#my cat bit my finger so hard i straight up howled from pain

[mikrotyalm13]

while im making a pretty big thingy for an anon ask have a. silly

#my cat bit my finger so hard i straight up howled from pain #he bit right through my skin AND nail WHAT #microtya's kids #monsterfucker #monster fucker #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster lover #teratophillia #god x human #art #my art #digital art #artists on tumblr #sketch #meme #drawing meme #digital drawing

[c-e-d-dreamer]

When We Howl, the Moon Will Cower: Prologue

A/N: I know it's technically November first, which means Spooky Season is officially over, but what do you say we keep the spooky vibes going just a little bit longer? And what better way to do that than with witchy Nesta! And future werewolf Cassian ;) I am very excited for what I have planned for this fic, and I hope everyone enjoys! And if you don't, well, this is a love letter fic to @dustjacketmusings only, so I don't care. Also, gold star to everyone who can pick up on the 3 easter eggs in this prologue.

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Next Part

Darkness from the west trembles in the light As the sun rises on a new empire Shatter, crack, and take back what is right The golden bonds escape the pyre Mother blessed unity births power unforeseen The gods will bow before the strength of three

~ * * * ~

“Again.”

Nesta swallows down her wince. Swallows down the tingling pain in her cramped fingers. Swallows down the throb that's taken up home in her head, the way it makes everything fuzzy around the edges. Instead, she takes a deep breath, reaching for that well of power within herself. Sometimes, she likes to imagine it as a cat, napping in the sun when it's resting. She imagines that now, imagines stroking her hand along its fur until it begins to purr to life.

“Nesta.”

The cold, clipped tone has Nesta flinching instinctively. “I'm trying, Mama.”

“Clearly, you are not trying hard enough,” her mother scoffs, and even without looking at her, Nesta can imagine the disappointed scowl that's sure to be pinching Elinor Archeron's face. “You are an Archeron witch, or did you forget?”

“My magic is drained,” Nesta defends, squeezing her eyes tighter and trying to focus. “I just need another moment.”

“Drained?” Elinor's laugh is nothing short of mocking. “Your ancestors could do this in their sleep. You are a disgrace to our family name. I don't even know why I bother.”

“I can do it.”

Nesta knows her snapped words mean nothing if she can't prove it. She reaches for that beast inside her again and grabs fur until it roars. Until she can feel her magic slink between her fingers, wreathing its way up her arms. It sings in her veins and floods her lungs so every breath is pure power, writhing like a dancer in time to her pounding heart.

A hard strike across the face has Nesta crashing back down, a pained gasp tumbling past her lips. She cradles her cheek with her hand, blinking up at her mother, but Elinor's rage is potent. A fire practically blazes in those blue eyes, its path of wrath and destruction pinned right on Nesta.

“You stupid girl. Are you trying to burn the whole house down?”

“I'm sorry, Mama,” Nesta whispers before she swallows hard and stands up straight again, holding her chin high. Never cower, never let her see the cracks. “I'll be better next time.”

“You better be,” Elinor sneers, brushing her hands down the skirts of her dress and turning toward the door. It's a clear dismissal, an end to today's lessons. “Do not disappoint me, Nesta.”

Nesta can't help but flinch at the too loud sound of the door closing behind her mother. She presses a hand to her mouth to quiet the shuddering breath she lets out, blinking hard around the stinging heat pressing behind her eyes. When she presses her fingers to the skin of her cheek, she can still feel the lingering soreness from being slapped, but she's hopeful there won't be any bruising.

There certainly won't be a scar.

As if of their own accord, Nesta's fingers absentmindedly slide along the raised skin on her thumb. At least her mother's lessons aren't like the ones with her grandmother.

A knock at the door has Nesta almost jumping out of her skin in surprise, and for a fearful moment, she half wonders if her thoughts somehow summoned her grandmother back from beyond the grave. But then she hears her sister's voice, tentatively calling her name through the wood.

“Go away, Elain,” Nesta calls back, rolling her eyes even though her sister can't see her.

“But I need your help,” Elain protests, a hint of the whine Nesta knows always works on their father bleeding into her tone.

With a huff, Nesta stalks over to the door, yanking it open and not even bothering to hide her annoyance as she demands, “what?”

Elain chews on her lip, fiddling with the skirts of her dress, before admitting, “I lost Feyre.”

“What do you mean you lost Feyre?”

“Well, we were playing hide and seek, and she must have chosen a really good hiding place because I can't find her.”

“For Mother's sake,” Nesta sighs, already stepping out into the hall. “You know, next year, you'll be of a witch's age, and you won't have any more time for baby games.”

“Just because you came of age last year doesn’t mean you have to be so mean.”

Nesta’s steps stutter at Elain’s words, and she turns back around to find her sister still standing by the study door, her arms crossed and her expression less than impressed. Nesta knows that she’s right, but Nesta would also give anything to keep Elain and Feyre from turning thirteen. To let them play hide and seek and run through the gardens forever. To protect them from their mother’s clutches and her cruel lessons.

But Nesta has yet to find a spell for that.

So Nesta lets out a soft breath and offers Elain a small smile of apology. “Where did you already look for Feyre?”

Elain huffs quietly, practically a lamenting sigh, as she continues down the hall and to Nesta’s side. “I checked all the normal places. Under all the beds. Under Papa’s desk. All the closets.”

“Did you check the cellar?” Nesta asks, leading the way toward the main staircase.

“We’re not allowed down there, remember?”

“Exactly. And this is Feyre we’re talking about.”

Elain hums, and that’s answer enough for Nesta. With a shake of her head, she hurries down the main staircase and down the hall that leads to the cellar door. The dark wood looks unassuming, exactly as their mother intended it, but Nesta can feel the magic imbued within it. It seems to hum and whisper to her, seems to jump off the wood and skate across her skin and up her arms. If Nesta squints, she can even make out the protection runes carved beneath the wood stain.

Checking both ways down the hallway to make sure no one is watching, Nesta reaches forward, her fingers curling around the handle of the door. She closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath, feeling the magic pulsing through her hand before the handle twists and the door opens. She grabs Elain’s wrist and tugs her inside, the door closing behind them with a quiet thud.

Neither of them say anything as they follow the winding staircase down, Elain keeping her hand firmly in Nesta’s own. Nesta can’t say she minds the contact. The cellar has always made her feel uneasy. It’s the way she always feels like she’s being watched when she’s down here. The way whispers seem to creep along the floor and the walls like fog, Nesta never quite able to hear the words being spoken, but always having the undeniable feeling that they’re saying her name. It’s the way the air is always thick and still, as if whatever ominous presence calls this dark place home is holding its breath, even as it smiles from the shadows with too sharp teeth.

Nesta lets out a quiet breath when they reach the bottom of the stairs, giving Elain’s hand a gentle, comforting squeeze. Or perhaps it’s to help ground herself. She turns her attention to the left, unsurprised to find the door at the very end is cracked open, watery light spilling out around the edges like some sort of eerie beacon.

For a moment, Nesta hesitates, swallowing hard around the churning in her gut, the lump threatening to press into her throat. But then she swears she feels it, a presence beside her and Elain. But it doesn’t bring with it any of the unease the shadows of the cellar do. Instead, it feels almost warm, comforting. Like a mother’s hand curling around her shoulders, it urges her forward, guiding her through the door and into the room.

“You found me!” Feyre exclaims, jumping up from her spot crouched beside the door with a wide smile.

“Feyre, you know you’re not supposed to be in here,” Nesta seethes, already grabbing her youngest sister’s arm to tug her out of the room and back upstairs.

But Feyre yanks herself free, crossing her arms across her chest. “Just because you’re the oldest, that doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”

Feyre sticks her tongue out, belying her eleven years of age, and Nesta merely rolls her eyes. “I’m serious. Mama would be furious if she knew.”

“We get it, Nesta. You’re Mama’s favorite, always the perfect child. That doesn’t mean the rest of us want to be.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, what you don’t know.”

“Um…” Elain speaks up quietly, breaking up her sisters’ glaring contest. “Is it supposed to be doing that?”

Nesta snaps her attention to the center of the room, to the magical object she’s always refused to look directly at for too long. The Cauldron stands on a slightly raised wooden platform, the wide circumference large enough that Nesta is sure it could swallow all three of her and her sisters whole if it wanted to. The black iron it’s made from is dark as night, dark enough to drown any light, any life, even as the legends sing of life being poured from it.

And for the first time since Nesta ever laid eyes on it, the Cauldron truly seems alive.

The liquid inside bubbles and pops, dark smoke rising and curling from its depths. The smoke spills over the edge of the platform, slithering down the platform and across the floor to them. Nesta swears it looks almost star flecked as it creeps closer to Feyre, threatening to curl around her ankles. Feyre jumps away from the smoke, hiding behind Nesta and curling her hands tight enough around Nesta’s arm that her nails bite into the skin.

“What’s it doing?” Feyre demands, her voice barely above a hushed whisper.

“I don’t know,” Nesta mutters, her own voice quiet, as if the Cauldron might hear them if they’re too loud. “But we need to get out of here.”

Nesta turns on her heel to do just that, keeping Feyre with her, but her feet stutter before she can even take a single step. Elain’s eyes have completely glazed over, the honey brown color of them foggy, and her gaze is focused solely on the Cauldron. Her expression is entirely blank in a way that has alarm bells ringing in Nesta’s head, has every hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

“Elain…” Nesta starts cautiously, watching with wide eyes as her sister starts to walk closer to the Cauldron. “Elain, what are you doing?”

Whether her sister can hear her or not, Nesta isn’t sure. Elain continues walking until she’s stood right at the foot of the wooden platform, smoke dancing and curling up her calves like flames, sparking against her skin like daylight. Like a puppet on strings, Elain’s hand slowly raises from her side, her outstretched hand reaching forward.

“Elain, don’t!”

Nesta’s free hand curls around Elain’s wrists at the same moment Elain’s fingers curl around the lip of the Cauldron. Nesta’s chest heaves, her entire body tensing up in anticipation, but nothing happens. There’s no explosion, no blinding light. The ground doesn’t shake and rumble beneath their feet. There’s just that choking stillness.

“Darkness from the west trembles in the light,” Elain speaks, her voice somehow sounding far away, like it’s not her own.

“Elain?” Nesta whispers, giving her sister’s wrist a tentative squeeze.

“As the sun rises on a new empire—”

“What’s wrong with her? Why is she saying that?” Feyre asks over Elain’s still speaking voice.

“I don’t know,” Nesta hisses, turning over her shoulder to glare at Feyre.

“The golden bonds escape the pyre—”

“Elain,” Nesta tries again, tugging on her sister’s hand more forcefully. “Stop that.”

