts acceptance letter. Though he allowed his mother to coo at what a handsome Slytherin he’ll be and that green and silver matched so well with him, Sirius in his mind had no intention of being a part of his family’s tradition or beliefs.

James Potter. Another rebellious pure-blood of the generation with wealth and fame- his father had invented the internationally famous hair potion. As James came very late in his parents’ lives and was also the only child, the amount of love he received was limitless. He grew up in a big house with big yard and no scarcity to materials. Thus he grew up to become arrogant and egoistic as his parents never made him feel down or unimportant. Yet, he was the most generous and protective of his loved ones without much to his notice.

No one was as excited about receiving the Hogwrtas letter as James was. He was going to learn magic! Most importantly, he was going to have his own Quidditch team to play with! After getting attacked with kisses from his mother and hugs from his father, James hurried off into the Hogwarts Express and looked for an empty compartment. Finally, he found one, except it wasn’t empty. A girl with dark red hair was sitting beside the window, her head pressed against the window sill.

“Do you mind if I sit?”

“No”

She didn’t turn to look at him; her eyes were fixed outside of the window and on the station where families were still waving off to their kids and shouting last reminders. James heaved his trunk into the compartment and slid the door shut-waiting for the train to start. Within a minute, the compartment door slid open and a tall, dark haired boy poked his head in, scanned the compartment and his eyes landed on James’s

“Uh…other compartments are full…can I sit here…?”

“Yes.”

“Sure.”

The red haired girl (without turning her head to look) and James replied at once. Both James and the black haired boy stared at the girl. Shrugging, James gestured the boy to enter and helped him with the trunk.

“I’m James. James Potter.”

“I’m Sirius Black,” said Sirius, a little taken aback at how normal James was when he said his name-he just smiled and nodded.

Within a minute, James and Sirius started taking interest in each other. They talked about Quidditch and other random topics as the train started to move. The red-haired girl, finally, tore her eyes away from the window and leaned her head on the head of the couch, sighing.

A moment later, Severus hurried out of his compartment to look for Lily. Where was she? He looked into almost every compartment until he finally found her sitting beside a window, her eyes closed. “There you are!” He sat in front of her and grinned at her but she didn’t return the smile; she turned away.

Severus Snape was never taken care of and received little or any affection. His life at home was filled with constant arguments of his parents as he lay forgotten on the corner of his small house, praying desperately for another family. Severus would forget about his trouble and abuse at home whenever he would have the chance to stay with Lily Evans, a pretty red-haired girl from the muggle town, who, thankfully, showed signs of magic. They built quite a very strong bond and became best friends within weeks. Severus filled Lily with all the information he knew about Hogwarts and the Wizarding World while Lily marveled and waited longingly for her Hogwarts acceptance letter.

As their friendship grew stronger, Severus’s dislike towards Lily’s sister, Petunia Evans, also grew deeper. Petunia also had no liking toward Severus so she wouldn’t miss an opportunity to discourage Lily to not talk to “the boy from Spinner’s End”. However, Lily refused to listen to her, “So what if he’s from the Spinner’s End? What if he’s poor and has ugly clothes? He didn’t get to choose his life, you know.” Severus couldn’t help but melt at how sweet and kind this muggleborn girl was.

Lily Evans was a bright, small and cheery girl with thick, dark red hair. She was a lovely daughter to her parents and an amazing friend to her elder sister, Petunia. Petunia and Lily shared a very stable and strong friendship; they would share their silly secrets, treats and help eachother to steal their mother’s make up. While Lily was playful and a bit clumsy, Petunia was a well kept girl and liked to stick to the rules. Nevertheless, this didn’t stop them from being the most dynamic duo. Petunia always cared for her sister and, even though she would complain it wasn’t right to do, would help Lily pull pranks and jokes. They were best friends!

Until he came. . .

Until he became more interesting than Petunia because he was just as ‘magical’ as Lily. . .

Until the letter came. . .

Until Lily was labeled as the ‘special’ one. . .

Until Petunia called Lily a “Freak!”

No words could express the sorrow Lily felt in her small, young heart. No one knew how horrible Lily felt when the word, “Freak” left Petunia’s lips. I’m not a freak! Tears gushed from Lily’s eyes and ran down her cheeks as she bit her lower lip. She turned around when she saw a messy, black haired boy draw near her compartment. Another boy also entered the compartment later but she didn’t turn to look at them-she couldn’t let them see her red, puffy eyes.

“There you are!”

A wave of frustration rushed through Lily when she heard the familiar voice as the compartment door slid open for the third time.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Why not?”

“Tuney h-hates me. Because we saw that letter from Dumbledore.”

“So what?”

“So she’s my sister!”

She couldn’t believe it. You don’t care about my relationship with my sister!?

The other boys took no notice in Lily and Severus until the latter mentioned Slytherin.

“Slytherin? Who wants to be in Slytherin?”

James was in shock. People really want to be in Slytherin? How nasty!

“ ‘Gryffindore, where dwell the brave at heart.’ Like my dad,” James replied when Sirius asked which house he preferred.

Severus snickered at him.

“Got a problem with that?” James asked, coldly.

“No. If you’d rather be brawny than brainy-

Brawny or brainy? I can be both. I will be both. I’ll prove it, you little-

Before James could reply, Sirius spat, “Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?”

James roared with laughter.

Lily was shocked at how Severus mocked the two strangers and how they talked back! She took Severus’s hand and left the compartment, disgusted at the two boys, who called him “Snivellus”. How rude. Really, I thought magical people would at least know some manners!

Beside this compartment was another compartment filled with a different group of first year students. Amongst them was a small, mousy haired boy, sitting beside the window. His face was hidden behind a large book. There were deep cuts on his face and scratches on his skinny forearms.

“Hi, I’m Peter Pettigrew,” said a round, watery-eyed boy to him.

Looking from the top of his book, the mousy haired boy muttered, “I’m Remus Lupin.”

“Anything from the trolley, dears?” the compartment door slid open and the trolley women came in. At the sight of the lady, Remus dropped his book and shot up.

“Me.”

Peter’s mouth fell open as he got to see Remus’s face clearly for the first time.

“Oh, it’s just a bad accident,” Remus said, waving a careless hand when he realized Peter staring at his scars.

Was it really a ‘bad accident’?

Remus Lupin was attacked by a werewolf named Fenrir Greyback when he was only five years old. Fenrir attacked Remus to take revenge on Lyall Lupin, Remus’s father. Lyall Lupin was working against werewolves and believed that werewolves did not deserve living in the world. Little Remus had to suffer for his father’s mistakes. He couldn’t understand why his parents moved to an isolated place to live, why his parents forbade him to befriend anyone, why he would once a month wake up naked in their warehouse, why his body ached all over, why his small, skinny body had innumerable cuts or how and why his fragile bones crack into a vicious monster, every month.

Until Remus was seven year old, when he was fully able to read and write. He would read anything and everything he found. He was so smart for his age that big volumes of books were a piece of cake for him. That is when Remus learned about his lycanthropy.

“Mum. . .wh-what am I?”

The words crushed Mrs Lupin’s heart. She couldn’t look at her son-her beautiful, smart, innocent son. She dropped whatever was in her hands and ran over to her son and hugged him tight. Oh no. She could feel her son’s bones crushing under her arms.

“Wh-what d-do you mean?” Mrs Lupin muttered.

“Mum, am I a monster? Am I bad?”

NO, love, no! You’re my son, not a monster! Mrs Lupin wanted to shout it to her son but she felt she lost her voice. Her boy was facing a crucial reality not even adults deserve to. He’s just a boy!

“N-n-no, son. Remus, my sweet boy, you’re the best boy I’ve ever met. You can NEVER be bad.”

“Then I’m a monster? I. . .I know I am, mum. . .”

Sitting across the kitchen table was Mr Lupin, hiding his face behind the newspaper as silent tears fell from his eyes. He couldn’t take it anymore. His boy was suffering the worst punishment. . .

From then on, Remus started building the worst inferiority complex by isolating himself, even from his parents. He would preoccupy himself with books and lock himself up in his room. Before every full moon, he would go to their warehouse alone and return once the full moon was over. Remus Lupin was small, fragile and innocent but his world was harsh and old.

After buying almost all the chocolate frogs from the trolley lady, Remus settled himself in his sit and started unwrapping chocolates. Peter, meanwhile, bought packs of Every flavoured beans and cauldron cakes. Remus and Peter started trading chocolates and cakes as Remus took interest in the quiet, shy boy. Their conversations wouldn’t last long for Remus wasn’t the best at socializing and Peter would get nervous for talking too long and would busy himself to finish his cakes.

Peter Pettigrew would always chew on his fingernails and bite his lips. When he was young boy, he showed signs of magic very late than average. His family almost counted him as a Squib so they would try and force magic out of him. Though Peter did prove himself to be a wizard, his family’s mocking of him being slow made him to actually believe he was stupid and that Hogwarts would never accept a half-squib like him. However, fortunately, he did receive the acceptance letter which, though delighted his family, didn’t help Peter gain any confidence in himself.

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edelwoodsouls · 4 years

Text

all roads lead - ch. 3

When his mother dies, Stiles runs away, straight into danger - only to be saved by Peter Hale. Seven years later, after burying their alpha, Stiles and Malia return home.

Word Count: 3,357 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 1, 2, 4, 5,

Chapter 3: FATHER

Stiles stares up at the house.

He knew the address was familiar, felt his feet leading him unthinking, a familiar route from one house to the other. Lingering muscle memory of another life.

Yet he still finds himself rooted to the spot just before the garden gate, unable to move forward, as if the wooden barrier were made of mountain ash.

"Just walk up the path," Malia says, hovering impatiently by his shoulder, but she doesn't push him.

Stiles was ten when he left Beacon Hills - ran away, from everything he had ever known, unable to face a new reality filled with pitying looks from strangers, whiskey-stinking nights, empty spaces where his mother should be. He never really stopped running, afraid that doing so would allow him to remember how much he'd thrown away.

Things like this house. A boy with a crooked jaw and wheezing lungs, the brightest smile in the entire world.

Scott McCall. The name lodges something in his throat, more than being back in this town, more than the idea of seeing his dad again. Scott had been the one truly good thing in his life.

It's been seven years, he thinks fiercely. Get a grip. Things change. People change.

His father lives in the McCall house.

And the McCall house smells of werewolves.

He notices the scent the moment he finally pushes into the garden. Wet fur and pine needles, earth, something like freshly cut wood; the clear scent of another wolf nearby.

No- another alpha.

The something lodged in his throat expands, becomes a tightness in his chest. The sun is too hot, his skin itches- he wishes he could tear out of it, flee to the woods, lose himself in the animal heart clawing at the cage of his ribs. But his body refuses to do so much as breathe, and his head spins-

A sharp pain cuts through the overload, crystalises the world in a sudden burst of clarity. He gasps, air flooding back into his chest.

Malia waits a few moments before removing her claws from his arm. "You with me?" she asks, her voice soft. She saves these moments of gentleness just for him, just for his worst moments, when her instincts yearn for an enemy to fight for him, yet find only his own mind at fault.

"I'm with you," he assures her, the words a familiar refrain between them. He's not going anywhere, he needs to tell her, not leaving her, not dying, not wandering away with his thoughts, never to resurface.

He's not not-himself. Again.

He squeezes her hand. "You smell it too?"

"Werewolf," she nods. "A pack. At least five."

Stiles blinks. In all the panic of smelling anything supernatural, he never bothered to discern the overwhelming overlap of scents. Malia's nose has always been far better than his, but after a few moments the weave of pack begins to separate into individuals.

"So much for no supernatural," he mutters as he picks out two, three, four, five different werewolf scents lingering around the house. There's other scents too, some human, some not quite, but the nuances are smothered by age and unfamiliarity.

There's only one person in the house right now. He wasn't a werewolf the last time he saw his father, and yet Stiles knows him instantly. Gunmetal and printer ink, so familiar he has to blink away the sudden sting in his eyes. Because it's not just familiar, its a reminder of those seven long years that form a chasm between this man and his son. The stink of whiskey is almost a memory, and a light floral scent clings to him like perfume.

Someone else's perfume.

His feet carry him up the path, Malia trailing, on edge, behind him. He feels the past trying to settle over him like a veil, begging to be let in. The air is heavy against his skin, his body that is alien to this space where his mind calls to it like home. That strange paradox itches against his soul, held at bay only by the rhythm of Malia's heart behind him.

"Hide your scent," he whispers to her. As he knocks sharply on the door he does exactly that, wraps his wolf carefully beneath a veneer of humanity. It's always been a useful skill, allowing himself to appear weaker, less of a threat in the eyes of other creatures, but now the trickery comes especially easy to him. His thoughts flash to a fox disguised as a wolf disguised as a human, layers of deceit folded so effortlessly into each other they blurred the truth.

If you drop me I'll crack, but if you smile I'll smile back. What am I?

He barely notices the absence of his own scent - has barely gotten used to its new smell, laced with power and all-but absent of darkness - but the loss of Malia's from the air around him sends such a wave of sickness through him, like missing a stair in the dark. He reaches out blindly for her hand to assure himself she's still there, still warm, still real.

And so they wait, listening to his father winding slowly through the house, inevitably towards the door.

Nerves begin to climb Stiles' throat, reaching up to choke him on his own panic. The dull ache that lives ever-present in his bones begins to thrum in time with his racing heart. What if his father hates him? What if he slams the door in his face? Yes, Stiles never returned because he believed his father was dead, but he still left in the first place. What if his father shouts for him to leave, after all these years, he doesn't need a runaway son, a werewolf, a murderer, just go-

The door swings open, stealing the rest of Stiles' breath.

John Stilinski has aged far more than the seven years Stiles has been gone. His hair is thin, stranded with grey. His face is creased deeply with lines that aren't from smiling.

And yet, though it appears to be his day off, his clothes are nice, and clean. He holds himself with a deserved height and authority that had been long forgotten in those dark days before Stiles ran away. There's a brightness, a lightness to his eyes. Happiness.

That Stiles is about to tear to pieces.

"Can I help you?" his father asks. There's a frown forming between his eyes, a tug at his lips that implies an underlying unease, trying to place a familiar face into a jigsaw that won't quite fit. All of a sudden, Stiles desperately wishes he could be anywhere but here.

He swallows. "Hi, dad."

John's face crumples, predictably. He stumbles, body betraying him in shock. "Stiles?" The word escapes him like a gasp, an arrow loosed directly into his heart. Stiles feels it as if the wound were his own.

"Yeah, dad." He waves a small gesture, almost bashfully, wishing he had any better words. "It's me."

"Stiles," his dad repeats. He stares at his son - hasn't even registered Malia. And then, abruptly, he turns and walks back into the house.

Stiles blinks at the suddenly empty corridor, unsure. What is he supposed to do here? Why can't there be a manual, a step-by-step guide on how to reintroduce yourself to the parent you thought was dead, who likely believed the same of you?

"I think we should follow him," Malia whispers a little too loudly in his ear. "I mean, he left the door open. That's gotta be a good sign, right? It's, like, a really deep metaphor in one of those boring books Peter liked. The open door." She wiggles her fingers in front of his face to emphasise the phrase.

Stiles almost snorts at that. But she's right. She has to be right.

He steps into the house, wrinkling his nose as he's assaulted by the smells of other. His wolf rises despertely inside him, warning him about trespass, about the violence between packs, held in line by the thin veneer of civility and rules. Stiles is the invader here, the instigator - stepping into this house could be considered a declaration of war. He's been witness to a fair few bloody fights in his time - Peter had a very special talent for pissing other people off - and it's not something he's keen to repeat without him. Especially not with Malia at risk.

Five on two. The former him, the beta, would've laughed at those odds. Before the snap and fizzle of half his bonds. Before he knew what it was to have blood on his own hands.

He struggles to smother his wolf back beneath the surface. Those other wolves need never know he was here- so long as he smells human, it won't even matter.

And, surely, doesn't his father's presence negate those rules? Stiles clings to this loophole like a lifeline, drawing him through the dark halls of the house, to the man hiding in the kitchen.

John Stilinski is making coffee. The movements are robotic as he rummages through the cupboards, organises three cups on the counter. Three, Stiles notes- far more observant, or maybe just more compartmentalised, than he gave his father credit for.

"I need caffeine," John says, without looking towards them. "Before I go through anything new, I need this."

Stiles nods wordlessly. Anything new? A thousand questions bubble through his mind, beginning with werewolves? and ending in what?

The three of them stand uneasily in the kitchen as the water boils, unsure of whether to move, to sit, to talk. So they simply stand. At some point Malia frees her hand from Stiles' and begins wandering around the kitchen, exploring the new space, the new scents, with all the lack of subtlety he loves about her.

The timer dings, cutting through the silence like a shot. Stiles flinches, as does Malia.

His father watches the two of them with a detatched, analytical curiosity that Stiles knows he inherited from him. He's not used to being on the receiving end, being watched, being perceived so acutely, it feels like a knife under his skin.

The silence remains in place until John begins making up the coffee, and Stiles blurts out, "Malia doesn't like sugar."

With that, the spell shatters. John slumps into a chair at the dining table, all pretense of distracting his hands and mind vanished in an instant. He rubs his large hands over his face; Stiles is drawn to a thick gold band on his left. A wedding ring.

But not the one Stiles' mother gave him.

Stiles suspected as much, and still he's surprised by the knife to his heart. Seven years is a long time by any count of the clock.

He's alive, he tells himself. He's alive, and that's far more than Stiles ever expected.

John sighs and finally parts his fingers to look at him. "Are you really my son?"

Stiles thinks up a hundred ways to answer this. Who else would I be? No, I'm his twin. No, I'm his ghost. Instead, he nods.

"How?" Now the damn has broken, words pour forth. "Why? What happened? Where have you been? I thought..."

I thought you were dead.

"It's..." Stiles grasps for the words. "It's a long story, dad. But I thought you were dead, too. I would've tried to come back sooner if I'd known you were alive."

Is that the truth? Stiles honestly doesn't know.

"Stiles." Malia's voice demands his immediate attention. She's standing across the kitchen next to the noticeboard, pulling aside a few postcards and bill notices to reveal a piece of yellowed paper beneath.

A piece of paper pinned exactly where Stiles had pinned it seven years ago, written in his own childish handwriting. A chasm opens up beneath his heart.

"You said you wouldn't be gone long," John whispers, as transfixed as everyone else by the paper. "A few hours. And I-" his voice breaks, "I didn't even notice it for three days. I was too..." Too drunk. The words hang in the air, unspoken, because if they were then something - probably his father - would break from the impact.

"I didn't mean to be gone long," Stiles finds himself half-laughing. "A few hours. A normal day. But."

But.

He remembers the day he met Peter Hale like it's seared into his eyelids. The sun beat down as he climbed through overgrown trees in the Beacon Hills Preserve. He had been coming this way for months now. At first there had been no real goal except away, and that was enough. He had longed to travel further, to run as far as possible and never return, hike all the way to the East coast if he could manage it.

Instead, he had found the burnt-out shell of a huge house deep in the preserve. Blackened wooden structure, creaking in the breeze, still smelling of charcoal and ash and an awful acrid smell he would one day learn to be cooked flesh.

Five months since the Hale fire. Eleven since the death of Claudia Stilinski.