“—unity births power unforeseen.” Nesta drops Feyre's hand and steps forward, physically prying Elain’s fingers off the Cauldron. “The gods will bow before the strength of three.”

With a soft gasp, Elain stumbles back, Nesta curling an arm around her waist to try and hold her steady. Elain blinks a few times, and it’s stark relief that floods through Nesta as she takes in the bright brown color, pink flooding back into her sister's cheeks and face.

“What happened?” Elain asks, her words slightly slurred together.

Before Nesta can answer her, Elain’s eyes flutter closed, Nesta practically crashing to the cold, hard stone floor in her effort to catch Elain’s deadweight. She wraps her arms tightly around Elain, tugging so her sister’s head is cradled in her lap. Her heart starts to pound when she lifts her hand to Elain’s cheek, the skin cool and clammy beneath her touch. She snaps her attention back to Feyre, her youngest sister standing with wide eyes and her arms curled around herself.

“We need to get Mama.”

~ * * * ~

“Think harder, Nesta.”

It takes everything within Nesta to swallow down her sigh. She already knows what making such a sound will earn her, but it’s easier said than done. They’ve been at this for what feels like hours now.

“I told you, Mama. I can’t be sure,” Nesta explains, keeping her eyes downcast and away from where her mother is pacing across the room. “I was more focused on making sure Elain was okay.”

“Honestly, Nesta,” Elinor sighs, and though Nesta keeps her attention firmly on her own lap, she can perfectly imagine her mother’s expression. “Your sister gives a prophecy in the Cauldron’s presence, and you couldn’t bother to remember it?”

“There was…” Nesta squeezes her eyes shut, trying to focus. “There was something about unity. Blessed unity and it creating unforseen power… something about an empire, I think?”

“An empire? What about an empire?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Dammit, Nesta. Focus.”

The slap sings hard across Nesta’s cheek, the metallic taste of blood spilling in her mouth from how hard she bites her tongue to keep in her cry of surprise. Her fingers curl into fists in her lap, nails biting into her skin to ground herself, and Nesta takes a shaking breath in and out of her nose. She can tell that her mother’s patience is wearing beyond thin, that soon her mother will tire of this back and forth. And she knows that if she doesn’t do this, Elinor will turn her methods on Feyre next.

So taking another, more calming breath, Nesta imagines herself back in that room, in that cellar with her sisters. She imagines the Cauldron before her, bubbling and smoking. She imagines Elain’s face and the faraway look in her eyes. She imagines seeing Elain’s mouth move, the words spilling forth.

“The gods will bow before the strength of three,” Nesta recites back, just as Elain had.

She waits for her mother's clipping words, perhaps another slap over only remembering the single, final line, but there's only silence echoing in the room. Tentatively, Nesta raises her head, intent on meeting her mother's steely blue gaze head on, but Elinor's focus is far away, her attention snagged out the window. Nesta turns her own attention outside, curiosity piqued, but whatever her mother is staring at, whatever she sees laid out before her, it's only in her mind. Finally, she turns back to Nesta, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at her painted lips.

“Perhaps you won't be a disappointment to the Archeron name after all.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #When We Howl #my fic

[pinkykitten]

everything stays

chapter 1 - blood on her hands :: gisela klein [ an aot oc story ] 

note: hey guys i know its been a rlly long time since ive posted anything and u may be rlly let down and underwhelmed that ive chosen to write a aot oc instead of fanfic but its what i want to write and i rlly love my oc and wanna give her some love and some praise and let u a little in how i see her. im sorry i havent posted a lot im going to try to write more and who knows i may or may not finish this but its ok imma try lol but life sometimes is a butthole. i hope you love her as much as i do an tysm for taking time out of ur day to read this story. enjoy!

Even though she knew that this day would have to come and that it was near, it still was a surprise for her. She was taken aback. It didn’t make sense and add up to her; she was trained for this since she was little; preparing mentally and physically for phase one of the plan; and the day appeared through the trees; past the wall; the opportunity was present; the fate of the people were waiting in their hands; and yet she felt a sense of evilness within her heart. Was this right? But there was no time. 

The day was written down in history. The stories were spread around like a disease. Heights, jaws, teeth, feet, stench, the screams. If they survived that nightmare they were seen as a tough soldier; as someone that was applauded because they probably had PTSD and had to see everyday as a reason within themselves or God that they were alive. That maybe just maybe they were saved for a reason; for a purpose. That is what Gisela Klein thought. Maybe there was something greater out there for her to do, to accomplish and that was why she saw another day; breathed another breath. 

But one thing was for sure. Forgiveness would never come her way; she would never expect it. To be a warrior she had to endure the horror; the pain; feelings of worthlessness; and friendships lost. 

This is the story of the 10th finding titan; the Slash Titan.

The pounding of her heart rang through her ears. It had taken everything for her to keep going on this journey; to continue on the path to and through Hell. She felt a loss within her and the light in her eyes died out. The loss of her friend made it hard for her to function. To keep her head in the game and in the plan. 

She sighed as she stared at her hands. Broken and bruised like her heart; scars and scratches scattered on her skin. Her bite mark deeply engraved into her flesh. She heaved a huge sigh. Ready to give death a handshake and make a deal with the devil. Panic was rising in her chest from her stomach, almost ready to throw up. 

As she thought about her family back home she realized there was no other way; she had to do this. In order to be with her family, to save them she had to do the one thing she was trained to do. 

Kill.

A lightning strike shot over the wall. The wall that kept the monsters away and at bay. Something was wrong; the air seemed to change. The lightning strike caused a boom, clap and the ground started to shake. 

Bertholdt drew his leg back and with full force swung his leg forward, knocking a hole into the wall that was impenetrable. Many people flew back from the wind of the blow and some were crushed by the debris of the wall. 

Many were going to die; but it’s what needed to be done. 

The titans were called. 

Finally the titans entered the devils homes and started to rip up their lives. “This is right, this is right.” Gisela had to keep reminding herself. “For my family.” And something snapped within her. The image of her mother, tortured, flashed in her mind. And suddenly everything was worth it. “No regrets.”

Gisela eyed Reiner, an agreement, a sign. She exhaled and in a quick motion placed her hand to her mouth and bit into it. In a spark she transformed into her titan form. Her eyes were much like a cats, sharp. She was made into the slash titan, she was chosen for this program. Her titans fingers were like sharp knives, able to cut any object or person. They hung a little past her knees. 

Reiner then transformed and both stomped past the hole. Many citizens glanced up, horrified. Gisela and Reiner were titans never seen before. 

She nodded to Reiner, bent down and started to pick up debris and pieces of houses to throw over the bigger wall. The chunks started to smash against people. Blood splattering everywhere. Gisela almost wanted to close her eyes from the immense amount of dead bodies piled on top of others, graves upon graves. 

She was hauling boulders as high and fast as she could. Her titan held a high amount of power and strength. Being slim, muscular and as tall as the armored titan and female titan. Reiner took a step back and gained his speed to go onward to destroy the bigger wall. 

“Fire!” Their soldiers cried out. Fear evident on their face. They shot their cannons, not even slowing down Reiner. Gisela continued flinging, wanting to create a path for Reiner. She was faster than before and many of her hits flattened the men in the front lines. Their screams and cries loud. 

“Close the gate!” They tried, it was their last hope to save humanity. But it was not enough. Reiner broke the wall and killed those running and they went flying. They reached even higher than Gisela. It astounded her almost, they seemed like helpless birds flying high in the sky; but that thought was quickly wiped clean because the second they flew up in the air they came straight down with much force that many parts of their bodies broke. 

Reiner did what he needed to do, he opened up a way for the titans to get in and they were swarming by the bunches. 

In the distance, the survivors fled in boats across the river to get into the other walls. Gisela put herself in their shoes for a second. They had reason to be scared. Everything they have ever known was gone; their houses, loved ones, food, a place to feel the most comfortable you can feel despite situations; it was all gone. Gisela shook the thought out, not caring about these cruel humans feelings. They had none. No emotions. Gisela had to believe that thought; what she was told, she had to believe it with all her heart, or else what was real?

They waited till they were able to not be seen and Gisela turned human first and then so did Reiner. The four of them hopped on the boat. Talking amongst themselves. The wind howled through the vacant homes. Destruction everywhere. Gisela looked around her setting and saw a little girl had been crushed because a tree fell on her, her doll mere inches away from her grasp. She died with her eyes open; almost looking into Gisela’s soul through the eyes. Gisela’s body trembled and she threw up. 

“Don’t.”

Gisela looked up to see Reiner wiping blood and debris off his clothes. He picked his sleeve and turned Gisela’s head to look away, he wiped her chin and mouth off the puke. He saw the trauma in her eyes and felt guilty. But it’s what needed to be done. He kept telling himself that the more he did this the more he would understand and get used to it. It was still all new to her and he had to be strong for her. He knelt in front of her small frame. “It’s not your fault. They needed to die. We are in this together. You don’t need them. Look at me.”

Gisela looked into his eyes, away from the sadness. His eyes carried the feeling of wanting to be wanted. That was always what Reiner wanted. But they also had fear in his eyes. 

“Stop acting like you’re in control when I know how sick you feel. I know how afraid you are Reiner.”

He paused and took a look at his hands and others surrounding him. “You’re right. But I made a promise to Marcel.”

They joined the other citizens arriving at the food reserves. The master of disguise was needed in this mission. People needed to see four hungry, depressed children that survived the fall of their homes, not mass murderers. 

Annie was only able to fetch two loaves. “Alright, who's the most hungry?”

“You girls should eat, you’re more feeble.” Bertholdt sat on a crate, pointing to Gisela and Annie. 

Annie tsked, moving a bang from her eyes, “who says girls are more feeble? I recall kicking your ass all those times in training.”

“You guys can eat it, I’m not hungry.” Gisela sat on the other crate and saw the chaos of the crowds. A boy caught her interest. He had dark brown hair, tan skin, and light blue green eyes. He was having bread shoved in his mouth and he seemed to have such a strong personality to him. If only Gisela felt so strongly about her motive and her placement in this life. 

“You really should eat, you need your energy after all you did.” Annie broke all the loaves in half and shared it amongst the four of you. “It’s not much but at least it's something.”

Gisela sighed, “you’re right. Thanks.”

After that day there was land given to only a few refugees but there were too many of them. Luckily the four of them had a piece of land that was enough until further inching themselves within society. Through that whole span each day was getting easier and easier living with the lies and day by day Gisela felt more at sure with herself and knowing that she could fulfill this mission. Pills and alcohol helped the pain and ease the thoughts. She taught herself to put a gap between what she came here to do and feelings. She told herself every day that nobody else mattered except her family and Reiner. She trained her brain to not care, to not have strings attached or any love for anything. It was all a play, all a rehearsal for when the curtain would fall. She was readying herself for that fall. Everyday she educated herself more on these scums. What they liked, wanted, needed, craved for, and what they craved more than ever in their life was freedom. 