Even as a child, morbid curiosity had consumed him relentlessly. Hours spent exploring these ruins had revealed a treasure trove of what the young Stiles had called evidence, clues to the origin of the fire, or the identities of the people who had once occupied the home. A blackened cutlery set buried in the remains of what was probably a table. A teddy bear burnt half to cinders, holding its shape only until Stiles reached to touch it, and it blew to ash on the wind.

He'd cried and run away as fast as his short legs could carry him, that time.

This house of fire and ghosts had been his safe haven from the dark hollow of home - emptier and scarier for the fact that it still had two living residents haunting its halls. At least the Hale house reflected its occupants.

No childhood home should be so unwelcome.

That day, when his life had blown to the wind just like the ashes of the house he found sanctuary in, had started like any other. He'd left the house that afternoon with his usual, unnoticed routine. A torch with extra batteries, a water bottle, a pack of nuts for if he lost track of time and got hungry. A note for his father, scrawled as a hasty afterthought - pointless thus far, but it would be just like his father to emerge from his haze long enough to call a search and rescue, to find Stiles in the woods, to ground him once and for all inside the house. Imprisoned with no escape at all.

His visits had been kept to the ground floor of the house until then - his parents had instilled enough common sense in him to not risk the rotting stairs giving way beneath his feet.

But the basement, with its chiselled stone steps, was an entirely different question. Fear of the dark had kept him out this long, but curiosity of the unknown would always win out.

Even with all his preparation, descending the stairs in the Hale house felt like descending into hell. His torch guttered every few steps, despite a change of batteries, and as the shadows swallowed him he found himself wishing his father was there - not the father he had now, so much fuel in his system a stray cinder would set him ablaze. But the father who cried when they watched movies. Who made him hot cocoa on nights when the house felt too hollow with just the two of them. Whose smile was like sunshine filtering through clouds, who made the world a little bit warmer. The father who had thrown himself between every punch and barb his mother had thrown at her son in those last, awful days.

He knocked the torch against his head as if to clear them both. The light steadied. His thoughts grounded to here, now, and he descended into the dark.

The walls of the basement - a huge, round room, supported by columns at regular intervals - were made of rough stone, construction so old Stiles could barely fathom. His torch beam washed over scars in the stone, deep, repetitive gouges like claw marks. They layered the walls like paint.

Somewhere at the end of the room, pale daylight fell through a grate near the ceiling, washing the space in something other. This felt like somewhere ghosts lived and died. Where the walls between worlds were less than paper thin. He shivered, but not from the cold - this room was an oven, the memory of flames trapped between the bricks. He could smell the aftermath of smoke, see the char coating the bricks in places where the fire had burned brightest. He even thought he could hear the crackle and snap of wood and oxygen ablaze.

His heart dropped like a stone. He could hear something. At the other end of the room, a low rumble, like an earthquake cracking upwards through the floor, or a huge animal breathing. The crackle of dead leaves disintegrating beneath a shifting form.

Breath escaped Stiles, vanished like so much smoke. He gasped - a choked, aborted sound - and stumbled back towards the stairs. An animal that big should not exist, certainly not here, in California, in Beacon Hills, in this house which had become his haven. How long had it lurked beneath the dying floorboards? Had it listened to his movements, waiting for him to come to it, knowing somehow that a meal would walk to it with open arms if it just waited?

The next moments are little more than a blur. He remembers, in flashes. The sudden stillness of an animal waking, listening, waiting. Tripping, falling onto the stairs, his knees and palms scraping against stone in his desperation to get away. The face of death looming over him, a creature of towering shadow and fur practically falling over itself in its desperation to get him. Yellow claws, yellow teeth, sharp as razors.

Then fire - he was alight, ablaze, burning right along with the rest of the house, except it wasn't his flesh but his veins, fizzing with energy and adrenaline.

He was a phoenix, though he hadn't known it then, crumbling to ash only to emerge newly gold.

He hadn't known that crazed, ravenous creature in the basement to be Peter Hale then, hadn't connected him to the handsome stranger who'd happened upon him hours later in a crumpled heap of blood and dying leaves. And by the time he'd realised they were the same person, years later, he had already forgiven his alpha for any past crimes committed in the haze of fire-sparked insanity.

He had never told Peter he knew. He was willing to let the weight sit on his shoulders, allow Peter's to remain free of any more, for fear this would be the blow that crushed him to the ground. That was his job as beta, as family, as pack.

He's more than a little willing to let his father wallow in his mistakes, though. What does he owe this man sitting before him? Everything, a small voice tells him, the child of sunshine smiles and hot cocoa. Nothing, another voice argues, all jaded smiles and sharp edges. Stiles is neither of those voices, not anymore. Not entirely.

I have three heads. Cut off one, I become stronger. Cut off two, I become ten. What am I?

"I'm here now, dad," he finds himself saying. "I'm alive. You're alive." There's something aching in his chest, something he's been repressing beneath layers of time and pain, and now it threatens to consume him.

Strong arms wrap around him, and he is eight years old again. His father smells of ink and metal and flowers. The world feels small, feels safe, for just an instant.

"Stiles, Stiles," John murmurs into his hair like a prayer, as if it will keep Stiles here, keep him real, keep him alive.

Stiles cries, a dam he's kept below water finally crumbling; it doesn't feel half as awful as he'd feared.

#fanfiction #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #malia tate #sheriff stilinski #own work #morgan writes

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cupcakezys · 5 years

Text

Hurt.

First. Previous.

Read on AO3.

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur.

Summary: “You’ve got to be the worst wolf to have ever walked the Earth.” Merlin said, barely able to contain his giggles as Arthur tried to shake the brambles from his fur again. “You were chasing a rabbit Arthur. A tiny little bunny. How did you manage to get so utterly covered in this stuff?” Arthur whined, pitiful and so unlike his prince that Merlin found it impossible to resist him. “Alright, come here, let me help you.” Arthur did, bounding over happily, like he wasn’t covered in spikes and dirt from his failed attempt at getting Merlin dinner. Merlin started picking out the thorns. “We’re going to have to find a stream to get all this dirt out though.” Arthur yipped, then immediately perked his ears up and started growling at the bushes. Merlin froze. Something was wrong.

His magic buzzed through him, ready and waiting to be used. Arthur crouched by his side, muscles tensed and fur standing on end. They stood frozen, eyes locked on the bushes around them.

Merlin was just about to relax when whatever it was shook the bushes again. His magic zeroed in on the movement, blasting away the bushes. Arthur leapt forward, snarling and trying to be as intimidating as possible.

It took Merlin all of three seconds to recognize what they were staring at.

“Arthur stop!” He yelled, rushing forward even though Arthur had already stopped growling and lowered his head.

The tiny brown form crouching in the ruined bush whimpered and curled up into a ball. Merlin kneeled down immediately, trying to make himself as small as possible. Arthur laid on the ground next to him, small comforting whines echoing from deep in his throat. Merlin held his hand out, palm up and unthreatening.

“Hey there.” Merlin murmured gently. “It’s alright, we won’t hurt you. My name is Merlin, and this is Arthur.”

Arthur yipped next to him. Merlin ran his free hand through his fur, petting gently and calming them both. He caught sight of dark brown eyes as the small wolf pup glanced from his hand on Arthur’s fur to his other hand and growled. Merlin stopped moving and ducked down even closer to the ground. He didn’t know if the pup could understand him, didn’t know if they were a werewolf or just a wild animal, but he couldn’t seem to help the words falling from his lips.

“I’m sorry if we scared you.” He said. “We didn’t mean to.”

Arthur crawled forward, out of Merlin’s reach, until the pup growled and shifted back. They yelped as they put weight on their other front paw, and Merlin tensed as he realised they were cradling the limb carefully to their chest. Arthur stiffened and whimpered low in his throat. Merlin shifted forward a step.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, then silently cursed himself. What a stupid question. “I can have a look at it for you.”

The pup whined and shook their head, drawing back another step.

“Are you sure?” Merlin asked, heart pounding. No ordinary wolf acted like this. “I’m a physician. I can make it better.”

The pup had uncurled slightly now. Merlin leaned forward, encouraged by the sight. He held his hand out again, palm down this time so they could sniff him. The pup was still for a long moment, then slowly shifted forward, limping until they were close enough that Merlin could reach out and touch them. They sniffed his hand delicately, then gave it a little lick.

Merlin smiled. “There you go.” He murmured. “We’re not going to hurt you, I promise.”

The pup turned to Arthur then, who hadn’t moved since they’d growled at him. Now he stood slowly, creeping forward until he was able to lean down and nose at them gently. The pup yipped, their tail swishing slightly through the leaves. Arthur nudged them then turned to stare at Merlin.

Merlin took the hint. “Can I take a look at that foot now?”

The pup stared at him for a moment, considering, before they nodded. Merlin smiled and slowly reached out so he could pull them into his lap.

“Thank you.” He murmured as he gently took the hurt paw into his hand. “Now try and hold still, okay? I’m sorry if this hurts, but I need to find out what’s wrong.”

Distantly, Merlin was aware that Arthur had started circling around their little clearing, ears pricked forward and his whole body alert. Mostly, however, his focus had narrowed down to the werewolf in his arms and their injury.

He’d never examined an animal before. All Gaius’s patients had been human, and Merlin had no idea if the same teachings applied to animals. But, well, he couldn’t exactly go ask his mentor, so he was stuck hoping what he knew would be enough to help and not make things worse.

The paw was bent slightly out of shape, and when Merlin tried to move it, the pup growled at him. He released his hold instantly, heart pounding. Instead, he gently poked and prodded, trying to determine what exactly was going on with the poor child.

“Okay.” He said after a long few minutes. “I’m afraid it’s not looking good. Whatever happened, your foot isn’t in very good shape.” He glanced up at Arthur, saw those glowing blue eyes already staring at him. “I think the bone may be broken.”

The pup whimpered and burrowed closer to him, staring at their paw in horror.

“Hey, hey it’s okay.” Merlin soothed, running a hand calmingly down their back. “It’s okay. I’m going to fix you right up, alright? You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Merlin glanced around, trying to think of everything he’d need. He’d have to splint the foot, that much he knew.

He glanced up at Arthur. “Arthur, could you-“

He was cut off by a terrifying growl right in his ear. The pup in his arms barked and wiggled, and Merlin reflexively gripped them tighter as he whirled around.

A black-grey wolf loomed over him, brown eyes glowing and locked on the pup in his arms. Merlin’s heart stuttered in his chest, panic locking his limbs in place. He whimpered slightly, magic fizzing uselessly in his chest. The wolf growled and crouched, and Merlin instinctively knew they were going to pounce.

His limbs unlocked, and he finally managed to make himself move. He curled up around the pup, who was still wiggling in his grasp, and desperately tried to get his magic under control so he could summon a shield. Of course, when he needed it most, his magic refused to work.

The wolf in front of him jumped. They were a breath away from hitting him when he heard a snarl and a golden blur barreled into the wolf’s side. Both of them fell to the ground, growling and snarling. Arthur recovered first and stood protectively in front of Merlin. The other wolf rolled to their feet and shifted, eyes sliding back to the pup. Arthur snarled and leapt forward, teeth and claws aimed at their weak spots.

Merlin squeaked and finally pushed himself backwards, away from the two fighting werewolves. He managed to get his feet under him and ran to the other side of the clearing, the pup held carefully to his chest. He pressed himself up against a large tree, eyes locked on Arthur as he fought back against the other wolf.

He almost didn’t notice the whimpers of the pup in his arms. He glanced down and shifted them gently, thinking perhaps he was hurting them accidentally. The young wolf, however, just struggled harder, their eyes locked on Arthur and the black wolf. Merlin frowned.

Realization hit him harder than a mace. He stared hard at the black wolf, at the way that even in the middle of the fight they kept looking at the pup in Merlin’s arms. Merlin gulped and gathered his magic around him, relieved when it finally listened to him.

He stepped forward. “Stop!”

Arthur jerked and glanced at him. The other wolf stopped as well, glaring at him. He gulped and kept walking forward until he was next to Arthur. The pup was wiggling like crazy now, stretching out for the black wolf. Merlin knelt slowly and lowered the pup to the ground, careful of their injured foot. The black wolf watched his every move, ears and tail twitching aggressively.

Arthur growled, resting his head on top of Merlin’s own. Glowing brown eyes flickered to Arthur before being drawn back to the pup as they limped forward. The black wolf sniffed at the pup, whimpering and licking them in comfort.

Merlin breathed out long and low, reaching up and winding a hand through Arthur’s fur.

“I’m sorry.” He said, drawing those eyes back to him. “We just wanted to help. They’re hurt.”

The black wolf huffed. Merlin thought he knew why.

“I know I don’t look it, but I am a physician.” Merlin smiled. “Or at least, a physician in training. I swear to you, I just want to help.”

Arthur made a low noise behind him. Merlin quietened as the black wolf turned to Arthur and made the same noise back. He frowned slightly. It was almost like they were… talking? Could they understand each other in their wolf forms? Merlin had no idea, and unfortunately, he doubted anyone would be able to tell him.

Finally, after a few more minutes of back and forth, Arthur lifted his head and sat next to Merlin. The black wolf bowed their head, ears pulled back and tail tucked down. Merlin blinked. What just happened?

“Are we…” he glanced at Arthur. “Are we okay now?”

Arthur nodded and nudged him forward. The black wolf laid down, the pup excitedly nosing at them. Merlin hesitated for a moment, watching the black wolf lick at their pup. Then Arthur huffed and nudged him again, and Merlin stumbled forward until he was sat next to the pair.

He ran a hand gently down the pup’s back. “I think their foot might be broken.” The black wolf whined and sniffed at the injured foot. Merlin hesitated. “I could splint it, but it would be a lot easier if I could examine them in the morning.”

The black wolf immediately growled, and Merlin could hear the denial in their voice.

He frowned. “I have experience with human injuries. I know what I’m doing with a human patient. But a wolf? I’ve never treated a wolf before, not for anything.”

Arthur made that same low noise again, and the pup yipped and nodded their head, tail wagging excitedly. The black wolf still seemed conflicted, but the pup was adamant now, yipping and jumping so much Merlin began to fear for their foot. He scooped them up into his lap, only a little surprised when they snuggled up to him without hesitation.

The black wolf huffed and got to their feet. Arthur stood with them, still wary, while Merlin sat with the pup. The wolves seemed to have another conversation, and then the black wolf huffed. They turned, walking back to the other side of the clearing. They stopped as they reached the trees, throwing a glance over their shoulder.

Merlin scrambled to his feet, the pup once again carefully cradled in his arms. He shot a look at Arthur, silently asking what they were going to do. Arthur shrugged, or tried his best to, and Merlin sighed. Looked like they were going traipsing who knows where through the forest. He grabbed their packs from the middle of the clearing and followed behind the black wolf, Arthur easily keeping pace with him.

It took them the better part of two hours to reach a cave next to a small river. Merlin’s arms had long since gone numb. The pup had fallen asleep about half an hour after they had set out, and Merlin wished he was able to swap places with them. The night of the full moon always left him exhausted, and all this walking wasn’t going to help at all.

The black wolf hesitated at the mouth of the cave, sending one last glance Merlin’s way before going inside. Arthur followed after them, making sure he went in before Merlin. Merlin shifted his hold on the pup and walked after them both.

The cave, which from the outside looked completely unremarkable, turned into a beautiful home the further they walked. Whoever these werewolves were, they’d clearly been using this place for a long time.

The black wolf had jumped up onto a makeshift bed in the far corner of the cave. Merlin smiled and carefully set the pup down, doing his best not to wake them. They huffed and moved around a little before settling. The black wolf curled up around them, eyes on Merlin and Arthur.

Arthur huffed at them and curled up on the ground. There was a small fire pit on the opposite wall, a hole above it for the smoke to escape through. Merlin sighed and grabbed a few sticks and logs from a pile nearby. He stacked the wood neatly and, without thinking, set it alight with a wave of his hand.

Instantly, Merlin froze. He turned slowly, the fire already warm at his back.

Arthur was on his feet, teeth bared and hackles raised. The black wolf was staring unblinking, shoulders tensed. The pup was blinking awake sleepily, and Merlin didn’t miss the way the black wolf curled up tighter around them.

“I mean you no harm.” Merlin mumbled, arms out in what he hoped they could see was a placating gesture.

The black wolf seemed to be talking to Arthur again, and the pup was wide awake now, their almost golden-brown eyes darting to each adult in the room in turn. Merlin caught their stare and held it until the black wolf huffed and whined. Merlin’s eyes darted to them, and he tried to convey that he was no threat. After a few nerve-wracking moments, the black wolf settled again, and Arthur sat back down. Merlin sat next to him, leaning heavily against his soft fur. He yawned.

It didn’t take him long to fall sleep.

When he woke, it was to a pair of muscles arms wrapped around his middle and a hot breath tickling the back of his neck. He groaned slightly, shivering as his side that wasn’t blanketed by a warm body was chilled from the cave ground. This was, without a doubt, the worst and best part of waking up the morning after the full moon. Waking in Arthur’s arms had quickly become one of his favourite things, and was unfortunately rare if they were inside the walls of Camelot. It made him look forward to hunts and the full moon. The hard ground, however, he could do without.

He snorted to himself without opening his eyes. If he wasn’t careful he was going to become as spoiled as Arthur. Camelot was slowly ruining him. He had certainly never complained to his mother about sleeping on the ground in Ealdor.

He shifted back, trying to wiggle out of Arthur’s arms without opening his eyes. It was more difficult than he’d thought. His head hit the soft texture of their packs, and Merlin fumbled for a moment, trying to twist so he could drag himself to the packs proper. Then his shin hit something hard and wooden, and his eyes flew open.

The cave they were in was not the one he recognized, and he had a moment of pure confused panic before the events of last night came rushing back.

Arthur’s arms tightened around his waist. He glanced down at him, surprised to find him still asleep. His prince was curled up around him, and Merlin couldn’t help but drag his hands through golden hair, causing Arthur to hum quietly in his sleep and press closer. Merlin gave him a brief smile before he chanced a look around the cave.

The fire had long gone out, leaving the cave in almost total darkness, the only light coming from two holes in the ceiling. Merlin could just barely make out the two forms on the bed across from them. He swallowed. Explaining what happened last night was going to be difficult.

Two eyes blinked at him, and Merlin’s heart skipped a beat.

A little girl waved at him, a small smile on her face. Merlin waved back without really thinking, studying her. Her brown hair stuck up every which way, and dirt was smudged along the side of her face. She was holding one hand close to her chest, careful, and Merlin winced in sympathy. He knew how much broken bones hurt.

Merlin tensed when the larger form on the bed shifted. His face flushed and he looked away when she sat up, the blanket falling away from her. He hesitated, then decided he’d better get this over with quickly. He cleared his throat. Loudly.

He saw the woman jump out of the corner of his eye. She screamed and hastily pulled the blanket back up, even as she tried to pull the little girl behind her, completely ignoring her pained whimpers. Arthur startled awake at her scream and was pulling Merlin back against him protectively in an instant.

“Who are you?” The woman yelled.

Merlin held one hand out, while the other he laid on top of Arthur’s arm around his waist in reassurance. “It’s alright. My name is Merlin, and this is Arthur. We met last night.”

The woman’s eyes were wild, her black hair streaked with silver she looked far too young to have. “Last night?”

“Yes.” Merlin smiled, interlocking his fingers with Arthur’s. “You led us back here.”

Her eyes furrowed. “Why would I do that?”

“Because the little girl is hurt, and I’m a physician. I wanted to help.” He said.