She trained her body as if it were her last day, barely getting sleep. The face of her mother haunting her every night making her get up at three in the morning to do pushups or sit ups. Not only was her mind getting stronger but also her body. Even Reiner would make jokes noticing the muscles that would appear. The six pack that formed on her stomach. Her thighs growing tight and firm, her arms growing stronger. The sweat growing on her forehead longer. 

With her body growing her relationship with Reiner also changed. They no longer were the tiny children that didn’t understand anatomy or the air between two people. Reiner and Gisela’s relationship was of being flirty, sharing a few kisses here and there, trying to be a couple but then yelling at each other and breaking it up and realizing maybe this isn’t right a million times. Even Bertholdt and Annie were getting tired of their outbursts. But each time they made up to be friends only and then the cycle started where the feelings came in the way and they wanted to be more. They would tease each other, especially Reiner. They were each other's best friends. Gisela was like one of the boys, loud, obnoxious, burping all the time, Reiner would get a look at her and smirk thinking he taught her well. When Reiner looked at her he felt at home and that everything was going to be okay. Her nightmares continued and each time Reiner would come to her room and hold her, let her cry into his arms. She felt he was the only person that knew her pain. 

Gisela understood many things in life and for once she understood her life here, she understood why she was born and chosen. 

It was the following year and in order to get closer to finding the founding titan the four became part of the 104th cadet corps. 

“Are you ready to train more?” Gisela nudged Reiner, eyebrow raised.

“What do you mean train more? This is going to be a new but scary experience honestly.” Reiner spoke as if he was a different person. As if he didn’t have a life outside of the walls. 

“Reiner?” Gisela placed her hand on his shoulder, steadying him. He looked fine on the outside but Gisela knew the issues were inside, his mind. She knew this was becoming disastrous to him, he was starting to have almost two personalities, two lives, two worlds, two people. Gisela tried to tell Annie or Bertholdt, they saw it too but there was nothing they could do. 

All that Gisela could do was smile as they made their way to the first day of training. 

note: again ty y’all sm!!!! If u liked it lmk and this is kinda new for me cuz I usually don’t post my ocs stories here or much at all but I’m rlly excited for y’all to see her and for y’all to know this oc of mine and hopefully accept her ❤️

Taglist: @witchofinterest @chlobenet @eddysocs @fpxloomis @whctsherncme-archive @ocfairygodmother @fandomchick80 @ocappreciationtag

#aot oc #ocappreciation #ochub #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #snk oc #aot #shingeki no kyoujin oc #gisela klein #everything stays #attack on titan oc #my ocs #reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner Braun x oc #levi ackerman #eren jaeger #original character #aot imagines #aot x oc #aot x reader #aot edit #aot manga #reiner x gisela klein #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert

[timextoxhajima]

GEN Z SERIES, CHANG MIN: Invisible Blindfolds

“I want her dead.”

Member: Changmin

Genre: Angst / Fluff

Word Count: 5.2k words

Taglist:  @lovely-kpop-writer​​ @yn-am-pm @fleurseoul​ @sunwoowuvbot​ @mystaydeobi​ @fullsunsays​ @glcwing0​

The corners of your eyes well up with tears, and you swore you’d get a tummy ache the next morning from laughing all too hard. 

“Spin the damn thing again! I’m not going into the closet with him!” Chanhee nearly screams his head off, getting onto his feet just as the soju bottle stops, pointing dead straight at him. 

Ji Changmin gets up from beside you, and steps across the carpet, hands outstretched towards his classmate.

“No, fuck off!” 

The laughter in your abdomen forces you to double over, nearly spilling the cup of Coke mixed with Whiskey in your hand. 

Kevin and Eric get to their feet in a bid to force Chanhee along with the game, and you lean over on your best friend, watching your boyfriend turn back and grin at you as he followed his screaming friend into the closet. 

“The things I’d do to have what you have with him,” Your friend almost shouts, trying to beat the rest of the crowd in the room.

Exams had just ended and you had been cordially invited to an end-of-year party at Kevin’s place as Changmin’s girlfriend. 

“Mm,” A hum commands you to take a sip from your cup, just as Eric and Kevin lean on the closet door from the outside, and Chanhee’s screaming only tickles your funny bone even more. 

The alcohol burns your chest, but it was for a good cause; you were having fun. 

“You say that as if you don’t have just about the greatest thing with Kevin.”

The sparkle in your friend’s eyes would’ve gone unnoticed had you blinked, and you can’t help but to snuggle in further into her neck, resting your head on her shoulder while you revel in the atmosphere of the party. 

Chanhee literally crawls out of the closet once the phone’s timer goes off. Changmin walks out with his mouth covered and wide eyes while Chanhee hurls strings of vulgarities at him, back to the floor like he had just been abused.

“Oh my God, what did you do?” The view stuns you, and Changmin naturally struts over to you, his free hand dangling by the side of his thigh calling out for you to hold it.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Liar--” Chanhee’s eyes are so wide open, his blue contacts might’ve popped out. “He tried to kiss me!”

And the crowd bursts into laughter, including you. 

“Why are you laughing?” Chanhee throws a tissue ball at you, getting to his feet and returning to his spot on the carpeted living room floor. “Control your man.”

“He’s well controlled,” You come down from your high, and pull on Changmin’s hand so he’d sit down. “It’s not my fault he likes you more than he likes me.”

Some in the circle snort, and Changmin pulls you into a headlock, ruffling your hair like you didn’t put effort into styling it before coming. 

And so, the moon hangs itself for all eternity in the dark sky when you leave Kevin’s home, your friend by his side and the group of boys behind you howling and screaming as if they didn’t have to worry about being a public nuisance. 

“Goodnight, Kevin!” You call out over your shoulder, and the others follow suit. 

The door shuts with two smiles behind, but you turn to watch Chanhee and Changmin struggle a little to support the little ball of sunshine who had too much to drink.

“I can go home on my own, you guys need to take care of him.”

Changmin looks up upon your suggestion, watching as you shove your hands into the pockets of your hoodie. 

“What? No.”

Chanhee grunts as Eric nearly slides off, mumbling something about the cat on the other side of the road. 

“I’m not going to be able to bring him back home alone.”

Changmin’s eyes flit between you and his friends, his expression dulling when he realises he doesn’t really have much of a choice.

“Come with us? I don’t want you walking home alone.”

A yawn crawls up your respiratory system, and the remnants of the alcohol gets seeped into your blood as you shake your head.

“I’m fine,” You shrug lightly. “I can take care of myself, but Eric obviously can’t.”

“Your girlfriend’s right,” Chanhee grunts when Eric suddenly does a little skip on a floor, despite his right arm being hooked around Chanhee’s neck. “Eric’s going to spend the night on some pavement if we don’t get him home.”

Changmin looks a tad bit upset with your refusal to walk with them, but he knows he’ll be wasting his breath trying to convince you to go along.

“Okay,” He leans over and pecks you on your forehead. “Be careful, and text me once you get home, okay? Don’t wait up, we’ll probably be awhile.”

The tone in his voice is heavy, and for a moment you worry that he might be more than upset that you were stubborn and rock-headed. 

But Eric starts trying to braid Chanhee’s hair, leaving Changmin no choice but to help untangle his hair from Eric’s fingers. 

You watch for awhile until they disappear around the block, Changmin turning and giving you one last glance before they are out of sight.

The walk home is quiet, apart from the cricket chirping and the occasional car that drives down the road.

You can’t help but to wonder if Changmin really was pissed off with your stubbornness. The stars in the dark sky glimmer down at you, and if you tried hard enough, you could almost see Andromeda, or Mars -- well, it was either or, since both had a shade of red to them if you were to see them in the sky.

The ink sky collects you into its silence and peace, leaving you to wander through the fields of thought in your head before the sun was to rise again. 

A honk outside your house jolts you awake, and your eyes immediately squint away from the bright sun flooding the four walls of your room. 

It is a surprise to realise your phone is a lack of messages -- or replies -- from Changmin when you roll over and fetch the device from your night stand. 

The house was empty, so you could only guess your parents had brought your brother out to buy some of that sports equipment he’s always been wanting to get. 

By nature, you call Changmin, but it meets the dial tone. More messages swarm your chat, but they go undelivered.

WiFi seemed to work but why aren’t they getting through?

A slight headache starts to knock on the inner shell of your skull, and you realise a small cut on your thigh.

Must’ve been Kevin’s house. Wooden floor boards and their splinters.

You forgot to charge your phone before you passed out last night, so it’s a frustrating dead-end when your phone’s battery drains out within the next few minutes.

It wasn’t the first time you’ve been at a social event with Changmin, so being his girlfriend has taught you that he had a habit of sleeping in the next morning after a drinking session. It doesn’t really bother you that you might only come into contact with him when you’re back in school.

Yet the universe thinks it’s fun to pull a prank on you -- for not only is Changmin’s shadow almost out of sight; nobody speaks to you. 

The confusion was overwhelming, nibbling away at your consciousness and your social awareness. Not only did Changmin and his friends seemingly disappear off the face of Earth, so did yours. 

Their seats remain empty for a day, and some don’t even return after the second, including Changmin.

You take the opportunity to run the question through your friend, two of the three who was back in school and the last one gone from your radar as well. 

The cafeteria is bustling as usual, though not as noisy because none of the noisier boys in Changmin’s group of friends were around.

“Do you know what happened to Changmin? And where were you the last two days?” You rest your arms on the table before you, for the lack of appetite from the mistreatment of your boyfriend begins to haunt you like a living nightmare.

“Are you alright? If you need to speak to any of us, we’re always here for you.”

“What?” Your brows furrow and your head cocks to the side. An alarm goes off in your head because that is a strange reply. “What are you--”

“Talk to us, we’re your support. We don’t want you dead in a ditch somewhere, okay?”

“Uh-- sure... I just--”

“Good,” A pause as she returns to her potato salad. “Let me clear this before we head back to class, we have shit to catch up on.”

Baffling.

The next day greets you like the devil’s smile the first time you see it in Hell, for Changmin walks right past you without even looking at you but instead exchanging knowing, suspicious glances at your friend -- the one who assured you her comfort and support just the day before. 

Changmin looked terrible; his smile was gone and the eyebags under his eyes were unmistakably caused by a lack of sleep. The red rings around his eyes are glaring, like he had been a fight and this was the aftermath.

Maybe you should start losing sleep over this too, but everytime your back hits the mattress at home, you knock out and wake up the next morning with a shitty ache in your neck. 

Changmin doesn’t enter your field of vision for the rest of the day, for you have no classes with him besides the chemistry classes on fridays. 

The stinging, wearing pain in your neck draws you to the bed once you reach home, and it feels all too lethargic, like a fever dream. 

The days pass so quickly, so fleetingly, and you weren’t sure if you were just too cooped up in your room studying or sleeping that you haven’t really gotten the time to talk to your family members either. 

They’ll understand. 

But I definitely don’t understand Changmin.

There is something wrong, but he feels so far away, uncontactable.

All those messages and calls to him but nothing. He doesn’t pick up, he doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even look at me in school.

The tears well in your eyes when you struggle to hold yourself together.

How did such a pretty fairytale become a living nightmare?

A phone in the house rings, and the anxiety in her voice thrums through the walls of the house. You wonder for a moment how it was able to wake you -- when your mother finds extreme difficulty in even waking you up on a normal day -- but you peel yourself off the bed anyway and walk out the room, feet snuggled into the thick carpet of the floor. 

It doesn’t take too long for you to realise your mother’s been on the phone for an extended period of time now, and it calls you down the steps of your home into the living room.

The phone is on an extremely high volume; your father has had hearing problems for the longest time so the rest of you simply endure the sometimes-painful levels of pitch whenever someone calls. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you--” 

“No, wait, plea--”

And the phone is almost slammed back into the set with a plastic clack. Your mother doesn’t see you because you’ve stopped yourself at the top of the stairs, bending over to watch the situation unravel under the roof of the first floor.

Ji Changmin is a phenomenon on his own, impeccable. There was absolutely nothing about him you hated, until he treated you like you were invisible.

Then your mother buries her face in her hands, looks up at the top of the stairs and spots you, but she doesn’t look you in the eye; she knows you’re standing there. 

Someone must’ve told her Changmin and I are no longer together, but for what reason, even I don’t know. 

The weekend roles around, and the strangest thing happens in the midst of you sobbing your heart out over losing him to a force even you cannot see. 

Why would he show up at your place with a shovel and a rose?

You watch from the window in your room as your older brother and father try to pry Changmin away from the hole he’s dug on your front yard from the window. 

Quite a sight to behold, honestly. But at what cost? Who was hurting more in the relationship? Why is he here when he hasn’t responded to my calls?

The man tried to plant the rose (still in a pot with a soil-base and all), but fragility gets the better of the fickle thing and its petals dribble off throughout all the chaos. 

Changmin literally gets yanked away into the family car, and if you blinked, you would’ve missed the way Changmin looked up at the window with such yearning, it might’ve been excruciating to digest.

There was almost no way you could decide when it all happened. 

Why did Changmin suddenly stop talking to you? 

Why did he stop seeing you? 

Why did he stop loving you?

The curtains draw back before your nose, your mother closing them for you, though she doesn’t say a word. Her back is turned and she shuts the door of your room behind her, the soft thud a signal to you that maybe it was time to close your eyes and let abyss of dreams claim you again.

Maybe this time -- finally -- you’ll forget you ever loved him. 

Then again, it’s not easy to pretend like you hadn’t once had your hands all over him. It’s not easy to pretend like you didn’t just sit and watch the love of your life perform favourite song before an audience, despite the lyrics being heartbreaking... but watching him dance was like watching the waves crash against the shore, the trees hiding the sunshine from the skies.

It’s not easy to pretend that Changmin didn’t actually make the song your reality. 

The cotton of your bedsheet sucks you into its comfort, albeit the memories still running in your head like a broken record.

It was just weeks ago that the dance crew you were in had finished the showcase, the same one that Changmin had performed Maniac in the gym, that Changmin sent you home.

The crickets on out on your lawn were chirping and halted the moment the both of you were walking along the path up to your porch. The night temperature was colder than comfortable, so Changmin has his windbreaker wrapped around your shoulders, and his left hand interlocked with yours, stuffed into the right pocket.

You remember clearly: he smelled like a disgusting mix of deodorant and his body wash, and you could smell his cologne on his windbreaker. 

Strangely comforting, however gross that sounded. 

And so, it is sweet like hot chocolate in winter and his jacket around your shoulders when he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

Your eyes travel up to his. Those large, round, doe eyes that you fell for after almost a year of being friends. He isn’t that short, so you can’t help the smile when you remember all the teasing he suffers when he’s with his friends.

“Goodnight.”

God, those dimples. 

“Goodnight.” 

The memory of that night swallows you whole like you were a druggies’ pills, and the night collects you the way the grim reaper would -- or should -- collect your already dissipating soul. 

I wonder why he’s crawling back now?

The hallways of school haunt you like Hell the next day; is this my Hell?

It might be, especially if Changmin walks by you, on his phone, and does not see you. He is distant, walking at the back of the group with his friends, and you at the back of yours. 

Everybody looks gloomy; did something happen that you didn’t know about?

Maybe that was why Changmin stopped treating you like you existed.

You claim your seat as per normal in class at the back with your friend, and the other two infront of you. Changmin is seated diagonally to the right before you, and you can tell he starts to drift off to sleep. 

Wait-- I only have one class with him on Fridays--

You realise he’s wearing the same pair of pants he wore to your place the night before, when he tried to plant that rose in your front yard. 

There was a patch of rubbed-in soil into the side of his thigh.

It truly is detrimental to your spirit, when you cannot piece together the information. 

Then the lyrics of the performance he pulled off perfectly comes back to stick themselves in the crevices of your brain like a parasite. 

You were with your friends, partying

When the alcohol kicked in

Said you wanted me dead

The pinch forces you to look away, the sound of his voice saying those words driving merciless needles into your skin, making your hair stand. 

“I want her dead.”

His voice rings in your head, though you have no physical memory of him saying that. When did he say this? Over the phone? To someone else? 

Why do you remember his voice saying these words but you don’t even remember seeing it for yourself?

The teacher’s voice is literally drowned out by all the other little clicks and clacks you can hear in the classroom. 

The clock ticking, people clicking their pens, tapping their feet on the floor. The scribbling. 

So, you shut your eyes, and the school bell violently wakes you up from your never-ending nightmare. 

Everybody is on their feet, heading towards the front of the classroom to get some worksheet from the teacher and one of your friends take one copy for you. 

She’s busy looking at the worksheet for herself, so she candidly slides yours under your desk, and seems to miss your little “thank you”.

Your friends forget about you -- which is a normal occurrence, because they know you like to stay behind after Chemistry to leave with Changmin. 

But all three of your friends spare Changmin a look of pity, almost pain and misfortune before they leave the classroom. 

The room is bare besides you sitting in the back and Changmin sitting in his seat, never really moving a single muscle until he slides everything into his bag and stands up. 

It is so quiet, you can hear him breathing. 

His laboured breath tells you there is something wrong, and if he wasn’t going to talk to you about it, then maybe you should find out for yourself. 

It takes a surprisingly minimum amount of effort to follow Changmin out of school and to the bus stop and the train station, because he doesn’t stop once -- he is rushing somewhere, steps larger than he normally would walk with and his hood over his hair, almost hiding his eyes. 

I wish I never loved you, Ji Changmin. You love me with all your heart with mine sitting in the heart of your palms only for you to crush it the very next day, and forget that I ever exist. 

Changmin alights at a station he doesn’t usually alight at, the situation starting to make it even more mind-boggling for you.

Just who or what was it that tore you away from me? We had everything, and the way your eyes twinkled when you looked at me made me feel like I was the only thing you ever needed. 

Then, Changmin gets on a bus, shoving his hands into his pockets. The sun was setting so the sky was turning into a gentle blue from orange.

So, was I? Was I the only thing you ever needed or did you realise that you were wrong, and that you could do without me? That you could be better off with someone else?

The bus stops, and Changmin alights. 

But what greets you is the daunting architecture of a building almost as high as apartment buildings.

It was a hospital.

Something dawns on you, but anger and confusion is not a good mix of emotions when your boyfriend suddenly stops acknowledging your existence without an explanation. 

What if it was your mother? Your father? No, you would’ve told me, wouldn’t you, Changmin? Or was it another girl whom your eyes laid on, and your heart decided her hands were softer, warmer for it to snuggle into, sing melodies into her skin and press loving songs onto her lips?

I wish you were dead, Changmin.

I wish--

“I’m here, y/n.”

It crushes your spirit when you hear the name ring in the halls of the hospital, or maybe it was just in your head. Changmin had entered a ward, but you haven’t seen what was in it.

The sudden nausea in your gut starts to grumble through your system, and your heart rushes like manic in the cages of your chest. 

“How are you today? You look better.”

If I looked hard enough, maybe I could see Andromeda or Mars--

Until bright, white lights blind you.

And your neck feels like there is a harsh squeeze around your spine on the inside, and you groan in pain to yourself, the movement shifting you forwards, just enough to provide you a view of the patient in the ward Changmin was sitting by. 

It feels almost aggressive, or violent, the way the truth of reality slaps you across the face, possibly breaking your neck and a few bones in the process.

But that was not possible, because you were looking at yourself lying in the hospital bed, motionless. 

Cast around your neck and stitches across your face, left hand in cast and one of your legs held up by a support, the physical pain starts to spread through your body just as the information clicks together. 

“I want her dead.” Changmin’s face is tear stained and he is drunk from the sorrows he ironically tried to drink away. Distant, hazy memory reminds you that he is distraught over your accident, for the doctor cannot promise a hundred percent survival rate, not after it’s nearly severed your spine, fractured about a dozen bones in your body and broken your leg.

“You know you don’t mean that.” The calming voice of your voice, though hoarse and also slightly strained, tries in vain to soothe the poison in his heart. 

“If she is in so much pain then I rather her--”

“Shut-- the fuck up!” Then she hurls her glass across the living room, and Kevin rushes to hold her back. She breaks down in his arms, and Kevin looks to Changmin with agony in his eyes. 

He knows Changmin is feeling worse, if not the worst in the room. 

“Are you alright? If you need to speak to any of us, we’re always here for you.”  The memory plays out in your head, leaving a horrid, bitter taste on your tongue. 

She was talking to the other friend at the table, and you weren’t there. 

Your room had been empty the day you were in the accident -- almost three weeks ago. 

The rose sitting in the pitiful pile of soil in your backyard gets surgically removed and then re-installed into the grass by your older brother, because he knows why Changmin left it there. 

Both of them are afraid they are going to lose you, but it’s not in their control to decide what the Grim Reaper decides to do. 

The soft beeping of the heart monitor is a stab to the chest when you realise it was your own heartbeat you were listening to. You slowly walk around the bed and sit in the chair on the other side, directly opposite Changmin with your lifeless body between the two of you. 

You are barely recognisable, but Changmin still looks at you with that twinkle in his eyes, though now shrouded with the tears coating them. 