The woman flinched and turned to the child half hidden behind her. “Evaine?”

“It’s true mother!” The little girl grinned. “I got lost and hurt my hand. Merlin said he could fix it.”

Merlin smiled, then paused. “Wait.” He glanced between the little girl and her mother. “You… you remember?”

Arthur stiffened at his back, tense and trembling slightly. Merlin couldn’t even guess what must have been going through his mind. He ran his free hand up Arthur’s arm, soothing as best he could.

Evaine nodded and grinned at him, then tugged on her mother’s hair. “Mother! He has magic! Like me!”

The woman drew in a sharp breath. “Evaine!”

She sent a sharp glance at Merlin, and he held his hand out placatingly, just like the night before. “It’s true, I have magic.”

The woman was shaking now, clearly distressed and unsure of what to do.

Arthur was the one to finally break the silence. “I think we should all continue this conversation after we are dressed.”

The woman glanced at him and jerked her head in a nod. “Y-yes. Right.”

They shuffled around in the near-darkness, Merlin helping Arthur dress on one side of the cave as Evaine and her mother dressed behind a raised blanket. Merlin grabbed some more logs and set them alight, sighing as the warmth immediately seeped into him. Arthur walked up behind him, fully dressed now, and pulled him back into his arms. Merlin smiled and twisted, pressing a quick kiss to Arthur’s lips, the promise to explain everything in detail later a quiet murmur as he pulled away.

A pained cry had them drawing completely apart. Merlin’s eyes immediately found Evaine, cradling her hand to her newly-clothed chest. Merlin slipped completely from Arthur’s arms and was knelt by her side in an instant, gently taking her hand in his.

“It’s alright.” He murmured, pressing gently and examining the hand. “You’re alright.”

Her mother fluttered at her side, eyes scared and worried. “What’s wrong with it?”

Merlin grimaced. “It feels like it’s broken.”

Evaine bit her lip. “But you can fix it, right? That’s what you said before!”

“I will certainly do my best.” Merlin assured her. He glanced at her mother. “Um, excuse me…?”

“Ah.” The woman flushed. “Juliana. My name is Juliana.”

He smiled. “Juliana. Do you have any spare strips of cloth I could use?”

“Of course.” She stood, cast one more worried glance at her daughter, and hurried over to the far side of the cave, near the entrance.

“Arthur.” Merlin called, gently examining Evaine’s fingers. “Could you bring me some sticks please? They need to be as straight as possible.”

Arthur grunted, and Merlin heard him shuffle about. Good, he wasn’t arguing or asking countless questions. If it were a normal day, Merlin would be worried, but as it was he had much more important things to be concerned about.

“Do you really remember your time as a wolf Evaine?” He asked gently, needing answers as much as he needed a way to distract her from the pain.

“Yes.” Evaine nodded, swinging her legs slightly. “Mother thinks it’s because of my magic, or because I was born a wolf.”

Merlin blinked. “Born a wolf?”

“She wasn’t bitten and turned like I was.” Juliana said, startling Merlin as she held out a few strips of cloth. “Every full moon since her birth she’s turned into a little wolf pup.”

Merlin nodded. He opened his mouth, but Arthur beat him to it. “And her magic?”

Juliana jolted at his voice, like she’d forgotten he was even there. Arthur had the decency to duck his head in apology as he approached with a handful of sticks. Merlin studied them a moment, then grabbed the best one and snapped it in half.

“Her magic is new.” Juliana said hesitantly. “A few months ago she started making things around the house break whenever her emotions overtook her. I’ve been trying to reach her how to control herself, to keep others from noticing.” She shivered, tears in her eyes. “It’s hard enough every full moon, sneaking in and out of the village. I fear it’s only a matter of time before we’re found out.”

Merlin shivered and tried to concentrate on what he was doing. He saw Arthur shudder and look away out of the corner of his eye, shame and anger written on his face in equal measure. He tied Evaine’s hand up as best he could, the splint strong enough that he wasn’t worried it would fall apart.

“That’s about all I can do, I’m afraid.” He hesitated and looked up at Juliana. “Unless…”

“Unless?” She prompted.

“Unless you agreed to let me try and heal her with magic.”

Juliana winced, a hand flying to her mouth. She glanced from Merlin, to her daughter and then to Arthur in quick succession. Merlin waited, giving her the time to think it over.

Finally, Juliana nodded. “Alright. Do what you can.”

Merlin held a hand over Evaine’s and smiled at her. “This may feel a little weird.” He warned. She nodded, worrying her bottom lip. “Gestathole.”

Merlin felt the magic build up and leave him, almost felt the bones in Evaine’s hands as the mended back together. There was still a small break, he could feel it, but it was nothing compared to what it had been seconds before. Evaine laughed.

“It doesn’t hurt as much!” She threw her good arm around his neck. “Thank you.”

He pet her hair gently, pride and happiness welling within him in equal measure. “You’re welcome.”

He let her go as Juliana rushed forward to gather her up in her arms, a large smile on her face. Merlin backed away from the pair, only to feel Arthur wrap his arms around him again. He smiled and melted into the embrace.

“You’re amazing.” Arthur murmured, and Merlin heard his pride echoed tenfold in Arthur’s voice.

Merlin blushed. “It was a simple healing spell.”

Arthur shook his head. “It was much more than that.”

They left soon after. They couldn’t afford to stay long, not with the sun rising higher and more people stirring awake to miss them. Today was not a day to draw suspicion on any of them.

Evaine gifted Merlin with a handful of flowers before they went their separate ways, the purple blossoms squished slightly from her fist. Merlin smiled and bowed as he took them, causing the little girl to laugh. Juliana was staring at Arthur with a thoughtful look, had been since they gathered their things and left the cave, and Merlin could guess as to why. Arthur’s hair alone would give away who he was to most people in the kingdom.

It came as no surprise, then, when Merlin walked over and heard Juliana say. “You’re Prince Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur nodded. “I am.”

Juliana tensed and stared at him in lost confusion. “And you’re… you’re okay with the magic?”

Merlin reached Arthur’s side and wrapped an arm around his waist. Arthur shot him a look but hesitantly leaned into the touch. Merlin smiled.

“I am.”

Juliana hesitated, but her lip. “And you’re…”

Arthur took a deep breath. “Yes. I was bitten when I was eighteen.”

Juliana nodded. “I was bitten thirteen years ago, four years before Evaine’s birth.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment, Juliana sending awkward little glances at where Merlin’s arms met Arthur’s waist, while Arthur tried desperately to appear as if he was unbothered by the obvious romantic display in the rising sunlight. Finally, when Merlin realised no one was going to say anything else, he cleared his throat pointedly and let go of Arthur.

“We need to go, before someone realized we’re missing.”

Juliana hurriedly nodded. “Yes! Yes, we must be going.” She called for Evaine, then glanced back at them. “Will we be seeing you again?”

Merlin exchanged a glance with Arthur. Those blue eyes held a question, and Merlin shrugged. He certainly wouldn’t mind more company. Arthur slowly nodded.

“I think we will be.”

Juliana smiled. “I’m glad.”

Evaine ran up to them then, another handful of flowers squished in her hands. She held the red blooms up to Arthur. “For you!”

Arthur hesitated, then took the offered flowers gently. “Thank you.”

Evaine grinned. “I’ll give you more next month! I promise!”

“We look forward to it.” Merlin said.

Evaine beamed and ran to her mother, who was quickly disappearing into the trees. They watched until they couldn’t see them anymore, then Arthur sighed.

He took Merlin’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Merlin nodded, and followed his prince into the trees.

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Next part!

#merlin #bbc merlin #merthur #merlin/arthur #werewolf au #werewolf Arthur pendragon #Arthur knows about merlins magic #we are not monsters #my writing #cakeswriting

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nonasuch · 6 years

Text

dogfather update: the unicorn

As always, everything dogfather-related is tagged with the dogfather and story updates are tagged with dogfather story post. If you get antsy waiting for the next update, check out my AO3 or the zines and comics on my Gumroad.

Of course, Malfoy has to ruin things for everyone. Hagrid’s so annoyed that he sends Harry and Padfoot off with him instead of Neville. He apologizes for it, in a whisper that’s much too loud for Harry to hope no one else can hear it. “But he'll have a harder time frightenin' the two of you, an' we've gotta get this done," he says.

So Harry sets off into the heart of the forest with Padfoot and Malfoy and Fang. Without Hagrid to protect him or Neville to frighten, Malfoy starts to get nervous again. He keeps wittering on about werewolves, and what they ought to do if they run across one.

“I dunno,” mutters Harry, too low for anyone but Padfoot to hear, “offer him a cup of tea and a chocolate bar? Ask if he’s read any good books lately?”

Padfoot can’t laugh, exactly, when he’s dog-shaped, but Harry knows his I’d-be-laughing-if-I-were-the-right-species-for-it bark very well. Malfoy doesn’t, and it makes him even more skittish.

The trail gets easier to follow as they go, even as the forest gets thicker and harder to push through. Harry starts walking directly behind Padfoot, who’s big enough to trample down the undergrowth a little. He considers suggesting that Malfoy do the same with Fang, but decides against it.

It looks like there might be a clearing up ahead. Harry sees something bright white through the trees, gleaming on the ground. Malfoy swats a branch out of his face, grumbling, and then notices that Padfoot-- and Harry, behind him-- have gone absolutely still.

It is the unicorn, and it’s dead. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so beautiful, or so sad. It lies as if it’s only just fallen, unexpectedly, its legs at odd angles. Harry feels as though he ought to do something-- turn it properly onto its side, arrange the shining mane so it’s not tangled about the poor thing’s face. He’s never seen something dead like this before, that he can remember; goldfish don’t count.

Harry takes a step forward, and then freezes again. Padfoot is growling, very low, just loud enough to hear. And there’s something else, too, some other noise-- a slithering, dragging sound.

Out of the shadows, a hooded figure comes crawling across the ground. It’s like something out of a horror film, the kind Harry’s not supposed to watch til he’s older. When the cloaked figure reaches the unicorn, it lowers its head over the wound in the animal's side, and begins to drink its blood.

Everything is so quiet that the next sound Harry hears nearly frightens him out of his skin. It’s Malfoy, of course.

“AAAA--mmph!”

Sirius claps his hand over Malfoy’s mouth before he gets most of the way through screaming, but it’s already enough. Harry turns back to the clearing to see the hooded figure raise its head and rise to its feet. It has unicorn blood all down its front, Harry notices, in a cold, removed sort of way. He feels frozen to the spot. Fang has already bolted.

“Both of you, run,” says Sirius. “I’m right behind you. Go!”

He gives Harry a shove, not hard but enough to jolt him into action. His head hurts like it’s splitting in half. Harry grabs Malfoy’s arm, and starts to run.

They don’t get far before Harry hears something crashing through the forest towards them. For a heart-stopping moment, Harry thinks that the hooded figure has got ahead of them somehow, but then a centaur comes crashing through the trees, and leaps clean over Harry and Malfoy both.

“Aaaaah!” Malfoy yells again, and stumbles. Harry still feels like his head is on fire, and finds that he can’t keep his feet either. But then Sirius is there, helping Harry up, patting at him to make sure he isn’t injured.

“Are you all right?” the centaur asks. He looks younger than the other two, palomino with fair hair and bright blue eyes.

“Yes -- thank you -- stop fussing,” Harry says, this last to Sirius.

“What was that?” Malfoy demands, his voice too high and too loud. “Who are you? What’s going on?”

This centaur doesn’t seem any keener to answer questions than the other ones had been. "You are the Potter boy," he says. "You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time -- especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way.”

He adds, frowning at Sirius, “You had best keep close, Animagus.”

“Right,” Sirius says. “Up you get. You too, Draco,” he adds, helping them both up onto the centaur’s back. Malfoy looks as though he’d like to protest, but he’s still too frightened. A distant part of Harry wants to point out that he’s the MacIntyre boy, actually, but the rest of him hasn’t yet caught up.

“My name is Firenze,” the centaur says. Sirius nods, and changes back into Padfoot.

Before they can go far, though, Harry hears the sound of more galloping from somewhere past the trees behind them. In what seems like the blink of an eye, Ronan and Bane are flanking them, and both centaurs look furious. Padfoot growls, his ears flat and his hackles up, but they hardly pay him any notice.

Harry doesn’t understand what the centaurs are shouting at each other about, and he’s too distracted to make sense of it. Padfoot is too close for comfort to their great heavy hooves, and Malfoy, sitting behind him, is clutching Harry’s middle tight enough to hurt. His head throbs, and his thoughts are fuzzy.

The argument doesn’t last long, anyway. Firenze gives up on shouting at the other two, and takes off into the forest at a gallop, Padfoot racing along behind them. Ronan and Bane don’t follow. After a little while, Firenze slows to a walk, and warns Harry and Malfoy to look out for low-hanging branches.

For the first time since they found the clearing, Harry’s heart stops pounding quite so fast. Malfoy must calm down a little, too, because he stops trying to squeeze all the air out of Harry.

He’s the first one to find his voice again, too. “I want to know what’s going on,” he says. It sounds like a bad impression of his usual voice: like he’s trying to be imperious and failing.

And it’s a question worth asking, anyway. “So do I,” says Harry. “What was that thing? What were Ronan and Bane so upset about?”

“What?” says Malfoy. “Who are Ronan and --”

“The other centaurs,” Harry says.

“How do you -- no. No!” Malfoy says. He pushes away from Harry, and clambers ungracefully down from Firenze’s back. “I am not going anywhere with you people until someone tells me what just happened!”

“Do you know what unicorn blood is used for?" Firenze says.

“Nothing good,” says Sirius. He goes to Harry, to help him down, but Harry shakes his head and climbs down himself. He still feels a little wobbly on his feet, but Sirius is right there with a hand on his shoulder, steadying him.

Malfoy seems to be knocked even farther off-kilter by this, though. “Your dog’s an Animagus,” he says faintly.

“It is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," said Firenze. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."

Malfoy, already paler than usual, goes paler still, almost greeny-white. Sirius looks grim.

"But who'd be that desperate?" Harry asks. "If you're going to be cursed forever, death’s better, isn't it?"

"It is," Firenze agrees, "unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else -- something that will bring you back to full strength and power -- something that will mean you can never die. Do any of you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?"

“Yes,” says Sirius.

“Of course,” says Harry.

“No!” says Malfoy.

Firenze goes on ignoring Malfoy. Centaurs are very single-minded, Harry decides.

"Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power,” Firenze says, “who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?"

Everything goes cold again. Harry feels as if someone has replaced his heart with a ball of ice.

“No,” says Sirius. Harry has never seen him look afraid before, not really. Not like this. “You can’t mean -- he’s dead. He’s dead, it’s over --”

“What is he talking about?” Malfoy says. He looks to Harry, pleadingly, as if Harry is the only person around who might make the least bit of sense.

“He means,” Harry croaks, “that was Vol --”

"Harry! Harry, are you all right?"

Hermione comes running toward them down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind her. Sirius changes into Padfoot and comes to sit at Harry’s side, leaning into him.

“We’re fine,” Harry says. “I think. The unicorn’s dead, Hagrid, it's in that clearing back there."

"This is where I leave you," Firenze says. He nods at Padfoot. "You are safe now. The skies are clearing.”

“Thank you,” says Harry. He elbows Malfoy, and after a confused moment Malfoy stammers a thank-you as well.

"Good luck, Harry Potter,” Firenze says. “The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times."

After Firenze canters off into the forest, Harry remembers to shout after him, uselessly, “It’s MacIntyre, actually!”

All Harry wants to do is trudge back up to the castle and fall over in his own bed. But Hermione is staring at him, and Malfoy is staring at Padfoot, both of them full of questions about to spill out into the air.

Hermione puts the pieces together first, quick as ever. “Neville’s gone back already,” she says. She glances sidelong at Malfoy. “Did he...?”

“Yeah,” says Harry.

“Granger knows about all this?” Malfoy says.

Hermione draws herself up into her most puffed-up state of self-righteous know-it-all-ness, and Harry has never been more grateful to have her for a friend.

“Some people can be trusted with important secrets,” she says. “Can you?”

“Of course I can,” Malfoy says, too angry at the insult to be afraid, or even to remember how he normally treats Hermione.

“Then prove it,” Harry says. “If you want to know what’s happening, prove we can trust you with it.”

“My word of honor as a Malfoy,” he says. He holds his hand out, and looks expectant. There is a long, silent moment. Padfoot’s tail thumps in the dirt behind Harry-- once, twice.

“All right,” Harry says. He shakes Malfoy’s hand. “But -- in the morning, yeah?”

All three of them remember, at more or less the same time, that it is extremely late at night, and they’ve all spent quite a lot of time running around frightened out of their wits.

“...Fine,” says Draco, and fights back a yawn.

#the dogfather #dogfather story post

873 notes · View notes

malliebuu · 6 years

Text

Mallie’s Reylo Fanfic Rec List:

This is in no particular order and not limited to! There are so many talented writers out there! These are stories that have really stuck with me, so I am sharing them with you all! I will add as I go.

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The Inheritance of the Resistance by @waterlilyrose

Rating: Explicit

Summary: The discovery of a new unknown Duchess of the House of Kenobi brings new life to the Rebellion Court. Having lost their old Queen Leia, Rey and Han are forced into a deeply unconventional but quietly happy marriage. Having never had a family of her own, Rey sees Han as the father figure she always longed for.

So when the disgraced Prince returns to court to make amends with his aging King, how will he take to the girl who is now effectively his stepmother?

Medieval/Tudor Reylo.

Review: This has Tudor vibes - it is unreal. I love history, so naturally historically AUs are right up my ally. I was quite impressed by the setup and dynamic. The author uses Star Wars terms in place for the historical ones. This doesn’t follow the Tudor chain of events, but veers in it’s own original direction. Ben and Rey for this interesting relationship and it is quite troubled because Rey is actually married to Ben’s father ::gasp::. Love this fiction. So beautifully heartbreaking! (complete)

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There Shall I Be By philcollins

Rating: Not Rated (Mature if anything)

Summary: AU in which Rey, our lonely scavenger from The Force Awakens, meets Kylo Ren under very different circumstances - he's a shepherd on Jakku. Rey inherits an estate on the moon Ceathea and Kylo follows her there, works for her there, and soon encounters his hated old foe, Uncle Luke Skywalker. Will Rey ever accept Kylo's love? Will crusty old Luke Skywalker come between Rey and her true love? More familiar faces will make an appearance in this Force-free story of love, longing, angst, and anger.

Review: This story was so heartbreaking, but so good. A mix of pining, angst, drama and uncertainty. This story I read nonstop and was quite heart broken, but these two stubborn people just need a little extra time in order to figure out they were meant for one another. This story had me sighing and talking aloud with frustration! So well-written! (Complete)

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The End of Father Kylo By Sweet_Solitude

Rating: Explicit

Summary: After a filthy youth and almost suffering a great loss, Kylo turns to priesthood and leads a virtuous life. That is until he meets a girl who turns his world upside down and reminds him that he has a functioning body below his waist.

Review: Again, this one was found during my priest Kylo fazes. Don’t judge me! This has everything you would think when you think of the church and priests, though there is a little bit of something else. Yes, I am going to hell. I know this. Smut, smut! Love this kinky one-shot. If you aren’t offended by this, give it a read. ::fans face:: (one-shot)

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Fault Lines By Devil Betty

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Rey has always dreamed of a family. She starts to believe she could have it when she moves in with her new foster mother, Leia Organa. Then Leia’s son, Ben, moves back home and threatens to ruin the life Rey is trying to build. Nothing will prepare either of them for the truth. Some family secrets should stay hidden.

Review: This story is a “page-turner”. It has a simple setting, but so much happens and the dialogue between both Kylo and Rey are so intriguing. The chemistry is unmistakable and the lemons are to die for. Unfortunately, this is one minor thing that has a draw back, and both character experience a major revelation that hurts them both. Please read warnings before reading!!

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Spit and Sweat by bunnystealsyourcarrots

Rating: Explicit

Summary: In 1975, Finalizer played a gig at CBGB. The punk band gave their best, the crowd went wild, but a young girl named Rey wanted more.

God Save Them All.

Review: AH! This AU I really couldn’t get enough of because it involves our lovely Kylo and Rey, but is also peppered with sex, drugs and rock-n-roll! I mean...no on the drugs, but in all seriousness, I LOVE Rock-n-roll! So, naturally I honed in on this like no one’s tomorrow! The chemistry between Kylo and Rey is off the damn charts! Ugh, the sexual tension! I absolutely love how this starts as a childhood crush and as she gets older Kylo sees her and is completely blown away! (Uncomplete)

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Love and Comfort, Sex and Wondering If This Could Be Our Turn By AquaWolfGirl

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Anonymous Prompt: Ben and Rey are in college and best friends, and very much in love, they just don't realize it. Rey is tired of people making jokes about her being a virgin, so she asks Ben to help her out.

Review: Virgin Rey has a little delima. Ben is there to help guide her. This is actually a very sweet and sexy story! Give it a read! The author is a fantastic writer! (One-Shot)

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nolite te bastardes carborundorum By SaintHeretical

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Born on the fringes of a dystopian dictatorship, Rey has lived most of her life in the shadows until desperation drives her into the hands of the government. Her unblemished womb is her only salvation, which leads to her being placed as a Handmaid in the household of Commander Kylo Ren and his infertile wife.

Her task? Produce a healthy child for the Commander, or be banished to a life of hardship and almost certain death. A Reylo Handmaid’s Tale AU

Review: I loved The Handmaid's Tale, so naturally when I visited this story, I was drawn to that aspect. There is non-con in this, so please beware when reading. If you do not know the Hulu original series, refer to their site for a detailed description. The author, in response to this TV show, stays true, but brings originality and this is really a wonderfully written piece. The author is extremely talented! (Unfinished)

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Innocents Lost By Pontmercy44

Rating: Explicit

Summary: “That’ll scar.” Han stood behind him, nervously. He’d always been nervous around him, first, because he was a baby, and Han didn’t understand babies, and then, because he had the Force, and Han didn’t understand the Force. “Girls like scars.”

“It’s not like it matters.” Ben looked out at the thousands of spires. “I’m going to be a Jedi.”

Han grunted in sympathy, and then sat next to him, swinging his legs off the side of the tower. The urge to feel alive, to take risks and taste danger – that was what he’d inherited from his father. “Heard you got off the hook.”

“Not exactly. Community service.”

“Better than a detention block.” Han leaned back on his hands.

Ben scoffed. “It’s asinine.”

His father shifted, looking up at the stars, through the hazy, translucent atmosphere of Hosnian Prime. “What do they have you doing? Picking up orbit pollution, or something?”

“Worse.” Ben snorted. “Teaching orphans to read and write Basic. On Jakku.”

Han winced. “Only slightly better than a detention block.”

Review: Love this story! I flew through it. Very well-written! Ben has to do community service as punishment and meets little Rey on Jakku. This forbidden relationship is beautiful and bittersweet at the same time. I love this first love adaptation! The author went above and beyond with these two! (complete)

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Daddy Dearest By AquaWolfGirl

Rating: Explicit

Summary: When single father Ben Solo moves into his new apartment in Bespin with 5-month old daughter Amy in tow, he hopes to hell and back that this life will be better than the one they left behind in upstate New York. It's not long before his life becomes a cycle of work, Amy, work, Amy. One night, while trying to fish his keys from his pocket without waking his infant daughter, Rey, his next door neighbor, offers a helping hand.

Review: Daddy Ben! He is a great dad who falls for the babysitter. Interesting read; well written! You feel so sorry for Ben, but also Rey is a God send! Sweet interactions! Give it a read if you want some light hearted, fluffy interactions. Not much for fluff, but this was really a nice read! :3

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Stigmata By SaintHeretical

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Fifteen years after tragedy tore them apart, a priest and his sister band together to protect a homeless girl who appears to have been touched by God. Too bad his excommunicated nephew seems to have other plans for her.

A Reylo slow burn Modern/Religious AU.

Review: After the priest hype came out, I searched merely to humor myself. I found a few fictions that really had an interesting plot. This is one of them. Focused on Christianity and different groups within. Kylo and Leia are curious about this young girl who turns out to be homeless and has a curious development. She has formed the stigmata. This really is different than anything I have experienced. I usually don’t go for stuff like this, but there is enough angst and romance to fill my needs. LOVE it!

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World In My Eyes By Sasstasticmad

Rated: Explicit

Summary: "The bond should be dead," Rey says through gritted teeth. "Just like you.”

"The bond is only this strong because of you," Kylo Ren tells her. "You're the one who touched me. You took my hand and let me hold yours. This is your fault, not mine. (A post-TLJ force bond fic)

Review: This is after TLJ. I was obsessed for a while, which I am sure comes to no shock to anyone! Everyone was wrapped up in the force bond, which sasstasticmad delivers VERY well! There is so much continued tension between Rey and Kylo. It is quite interesting to see these two continue their interaction from opposite groups. The Resistance Vs First Order. (incomplete)

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Wolves By @albastargazer

Rated: Explicit

Summary: Rey Kenobi is a human beta until one fatal night and everything changes. With the existence of werewolves turning her world upside down, she is left with only her boss, Ben Solo, to help. Little did she know he is an Alpha wolf and the next leader of his pack, intent on claiming his rare omega.

Review: A/O/B dynamic. This story really is amazing. I have always had a soft spot for werewolves and I haven’t really had the pleasure of finding one that really stuck yet, of course, that was until I stumbled upon this little number. The dynamic between Ben and Rey is quite interesting. A horrible event leads Rey down an interesting path. Ben takes charge and attempts to help Rey. Interesting revelations emerge, however. (incomplete)

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Hatchling By g_girl143 @gwendy85

Rated: Teen

Summary: Rey's leads a predictable life as a general labourer at Niima Junkyard until an unexpected visit from the daughter she doesn't even know exists turns her world into a tailspin.

Review: This is simply the sweetest story. I binged it in one sitting. So sad that it doesn’t update as frequently, but when I do get an e-mail I am jumping for joy! This author really is talented. Love the way this dynamic is set up. There are so many intriguing questions-- you are left wanting more. So bitter sweet it isn’t complete! It really is something I haven’t seen done before. Really hope that it is completed someday! So much potential! I cannot wait to see what becomes of this new found family knit that develops on a whim, no thanks for Rey’s surprise daughter! ;)

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Kismet by @ladylionhart

Rated: Mature

Summary: Sometimes, what seems like a simple mistake is truly the first step of a fateful journey.

- Or the one where a single text message sent to the wrong number completely changes the lives of two people and those around them.

Review: Easily one of my all time favs! This is such an amazingly written, intriguing AU. It really begins like none other via text. Both parties, shockingly, continue their witty bouts of conversation until they both begin to develop feelings for one another without actually seeing one another. When they finally begin to interact on a level far from platonic, it heats up fast and you are left needing more! LOVE!

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Summer Heat By @isharan

Rating: Explicit

Summary: A lonely young woman arrives at the cottage she inherited from her grandfather on a remote lake in northern Ontario, to find her neighbor is a rare Alpha, a relic of the old days when humans were ruled by their designation. Across a long hot summer, they connect over their shared history, and she finds that the past may not be as far away as she assumed.

Review: ::Bats lashes:: What can I say about this one? Well, I am slowly dying because man is this a slow burn! This is an A/O/B dynamic, but it is so well written that it isn’t just a heat and commence screwing each other’s brains out. No, this really has amazing storyline that has you asking questions or attempting to figure out the author’s train of thought. Gosh, there are so many good things to say about this fic! Ben is absolutely a dream in this fiction too. I cannot even begin to describe because I just wouldn’t do it justice. This fiction killed me in a good way! (Incomplete)

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Serotonin and Dopamine By Pontmercy44

Rating: Explicit

Summary: He could lie and say it was because he was gentleman, but that wasn’t quite true. “I – well, I want to take advantage of you. But I know better.”

Rey looked at him for a long moment, and Ben thought she might slap him. She didn’t. She started to laugh, shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite believe it. Finally, she said, smiling, “Goodnight, Ben.”

Ben turned and walked slowly back to his car. He heard her door creak open, but he didn’t hear it slam shut. It felt as if he was walking away from his chance, from his chance to have something good and uncomplicated and nice.

Ben turned around, and went back to the door. Rey waited for him, biting her lip. He took off his stocking cap and held it in his hands in front of himself. His ears were cold without his hat, but he was in the posture of remorse and penance. "I'm sorry. I'm an ass. Can I kiss you again?"

Review: This fiction was different and reeled me in because Ben was different. In this fiction he has mental disorder that makes it difficult to form relationships. Though, Rey takes to him and Ben to her in the sweetest of ways! I really liked the development in this story. The author delivers fluffy feels too. I am not usually one that enjoys a ton of fluff, but they did right by it! (Complete)

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An empire to be won By Bitterbones @dvrksister

Rating: Explicit

Summary: The grin of satisfaction that split Rey’s face was utterly demented. “In three days time I will be wed to her son.” Rose blanched at the word son, apparently having been unaware of the familial relationship between her beloved general and the scourge of the galaxy.

Rey chuckled and continued, “It will be televised across the galaxy, and I’m certain that she will be watching; supportive mother that she is. Tell her to look on her son’s face, and see that he is gone. Tell her that the mark she sees there is my own, that it is an engagement gift from myself. And tell her that where she failed to save Ben Solo, I will raise Kylo Ren.”

[In which Kylo and Rey are betrothed as children and separated for their respective darkside trainings. Their reintroduction as adults is explosive, to say the least.]

Review: Cold Showers. I swear, these two, from the beginning, have so much sexual chemistry I had to fan myself when reading. Holy shit, this was tense. I LOVE her Kylo. This is an arranged marriage fiction, but even so there is so much going on in the world she so wonderfully weaved as well as the character interactions. You will be flying through each chapter begging for more! (Incomplete)

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Eunoia By MalevolantReverie @malevolent-reverie @meth-lab-shenanigans

Rate: Explicit

Summary: Rey Kenobi, an underachieving college student becomes tangled in a twisted web with her astronomy professor, Kylo Ren, who is hiding a dark secret. (Unfinished)

Review: Violent, dark, heart wrenching, Eunoia is the cream of the crop for dark fictions. I am a huge horror fan, so naturally I was curious to read something dark and dreary in regards to Reylo. The author doesn’t hope back, which I am quite pleased about. She really builds her word and characters fantastically. The dark character of Kylo really stays completely vile. Please only read if you can hand reading explicit content. Contains non-con!

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The Quietest Evening By MalevolantReverie @malevolent-reverie @meth-lab-shenanigans

Rated: Mature

Summary: Every so often, a girl disappears. No one knows where they go or why they’re taken, but they're never seen alive again. Rey, the police chief’s daughter, is next.

Review: This story is one of my favorites from MR. This one wasn’t nearly as graphic as the others she has written, but I really like the storyline she has built here. It was dark, contained secrets and revelations that had my jaw dropping. I really was at the edge of my seat for this one. It really got my heart pumping! If you are looking for a dark, angsty thriller this is the story for you. Please be aware there are triggers and non-con! (Completed)

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Nobody Knows By hernamewasalice @hernamewasalicewriter

Rated: Explicit

Summary: Nobody knows that the loving wife of Ben Solo was kidnapped as a teenager. Nobody knows. Not their family or closest friends. Not even their twelve year old son, Benny.

Review: Amazing story! This is another extremely dark fic, but more so the past that is associated with Rey and Kylo. Kylo has so many secrets, so does Rey. They look like the perfect couple, but really they have a more sinister start. There are parts that are tender and sweet, but the reality and hard truth of it all is quite painful. Author has an extremely fantastic beginning where she pulls you in. It is seen through the eyes of their son! So good! Recommend! Please be warned, however, there is non-con and violence! (Unfinished)

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#reylo #reylo fanfiction rec #rey x kylo ren #ben solo x rey

453 notes · View notes

jarebear20 · 5 years

Text

Let the lights guide you home

001.

Chaol had never seen so much blood.

But now he was intimately aware of it, knew how it felt against his skin and invade his senses. It was not at all how he'd expected this flying lesson to go. He'd been eager to get down to the pitch, to learn how to do fun tricks that he could use when he started training for Quidditch. Now Quidditch and flying were the farthest things from his mind as he slowly crawled towards the castle.

He thought he'd seen some of his classmates take off on brooms earlier. Maybe they got away. But if they hadn't, someone was going to need to be told what was happening. The last he saw of Madam Wilde-Hextor, she'd had her wand ripped from her. So she wouldn't be able to help them. He had to try to get help.

Just a little farther.

002.

In the confusion from the attacks, Chaol had managed to lose two wands. As a result, every little sound made his heart leap in fear, and he waited to hear the labored breathing of one of the wolves finding him to finish the job. When death did not immediately come, he pushed on, until he came upon some trees.

Pine. The name came immediately to mind as Chaol tried to push himself up into a standing position. He had seen Pine Tree, his housemate, his friend, dragged away. A sob worked its way past his lips and he clamped a hand over his mouth. He couldn't draw attention to himself. Not when he had no way of fighting back.

003.

It hadn't seemed so long ago that he'd come to the forest to seek Pine out, to make sure he was doing alright. How quickly things changed. Here he was, barely able to stand on his own two feet and Pine was....

No. Best not to think of it.

He had to get help.

Though the movement resulted in the fire in his side flaring back up, Chaol bent down anyways to retrieve a stick that looked sturdy enough. Maybe not enough to defend against werewolves---the sound of his broom snapping was still loud in his mind---but it could help him keep moving. And maybe could distract if it came down to it.

Fighting back a wave of nausea, Chaol pressed onward, towards the lights.

004.

Everything hurt.

He'd never experienced this level of pain before. He couldn't even tell how he'd managed to make it this far without breaking down completely. Chaol only knew that if he stopped, they were all dead. He couldn't stop. He had to keep going.

His mind was playing tricks on him. He thought he could hear sounds of people calling for help. He whimpered. To join them or to remain hidden in the darkness?

Silence was his answer.

005.

His vision wavered---whether from tears or something else, he couldn't tell. Chaol could feel himself wanting to shut down, to curl up in a ball and wait for this nightmare to end.

But he couldn't unhear the screaming in his head. He had to keep going. Get help.

He couldn't die here. Wouldn't die here. Not when he was needed.

006.

He was cold and yet not cold. Cold from the rips in his robes---the one time he wore them because the house elves were seeing to his normal flying clothes---and not cold where sharp claws had dug into flesh. He could still feel the heavy breathing of the one that had dragged him across the pitch.

Why had this happened?

He wanted to go home. For the first time ever, Chaol cursed the fact that he was a wizard. Being a wizard had brought him here, only to let him down when he needed it most. What good was he as a wizard if he couldn't defend himself? He was safer back in the foster system, safer being considered a problem child by the people that were supposed to look out for him.

Starting up the first hill that would take him to the castle---to safety---Chaol could feel his legs tremble. "Nonononononononono." Pain exploded in his vision as Chaol went down, his newly twelve-year-old body doing little to help as he rolled back down to the bottom.

Lying there, finally defeated and broken, he wept.

007.

Time passed differently when you were broken. To Chaol it felt like he'd been there on the ground for hours, each breath he took more painful than the last. The tears had long since stopped, their remains having carved through the dirt and blood staining his face. Though it hurt to move, he found himself rolling over onto his back, another piece of his torn shirt falling away from him as he did so.

He could see the stars. Absentmindedly, he found himself wondering if the Astronomy professors had been looking through their telescopes tonight. Had they seen the sparks that had been sent up from the pitch? Or were they otherwise occupied?

God, he hoped the werewolves hadn't gotten into the castle.

His thought drifted like flotsam at sea, never staying in one place for very long. The corners of his eyes were starting to go black and though he knew it probably wouldn't be good to close his eyes, Chaol though he could live with that just then.

008.

There was once a Muggle artist that had created a beautiful depiction of the night sky from his perspective. It was so beautiful that it was often included as posters in Muggle art classes, right next to a portrait of a woman with no eyebrows. Chaol thought he could see the colors of that painting now, swirling in breathtaking patterns across the nigh sky. Probably not a good sign for him, given how the artist later went on to lose an ear.

He did not notice the sound of approaching footsteps, nor the ball of light that came out of the darkness. But Chaol certainly noticed the nudge to his small frame. It was a shock to the system, as if he'd been slapped across the face. With a yelp, he kicked out as hard as he could--only to realize too late that the leg he used was the very one that had been used as a piece of traction in a vain attempt to stop a wolf's fall.

The scream was ripped from his throat, his body drawing together in an attempt to to protect itself from further damage.

It took him a few moments to realize that nothing was happening, and he looked up to see the woman above him. "Are you an angel?" he whispered. "Am I dying?"

009.

Chaol stared at her, hardly believing she was there. Was she another figment of his imagination? She called herself an Auror...but Chaol didn't know what that meant, though he was sure he'd heard the word before. A wizard term. Watching her hold out her arm to him, he reached out and was amazed to find that she was very solid, very real. And as much as he would pride himself on his sense of imagination, he didn't think he was capable just then of conjuring an imaginary person.

At her mention of safety, Chaol flinched. "Pine," he murmured, then looked up at the woman with all the desperation of a child that had tried to drag himself up a hill to find help for his friend. "You've gotta help him. His name is Pine. They dragged him away from the pitch when it started. I tried to stop them with my wand but..." His voice faded out for a moment.

No. He had to help his friend. "You've got to find him before they hurt him."

010.

Chaol was not the sort of person to shirk away from authority figures. He'd been in front of plenty of adults that had held his life in their eyes without batting an eyelash. But in front of this auror-angel that had found him lying on the ground, Chaol crumpled. She was right. Of course she was right. How could he possibly expect to be of any help to Pine when he couldn't even help himself?

He had to believe that if his angel was here, that she had others here as well helping everyone on the pitch. Maybe they could stop the werewolves from hurting anymore people.

Though his legs felt like they should belong to someone much older and weaker than he, Chaol tried to step forward with the auror supporting him. "C-chaol." He took a deep breath. "My name is Chaol. Today's my birthday."

He hadn't meant to say that last part.

011.

”Your birthday huh?” she managed in a tight voice, “Well that kind of sucks doesn’t it? But you’ll live and see more and they’ll be better than this one...that much I can promise, Chaol. You have my word on that.” So much for hiding her own painful memories away from the kid. “You think you can walk?”

Chaol didn't say anything to that. He couldn't see how future birthdays could be better. He'd still have the memories of tonight, wouldn't he? He'd wake up and remember what it was like to see blood stain the grass of the Quidditch Pitch, hear the screams of his classmates in his mind. He'd have to remember that he couldn't get help for them, and that when they needed him the most, he'd been unable to save them.