Guilt finds you in places you never knew was possible, when you realise you had just played Changmin off as an unfaithful, unreasonable partner. 

All he had been was just the opposite. 

The tears fall from Changmin’s eyes, and God, how much do you want to reach over and wipe his tears off his face and tell him you’re still alive, and you’re still fighting. 

He gulps, not doing much to salvage his need to be strong for himself, or for you, and presses one hand into the back of his neck, over the material of his hood. Your right hand, with the index finger clipped with the pulse oximeter, held in his free hand, as he lowers his head in despair.

You don’t know how you’re feeling it, but maybe because the entity you are right now is your soul itself. So the pain is intrinsically sharp in your heart when you watch him crumble, and you cannot do anything about it. 

He sniffles and brushes away the tears streaming down his face, dampening the ends of his sleeves when he looks up at your scarred, wounded face. 

“I’m gonna hope you can hear me, because I don’t think I can say this again...” His finger is trembling when he reaches up and brushes away the hair by your eyes. “If you need to go, if you’re really in pain--”

The hiccups stop him, and you find yourself cracking into sobs, shaking your head when you know what he’s about to say.

“--if you’re really in pain, then go. I don’t want you to stay if all you’re feeling is pain--” 

His teeth are gritted, and you can see the strain in his neck when he hides his eyes with his palm, free hand still holding onto your limp fingers.

No, I don’t want to go if it means you’re hurting.

“I just... I know your family will hate me for saying this but I just need to know that you’re not in pain--”

No, this pain is nothing compared to if I don’t have you. 

“But if you’re somewhere in there, and if you’re fighting, I hope you know I’ll be here to wait for you to come back to me, no matter how long it takes.”

No, no, no, no, this was not how I planned my life to end--

“I love you so much... and I’m sorry I didn’t say it more. I’m sorry that you don’t feel it sometimes, I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you in any way, I just--”

He takes a deep breath and strokes your cheek. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The tears are ruthless yet intangible. They fall as tears from your face but disappear into nothingness just before they reach the floor. You try to wipe them from your face with your sleeve but they leave no marks. 

“No... no!” You know the screams can’t be heard by anybody but yourself, and you try to pick up the chair to hurl it across the room but you can’t shift it an inch. You try to kick the bed, but the mattress sheet doesn’t even crease.

“No! Changmin, I’m still here! I’m not in pain and I don’t want to go-- Please...”

Your knees meet the floor of the ward, your hands gripping onto the sides of the hospital bed as you listen to Changmin offer your body sobs and hiccups. 

The rough material of the bed makes you feel the texture, but it doesn’t leave any marks. 

You hear some shuffling and you look up with tired eyes, the pain in your neck calling you back into that lethargic ambience that you now reocgnise. The nightly “sleep” you’ve been getting is just your soul being pulled back into the reality you’ve been so used to, leaving your body here to rot and remain in its useless trance. 

The pain starts to ring a pitch in your ear, and you wince as you stand, watching Changmin stand and rub his eyes.

“No, no, stop!” The pitch gets higher, and the pain spreads a strange need to pass out throughout your body. 

How long are you going to be stuck in his vicious, torturous cycle?

You claw and scratch at the spot of pain causing the ringing in your ears on the back of your neck as Changmin leans forward and presses a gentle kiss into your forehead, lingering there longer than you expected him to. 

The ringing reaches a pitch in your skull that has you covering your ears and cowering to the floor, and just before you black out, you read Changmin’s lips as he whispers to you. 

Please don’t leave me.

The ring cracks something in your neck and you pass out completely, feeling your weight thump to the floor.

“What would you do if I got into an accident?” 

“What?” You frown and look over to Changmin, who’s got his arm under his neck and his eyes looking down at you. “Why would you ever ask that?”

He smiles, the neon stars pasted on your room ceiling still darker than the ones in his eyes. 

“I don’t know, just wanted to know.”

“Hm,” You pull the blanket up to your neck and turn to your side to better face him, rolling the metal ends of his hoodie’s string between your thumb and index finger. “I don’t know. What are the given circumstances?”

“You need given circumstances?”

You laugh, and his eyes are widened with amusement.

“Well, yeah. Like, if the doctors were to tell me you’re dead then there really isn’t much I can do, can I?”

A gasp from him tickles your funny bone again, and you push his chest, shoving him off balance. Changmin repositions himself now, pulling the blanket over himself and tucking his arm under your neck, so that you were resting against his chest and hoodie and his scent intoxicating you in every sweet way possible.

“Okay, what if I become brain dead or something?”

“So, like... alive but you’re never gonna wake up?”

“Yeah.”

Your eyes travel to the ceiling, the stars pasted mapped out according to your starsigns. 

“Do I have the choice of pulling the plug?”

“Mhm, you either pull the plug and get me off life support or you don’t and keep my body around but I’d never wake up.”

“I’d pull your life support.”

“Oh? Why?”

“I don’t want you to be stuck in a body you can’t do anything with. You love to dance and play sports-- I can’t imagine you being stuck in a body that doesn’t allow you to do that.”

Silence.

“You okay? Or did I say something wrong?” 

“Nah,” He shakes his head when you look up to him. “It’s just-- I’m glad you said that. You know me well enough to know that’s what I’d want you to do.”

“And here I was worried you’d want to spend the rest of your life stuck in a body that’s dead.”

“Nah, I’d rather spend the rest of my life with you, and if there’s no you, then there’s no point living.”

So, your eyes shoot wide open like waking up from a dream, but the ceiling is white and your body is being hugged with a thick, uncomfortable material you can’t recognise.

But Changmin’s voice comforts you, and when the tears from his eyes sting the wounds on your face, you don’t mind the extra pain when yours seep into the cuts and wounds too. 

#timetohajima #changmin #the boyz #the boyz changmin #the boyz q #q #changmin fanfic #changmin imagine #the boyz gen z #timetohajima gen z

[jaskierswolf]

The Shape of Love pt.5/6

Previous

Geralt had Jaskier’s lute slung over his shoulder with his swords as Jaskier padded quietly next to him. They’d just finished a contract on a wyvern and were both a bit bloody and broken. Jaskier’s muzzle was bloodstained from when he’d pulled the wyvern off of Geralt after he’d been trapped under its talons. Jaskier had also been very effective at grounding the wyvern. He’d shifted into a royal wyvern to chase after the draconid and managed to puncture the wyvern’s wings, forcing it to land. Jaskier had landed soon after and shifted to wolf form. The large canine was clearly one of the bard’s favourites. He’d mentioned once that it had been the first animal that he had ever shifted into so Geralt assumed he must feel some kind of affinity to wolves.

The irony did not escape the witcher from the school of wolf.

Jaskier was limping slightly after the encounter, his back leg had been clawed in the attack so he’d chosen to remain on four paws as they made their way back to town. Geralt had suggested that Jaskier changed to something he could carry but the wolf had whined and shaken his head. Geralt surmised that it would be too painful to change after that so he’d taken the lute and satchel from the wolf and slung them over his shoulder. Geralt had grumbled about it looking less strange if anyone saw them but they both knew the truth.

As they approached town Jaskier whined loudly and laid down. Geralt sat beside the wolf on the ground. Jaskier rested his head on Geralt’s lap and gazed up at him forlornly with those beautiful blue eyes. Geralt scratched behind Jaskier’s ears.

“Reckless shit.” He grumbled softly.

Jaskier pressed his head into Geralt’s hand and let his tongue hang out his mouth in a sort of wolfy smile.

“You can’t come into town like this. I left with a cat.” Geralt tilted his head and narrowed his eyes as he saw the blood still oozing from Jaskier’s leg. “I’ll need to stitch that up.” He noted.

Jaskier whined again.

“It would be easier if you were a human for that. The fur gets in the way.” Geralt grumbled as he gently ran his fingers through Jaskier’s fur. He never ceased to amaze him how thick the wolf’s fur was and how warm he was. A dead wolf’s fur just didn’t have the same effect.

Jaskier’s ears flicked and he let out a heavy breath. Geralt laughed. Jaskier sometimes did that when he wasn’t a cat. It was like he was still trying to purr but the non-feline form didn’t quite allow it.

“Come on, Jask. I don’t want you bleeding out on me.” Geralt scowled at the bundle of fur in his arms. “It’s going to be fucking hard to replace you if you die.”

Jaskier snorted but raised his head to lick Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier” Geralt groaned but the wolf seemed to have regained some of his energy and he stood up and put two paws on Geralt’s chest. Geralt let himself be push back and Jaskier howled happily and wagged his tail before attacking Geralt’s face with licks.

Geralt grimaced as he caught the whiff of wyvern blood but he was happy that Jaskier seemed to have perked up.

The moment of happiness didn’t last long. It never did for Geralt. Jaskier’s ears pricked up and he suddenly spun round, growling as another witcher came charging down the path.

“Geralt!” Lambert yelled, his sword raised and ready to swing. “What are you doing you arse?”

“Lambert! No!” He jumped to his feet and unsheathed his own sword ready to stop the blow.

Jaskier seemed to have forgotten his injury. He was snarling at the ginger witcher and snapping his teeth.

“Jaskier! Down!” Geralt reached for the scruff of Jaskier’s neck to pull him away from Lambert but he was too late. Lambert had swung at the wolf. Jaskier managed to dodge the attack but Lambert was well trained and he turned straight into a second attack, hitting the wolf over the head with the hilt of his sword.

Jaskier yelped and crumpled to the floor. Geralt’s sword caught Lambert’s before he could make the killing blow.

“Lambert stop!” Geralt yelled and managed to flick his sword to disarm his friend who’d been startled by Geralt’s protests.

Lambert’s sword clattered on the ground and Geralt knelt next to Jaskier.

“Jaskier!” He frantically ran his hands through the wolf’s fur. He felt the rise and fall of his chest. He was still breathing, just knocked out.  He kept a hand in Jaskier’s fur as he turned to face the other witcher. “What the fuck, Lambert?”

“It was attacking you!” Lambert put his hands up in defence. “It was all over you and you’re both covered in blood.”

“I told you to stop!” Geralt shouted, panic rising in his chest like he’d never felt before. “Why do you never fucking listen?”

“I’m not fucking apologising for trying to protect you!” Lambert crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What’s the deal anyway?”

“He’s a shifter” Geralt muttered and tugged gently at Jaskier’s ears, trying to rouse him. “and he’s already wounded.”

Lambert laughed. “My my, White Wolf, it almost sounds as if you care.”

Geralt snarled at the other witcher. “Do not test me.”

Lambert raised his hands. “Alright, alright. Fucking hell. You really do care.”

“He’s… mine.” Geralt grumbled as Jaskier whined under his hands. “Jaskier?”

Jaskier growled under his breath and his cornflower blue eyes fluttered open, glaring at the redhead who was watching sheepishly from a safe distance.