"I t-think so." The reality of having his angel here seemed to make the world around him real again too. He could feel every ache, every nerve ending sending signals to his brain that something was very wrong. As if he didn't already know that. He shivered, the rips in his robes exposing him to the winter air. "I tried to get up the hill before, but fell back down."

012.

He'd never been more grateful for magic in that moment. Perhaps it would be worse in the long run to be numbed to the pain in his body, but right now he couldn't care. He wanted the pain to be gone, wanted this day to be over. And he was starting to get the idea that he wouldn't be able to sleep for some time. He'd need to be seen to by the healer, and she was sure to be busy with everything going on.

That one night regrowing the bones in his arm seemed so long ago now.

Letting his angel guide him up the hill, Chaol tried to focus on her words. Because if he could hear them, it reinforced reality a little more for him. "I haven't been ice skating," he said quietly. "Was supposed when I was little but I got in trouble for throwing snowballs at another boy."

He could feel the panic rise in him once more as his angel mentioned the Hufflepuff stands. "I don't want to go back," he said, his voice thick. "Do I have to?"

#misc: jare's writing

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bvotw · 3 years

Text

An unexpected turn to a goodbye summer party

It was the last Saturday of Summer break and McCall's pack decided that the Summer couldn't be over without a proper celebration. As Melissa was working the night shift, Scott had managed to host a small gathering of friends. But as we know, every high school small gathering ends up in a huge party in which you don't know more than 60% of the people present. That's just how things go.

''So this is how it feels..'' Malia noted. She was sitting in the steps of the front porch and for the first time, she was feeling the effects of a substance purely consumed to the sole purpose of personal enjoyment.

''Yeah it is, isn't it great?'' Isaac responded with a smile. He had just returned to Beacon Hills. He had heard all about the Dread Doctors and Chimaeras and realised that the decision of becoming an Omega hadn't been profitable to anyone. He had lost power, and Scott had needed him more than ever. However, had he really got past the fact that his girlfriend had died in Scott's arms? You know what they had, you always knew Isaac. Stop thinking about it! He would find out. Right now, he was sharing with Malia the wonders some molly can do to werewolves.

''How did you find out about this magic?'' Malia was completely stoned.

''Well, I met a fellow wolf, we exchanged experiences, I ended up learning that molly works wonder on us!'' Isaac laughed and got up to enter Scott's house. '' I must go and find Scott, he has to try this shit'', he shouted as he disappeared in the sea of people who somehow found about the party.

Fun to think about, right? Who would say, in the beginning of the sophomore year, pre bite, that Scott McCall, that loser guy that no one really knew, couldn't play lacrosse and whose sexuality was overly debated due to his proximity to Stiles, would be hosting the party of the Summer. How things change. Who would say that Stiles would now be seen as one of the popular kids and would be dating his 5ft 3, strawberry blond, green eyed dream beauty? Life was good. But they knew it wouldn't last. In Beacon Hills, it never lasted. At least, not for long.

''Scott?'' Isaac yelled for the fifth time. ''Dude, are you ok? SCOTT!?''

''Uh..Wha.. Sorry Isaac, I was completely out'' he smiled. He knew Isaac may have not forgiven him yet by the Allison scene, but he truly hoped one day he would. Isaac was a good friend, and a strong member of his pack. ''I was just thinking about how great things have been this Summer and something Deaton said the other day, but I wanna forget about that now, I want to have fun. You said You had a little somethin' for me to try?''

''First, I'm very proud of you, Mama's Boy! Trying molly? A day to remember!'' Isaac mocked him '' But yeah, I gave three tabs to Malia, it worked. I think five or six for you? That's what I take as well.''

''Well fuck it. Look at Stiles and Lydia. They just drank beer, how is that even possible?'', Stiles and Lydia were making out in the kitchen, completely unaware of the circumstances around them. ''Gimme just a moment to save them from lifelong video proof of the effect alcohol can have in you, I'll meet you outside?'' And he left without waiting for an answer, because he knew Isaac would just do what he said.

''So, i just take it like a usual tab? Swallow it with water?'' Scott asked as soon as he was outside, next to Isaac and Malia.

''I fond that it works better that way, yes'' Isaac responded, passing him a bottle of water.

''I find it to work marvellously'' said a very amused Malia, ''Please join me Scotty!''

''Well fuck it then'' Scott mumbled while swallowing the tabs. ''What now?''

''Now you enjoy the night, handsome!'' Malia exclaimed.

Firstly, he thought that it wouldn't work. That his body would just cure the high as it seemed to cure everything physical. But then it hit him. Fuck, every sensation and feeling were increased exponentially. As was his awareness of the scene around him. He wanted to scream, he wanted to dance and he wanted to live.

The party went by like any party does. People danced, people made out in random places, some random guy puked in the sink and basically everyone was having fun. Scott wondered where Stiles and Lydia were, but thinking about the stories Stiles had told him, they wouldn't want to be disturbed. He looked around to try and find someone familiar and saw Malia and Isaac waving and calling him to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with the group they were in and he joined.

''As the host, you should have the honours'', a random girl said. Jennifer? Amber? Who knows. ''C'mon McCall'' Scott spined the bottle and it pointed to Malia.

Nop, nop, I gotta get out of here. I could be there with her in a normal circumstance. With this in my system I just can't control myself. Fuck, what do I do?

''Get up Scott, gimme the best seven minutes of my life'' Malia mocked him

''Yeah sure..'' he said, with the yellowest smile possible.

They entered the room and heard Isaac starting the clock.

''If I weren't Malia right know, what would you do to me, handsome?'' Malia asked, provokingly.

''Difficult question, depends on what ''not Malia'' was up to.'' He said with a smirk

''What if she was up to a little something?'' Malia tried him. She had been trying him for the past two weeks, but his loyalty to Stiles was unbreakable. She didn't want a relationship, but she wanted to experience the lust of an Alpha, she sensed this guy was the big deal. Am I smelling lust from you Scott? Naa.. I'm imagining. Or am I not?

''Well, then I'd give her a little taste, and then find a way to finish what we had started someplace else.'' I'm I really doing this? Could her heartbeat be quicker? Somehow he could sense that her temperature was rising and he knew what it meant. She wants me as well.

''Hmmm, a little taste? I wonder..'' She was interrupted by his lips. Surprisingly soft, yet increasingly intense. She wanted to moan, but she knew there were a dozen people outside and she could live without them knowing everything that was happening.

''Something like this, you know? Something that would make her want more'' He whispered as he was planting soft kisses down her neck and jaw. ''Something that'd leave her needing more'' He was now licking and sucking her ear. ''Something that would make her beg for more'' he breathed against the soft spot behind her ear, as he found it and she moaned softly, but loud enough for Isaac to have listened. He found out he couldn't care less.

''Door is opening in 10.. 9.. 8'' Isaac was doing the countdown.

''Fuck Scott!'' She said as she tried desperately to comb her hair with fingers. How the fuck am I this wet?

'''3.. 2.. 1!'' Isaac exclaimed as he opened the room's door, revealing a very blushed Malia and a grinning Scott. What happened there was left to speculation to everyone but Isaac who despite not knowing the details (and not wanting to) knew something had happened.

''So.. who's next?'' Scott asked, as if nothing had happened. Fuck, I'm getting hard, I have to get out of this game as soon as possible. But we were the first ones to go, everyone will know what we went up to do.

''Since I'm the honorary host, me!'' Isaac spinnd the bottle and it pointed to a shy girl, that seemed pretty annoyed by being there. ''Oh, Sarah, would you give me the pleasure of your company?''

''Talking about pleasure..'' Scott whispered in Malia's ear. He was enjoying teasing her and was closely listening to her heartbeat and catching her emotions to see how far he could go. He started touching her leg, close to the hem of her skirt, but not enough to touch it. Oh my God, I can smell her wetness. Fuck, I can't get hard here.

''Scott, stop..'' Or don't, never stop, just touch me, I beg you.

'''Funny how your mouth says one thing, but I can smell your lust increasing'' He whispered as he brushed her right nipple, that was well obvious through the thin fabric of her crop top and her bikini top. ''You know, I could torture you here for the rest of the game but I have to go and get another keg. I think you have to go check on Lydia as soon as I return with the keg, and I will have to go change my shirt because I will get beer all over it when opening it.'' He winked at her and returned his hand to her leg, drawing light eights with his fingers and feeling goosebumps forming on her skin.

Malia nodded and Scott left to go and get a new keg with Danny. As he was leaving, Isaac's time was up and he seated next to Malia, complaining about what had happened, or more specifically what had not ''I mean, I wasn't expecting to fuck her there, but I was expecting a little action. She wanted Jennifer there with her, how great. What about you and Scott?'' Isaac asked grinning. ''Don't bother lying, I know something happened, and worry not, I won't tell Stiles. Where is Scott btw?''

''He went to get a new keg'' she explained, and saw Scott carrying the new keg inside. Is it just me, or that guy gets hotter by the minute? Brushing the thought, she told Isaac she was going to check on Lydia since she was completely trashed some hours ago, and went upstairs to Scott's bedroom to wait for him. Am I really doing this? Are we really doing this? Fuck, how can someone have this effect on me? How can.. Her thought was interrupted by a blow in her neck, and she caught his scent. As she turned to him, he locked the door and she kissed him. The kiss was not soft as their previous one, but a more urgent one.

Scott broke Malia's kiss and looked at her, only not with the usual sweetness that was so characteristic of his brown eyes. This look was a hungry one, in a sense that nothing had to do with food. Those eyes were full of desire and Malia almost moaned from the sight. Right there, Scott grabbed her arms and spun her around, so that her ass was in contact with his crotch. He started kissing her neck, sucking her ear and licking all of that erogenous zone while Malia stopped worrying about being heard and started letting some moans escape. ''You know Malia.. I don't think that we should wake Stiles and Lydia up. I think you can do better, don't you?''

''Hm hm, I believe I can, but who will assure you I'm enjoying your efforts?'' she smirked at herself. His hands were all over her. All over, except the specific spots she wanted them to be. They would massage her belly but wouldn't touch the waistband of her skirt. They wouldn't also go as high as the bottom of her bikini top. He would touch her arms and her hair and even her legs but she was getting anxious and frustrated. She was getting impatient.

''Oh, but I do. I can hear your increasing heart rate. I can sense how wet you are. I can smell how much you want me. But I also can smell your growing frustration.'' As he was talking, his hands would get closer and closer to where she wanted them, but they would quickly go away again. ''The thing is, and what I can't catch the scent to, how much do you want me? And how?'' He started biting her neck softly, and with each bite Malia would get even more aroused, something she could not believe to be possible at this point.

''I want... I want you to touch me everywhere.'' She managed to say through her heavy breathing. How can he even put me in such state?

''Oh, you mean like this?'' His finger lightly brushed over her nipple that was even more visible than it had been downstairs. As soon as he did, she couldn't control her moan. This made Scott proud of himself. He knew the effect he was having on her and he was enjoying every moment. But he also knew Malia was very short tempered, he had to procede carefully if he didn't want to turn what was to be the hottest sex of his life into a werewolf vs werecoyote fight.

''You know what I mean Scott, Jesus!'' What are you doing? Do I have to beg? How can he make me moan by brushing my nipple? I always thought I couldn't get horny by touching my tits.. ''Touch all of me Scott, please!''

''Should I though? Maybe you have to be more specific..'' He brushed the other nipple while sucking on her neck. He decided to give her a bit more, the begging would be left for later. He started taking her crop top and the top of her bikini off, making sure his hands touched her bare skin as little as possible. His kisses, bites and licks were descending on her spine and she was experiencing so many sensations that even the surprisingly cool air in her recently bare nipples was causing a turning on sensation.

''Scott, I've asked you, touch my breasts.'' Why are you making me get frustrated wolf boy? Her hands were on his hair and she closed them slightly to express her feelings.

''Oh, ok. Like this?'' He stopped his mouth work only to talk, but his hands were driven to her breasts as soon as she spoke. He put each palm on each boob and squeezed them, and then with his thumb and index finger, he started lightly pinching each nipple. ''Or like this?''

Malia was completely shocked at the sensation and instinctively started grinding her ass to his crotch. Scott was changing between squeezing and pinching, circling and massaging and she was getting close. And then she felt it. Against her ass, his erection was getting tired of disguising itself, it wanted to be freed. So she intensified her hip movement, until Scott took his right hand out of her right breast, continuing his work on the left and put it on her hip to stop her movement.

''You want to cum, don't you? So why won't you, Malia?'' And as he was speaking, he turned her around and started alternating between licking and sucking one breast and pinching and massaging the other. He could sense she was close. So close.

''Scott, I'm cumming, oh my god, don't stop Scott, I'm gonna..'' Her moans were interrupted by Scott's two fingers that she willingly sucked. And then the wave came, and Malia came hard, sucking on Scott's fingers. Fuck, fuck, fuck I am having this dick inside me, whatever it takes.

''Fuck Malia, you're so hot.'' He stand again, finally appreciating the sight before his eyes. He had seen her naked in some occasions, but never from this perspective. He wanted to taste every bit of this girl and god, the scent of her juices was filling the room and couldn't be ignored for long. ''This, this is what happens when you tell me what you want. But from now on, please be a bit more specific, I had to improvise a bit.'' he teased her.

''I must say you made quite an improvisation, Scotty.'' she said, still a bit out of breath. ''But I feel that you are too dressed up, don't you think?'' the tone of her voice was a mixture of mischief and challenge. She pushed him to his bed and walked towards him only with her skirt on. A vision Scott wouldn't want to get out of his mind in any near future. ''I feel like you are too cloistered to truly enjoy this moment.'' He was sat at the end of his bed, his dominant self completely covered by how surprised he was by what was happening. ''I don't even think this shirt goes with those shorts anyway'' she provoked him, as she took his shirt off. Jesus, I can't do anything more before tasting, touching and observing all this piece of sin.

''Malia..'' they shared a look and she begun touching his abs, licking his chest and teasing his nipples with little bites. Se pushed him backwards so he would be supported by his elbows. ''Malia, fuck...'' he groaned. Then, he made an attempt to stop her and take control yet again, but she was also fast.

''Ah, don't even think about it, you should know I get what I want.'' She confronted him, leaving Scott with an incredulous look on his face. Where did this determination come from? I've only given a blowjob once in my life, he's going to hate it. She started unbuckling his belt and undoing the zipper of his shorts and the reality of the situation took control over her. She had no idea what she was doing, she was going to ruin it for Scott, who had given her one of the best orgasms of her life only by touching her tits. Stop overthinking Malia, carry on, he deserves it. She pulled the waistband of his shorts in a failed attempt to get them off and Scott raised his butt from the bed to help the process. As she was helping him getting rid of them, she had an idea. If he was so eager in getting me frustrated and not giving me what e expected, I'll just do the same.

Scott just watched Malia going through some thinking process and found it adorable. Just suck it Malia.. I'm so hard for you, please suck it, please. But she didn't attend to his plead. Instead, she positioned herself in the cowgirl position, one leg at each of Scott's sides and started kissing him again. She was holding his head, her hands going through his hair as she started grinding her pelvis in his. Her skirt was short and flowy and it positioned itself as if to hid the situation that was driving them both crazy. Scott groaned in her mouth. And put both his hands to her ass.

After some time, Malia left her spot on Scott's lap and went back to the floor and kneeled down in front of him, her face levelled with his crotch. Fuck, I'm so wet that his briefs are soaked. She put her palm against his bulge and he groaned.

''Malia, if you are not comfortable doing anything, you don't have to do it, you know that, right?'' He reassured her, she looked a bit confused and like she had no clue what she would do next.

''But I want to Scott. I want you and I want to get you in my mouth. I'm not really an expert..'' Fuck, what have you done, you ruined it.

'''If you really want to, maybe I can tell you what I want?'' Scott said calmly. ''But I trust you to do you, just go at your own pace.''

Malia touched his dick again, softly brushing it through the fabric and watched his face. Yeah, not bad so far. So she put her hand inside his briefs and felt her first real scare of the night. Scott's dick was bigger than Stiles'. Fuck, if I couldn't get Stiles completely in my mouth, this is going to be a disaster. But she ignored the thought. She pulled it out and started stroking his length while Scott took the briefs off completely, always mantaining eye contact. She then lowered her head, not breaking the eye contact and planted a kiss on his tip. Then she started planting soft kisses down his dick until she reached his balls and licked all the way to the tip again. She decided to take the tip inside her mouth, sucking on it, and got an immense relief when Scott closed his eyes shut. Well, maybe I can do this after all. She started slowly bobbing on his cock, always stroking it with her hand and suctioning on it. As she felt more comfortable, she would take more and more of him in her mouth.

''Maybe spit on it, it'll lubricate and i'll make it easier for you..' he asked while breathing heavily and she did as she was asked. '' Fuck Malia, you're doing so great'' he groaned as he put his left hand on her head. This girl is getting it rough afterwards. He was getting close. So, so close. It was a combination of everything since downstairs, being her helplessness before, while he was touching her and the scent of her surprisingly increasing arousal the main factors. Then he looked at her and realised she was grinding her own leg, stimulating herself and that did it for him. ''I'm going to cum Malia, oh fuck, fuck....''

She wasn't sure if she wanted to swallow his cum, so she instinctively took him out of her mouth and jerked him off, making him release all over her breasts. Shit, do I look like a porn star?

''Someday, you'll explain me what you were worried about... but not now because you might as well be the hottest sight my eye has caught in 17 years.'' Scott returned to his dominant self, now a completely naked one. He pinched her nipple and collected some of his cum with his finger putting it in Malia's mouth, which she sucked. ''If you ever wondered, that's how it tastes, if you want to swallow someday. I'll never ask you to, though.'' Scott helped her to her feet and in a fraction of a second, they had switched places. He went to the bathroom and cleaned himself, giving her another towel ''Clean your tits Malia, I want to watch you doing it'' Jesus, I want to fuck you raw Malia.. too bad birth control doesn't even work on you. '''Don't you think those panties are completely soaked? I mean, they soaked my briefs a while ago..'' as he was speaking, he was getting rid of your skirt and your panties.

''Scott, please. I'm so turned on. I'm so wet for you, I want your touch, please.'' She whimpered. Just eat me out, lick me until there's no more left. Bury your face in my pussy. She didn't want to say these words, but she also knew he would do all in his power to make her do so.

Scott started licking, kissing, biting and sucking every inch of her lower stomach, while pinching her nipples now and then. ''Like this?'' he knew he was driving her insane and he could see her pussy shining with her juices. Control Scott, control. In due time you'll do what you really want to do. So he got closer. Her scent was driving him crazy, and he could feel his dick coming to life yet again.

''C'mon you know what I mean!'' she exclaimed frustrated

''You know what you have to do to get what you want...'' he said, enjoying her frustrated look. He was using all of his power of control to stop him from putting two fingers inside her.

''Fucking eat me out, lick me until there's no more left, bury your handsome face in my pussy and make me cum'' she exclaimed, sick of waiting. WHAT HAVE I JUST SAID, oh my god.

''Oh, say no more, but you could have asked nicer though.'' he grinned at her, before blowing at her belly button and starting to descend his sucking. As he reached her slit, she parted her legs to give him more access and he used his index and middle finger to massage her clit, action which made her moan. Scott started kissing her groin, licking both sides, and the the external folds, never stoping the pinching and the circling around her bud. He then started licking her entrance, entering just a bit with his tongue and then stopped his fingers, moved them to Malia's entrance and inserted his two fingers inside her, curling them and make her moan more frantically. She can't make so much noise.. someone will interrupt us and I'm hard as fuck.. ''Malia, suck on your fingers for me, will ya?''.

Malia couldn't control herself, and when he had started fingering her, her heart almost had stoped. Now Scott had added his tongue work around her clit to his finger game and he was also sucking her bud and giving it light very faint bites. Oh shit, I want to enjoy this for as long as it lasts but I just can't avoid it much longer. How can he do this to me? Did my body have all this places hidden or his simply HIS touch doing the job? ''Scott, I can't hold it much longer, I'm going...to.. cuuum'' Oh shit!

''So don't... that's right'' he watched amazed as she came around his fingers, while he was circling her clit with his thumb. Jesus, how am I this hard again? Fucking Malia. While she was still regaining her breath, he raised her from the bed and placed her head in his pillow, kissing her. He supported himself with one arm, and caressed her face with the other. ''What will you have me do?'' he asked provokingly while putting on a condom.

''Fuck me. I beg you to fuck me. I beg you to fuck me so rough I won't be able to walk straight for several hours. I beg you to pound me as hard as you can.'' If this won't work, what will.

''Now this is talking, my dear'' and has he said, he grabbed her ankles and put one on each of his shoulders. Then, he positioned himself at her entrance, looked at Malia, which was with her head up, biting her lip, and entered her seeing how much of him she could take. She gasped and he started thrusting slowly at first, until she took him all, and then he increased his pace, thrusting harder as well. ''You feel so good Malia, fuck''.

With each thrust, Malia found herself wanting more and more. Another orgasm was building up inside her and she started playing with her nipples, much to replicate what Scott was doing before, and the sensation was wonderful. How can he do this so right? ''Scott, that's so good''

Scott found himself getting too excited and decided to chance tactics. He entered her completely and stoped, hugged her and rolled over, getting her on top. If I let her ride me, I'll come now....fuck, too late.

Malia got the hint and started riding him, going up and down on his length, stoping now and then and circling her hips. They were looking at each other's eyes and the moment got too intense for Scott, so he started sucking on her nipples. ''Scott, I'm cuming, I can't control it this time... it's.. too ... intense'' You please shut my mouth, I'm going to scream.

Somehow he managed to put three fingers in her mouth, which she sucked while groaning. He was feeling her pussy walls clenching around his dick and he knew how he wanted to finish. He took his dick out, picked up a trembling Malia and laid her on her stomach. He spread her butt cheeks to give him access and positioned himself at her vagina. As he entered her, he closed her legs and put his hand behind her, pressing and pinching her clit as he started thrusting. Now that she was used to his size, he could thrust harder, which he did. She was moaning and he let her taste herself, by giving her his fingers to suck. ''Malia, I'm coming...''

''Just don't stop, please... Scott... Fuck Scott...''

Scott groaned as he came and soon after, he felt her coming around him. He gave themselves a moment to catch their breath before getting out of her and removing the condom. He went to clean himself up and she joined him in the bathroom.

''Jesus Scott. I hate you.'' She punched his arm jokingly. ''You can't have sex like this and then don't want to do it again. Like all the time''

''Hmm, why would we only do this once? This was hot.'' He said confused

''Well, mainly because I've dated Stiles.. But I guess we just have to tell him?''

''Malia... he knows you like me. He told me the other day. And he is ok with it. He is not ok, but he is with Lydia now and he knows he can't control your love life anymore'' Scott explained.

''So.. you told him you liked me back?

''Not by those words, I mean, we were playing fuck, marry, kill... But yeah, I told him I was interested.''

''Fuck you.. got your wish?'' she asked, visibly annoyed.

''No.. this was better than I could ever imagine.''

''Idiot, let's go downstairs? The music still on, Isaac is never going to shut up about this, will he?

''No.. I don't think he will'' Scott smiled, this time with all the sweetness in his look, and scratched his head as he took her hand with the other.

#teenwolf #scottcmcall #maliatate #heavysmut

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fooled-around-and-fell · 6 years

Text

Time and Misunderstandings

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: When Sam died, Dean decided to go have the cherry pie life he always dreamed of, leaving you in the hunting world alone.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, romance

A/N: This is just something in my head I NEED desperately get out. I hope you like it!

word count: 2,909 words

Ever since Sam died, Dean decided that he was done. He was done with hunting. He’s lost Sam, and he couldn’t deal with anything else.

He wanted out.

He screamed at the top of his lungs that night.

You wanted to comfort him, but he shut you out. You still stayed outside of his room nonetheless, until his smashing and screaming finally died down and only his sobs were heard.

“Dean,” You opened his door. He was on the ground, leaning his back to the bed with his head in his hands. You approached the man and sat next to him.

You weren’t good at this; at comforting people. You didn’t know how, and you were always afraid of saying the wrong thing. So instead of saying anything, you put your arm around his shoulders, and he finally looked up.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” He muttered out.

“What do you mean?”

Dean sighed, “this.. this hunting shit. I’ve lost everyone. Everyone’s dead because of me.”

“It’s not your fault, Dean-”

“The hell it is!” He shouted, “And it’s only a matter of time before you, too..”

You touched his cheek to grab his attention, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He sighed, “I was afraid you were going to say that..you have to leave, Y/N.”

“And I told you, I’m not leaving.”

“You have to.” Dean said, “because I am.”

You could only look at him. Dean was leaving? “You mean you’re going solo?”

“No,” He said, “I’m..I’m done with hunting.”

“Wait a minute, Dean. Give it some thought. What happened to protecting the world for those innocent people??” You tried to be reasonable with him.

“And look at the price we paid!!” He cried aloud. “I’m tired, Y/N. I want to have a normal life, I want to be able to love, to feel loved without having to worry about the other shoe.”

“Dean..”

He sniffled back a tear, “can’t I be selfish just once?” He whispered, as if talking to God.

You’re sad that Dean wanted to leave, but he’s been a hunter for..too many years to count. He was right, he did deserve to be selfish. “You can go if you want to, but I’m staying..”

Dean snapped his head at you, surprised. “What? Why? Y/N-”

“Dean,” you stopped him, “it’s obvious you’re going to look for Lisa and Ben. And I won’t stop you.” After all, we’re only friends.. “But this..the bunker has become my home, and you know I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Besides,” you continued, “somebody has to take over the job, right?” You tried to sound as cheerful as possible.

You’ve always had feelings for Dean. And once, you had told him about them. He didn’t feel the same, but you still cared for the man. Until Lisa came into his life. Lisa was..to Dean’s eyes, Lisa was everything he could have ever dreamed of. And for the first time in your life, you saw Dean actually wanting to spend the rest of his life with someone.

Of course, you got jealous. A terrible, evil kind of jealous. You were being rude to Lisa without her doing anything but love Dean, and you realized- you were being the classic bitch to every romantic movie there is. Which is most cases, the bitch didn’t get the guy.

So, you accepted your fate. So Dean didn’t love you the way you did, that’s fine. But now he wants to quit. You were struggling to deal with it. If Sam was still here, you’d be less frantic, but he’s not. You’re actually going to hunt alone.

“Y/N, I’m still not sure about this..” Dean started as he was at the front door.

You chuckled, “Go, Dean. I’ll be fine. Your girl’s probably waiting for you.”

stab.

Dean smiled, as if he could actually see Lisa and Ben, smiling and surprise on their faces. “Call me if you need anything alright, sweetcheeks?”

“Of course, Dean.” You smiled one last time before watching him get into the Impala and driving off after he waved a final goodbye.

It was really, really goodbye.

A few months after Dean left, you’ve been dealing with cases and feeling extremely exhausted after. Because you were alone, you needed much more time and energy than usual. Laying down on the couch, you sighed and stared into the ceiling.

If only they were still here..

Never once did you call Dean. Because he’s probably busy with Lisa and Ben, having fun with them and actually living his apple pie life. Just imagining him laughing and smiling made you chuckle, too. At least one of the three of you is happy. He deserves it.

Not long after, your phone rang. Chloe. One of your friends.

“What’s up girl??” You tried to sound energetic.

“Drop the act, you shithead.” She sighed, “come on, I’m picking you up for a drink.”

You wanted to argue, but she was right. You needed a drink or two. Grabbing your purse and not bothering to change from you jeans and navy shirt, you waited at the porch for her to arrive and drive you away from reality.

The bar was empty, despite being a Sunday, but you automatically noticed the bartender and he smiled at you too. The bartender immediately recognized you and Chloe, and served what you both normally do.

“Still thinking about him?” Chloe raised a brow.

“No cheers then? Okay.” You said as you took a sip of your drink. “I’m trying not to.”

Chloe knew better than to ask more. She then revealed why she actually called you out tonight. “Look, I know you’re in a rough shape-”

“Spill it, Chloe, I’m fine.” You said.

She sighed. “There’s a case I found. It’s supposed to be an easy salt and burn, but I don’t know. I have a bad feeling about it.”

“Okay, I’ll check it out.”

“Good, I’ll meet you at-”

“Whoa, no, no, no,” you stopped her, “I thought you had a baby shower tomorrow?”

“Baby shower can kiss my ass-”

“Chloe,” you said firmly, “go to the baby shower. It’s your sister’s daughter, Goddammit.”

Chloe groaned, “are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Yes, don’t worry. I’ll give you a call if anything comes up, okay?” You said before paying and leaving. Chloe followed you behind and drove you home, thanking you after.

You took a shower and did some research after that. Chloe had told you the details in the car earlier. From what you read, it should be a simple salt an burn, so it wouldn’t hurt, right?

Wrong.

Long story short, it was not a simple salt and burn. It was anything but. You drove back to the bunker while trying your best to stay awake. You had gotten hurt badly.

“Fucking werewolves.” You muttered and grabbed the first aid kit. “I’m going to kill Chloe later.” You mumbled as you took out some alcohol to clean your wounds and thread and needle.

You took off your shirt, sat on the floor and bit it hard as you poured the alcohol on a cotton pad and pressed it to your wound. Tears welled up in your eyes as you bit the cotton and screamed.

If Dean or Sam was here, you’d be able to ask them to stitch it up for you. You didn’t want to call Cas, though. He wouldn’t approve of this and would call Dean back, so you didn’t call him.

Grabbing the needle and finally succeeded inserting the thread, your hands trembled when you needed to stitch up yourself. Taking a few deep breaths, you bit the cloth back and plunged the needle. Going in, and out, in and out. When you were done, you didn’t even bother to tidy the mess up. You leaned against the wall, and your head hits it. You couldn’t bring yourself up to your room, all you wanted to do was sleep.

Knock. knock. There was someone on the door. “Damn it.” You squinted your eyes, adjusting to the sun. Your whole body hurt from sleeping the way you did last night; on a sitting position?

“Y/N??” The voice called.

For a moment you felt your heart drop. And then it raced. Could it be? You got up to your feet as quick as you could, forgetting your pain for a second. Racing to the door, you took deep breaths and peeked through the hole.

No way. No. No. Sam’s..Sam’s dead. You grabbed your bag by the shoe shelf and took the holy water and the knife.

“Y/N?” He called again.

Right when you opened the door, you splashed holy water to his face, and Sam winced. He wiped the water off his face and chuckled, “yeah, I deserve that.”

“Hand.” You muttered.

“Y/N, what the hell happened to you???” Sam asked, looking at your -almost- dead state. He gave you his hand nonetheless and you cut his finger, drawing blood.

Once you were sure it was Sam, you sighed in relief. “Oh my God, you’re back.”

Sam grabbed you as you were about to fall, “Y/N, what happened to you??” He carried you to the couch.

“Ugh, just a bad wound from a case. But how are you still alive?” You asked.

“Long story.” He said and glanced at the first aid kit that was sprawled on the floor. “I need to see it.”

You nodded and lifted your shirt.

Sam winced at the terrible stitching and sighed, “Y/N, did Dean stitch you up when he was drunk??”

You chuckled, “No, I did it myself.”

Sam walked over to the first aid kit, got what he needed and knelt beside you. “Why did you do it yourself? You’re the one injured. Where the hell was- Where is Dean, anyway??”

“Ouch,” you flinched when he re-opened your stitches, cleaning them with alcohol again. You didn’t answer his question.

“Y/N,” Sam warned, “where is Dean?”

As Sam was done stitching you up, he asked you the same question again. You knew it would upset him, but you also knew that he’d be happy for him. Although he’d be sad for you.

You smiled, “he’s fine, Sam.”

“Where is he?” Sam asked again.

Sighing, you told him what had happened, and you were right. Sam was fuming. “He what?”

“Sam, don’t be like that. Dean deserves it.” You said in his defense, “he’s been doing this for too long.”

Sam sighed. “Y/N, you go get some rest, okay?”

“Why? What are you going to do?” You eyed him.

“I’m just going to call him,” he assured you, “you’re exhausted, you need some rest.”

Feeling tired, you eventually nodded and closed your eyes while Sam headed out to make a phone call. The line connected, and after a few moment, Dean picked up.

“Whoever this is, if this is some sick joke, I swear I’m gonna-”

“If you don’t get your fucking ass home right now, I swear I’m going to kill you.” Sam said, his voice clearly angry and ready to explode.

There was a pause.

“..Sammy?”

Sam had returned inside to take care of you, until he heard the door open. Not wanting to wake you, Sam asked Dean to talk outside and he had mindlessly agreed.

“Sam..?” Dean’s voice cracked. “It’s really you?”

Sam nodded, “Y/N’s done the thing, don’t worry.”

“God, Sam.” Dean hugged his brother. “But how-”

Sam cut him off, “let’s talk about that later. Right now, I want to talk about why the hell did you leave Y/N alone?”

Dean sighed. “Look Sam-”

“She told me that you went looking for Lisa. Dean, we both know Lisa’s found somebody else.” Sam said, “if you said that to her as an excuse to just-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait no.” Dean stopped him. “I didn’t- I wouldn’t- Urgh.” He groaned, “okay, I did tell her I was done, BUT not because I said I wanted to look for Lisa. In fact, she said that herself. I wanted to take her with me, okay? I wanted for us to.. to have some kind of future together, I guess. But she assumed that I was going to look for Lisa and I don’t know man, she seemed pretty fine- she even told me to go.”

“Because she didn’t know that Lisa has found someone else and that you’re head over heels for her!” Sam tried not to shout.

“Well it’s not my fault she didn’t- okay, yeah, it’s my fault.” Dean said and sighed, “I just thought she liked me too, but then she said about Lisa and I assumed she didn’t like me, so..yeah..I was a chicken and I left.”

Sam glared at him, “damn straight you were. Now get it there and apologize. When she wakes up.”

Dean didn’t say any more and went inside.

His breath hitched when he saw your state. There was no color on your face, and he feared that it was because of him. “What happened to her?” He asked Sam, his voice suddenly turned into a whisper.

“Werewolves.” Sam said, “it’s pretty bad, but she’ll pull through.”

Dean crouched next to your sleeping figure and wiped the frown on your face. “Hey, sweetheart. I missed you so much.”

Sam had left you two some space when you stirred awake. You couldn’t process what was happening, or who was in front of you, but those green eyes gave it off. “..Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He quirked a sad smile. “I’m back, I’m home.”

When your vision started to get clearer, you got up and pain shot through your stomach. “Ah!” You winced, and strong arms immediately supported your back into a sitting position.

“Take it easy, take it easy.” Dean repeated and sat next to you, holding you close by. “You good now?”

You nodded. “Wow, that was..the best sleep I’ve ever had.”

Dean frowned, sleeping on the couch was the best sleep you’ve ever had? What the hell have you been doing??

“Wait,” You turned your head towards Dean, “what are you doing here?? Aren’t you supposed to be..um..wherever Lisa lives, that is??”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, “um, well.. the truth is..”

He sighed, “I never looked or even wanted to look for Lisa.”

“What??” You frowned, “but you said-”

“Technically, yes, I said that. But you assumed that I would and I just nodded my head.” Dean said, “The last time I ever saw Lisa was..maybe five or six years ago. And..she’s found another person.”

Was it bad that you were glad?

You held Dean’s hand, “I’m sorry..I assumed things and didn’t even think-”

“No, no, it was my fault really. I didn’t know why I didn’t tell you about it..but maybe because a part of me still wanted to believe that she still loves me.” He looked at you softly, “but that’s all behind me now. Right now, all that matters is you.”

Your eyes widened and you were at a loss for words. “What- Dean, uh.. I-”

“Listen Y/N, I’m so sorry for leaving you. I should have never done that. I thought..I thought you liked me the way I do and maybe you’d leave all this hunting behind, but then I figured out that you didn’t, so..I left. I should’ve never left you alone, I’m so sorry.” He embraced you. “Forgive me?”

“Hold on,” You pushed away to look at him, “you like me?”

Dean blushed and nodded.

“As in like like me?”

“Yes, I like you, like you.” He grinned, “and I understand if you don’t feel the same.”

You furrowed your brows, completely confused. “But you were the one who rejected me when I told you how I felt!”

“That was..many years ago..” He scratched his neck, “When I knew Lisa found someone else, the jealousy got the better part of me. And then when I finally worked it out, that was when you told me how you felt. During my struggles, you were the one there who supported me without knowing what the problem was. But I couldn’t tell you how I felt then because apart of me still not knowing how I did feel, I didn’t want you to become a rebound.”

Tears stung your eyes because of pain from your wound, because your body was turned to look at Dean. Or so you convinced yourself.

“I need to lay down, it’s getting painful to sit.” You reasoned, and Dean helped you lay down, on his lap. Which you didn’t expect.

A moment later, you figured Dean was waiting for an answer. Gulping, you caught Dean’s attention and said, “I never stopped liking you. Hell, I think I even love you-” You stopped yourself, “I’m sorry, it’s uh..the...morphine...?”

Dean grinned widely and crouched down to kiss you. You shifted so Dean wouldn’t bend his back so much, and he cupped your cheek. “God, I love you so much Y/N. And I’m never leaving you again. Ever.” He said.

“I haven’t been gone for even a year and things got so messed up.” Sam sighed loudly and both of you stopped to look at Sam, “I don’t think you guys can afford to lose me again. Both of you better thank me!”

“You can go now, Sam.” He grunted as Sam left. “Now, where were we?”

Chuckling, you helped Dean get into a more comfortable position. “I think I remember.” You pulled him in for another kiss.

#dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #fluff #romance #angst #love #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader fluff #supernatural #spn #sam #sam winchester #fanfiction #dean x reader angst #dean x reader romance

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actualhumancryptid · 7 years

Text

Tagged by @imaginationallcompact

Hardback or paperback - Both. For some books I love I NEED them in hardback. But my chronic pain makes heavy books hard to carry, so paperbacks are easier.

Borrow or buy - Buy. I have a problem.

Buy in a bookstore or online - I try and buy australian books in a bookstore, because buying local affects the percentage of royalties they get. But I am poor and I want more books, and also many of the books I want aren’t here. So online too. (I don’t buy online unless it’s international, generally).

Amazon or Bookdepository - Book Depisitory. It works out cheaper for postage to Australia.

Love-triangle or love at first sight - Agree with @imaginationallcompact here. I hate them both. Love at first sight takes a lot of work for me to buy, and it’s hard to suspend my disbelief. Love triangles need to burn in the fiery pits of hell.