“He said sorry.” Geralt shrugged. “I don’t recommend biting him, you’ll probably get sick.”

“Hey!” Lambert protested but fell silent as both wolf and witcher glared at him.

“Do you have any healing potions?” Geralt asked with a tilt of his head.

“Only witcher ones.” Lambert shrugged.

Geralt grunted and whistled for Roach. She came cantering up the path, from where she had been grazing, and Geralt found some bandages. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. He needed to stop the bleeding. He pulled out a bottle of dwarven spirit and poured it onto Jaskier’s wounded leg. Most of it soaked into his thick fur but Jaskier howled as Geralt held him down.

“Stay still, you bastard.” He grumbled. “I’m trying to help.”

Jaskier growled back at him but let Geralt tie a bandage around the wound. “It still needs stitches.” He noted glumly. “Can you stay here with Lambert whilst I get our stuff?”

Jaskier barked and nodded his head.

Geralt looked between his brother and his friend. “Behave. I want you both alive by the time I get back.” He glanced at Roach. “Look after them, Roach.”

Geralt only stayed in town for as long as it took to finish up the contract on the wyvern and grab their stuff from the inn. He also managed to pick up a healing potion. The merchant overcharged him and he was left with only a handful of coins

He didn’t care.

Jaskier was hurt.

By the time he returned to the edge of town, Jaskier was whining softly in Lambert’s lap.

“Look, I said I was sorry.” Lambert grumbled at the blue-eyed wolf. “Stop looking at me like that, wolf.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at the pair of them before walking over.

“Well, isn’t this cosy?” Geralt smirked and cross his arms in front of his chest.

Jaskier looked up at him and barked. The bandage on his back leg was already turning red with blood. He whined as he tried to stand up.

Geralt scowled. “Jask, you have to shift back so I can stitch that up.”

The wolf whined and closed his eyes. The fur rippled on his back and the whine morph into a very human howl of pain.

“Fuck!” Jaskier hissed.

Lambert jumped as the wolf in his lap suddenly shifted into a very naked grown man. “What the fuck?”

Geralt usually turned his back when Jaskier shifted back to human but this time he was more concerned about treating Jaskier’s wounds. The bandage fell loose around his upper thigh and blood was matted in hair on Jaskier’s leg.

“Geralt.” Jaskier choked and reached out for Geralt’s arms, falling from Lambert’s lap and passing out.

Geralt caught Jaskier in his arms, sharing a concerned glance with Lambert. He poured the potion down Jaskier’s throat and Lambert helped him stitch up the wound. They received a couple of strange looks from passers by but the four swords meant that they kept a wide berth.

“Should’ve taken him back to the inn.” Lambert drawled.

“Hmm. Couldn’t do anything whilst he was a wolf. Wouldn’t have gotten near the place, let alone to our room.” Geralt muttered as he worked.

He pulled the stitches carefully together. The wound had already started to heal better with the healing potion in his blood. The bruising around his temple was also starting to fade. Geralt would just need to watch out for concussion. He mentally cursed Lambert for his act before thinking attitude.

“Our room?” Lambert smirked.

“Cheaper than two.” Geralt replied dryly. “Jaskier usually sleeps shifted.” He added, which was mostly true. They’d only shared a bed a couple of times without Jaskier bothering to shift, normally when the bard was drunk or tired from performing.

“Right.” Lambert grinned.

Geralt punched him in the arm. “Fuck off.”

Lambert laughed but stood up, wiping Jaskier’s blood off his armour. “Always a fucking delight, White Wolf. Bring the shifter to Kaer Morhen. He seems like a laugh.”

Geralt grunted. He had thought about inviting Jaskier to the keep. He wondered whether Vesemir would have anything in his extensive library about shifters like Jaskier but he hadn’t been sure how the other witchers would react to Jaskier’s abilities or whether Jaskier would want them to know. After a rough start both Lambert and Jaskier seemed to get on alright, at least they did when the shifter was a wolf, which was something.

Geralt wasn’t sure why but it was important to him that Jaskier and the wolves of Kaer Morhen got along.

Geralt managed to manhandle Jaskier back into his clothes, leaving the doublet unbuttoned and loose. He threw Jaskier over his shoulder, trying to avoid putting pressure on his freshly stitched wound and led Roach down the path. It was getting dark and they’d have to make camp soon. He needed to make sure the shifter could rest. A room at the tavern would have been ideal but Geralt didn’t have the coin left after buying more healing supplies.

He sighed and looked up at the dusty grey sky. Streaks of red painted the edge of horizon, Jaskier would have cooed and started waxing poetry about the pretty sight. Geralt was just happy to admire the view. He’d always preferred to be on the road than in a town.

The stars were glittering in the sky by the time Geralt had finished setting up camp. Jaskier was still sleeping. Geralt had thrown a spare blanket over the bard and settled by the fire. He would have to stamp the fire out soon but he knew that Jaskier needed the heat. He didn’t usually sleep in human form whilst they were on the road, he preferred to sleep as a wolf or bear, something with a thick coat.

He was half way through sharpening his swords when Jaskier groaned.

“Geralt?” He slurred and reached out with his hand.

Geralt dropped his sword and moved across the camp on one stride and took Jaskier’s hand. “I’m here.”

“The fuck happened?” Jaskier groaned. “Did I drink too much?”

“Lambert hit you over the head.” Geralt explained.

Jaskier scrunched his nose. “Lambert?”

“A witcher. He thought you were attacking me.” Geralt scowled. “Do you remember anything?”

Jaskier frowned. “Wyvern, wyvern hit me. Hurt like a bitch.”

Geralt nodded. “Took a while to get you to shift back. You passed out almost immediately.”

“Huh.”

“You had me worried, bard.” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier smiled weakly and squeezed Geralt’s hand. “I’m sorry, dear heart.”

Geralt’s heart clenched in his chest at the nickname.

He ignored it.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me in winter.” He grumbled instead. “Vesemir might have some information on shifters.”

Jaskier winced as he sat up, closing his eyes and hissing in pain. “You want me to come to Kaer Morhen?” He asked through gritted teeth

Geralt nodded as he watched his friend carefully. His chest ached as he assessed Jaskier’s injuries, noting every movement that caused the shifter pain. He was going to murder Lambert over winter, maybe get a necromancer to bring the bastard back to life so he could kill him again. Then maybe he’d track down any nearby wyverns.

He sighed.

He couldn’t do that.

Revenge was not their way.

Jaskier put his hand on Geralt’s cheek. “I’d love to come, but winter is still a few months away, my dear. We have plenty of adventures to have first.”

Geralt gave him a small smile. “Not until you’re healed.”

“I heal fast. Not as fast as you witchers but faster than a normal human. I’ll be back to my ever so charming self in no time.” He winked and kissed Geralt on the cheek.

Geralt’s thoughts stopped and he just stared at the blue-eyed shifter.

Jaskier tilted his head, tossing his fringe from his eyes. “Geralt?”

“Rest. Jaskier.” Geralt managed to say in a strained voice.

“Whatever you say, witcher.” Jaskier rolled his eyes and settled back into his bed roll.

He fell asleep quickly and Geralt was left watching the soft rise and fall on his chest. The fire crackled in the darkness and bathed Jaskier in a soft orange glow.

He was beautiful.

The thought caught Geralt off guard but once it was out in the open he couldn’t contain it. He smiled fondly at the sight of the sleeping bard.

Yes.

He was incredibly beautiful.

And Geralt never wanted to let him go.

__________

Next

#the witcher #geraskier #jaskier pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #shapeshifter!jaskier #shifter!jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #the shape of love #wolfie's witcher writing

[the-slasher-files]

DIFFERENT PREDATORS - chapter 1

INCLUDES ANDREI KULOKOVA x XAVIERA LAH-MO

I am utterly obsessed with my oc Andrei and he just might have finally met his match after 27 years of a brutal life lived. Once I saw @horrorslashergirl oc Xaviera I knew she was going to be Andrei’s perfect battle, a clashing of a wolf and snow leopard waiting to become something more... thank you for all the Andrei support!! Hope you enjoy this paring as much as I do 🔪💕

Chapter 1 from Xaviera’s perspective linked HERE

MASTERLIST

The wolf was on the hunt again. Leading him far away from his motherland and into the Himalayas, a place unfamiliar to him. In dense woods on a mountain side, he hunted, waiting for the prey to come into the large clearing, ice blue eyes were sharp and focused, breathing slow and squeezing his rifle, patients fading. 

The customer didn’t give a reason for the wolf to kill, but he didn’t need it. Just to see the blood ooze from the wounds under the broken bones, the smell of his gunpowder to the copper of the crimson liquid coating his hands as he squeezed, feeling the life drain away between his fingers, and the look, oh the look of prey when he would meet their eyes for one last time before they were gone underneath him. That was enough for the wolf. It was always more than enough. 

The prey followed the trail into the clearing as he knew they would. The snow creaked beneath his boots as he took his spot. Removing the cigarette from his mouth, letting it melt in the snow as he pulled up his half face mask, some sort of wolf and human combination of white teeth displayed on the black background; Becoming the full ruthless wolf he was trained to be, his uncle’s voice in his head “Take the shot”. With a large inhale his grip tightened on the metal in his hands, bearing his canines under the mask as the hair seemed to stand on the back of his neck, beckoning the hunter to survey his environment, watch for other predators lurking within the tress, but the desire for blood was too strong. He was lost in it.

Breathe... Wound the prey... Be grateful for the hunt... And enjoy the thrash of the body beneath you... Breathe

In a deep exhale the wolf took the shot, wounding a man in the knee forcing him down, trailing his blood. Wanting to bask in the odor of the gunpowder and the cracking of the guns release, it was cut short. Another shot rang out from the mountain side and reverberating off the trees of the forest. The wolf perked up with keen trained ears as he ran through the dense snow in protection. Two more cracks of the gun in the winter air sounded, helping him locate the position of the other hunter, higher on the mountain side. 

The gunshots were like home. Ones he knew well. Ones he grew up around. They were from a sniper rifle. 

Could she have found me? It’s been so long... Why now?... Why here?... Amaria...      

Turning his lips into a snarl seeing his prey gone to waste. The wolf moved within the forest quietly and rapidly, chasing his new challenge. Seeing the movement from where the shots had been taken, someone climbing down the ridge, a small prey indeed. He waited in the forest, among the trees. This was a chase he desired too much for guns to get in the way, he needed to feel the pulse beneath his skilled fingers. 

As the prey came closer the wolf saw a woman. Small, blonde with rosy cheeks from the bitter cold wind. “Amaria.” He ripped off his mask, hooking it along his holster. Taking a few steps foreword, huffing and licking his canines she turned to face the beast, icy blue eyes challenging and yet holding him captured within the gaze for a moment. 

This was not his sister, but a different predator. His instincts took over, desire and lust formed a pit in his stomach, as he started the chase. A wolf chasing a rabbit. Fingers twitching at the thrill of potential, claws and teeth bared. 

She was so small... So breakable... One to take home

The prey ran straight back up the ridge, a hard angle for anyone to accomplish but she was fast and agile, perhaps he got the animal wrong; she was more like a snow leopard in these mountains, she was at home here. However, this only added more fuel to the fire of the wolfs heart, wanting to conquer and devour any one that dare challenge him. The little one lost speed and fast as he stalked her. 

Only a few feet away she challenged him again, stopping and turning to the wolf, maybe trying to bargain or pled like he loved the prey to do; but there was something more to her, making him for once, a little unsure of himself. The woman grabbed something from her jacket and spoke confidently “One more step and you’re dead. I don’t suppose you would want a dose of Russell’s Viper venom into your bloodstream. Even if you survive the venom, the effects are life-long term.”   

The man huffed at her arrogance. She didn’t know his past, his training. The wolf moved swiftly and precisely, dodging her darts with ease and grabbing her small wrists in his massive left inked palm. Pinning her against an old pine tree, she tried to struggle against him but the little thing was helpless under the wolf who towered her. She looked up at him through her thick lashes, doe eyes making him want to devour her whole where she stands. Hissing and snarling like a little kitten trying to threaten a wolf, he smirked, canines on display as he moved to stroke her cold soft cheek.   

“Easy little mouse, easy...” Andrei spoke deeply, enjoying this one a bit too much. However the prey’s eyes changed, now wide and scared. Looking up there was a wall of snow coming fast, crushing trees and anything in it’s path. Andrei pushed away trying to claw at something until the snow hit him like a freight train, tossing his large frame like a doll into trees and knocking out the solider.  

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

Blinking slowly, Andrei opened his ice blue eyes, groaning at the soft light and the pain shooting through his body. Running his hand through his light brown hair he remembered the hunt, the avalanche, the prey. His adrenaline sparked again, army training engraved in his brain over riding any pain. The wolf needed to find out where he was, who saved him, if he was safe. 

Looking around he was in a cottage, warm light coming from the ceiling light. Snow was failing outside and the wind howled at the windows drafting through the old wood. The wolf was in a bed, bandaged and shirtless, weapons removed.

Eyes whipped to the door that opened in front of him, the girl walked in holding a cup of tea, white long hair flowing as she walked. The prey from before, on the mountain side. She was gorgeous and even smaller without the large winter coat weighing her down, it sparked a sense of warmth in his heart but the coldness persisted.

“Why did you save me?” he roughly questioned. The wolf did not care for who she was, he just needed to know why she helped him. What was she after.

“Would you have preferred I let you die under the ice-cold snow and bleed to death?” An American accent no doubt. She was somehow unfazed by him, most people would stare in fear at the shear size of the wolf, and cower when his canines were on display. She did not. It lit some sort of fire within Andrei, so small with no fear. Arrogance or strength, he did not know yet.

“That still doesn’t answer my question.” he grumbled and she raised an eyebrow at him, her icy blue eyes matching his own predatory gaze. 

“Are you a poacher?” she asked with her arms crossed over her chest, trying to intimidate the wounded beast laying in bed. The question made him pull his crooked smirk as he rested against the headboard of the bed. 

“A poacher of sorts…you can say dat.” yeah, killing people for money was sort of like poaching. She spoke quickly back not giving him a chance to remember some of his best hunts.  

“If you touch any animal I’m gonna skin your scalp off.” she told him, with no hesitation in her voice, making him raise his scarred brow. Shaking his head a little he grabbed the hot tea from the nightstand; it was shockingly his favorite kind, a deep earl grey; not the Russian blend of course but it was good nonetheless. 

“My hunting is different, little one….Humans are the real monsters. I think that we can agree.” Andrei explained gruffly knowing his past, then sipping the tea.  

“Food is almost ready. I will bring the tray upstairs, since your ankle is twisted I don’t want you stumbling down the stairs and twist your neck too.” And with that she left the room, confidentially and beautifully, like a winter cat truly at home here.

This one was different, a new predator he had never come across before. Much like his sister but softer, and with a different edge incasing her. Fishing in the pockets he found his cigarettes and lighter, pulling them out and lighting one up. Taking a long drag he looked at the snow falling, trapping the wolf inside. 

Sighing Andrei thought ‘What have you just got yourself into wolf’               

#The BEST pairing omg #love them #oc #slashers #horror #my writing #Andrei Kulokova #Andrei x Xaviera #Xaviera Lah-Mo

[fictionxo]

Cat or Dog - Yeonjun (M)

Genre: Wolf!au Smut

Warnings: Rough sex,

Word Count: 1,974

Group: TXT

Synopsis: Wolf! Yeonjun needs your help with his rut cycle, however he's a lot more rough when controlled by his hormones.

(A/N: FINALLY, HERE IT IS. I LOVE HIM. STAN TXT. They cutesy babies! ALSO here is a word used in the story that some might not know;

Rut = Heat/horny season LOL

Tell me what you guys think! I LIVE for feedback COUGHCOUGH.)

~~~

You had recently agreed to become the rutting mate of the eldest wolf, Yeonjun. He's known for being a laid back one, with a kind nature, young facial features for his age, and overzealous eating habits. Despite being his girlfriend, he never asked you be his mate for any of his ruts. You were always instructed, and enforced, to be kept at a distance while his week long rut lasted.

So you were beyond surprised when he asked you to help him through his rut after all this time. You were however, warned by the others about the possible problems when Yeonjun was expected to be in his rut. He is said to be the most intense among his pack, who's personality get "so much more domineering." as Soobin likes to put it.

So much so, that Yeonjun had to be locked away in the 'Rut Basement,' as the pack calls it, for the entirety of his cycle. He's forced to be chained to a cushioned bed, with restraints around both his arms and legs, and a large silver latch around his neck, bounding him to the bed completely.

~~~

Come the second day of his rutting cycle, you find yourself standing in the shared living room of the pack, going over any rules and procedures should things get out of hand.

"Just yell 'fire' in case it gets bad okay? We will rush in and help!" Soobin states boldly with a little worry behind his words.

"Are you nervous for me Soobin?" You chuckle, hiding your smile behind your hand, "Aren't you the pack leader? This nervousness is a bad look on you." You joke.

The younger wolves join in on laughing at their tall leader before a clear of his throat silences them.

"Just, remember okay? He's down there."

You nod as Soobin points towards the stairs leading down to their basement.

"We fixed it up a little so you can feel a bit more comfortable!" Beomgyu chimes, ushering you down the stairs.

"Have fun!"

Before you could respond to the waving boys, the door slams shut and you hear the deadbolt locking in place, sealing you in. A bit over the top if you have to admit

A shiver runs down your spine as you begin your descend. Upon reaching the bottom step, you hear whines. The deep, gutteral cries mixed with soft yet pained howling.

"Baby.." Yeonjuns soft voice sounds from around the corner.

You swallow dryly, turning the corner into the basement. You're surprised to see feather pillows everywhere near the bed, as well as countless water bottles and a stereo. Real mood setter! That's when you notice him, chained down to the bed, eyes watching you like a predator watching prey. Breath heavy and rapid, muscles defined and flexing, and sweat covering him from head to toe. The members left him in nothing but his boxers to help alleviate the burning feeling.

"Please baby girl..help me.." The soft words come out harsher than expected.

"That's why I'm here." You let out a soft chuckle.

"I can sense your nervousness. Come here pretty girl, I'll take care of you."

A familiar feeling tightens in your stomach as you briefly stare at him, averting your gaze after a few seconds from his intense one. Another guttural whine escapes him and his eyes close tightly.

"Baby..I can smell your arousal..it smells so fucking good..come, here!"

The bulge in his boxers grows twice the size it was previously, followed by a loud howl leaving his lips, a somewhat entrancing one. Your feet begin moving subconsciously towards him, towards the wolves den.

As soon as you place a leg on the bed, everything gets blurry and all you can hear is a loud snapping sound, followed by your back hitting the soft bed. Yeonjun hovers over you, and that's when you realize what broke. His restraints..

"I'm so glad you agreed. I can't wait any longer princess. I need to ruin you." He growls.

In a brief movement, you're flipped onto your stomach, then pulled up onto your knees, face in the pillows. Yeonjun shoves his nose hard against your clothed pussy, inhaling deeply as if his life depends on it, before growling lowly and gripping your hips.

A gasp escapes your lips at this vulgar gesture, but that's quickly replaced by a screech when he tears your pants and underwear straight off you, as if they were paper. Never underestimate a wolf's strength, especially while in a rut.

Yeonjun is by far more rough, and quick with his actions now, than he was before. Ripping off his own boxers, he quickly aligns himself with your now wet core, and wastes no time in shoving into you. His length during his rut is considerably thicker than normal, so a pained whine escapes your lips. By natural reaction, you try to crawl away from his grasp, whining as you do so.

Yeonjun presses the weight of his body onto your back, leaning down to press his lips against your ear, and wrap his arms around your under belly. Effectively keeping you from moving. He scratches the pillow that happens to be under you, effectively busting it and sending feathers everywhere. His hot breath fans the back of your neck as he places open mouthed kisses all along the nape of your neck, marking you up as he goes.

His hips stay at their snapping pace, pushing deeply into you before pulling out almost all the way and shoving himself back in. Moans and growls escape from both your lips as he continues to abuse your pussy. His large hands begin to roam roughly along your body, pawing everywhere he can possibly reach. Claws digging gently into your flesh as he moves, and leaving feathers behind that were stuck under his nails.

You again try to shuffle away from him, this time pulling him out of you completely; the thickness of his cock becoming a little overwhelming as your stomach begins to tighten. Yeonjun sits up and grips your hips, nails digging into your skin mercilessly, more as a warning than anything.

"Don't run away from me (Y/N)." He growls lowly, the threat clear in his voice.

You whimper his name in a pitiful attempt to bring him back to his senses, unknowingly making the situation worse, or better. The hair on Yeonjun's arms, and back of the neck, stand to attention, his eyes wide and nostrils flaring as he loses himself in your cries.

"Babygirl..I need to hear more!" He cries out, almost as pitifully as you previously.

Yeonjun grips your hands from your sides, and pins them above your head, pushing his weight onto you to make you lean down. He slips backs into your wet pussy with ease and continues his assault, shoving into you before pulling out and pushing back in a blinding pace, repeating his motion as the bed shakes beneath you both.

"Yeonjun..ah! It-it hurts a..little.."

"Shh, it'll get better." The monotone of his voice almost shocks you.