Wall shelves or bookcases - I rent. Wall shelves? Are they a thing?? Bookshelves. When I am a rich author I will install bookshelves right into the walls of my pretty pretty house. But while I live in the real world, movable bookshelves.

Mass market paperbacks or large print books - MM paperback. Though I like the large format MM paperbacks you get with a lot of new releases here. Not large print, but a more comfortable and decent design really.

Bad plot with good characters or good plot with bad characters - Character is plot, as any decent writing book will tell you. But I know what this question is asking. You can’t divorce it from genre though. What is considered a ‘good’ character in a romance book is not the same as crime fiction, and not the same as a slow literary novel - the latter of which is surely what this question might mean as an example of ‘good’ characters. But it’s apples and oranges, and the medium dictates what ‘good’ means in this context. That said, I do prefer character over plot, if we’re talking in basic terms. The literary character, over the kind in a ‘genre’ book.

Booklr or Bookstagram - What the hell is booklr? Books on tumblr? I read and talk about books in too many separate places, I post them on instagram sometimes, but not as a rule. I’d rather talk to myself and a friend out loud about them.

Booklr or Booktube - eh. the above answer works fine for this too.

Contemporary or Fantasy - Contemporary. Fantasy as a genre has always been hard for me to read, as a rule. But I like some.

Fiction or non-fiction - Both.

Buy a book based on the cover or the description - From the buzz surrounding it, from my knowledge of the author, from what other writers I talk to are saying. I have a good gut feeling generally. But mainly, I read the first few pages. The blurb and cover aren’t the creation of the author. The cover helps draw me in though, not gonna lie.

Alphabetical shelves or colour coordinated - Oh god. I need to alphabatise so badly. I actually shelve most by how much I like the book and where I want to look at it, and I actually know were everything is regardless of there being no rule for shelving. My comics/graphic novels are all in one place though, as are YA and Childrens. My books are my friends in a way, and I don’t want to break them up. I like my favourite novels sitting near my fave non fiction books. I like to think they get along well. When I eventually get a bigger place, and move shelves I will do a mass genre and alphabatising session though.

Different sized books or matching sizes - Different. But it’s a controlled chaos, and they have to look good together. I don’t like too much sameness.

Matching covers / spines or non-matching covers / spine - What? when does this happen? with series? Like all of the same edition? I don’t buy series much, outside of some scifi and YA, so it’s not an issue.

Marathon a series or read as released - It all depends on when you discover it doesn’t it? And when the book is the right thing for you at the right time. I don’t read many series though.

Movie or TV adaptation - God, neither. I read so many literary books. They don’t always translate to good films. TV tends to do a better job for sprawling novels though. It can accomodate sub-plots in a way that movies can’t, which is why so much is lost in translation to script.

Perfect adaption of a bad book or bad adaption of a perfect book - I hate film adaptations. I am only happy about them when a good book gets them, because it means the author will be getting increased sales. And that makes me happy for them.

Zombies or Vampires - Vampires. I do not have a strong stomach for gore and zombies are full of it. That said, I am so. Sick. Of. Vampires.

Vampires or Werewolves - Vampires. Or bloody neither.

Vampire or Fae - Fae. Kill me, I am so sick of vampires.

Reading inside or outside - Both.

Coffee or Tea - Tea at home, coffee when I’m out.

Eating while reading or not eating - I don’t want to get food on my books, so not generally. Unless it’s a trashy book I don’t care about.

Bookmarks or random objects - Anything made of thin paper is good. As long as it sits neatly inside the book. Generally I use ticket stubs or postcards.

Dog-earing or bookmark - Do not even look at my books, you dog-earring monsters. I bet you’d get food on them.

Be your favourite character or be their best friend - My favourite characters tend to be awful people, so neither.

Be your favourite character or date your favourite character - Neither

Physical or E-book - Even if I am desperate for the book now, the cost of e-books tends to be worth being patient to just get a cheap paperback. I find them hard to process, as I read.

Audiobook or ebook - Neither. But very rarely audiobooks. I feel like I am being talked at in a one-way conversation and I eventually tune out. Plus they’re too slow, or too fast, and you can’t linger on anything.

Read in bed or on a chair - Both.

Series or stand-alones - Stand-alone

Duology or Trilogy - Stand-alone. But it depends. Sometimes the story is pushing it and really isn’t enough for a trilogy. See The Hunger Games. I really think it would have worked better as two books.

Reading in winter or reading in summer - o_O

Read with music or without music - would rather none.

Finish reading books you hate or stop reading mid-way - Depends why I’m reading it. But if the book is bad, and I am bored as hell I will stop.

Yearly book challenge or no book challenge - I hate book challenges. I will read what I want, when I want.

Classics or modern books - Yeah, I don’t know what you mean by ‘classics’. To be pedantic and annoying. Do you mean, ‘Classical’? Like Homer and Seneca and Virgil? Classics, as in ‘if it was written a long time ago and endured, it is a classic’… (Dickens, Austen, Dostoevsky). ‘Modern’ is a term that has been used throughout the twentieth century and even before (I mean Madame Bovary is Modernist). I know you surely mean ‘Modern’ as in, ‘new releases of the last 10/15 years or so’. So I will shut up and answer because I sound like a wanker.

I went through a stage where I worked in a bookshop and read mostly new releases. But right now I am going back and reading anything that looks nice. So the long winded answer is ‘both’.

hmmm. Tagging: @styrofoamtokyo forever and always. @crimsoncat21, @elizadunc @kateemckinnon, @vodkahorcruxes, @mitski, @damelola, @racheltuckerrr

#books #personal #writing

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infinite-beginnings · 7 years

Note

Ok I've got a prompt for you: Remember when Betty said she was all about "the beast within?" Werewolf Betty! Werewolf Betty! Lol. I'm thinking more funny than dramatic but go where the muse takes you!

Okay, when you first said werewolf Betty my mind immediately went to the Teen Wolf type wolves and Jughead being her anchor. So this isn’t really funny, it probably falls more along the line of dramatic…but I tried to keep it pretty light for you. I hope you like it!

“Hey Bets” Jughead jogged to catch up with her after school.

“Hi Juggie” Betty stopped as he leaned down to kiss her softly. “How was the end of your day?”

“Eh, it was school. Do you wanna go to Pop’s for dinner tonight?” Jughead linked their fingers together as they walked.

“Sorry, I can’t. I have a lot of homework to do tonight.” Betty tried to casually turn down his offer.

“You can do it at Pop’s. I have some work to do too.”

“Sorry, I just have this difficult paper and I really need to be someplace quiet.” Betty knew she was acting suspicious, she never turned down an opportunity to spend time with Jughead, but she couldn’t be with him tonight.

“Okay, well how about I come over to your house and we can do our work together.” Jughead was looking at her quizzically

“No!” Betty said a bit louder than she intended, she quickly backtracked, “Sorry Jug, I just am really stressed about this paper and I think I will focus better on my own. Having you around is a bit of a distraction.” Betty smiled up at him and kissed him on the cheek. Jughead smiled and kissed her on the lips.

“You’re right. I would probably want to do a lot more of that.”

“See?” Betty broke away and continued walking, glad that Jughead appeared to buy her excuse.

“Okay, but I’ll be at Pop’s for a while if you happen to finish early.” Jughead said when they arrived at her house.

“I’ll let you know” Betty leaned up to kiss him goodbye knowing full well she would not be making it to Pop’s.

*****

Jughead didn’t go to Pop’s. As soon as Betty’s door shut he ran and hid behind a bush next to her house. He knew something was up and he was determined to find out what that was.

Jughead had put two and two together almost by accident. Two months ago, Betty had flaked out on hanging with the gang. Jughead had walked home and looked up at the giant full moon and thought that Betty would enjoy the sight.

Then last month, Betty had once again given him a lame excuse about why she couldn’t spend the night with him. He became suspicious when he saw that it was once again a full moon. He tried to tell himself that it was a coincidence, but he didn’t really believe in those.

Tonight was the next full moon, and Jughead had tested Betty, pressuring her to spend time with him more than he normally would’ve, but she hadn’t budged. Jughead wasn’t sure if she was in a cult, or maybe practicing witchcraft, but whatever it was, it had to do with the full moon.

Jughead was going to figure out what was going on with his girlfriend. He hated to sneak around like this, but he was worried that something might be really wrong. He really hoped that he was just going crazy and imagining things. He hoped that Betty would stay in her room all night and he could call himself an idiot for thinking those things.

His hopes were crushed when an hour later, Betty snuck out of her back door, dressed in black and carrying a big backpack.

“Damn it, Betty, what are you doing?” He muttered under his breath as he followed her for a distance. They walked for what felt like hours. Betty headed directly out of town and into the woods that surrounded Sweetwater river. Finally, she stopped at the base of a huge tree. She scanned the sky. Jughead guessed she was looking for the moon, which hadn’t risen yet. Betty then dropped her backpack, which landed on the ground with a loud rattle. Jughead’s anxiety about the situation rose 100% when she reached down and pulled heavy chains out of her bag. When she started securing herself to the tree with the chains, Jughead reached his breaking point. “What the hell are you doing?” He asked, stepping out from his hiding spot. Betty froze and slowly turned to look at him.

“Jughead…” She said in shock as the chains slipped from her hands to the ground.

“Betty, you better answer my question before I completely freak out.” Jughead walked closer to her.

“Um, it’s sort of hard to explain.” Betty fidgeted nervously, she kept glancing from Jughead to the sky and back. “But I promise I will tell you everything tomorrow. Right now, you need to get out of here.” Betty put a hand on his arm and started to push him away, but he shrugged her hand off.

“No, no way am I leaving you out here in the middle of the woods until I know what’s going on.”

“I can take care of myself.” Betty said giving him a small smile. “Now please leave” She said desperately.

“It is witchcraft, are you a witch?” Jughead asked and then blinked in surprise when Betty laughed.

“You think I’m a witch?” She asked, still laughing. Jughead couldn’t help but feel slightly offended. She was the one out in the woods chaining herself to a tree and she had the audacity to laugh at him for thinking she was a witch.

“Why else would you come out to the woods dressed all in black every month on the full moon?”

“Oh, is it a full moon?” Betty tried to act nonchalant.

“Don’t act cute, for the past few months you have canceled our plans every time there was a full moon. Now answer the question. What the hell are you doing?” Jughead knew that he was yelling, but he couldn’t help it. He was frustrated and confused and scared and he just wanted to know what was going on with his girlfriend.

“I can’t…I don’t…” Betty took a few steps back. She looked like she was having a hard time focusing on the conversation. “Please, it isn’t safe.” Betty looked at him and this time he saw fear in his eyes. What that fear for his sake or for her own.

“Betty,” Jughead closed the distance between them and grabbed her hands. “Whatever is going on you can tell me. I promise it won’t change the way I feel about you. I just want to help you.”

“I’m a werewolf.” Betty blurted out. Jughead looked at her in shock, trying to see if she was teasing him again, but this time her face was deadly serious. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The full moon, the chains, her nerves.

“How?”

“It happened on my internship. A rogue alpha bit me. The local pack tried to help me manage my changes, but there was only so much they could do in the two months I was there. I have a pretty good handle on it, but I still struggle on the full moon.”

“Oh my god…you’re actually a werewolf.” Jughead said as it really began to sink in. She wasn’t messing with him, he could tell. “Werewolves are real?” He shook his head in disbelief

“Yes, now you really need to leave before the moon rises. I can’t control myself.”

“I don’t want to leave you. I don’t think you will hurt me.”

“You have no idea.” Betty stepped away from him and walked over to the chains. “If you won’t leave, then at least help me.” She held out the chains to him. Jughead hesitated, he didn’t want to chain her up, but she was right, he had no idea what he was dealing with. With a nod he took the chains from her. Betty stood with her back to the tree and Jughead wrapped the chains around her torso and the tree. He secured them in the back with a giant lock.

“Is that good?” He asked, watching as she tested the chains.

“Yes, now leave.” Betty looked like she was in pain. Jughead figured she was trying to resist the change

“I can’t” Jughead would never forgive himself if he left his girlfriend chained up in the middle of the woods alone. “You said the pack helped you control yourself, how did they do that?” Jughead’s mind was moving a mile a minute, trying to figure out a way he could help Betty.“They…told me…pain makes you human….and to find…an anchor” Betty said between gasps.

“Okay, what’s your anchor?”

“Not what…who.” Betty managed to give him a small smile. “It’s you”

“Oh Bets” Jughead found himself incredibly touched that she choose him to draw her strength from. Before he could say anything else, her entire body convulsed. Betty slammed her eyes shut and clenched her fists. “Betty?” Jughead asked hesitantly. Betty opened back up her eyes and Jughead was shocked to see them glowing a bright yellow. Suddenly, Betty began to change. She bared her teeth, which were now fangs, her face grew more wolflike, and her hands opened to reveal claws. Jughead couldn’t help but take a step back in shock. It was hard to identify his sweet Betty in the fierce looking creature in front of him. She snarled and struggled against her chains. “Betty?” Jughead asked again. Her yellow eyes snapped to him, but there was no sign of recognition. She only snarled and struggled harder. Jughead did not like how much the chains were creaking.

He took another step back just as the chains broke and Betty launched at him. She knocked him on his back, landing on top of him. He felt sharp claws rake across his arm and he cried out in pain. He tried to push her off, but she was way too strong for him so he decided on a different strategy.

“Betty! Betty, it’s me Jughead. Your boyfriend, remember, your anchor. It’s Jughead.” Betty stopped trying to claw him. She looked at him, confusion apparent in her glowing yellow eyes as if trying to place him. “I remember another time when we ended up in this position in these very woods. Do you remember? It was the summer after second grade. You, Archie, and I were playing sailors and pirates and I was a pirate who stole your treasure. You tackled me to get it back, do you remember that? After that, I always made sure to be on your side.” Jughead spoke quickly, hoping that this was working. Betty wasn’t moving, which he counted as a win since she wasn’t trying to claw him.

“Jughead?” Almost in slow motion, recognition made its way across Betty’s face.

“Hi baby” Jughead said with a smile, watching in fascination as Betty’s face transformed back and her glowing yellow eyes faded back to their beautiful green. After a few moments, Betty seemed to notice their position and gave him an apologetic look.

“Sorry,” She went to climb off of him, but he wrapped his arms around her waist, keeping her in place.

“No worries, I like my women fierce.” Jughead said with a grin. Betty gave him her adorable crooked smile and relaxed against him, laying her head on his chest.

“I can’t believe you did that, you got me to change back. You really are my anchor.” Betty said softly.

“Yeah, I can’t believe that I did that either” Jughead responding, taking deep breaths and attempting to slow his racing heart.

“Crazy boy” Betty said, lifting up her head to give him a loving look. Then she suddenly gasped and sat up, grabbing Jughead’s arm. “Juggie, you’re bleeding.”

“So I am” Jughead, who had forgotten all about his injury looked at his upper arm. His flannel was ripped revealing four long cuts.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I’m the worst girlfriend ever” Betty looked on the verge of tears.

“Bets, you’re a werewolf, that makes you to coolest and best girlfriend ever.” Jughead said with a grin.

“But I-”

“But nothing, tis but a scratch.” Jughead stood up and held out his hand to help Betty.

“Are you really quoting Monty Python right now?” Betty shook her head in disbelief, but she took his hand.

“I am” He kept hold of her hand and pulled her close. Jughead leaned down to kiss her softly on the lips. “My girlfriend’s a werewolf, seriously that’s the coolest thing ever.” He said when he pulled away. He was glad to see a smile on Betty’s lips.

“Alright you dork, let’s go home and get that arm cleaned up.” Betty took his hand and started to lead him away.

“Um Bets?”

“Yeah Juggie?”

“We should probably bring the chains with us.”

“Yeah probably” Betty said with a laugh. She ran and stuffed the chains back into her backpack before returning and taking his hand again. They walked in silence for a while, Jughead was still trying to absorb everything that had happened. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him and he started laughing.

“What are you laughing at crazy boy?” Betty asked, stopping to look at him in amusement and confusion.

“You’re…all about the…beast within” Jughead managed to get out between laughs.

“What?” Betty said, but then clarity lit up her face. She joined in Jughead’s laughter. “I couldn’t resist.”

#bughead #birdlovesafish #riverdale #talktotrina #prompt #jughead jones #betty cooper #werewolf!betty

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thejamesoldier · 7 years

Note

Heyooo. I absolutely adore your writing and look up to it so much, and I just wanted to put a request through if you don't mind. I was thinking about a Bucky or Seb x reader, where he's some sort of a dark angel king, or a dark immortal of sorts (not vampire though), and he develops a strange fascination with the reader, and the rest is up to you. ☺

Hi anon, I hope you enjoy this!! I know you said you didn’t want Seb/Bucky to be a vampire, and he’s not, but I hope you don’t mind that I included them in the story as other characters? (If you don’t like it then I can rewrite this to your liking :D xx) Anyway on to the story!

(oh and one of my favorite hoes and wife Kumi aka @mellifluous-melodramas wrote a fic about Unseelie!Seb first, so GO READ IT HERE!! It’s amazing and also completely different from this story so don’t worry xx)

No Faith, Trust or Faerie Fucks

Pairing: Unseelie Fae King!Bucky x Y/n (as Tony & Pepper’s daughter)

Summary: Y/n Stark is in the wrong place at the wrong time as unsavory characters come out to play.

Overall Tags: lots of lore and shit I hope its not too confusing, ANGST (sorry i cant help it), smut, fluff to make sure I don’t murder yall’s hearts, and the usual humor

Tagged Lovlies: @captain-chimichanga, @creideamhgradochas, @evilmermaidsinc, @buckyandsebsinbin, @simplyme8308, @notsoprettykitty, @ryverpenrad, @whintersoldiers, @mini-muffin-mountain, @the-one-and-only-vampcake, @james-bionic-barnes, @badassbaker, @kenobi-and-barnes, @fangasms101, @almondbuttercup, @mar-gega, @vacam79, @nenyakj, @angryschnauzer, @rosegoldarmour, @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @takemetoneverland91, @jenairedale, @musichowler, @seargantbcky, @mllx-anazra, @amrita31199, @jenna-luke

Chapter 1 - Just a Spoonful of Y/n

Your feet ache like the Devil himself kissed them.

Uneven roots, spiteful twigs, and bitterly sharp rocks take turns stabbing against the thin worn down leather souls of your shoes as you run. The gnarled forest canopy sneers down at you as you tear through prickled bushes and low-bearing branches, the dark leaves hiding you from the worried stars twinkling frantically above them. The constellations sprint across the moonless map of black sky trying to keep up with you as you move with silent terror through the smirking chessboard of tree trunks.

You are filled with an inescapable sense of dread, knowing that no matter how far you run he’ll always be a breath behind you.

Sensing the chase, ancient life that has lived in this forest for centuries awakens with an elemental inhale; it goes unnaturally quiet (you swear even your own breath and pounding footfalls became muted) before a loud breeze rises seemingly out of the grave of the forest floor and howls as it gathers body and slithers its way through the bark maze, weaving – hunting – ominously like a snake in grass until it finds you. Your throbbing lungs heave against the burden of the unforgiving pace you have set for yourself when the wind finally slices past you. It scrapes its sharp chilled fingers across your cheeks, like claws of ice digging in and actually breaking the skin, leaving your face stinging, numb, and wet. Whether or not the wet was from your terrified tears or drawn blood you wouldn’t ever know. You would have cried out in pain and fear had you any air to spare.

With your instincts leaving you no choice you continue ripping through the evil growth around you praying to any higher power who may be listening to please deliver you to safety. The long, heavy material of your skirts betray you by getting caught under your already unsure footing, listening to the sick spell this dark wind is whispering into the quality winter wool. Those same ice claws snag and pluck at the hem of your dress as well, the hissing breeze fluttering and galloping along the forest floor by your feet. With a wheezing grunt you fist your hands in your thick skirts and lift up the material and continue running, ignoring the branches snapping at your now unprotected face and the shrubbery that takes bites out of your exposed ankles as you rush by.

After what seems like an hour of running you begin to feel yourself being herded by the wind at your ankles, at your back, at your sides; if that’s even possible. The constellations are loosing sight of you as you start veering away from the thinning edge of the forest you were desperately making your way towards, and unknowingly begin slowly arching back to the middle and thickest part of the forest. Under the influence of the ancient darkness that lives in every cell of life here, you start to lose sanity and sense, forgetting the original direction you were going in.

He’s coming, Your mind shrieks at you in full fledged panic when you still haven’t reached the forest line, I can feel him!

The wind nips at your heels like loyal hunting hounds as you start stumbling. Your body is weak and shaky and you are lost. You can feel that fear in your body spreading like a chill down your spine – inevitable and inexorable. Cool mercury inks through your veins, smooth and silver and fatal.

A fated root finally gets the better of your frantic footing and you crash to the ground with a surprised huff knocked out of your chest. The tears flow silently and endlessly down your cheeks, but you are much too frightened to notice as you spit dirt out of your mouth and struggle to breathe. The flight instinct slowly transitions to fight as the chill in your veins and heart starts to petrify your limbs to a solid stand still. The loose dirt under your hands starts to – impossibly – turn to sinking mud, working to shackle you in a prison of wet cold earth and sure death.

The wind bellows with rage as it tries to push you back down when you attempt to rip yourself free, drawing its icy fingers into fists and punching holes in your determination. Once you allow your body to fully release the instinct to run a switch flips, and in one deep esoteric breath your soul absorbs the only other option left to it. Your heart beats thunderously under your ribs as you grit your teeth and stand.

You find that fighting is a much less frighting instinct to embody. Instead of fear souring your stomach and pumping poison into your heart, clean pure merciful fury replaces it. This fury gifts you strength, a clear mind freed from the trap of ethereal darkness surrounding you, a clarity to see the full chessboard in front of you. You see the entire spider’s web now and instead of fearing death you can see the spider.

It’s just a forest.

It’s just wind.

It’s just dirt.

It’s just a spider.

It’s just a man –

“I am no man.”

The wind suddenly dies down and stops whipping around you like a flock of angry vultures. A cold foreign sensation ripples through your body as you swivel on your newly recovered feet and see the spider – him, the man who you were running from. Or not a man…

You try to frantically squint through the shadows where this, this creature hides in, not daring to move from your spot and holding your ground this time instead of running. That fury reignites in your chest as silence stretches between you two, and spreads hot and powerful throughout the rest of you, lending energy to your exhausted muscles and air to your throbbing lungs and burning throat. Your fists clench at your sides and your lip snarls up to expose your teeth.

“You sound like a man.” You speak with a clear cut voice, the rage you feel exposing itself through the violent wobble in your tone.

The anger hides your lie. He did not in fact sound like any man you have ever heard. His voice seems to be made up of the howl of the wind that had chased you all this way, the rustle of dead leaves in the trees, the creak of ancient roots in the earth; a dark melody manifested by nature itself weaving into a baritone so delicately sinister it made the small hairs all over your body stand up, and your skin prickle like you had been dipped in a boiling pot of ants.

“Step into the light you coward!” Comes your growled demand as the largely uncomfortable feeling that he can see you and you can’t see him gets the better of you.

The man-creature says nothing in response and doesn’t make to move out from the thick convenient shadows veiling him from you of everything but his silhouette. His tall frightening black shadow remains a few strides away and only cocks his head to the side a tick.

“I am no coward.”

That fear from earlier batters at the high walls of your fury now, begging to be let back in. Let me in! Let me in! Run I say! RUN!

You swallow stiffly but don’t let yourself falter. If you run again you have a feeling that you will end up in the same place you are now. Until you face this man-creature you weren’t leaving this forest. The trees seem to bow towards him, the leaves fluttering to graze him in worship, the branches arching protectively over him, the bushes fluffing at his feet. With a start you realize he is almost part of the forest itself, a personification of the nature around him.

Having never encountered a supernatural creature before you were a little at loss for what to do, but you have heard many stories from the people of the village and at Court. Tales of vampires, shifters, werewolves, kitsune, and if you’re lucky: Fae.

You did not in anyway gather a goodness from the being before you, so that cancels out Fae-folk. The only tales you have ever heard people recount about Fae were ones of hope and protection and hard-learned lessons that always ended up exposing you to truths. With a shaky breath you readjust your footing below you, bracing yourself,

“Are you a vampire then? Hunting me for my blood?” You question the darkness in front of you, his silhouette murky in the ever present black fog that mists and blurs the strict lines of the shadows.

A scoff emits gently from the blackness, “I am no vampire.”

A part of you relaxes but then you stiffen again,

“A werewolf? Are you hungry for my flesh?”

Something akin to a bored, exasperated sigh whispers out from the shadows this time.

“Humans never cease to disgust me with their base, vulgar minds.”

You’re stumped at what to say or do. The rage is starting to simmer out of your system as this stalemate un-nerves you further with each second. Your fury gave you strength but each moment you spend talking the more that shakiness begins to re-settle in your bones. With a desperate attempt to reclaim your weakening strength you try another tactic.

“Vulgar I may be, but a coward you still remain sir,” You hesitate before pushing yourself forward and charging right at the darkness, “Afraid a base human will see you? Cowering in the shadows like a deer before a cougar–,”

Before you can take an official step into the shadows a hand as pale and hard as marble, and as cold as packed glacial ice comes out of nowhere, securing fingers of granite around your neck.

You make a tiny choked sound of surprise and it takes you a shocked second to realize that this hand isn’t coming from the shadows, but beside it. There are two beings here not just one. Out of reflex your hands come up to grasp the forearm of the offending hand at your neck as the hand lifts your feet easily off the ground and your mind scrambles to adjust to this new frightening information.

You didn’t even know – didn’t sense – that there was more than one creature. The panic breaks the damn of your anger in an overwhelming avalanche as you frantically scour the trees and darkness around you wondering if there were more hidden creatures. The face and body that belongs to the hand around your neck appears out from beside the shadows after a moment of you dangling. When it comes into full view your throat clogs as you try to gasp against his tight fingers.

It – he – is beautiful.

He wears a quality navy tunic with a cream undershirt that sprouts frothy lace at his neck-collar and wrists; his pants a deep calico to abruptly stop above bare feet. No shoes. The skin you can see is as bright as a full moon, flawless, like milk being poured into a cobalt glass goblet. His eyes seem carved directly from the horizon of a crisp winter sky – a blue so bright and unearthly it has to have been stolen directly from the Gods’ own minds. His features are too perfect: high proud cheekbones bordering a straight long nose that points down to full, impossibly soft looking lips that are framed by a sharp chin and chiseled granite jaw. His hair is short and shines gold like wisps of sun atop his head, hair so fine it looks like it would feel as soft as a sun ray’s kiss. He isn’t real.

He isn’t human, Your mind corrects.

Before you can think of how to respond to everything that is happening, the fingers at your neck tighten just a hair more,

“My Master is no coward.” This impossible blonde creature somehow hisses down at you even as he raises you above his head. His frame is so tall and packed with dangerous muscle you fight the urge to faint with fear.

You instead stare wide eyed at him, eyes ready to pop out of your skull, hands futility clutching at the white marble skin trying to breathe as pressure builds steadily in your face from lack of air.

The silhouette of the man-creature still shroud in the shadows whispers something in some ancient tongue, the words almost caressing the very air around you like they’re alive.

Immediately the supernatural blonde releases your neck and you drop to your knees and fall forward onto your hands, swallowing thirsty gulps of air down and coughing harshly when your throat fails to adjust. Your hands subconsciously fist the dirt below your hands as you frantically try to gain bearing on what’s going on. One anonymous supernatural creature you could maybe escape from, but two?

Not a chance in hell.

And the fact that you pissed them off?

Yeah, double no. You’re dead meat…literally.

The fact that you are going to die starts to steadily push down on your shoulders, coaxing you to just lay down on the ground and give up. Your ears are mute to the hushed old-world words being exchanged by the two man-creatures who are calmly discussing your fate.

You barely have the energy to be startled as the same cold stone hand grabs the skin at the back of your neck and lifts you to your feet like you are a runt of a pup litter. You hadn’t even noticed the beautiful blonde had moved behind you while you heaved on the ground. With a fearful spark in your gut you realize the first man-creature still hasn’t moved out from the shadows and you still can’t see him – it, whatever the male-creature is. You wonder after a dazed moment if maybe he can’t step out of the shadows, like its a cage, but you quickly shove that note aside because its the middle of the night and there is no moon tonight. If light was his concern there isn’t any to hide from at the moment, only concerned stars peeping down through the dark canopy trying to catch a glimpse of how you’re fairing.

“My Master desires you to live,” The blonde practically hisses behind you, his hand still unnervingly gripping the back of your neck, once you gather your balance atop your shaking legs and the quiet has set in for a nice long uncomfortable stretch of heart beats. These supernatural creatures wield silence like a knight does his sword. “In return for sparing your life, My Master requires payment.”

What is left of the warmth in your body drains and seems sucked out by the ice touch at your neck.

“He will require a…” The pale male-creature trails off a tad frustrated, murmuring more ancient words seemingly to himself rather than to his ‘Master’, almost like he’s trying to find the right translation.

As he struggles for the words you shake violently under his hand and stare petrified at the shadows in front of you, trying to make out eyes or a hand or a shoulder while simultaneously hoping you aren’t successful in your search for a physical presence. Seeing the creature would only make you even more scared but a sick curiosity keeps twisting out of your attempts to catch it. You knew that whoever is behind the shadows is most definitely watching you though, his gaze feels like a branding iron against your soul but instead of unbearable heat it feels so cold that it burns. Another wave of renewed never ending unease shimmies down your spine when the beautiful creature behind you gives a soft ‘ah’ of triumph.

“My Master requires a, a slice of your soul.”

Your heart gallops through the resulting field of silence as what the blonde says sinks in, and then the muscle within your chests freezes solid.

“A s-slice of my soul?” Comes your whisper of naked horror.

The shadows in front of you somehow grin.

The blonde man-creature behind you does not respond, doesn’t even sound like he’s breathing. Your mind scatters into chaos trying uselessly to find a way out of this situation. You have never heard of a creature who eats souls other than the Devil himself and his creations.

You jump out of your own skin when you feel the lips of the creature behind you brush the shell of your ear,

“Do not fear. To be owned by My Master is not painful or meant as a punishment,” With disgust you try to wrench yourself free of the hand but to no avail. “It is only rightful payment.”

“I’ll die first!” You cry at the two of them as you continue to struggle knowing you won’t get away but it feels good to try anyway. Before you can register anything else the shadows waft swiftly away from the black silhouette and your vision suddenly goes dark.

James steps up to this human woman with slight distaste and mild irritation. He grips the sides of your cheeks with his hand hard and tilts your face up at him, watching your open eyes dart around with rising panic.

“Why can’t I see?!” You shriek as your face burns under the freezing touch of a new hand at your jaw, the one at your neck still and unmoving.

A bored snarl curls James’ upper lip as he looks down at you.

Humans, he thinks.

He glances up at Steve behind you and nods in warning. The blonde vampire closes his eyes and braces himself, he never did like this part.

James lowers his lips to yours, just barely allowing the skin to touch, not wanting to contaminate himself with the filth of humans more than he has to. But he’s hungry and you’re right here. And since he cannot possess a soul without that soul’s permission, your life force will have to do. For now.

You jump helpless and pathetic under the unyielding pressure of two deathly cold hands as you feel a sensation against your lips. In your blindness you at first can’t fathom what it is, because its too cold to be skin and too soft to be anything but the wind.

James connects his gaze with your blind milky one and he inhales.

White hot flames suddenly lick at every vein, muscle, cell in your body. You try to scream but find your lungs incapable of breathing in any air, like you have a feather down pillow being pressed over your face. You’re being suffocated then.

What an odd method of killing, considering they’re supernatural creatures, A strange disconnected part of your mind notes.

Your insides feel like they’re being turned inside out, like a hook dragging your guts out through your mouth. The muscle of your heart beats in a wild un-synchronized symphony of panicked thuds. James remains perfectly calm if not a little grossed out at having to be so close to you. But as he gets the first real taste of your life force – your energy – pulsing into him like liquid sun pouring into his hollow black-hole of a soul, he realizes he can’t get enough. Its not enough.

James can sense Steve’s rising unease as he continues inhaling from you longer than he planned to. Aside from the usual sweet flavor of fear, there’s an undeniable spice to you that brings James to life in a way he hasn’t felt in centuries. Like a finger curling at him, urging him to take more, to take it all.

“Brother, please,” Steve hushes to him in their mother tongue over the top of your head, an ancient Celtic language long since deceased. “You promised me.”

At this James abruptly stops inhaling and glances away from your eyes to meet Steve’s, his azure irises true and just as bold as they were when he was a human. The Unseelie Fae King let’s go of your face, steps back, and gives Steve a small but reverent bow. A show of the highest respect, especially coming from him who bows to no one and nothing.

Steve nods back in acceptance of this silent but profound apology and slowly lowers you to the ground. You have long since passed out by this point.

“She still owes me a part of her soul.” James states not really at anybody but just a promise for the forest to remember and hold you to. The trees rustle above them and eagerly accept the honor.

“Yes Master, perhaps we should take her back to her family so she may recover.” Steve agrees, suggesting the gentlest option for you as they both stare down at your limp body curled on the forest floor at their feet.

A sage expression gathers on James’ face, “I shall claim my debt after, then.”

The blonde vampire bows his head in acknowledgment and is about to scoop you up to return you to your home when James holds up his hand. Steve freezes in submissive patience, waiting to hear what his Master – his Sire, his Bond Brother – wants. James only steps forward and picks you up bridal style himself. Steve furrows his eyebrows at this, knowing James despises humans most of all among the creatures on this earth, but his expression stutters into grateful reverence when James adjusts you so your head drops to hang back, exposing the elegant line of your neck.

The Unseelie King handles you like a chef would a tenderly prepared meal.

“I fed, and so will you Bond Brother.” James hushes in that gorgeous ancient tongue as he takes one grand stride to stand right in front of Steve.

James arranges you so your feet touch back to the ground and your back rests against his broad chest, your dead weight no more of a burden than carrying a feather would be. He wraps a hesitant arm around your middle and cups the side of your face as your head falls to one side with an impossibly smooth palm. Steve’s eyes glow impossibly bluer as he stares ravenously at your neck, veins pulsing under the strain of your heartbeat trying to recover from the events of the evening.

“Devour.” James whispers knowing Steve waits for his permission.

Steve doesn’t hesitate to smooth a cool hand down your neck before licking over the skin thinnly shielding his favorite artery, like a doctor would wipe with a towelette of alcohol before sticking a needle in. The vampire snaps his fangs out while opening his mouth. As Steve is one of the original vampires his fangs are so long they are near the length of a human child’s pinky. James holds you steady, watching his Bond Brother fondly, before Steve hunches down over you. He opens his jaw wider and sinks his teeth into you like steel through warm butter.

The second your blood spurts against his lips Steve groans in absolute ecstasy as his eyes roll up into he back of his skull. He makes sure no blood gets on your clothes or his, having had much practice with this, and sucks from you like a man dying of thirst at a fresh cool spring. James leans forward and presses a brief but caring kiss to Steve’s forehead while his vampire continues to drink, lost to everything but the taste of your blood.

James smiles as the familiar feeling of intimacy at having a human’s essence pulse through their bond starts to come to life like rivers of mercury slowly weaving their way into a sea of blue. He can feel you inside himself and coursing through Steve, he can feel your leftover fear and fury, feel your subconscious panic even though you’re not awake. He can sense it all, like you’re part of him. Of course this connection will fade, not his bond with Steve but the bond you have temporarily formed with the both of them.

From the look on Steve’s face, he’s not tasted a human as delicious as you in a while. James mulls over this fact. His desire to possess you only grows as he casually strokes some of Steve’s hair out of his face when the golden strands fall over his closed eyes.

You will be his, and by extension Steve’s as well (when James feels like sharing). Though as you begin to pale in James’s arms he feels a strange urge to be selfish, to have you all to himself. Usually him and Steve share all their meals but as your eyelashes flutter in pain and the echo of your heart beat in James’ own hollow chest starts to weaken considerably, he shoves Steve off you.

Albeit gently but still a shove. Steve looks a little shook as he stumbles back from you, fangs red and dripping, but regains himself quickly from the frenzy of blood-food-meal-warm-life.

James looks down at you limp in his arms and before he knows what he’s doing, ever so lightly touches the tips of his free fingers to the assaulted skin of your neck, watching with foreign satisfaction as the skin heals instantly. Steve stares at James for a second consumed by a wave of shock. A shock that, when James looks up and sees, speaks of a side to the Unseelie King long since forgotten.

James hasn’t healed anybody (and never once a human) in centuries.

With monumental self disgust James sneers and chucks you to the ground, shivering like your touch revolted him. Before you can crash to the ground Steve catches you with unnatural speed and holds you bridal style tight to his chest, gently licking up the leftover blood on your neck under the careful eye of his Bond Brother. Steve always has been a compassionate drinker, feeling the urge to be tender to the human who’s blood courses through his dead veins.

James visibly relaxes when Steve pulls his lips away from your neck. Steve notices and sees right through him.

“Get this blood bag out of my sight.” James scoffs with regal distaste when he catches Steve staring at him with suspicious wonder.

Steve only bows obediently and takes off at a sprint, following your scent trail out of the forest and all the way to your grand home estate. You weren’t royalty, but your family’s money made you the closest thing to it apart from having actual royal blood. He easily picks across the vast gardens and grounds and jumps in through an open window that permeates your scent once he reaches the main house. Steve quickly gathers that you are a wealthy young lady of status by the grandeur of your family’s estate and the magnificence of your chambers. Steve lays you down on the silk sheets of your large four poster bed, hearing several heartbeats thudding out of sync to their own master’s rhythm throughout the house.

As he arranges your head to lay at a comfortable angle against your multiple feather pillows he can’t help but brush his fingers over the spot on your neck where his Master healed you. Steve doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he feels a distinct tug in his chest.

James is calling him.

Steve sighs internally (as he doesn’t actually breathe) before jumping back out the open window as silent as an owl with the moon on its wings. Just before Steve turns to sprint unseen back to the cover of the ancient forest he catches the name ‘Stark’ carved in a flourish on a stone crest sitting atop the stone wall boarding the estate’s main house.

Stark, Steve thinks as his body whispers through the night, No wonder she tastes so good.

Okay!!! So there you have it, the first chapter to my unseelie!bucky fic! Lemme know what you think pretty please? xxx

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#unseelieking!bucky #bucky barnes x y/n #Bucky Barnes AU #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #Nikki writes #request #thejamesoldier #No Faith Trust or Faerie Fucks

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