His balls smack your ass as he picks up his pace, drilling into you. Profanities leave his mouth mixed with your name as he shoots a hot load into you, not faltering his movements. You moan out loudly at the warmth that's beginning to trickle out of you.

Yeonjun pulls out of you slowly, his eyes watching as his cum drips out of your gaping hole. You lay there, breathless and hot, albeit a little disappointed that it ended so quickly.

Your hips are grabbed roughly as you're flipped onto your back, your wolf lover crawling back onto you in a haste.

"Oh baby, I want to see your belly full with my pups. I won't stop until you're about to pop."

Another growl escapes him, a seemingly unconscious one. Aligning his cock with your entrance once again, he shoves back into you, the feeling of his throbbing cock doing wonders for your core.

"So fucking glad you agreed. I've been waiting too long to fuck you like this.."

Pressing part of his weight on you, Yeonjun wraps his arms around the top of your head, holding you firm against the mattress as he thrusts into you like his life depends on it.

"Ah! Fuck! Yeonjun, it feels so good!"

You claw at his back while his assault on your lower half gets more intense. You bite down on his shoulder, holding back your cries and moans, much to Yeonjuns displeasure. He fucks into you harder, causing the bed to physically shift positions, scraping the basement floor in the process and knocking some pillows onto the floor.

"You know I hate it when, shit, you're quiet. Be a good girl and say something."

You refuse, too caught up in his dick scraping your walls to really focus. Within a swift moment, you're yanked upwards, the quick movement causing the blood to rush to your head.

Yeonjun sits you in his lap, never once pulling out of you. This new position has him hitting you deeper than you could've imagined, an oh so good feeling. You brace yourself by gripping his shoulders, and begin bouncing on him, ready to reach your own release.

Leaning forward against you, he takes on of your nipples between his teeth and bites before sucking harshly at it, abusing it while his cock works magic on you. You tangle your fingers in his hair, moaning out at his warm tongue against your nipple bud.

"I-im close!" You cry out, feeling your climax fast approaching.

Yeonjun pulls himself reluctantly off your breast and places one arm behind him, using his strength to effortlessly lift himself off the bed, only relying on his legs and arm to hold both you and him up. A yelp leaves you once he starts bouncing you on him, a hard and unforgiving movement, yet one you've grown fond of in this moment.

His free hand grips your throat, a little tighter than necessary, as he continues fucking upwards into your swelling pussy. Your grab onto his arm around your neck, your hips now meeting his in a furry of quick and desperate thrusts.

With a few more movements, you come undone, screaming his name at the top of your lungs, which in turn, sends Yeonjun over the edge for his second climax.

He howls out deeply as your legs shake violently around his slim waist, riding out your orgasm on his cum slicked penis. He finally releases his grip on your throat, and you inhale deeply realizing how tight his grip was.

Yeonjun sprawls out on the now messy bed, and reaches down to grab you a water bottle.

"Thank you babe."

You whisper, voice filled with exhaustion as you slowly sip the water. You pass him the bottle next, and he props himself up on his arms, taking the bottle from you and downing it within seconds.

"Take your time why don't you."

You chuckle and attempt to get off him, only to hiss in pain and settle back in his lap. You shoot a questioning look his way as Yeonjun smiles sheepishly up at you.

"I may, or may not, have knotted inside you. And it may, or may not take 20 minutes to stop."

You roll your eyes at him, accepting defeat as that's all you can do. Picking up the nearest pillow, you lightly hit him with it and pout.

"What am I supposed to do for 20 minutes while I'm stuck to you?!"

The smile briefly leaves his face as he grows serious;

"Prepare for the next round. We have a week, and I do not plan on stopping anytime soon."

He winks at you, smirking as he gently pulls you against his steaming body. You smile into his chest, mentally ready for the next rounds to come.

#txt #txt yeonjun #txt smut #txt yeonjun smut #choi yeonjun #tomorrow x together #kpop #kpop smut

[thehuggamugcafe]

Christmas Drabble #2: Christmas Cake

“You may open your eyes now.”

With a mental roll of your eyes, you did as your visitor requested of you.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, taking a few moments to allow your sight to adjust to the light that came from the bare bulbs that were strewn around the ceiling.

It was the same attic you had slept in since early April.

It was the same attic that your feline companion, Morgana, had likened to an abandoned house upon his first time being there.

It was the same attic you had invited your friends over to watch movies, to play video games on the old-school game system that was plugged into the old-fashioned TV that sat on the table, and to laugh and bond over hot pot.

It was the same attic where you crafted infiltration tools, under the watchful cat-like eyes of your tutor, Mona.

It was the same attic where you and your companions discussed your missions in Mementos, as well as Palaces.

However, now…

It was the same attic where a very special man sat with you—or sat across from you, rather.

The telltale creak of the old, lumpy couch you and your visitor sat on shifted as he moved, peering at you as a soft smile curled his lips.

He was dressed in a way that made you think he was a butler who hailed from the early 1800s.

A crisp button-up blue tailcoat with its collar folded over a black shirt covered his upper torso, and a black silk tie was neatly tucked into the buttoned tailcoat. A golden V was pinned to the man’s right-hand breast pocket, and there was a soft shuffle as the man raised his hands; black gloves covered his fingers, his palms as he sat straight. Black pants, black shoes, and a gold-rimmed monocle that rested in front of his right eye polished off his appearance.

One gloved hand rested on his knee, and his free arm was draped over the back of the couch, gloved fingertips idly toying with the fleece hoodie that you wore.

“Arsène,” you said, lazily drawling the Velvet Room’s warden name, smiling sweetly.

A bit too sweetly, in fact.

The platinum blond-haired servant noticed, and you knew that he knew that you noticed.

He breathed a chuckle as from behind the monocle, a golden iris stared as the hand slowly moved from your shoulder, choosing instead to rest on your hand.

“My apologies, ma belle voleur. I was merely teasing you.”

You breathed a hum, sparing a glance down at the table in front of you and the Velvet Room warden, blinking once as he asked you a simple, to-the-point question.

“…How does it look?”

You eyed the small shortcake that was set down in front of you, silently appraising it with a stare.

Small strawberries dotted the small round cake, sitting on small mounds of whipped cream. The smile that curled your lips twitched, threatening to widen as you took notice that the strawberries weren’t lopsided; they’d been placed on the cake with great care.

Truthfully, if he cared to know of your honest opinion, it looked delicious. A surprise, considering how fascinated Arsène was with modern technology and the human world in general.

It took everything you had to will back a small bout of chuckles, recalling the time Arsène—as a separate “self” of his personality—had tried to appease a “fountain spirit” by dumping at least a million yen into the fountain, much to your chagrin and the confusion of the people who watched.

“...The girls helped you, didn’t they?” you asked, sparing the marigold-eyed warden a glance.

The way his right eye pinched the monocle as he smiled confirmed your suspicions; the expression was polished off with a laugh that was so soft, you had to strain your ears to hear it.

“Yes, and Sakamoto’s mother was also happy to assist us.”

Arsène paused, blinking his eyes as his marigold gaze fell on the beautifully decorated cake.

“Of course,” he paused again, but to breathe a sigh. “This was our fourth attempt.”

“I can only imagine why,” you said, snickering while tossing in your own two cents.

“Mon dieu… How rude of you to say so.”

“Oh stop it. You know I’m only teasing,” you said as you rolled your eyes, watching him as he held a hand to his heart, feigning distress.

For a few moments, a few moments that seemed to stretch on into eternity, silence permeated the attic. Silence that was broken only by the low howl of the wind outside, and the soft humming of the small heater until, finally, you decided to voice the question that bounced around in your head.

“…So… How do you find the human world?”

Arsène didn’t reply right away, and judging by the way his brows lightly pinched the slant of his eyes, the way his lips pursed as he breathed a hum, you knew he was deep in thought.

“It is very…”

Again, the warden paused, but it wasn’t as lengthy as the previous one was.

“Dual-natured. As I expected it to be, but… Seeing it in person is… surreal.”

You stayed silent, watching the daffodil-eyed man as he raised his head, staring you in the eyes as he spoke.

“…I have not… expressed my thanks.”

You tilted your head to the side, blinking once.

“For what?”

“Many things. For rescuing me. For realizing there was a traitor in your midst. For saving humanity. Truly, I…”

Arsène shook his head, platinum blond hair brushing against his cheekbones along with the motion.

“…The world owes you a great debt… No, every man, woman, and child are indebted to your friends as well, and none of you will receive recognition for it. Does it not bother you? Does it not bother your allies?”

Smiling, you shook your head as well; bangs of hair tickled your neck, danced across your forehead with the motion.

“Hmm… I suppose to some extent, yes; I won’t deny that it’s a bit frustrating. However… As a whole? No. I think I’ve had enough of public acknowledgement to last me a lifetime. I can’t speak for my friends, but… I don’t think they would disagree.”

Arsène’s lips quirked, his smile stretching a bit wider, but he did not laugh.

“Even so… My master was not wrong. You, one who possesses the wild card… Empty, yet holding infinite potential within… You really are special.”

You couldn’t hold back a dry laugh, no more than you could help the wry smile that pulled at your lips, shaking your head.

“…Me? No, I’m nobody special. I’m just a victim of circumstances that were out of her control. And…”

You paused, furrowing your brows as you thought.

Honestly... Sometimes, you couldn’t help but ask yourself where would you be if you had not done what you did on that fateful evening?

If you hadn’t stopped Masayoshi Shido that night.

If you hadn’t stopped to help that woman.

You wouldn’t have wound up in Tokyo; you were certain of that much, if nothing else.

The thought of being stuck in your hometown all your life was more than you could bear.

The thought of not having friends—true friends, who would be there for you, for the good and bad times—was so painful to you, in fact, that it was almost suffocating.

“I…”

You paused, taking in a slow, deep breath before exhaling it as you rubbed your sweaty palms on your knees.

“…I would not be here right now, if it wasn’t for my friends. And… You…”

You blinked, staring at the golden-eyed warden sitting on your right as you talked.

“…When you were them… Akira and Ren… I honestly didn’t know what to make of you as ‘you’ were, not back then. Akira was like a warm, crackling fire, and Ren was brisk like a winter’s eve, but… I… I miss them. Is that wrong of me?”

“…It is not erroneous to think so, but do not worry. They are reunited as one; I am Akira as much as I am Ren. If nothing else, I hope it reassures you that you have saved them as much as you have aided me. For that you have my thanks, bearer of the wild card.”

“…Is that so? I’m glad.”

You blinked, nodding and smiling, but glanced up as several things happened in the time frame of a few seconds.

The clatter of a knife as it struck a tray made you look at the cake, noticing that a single piece was missing.

You glanced at the Velvet Room assistant, a question at the ready.

“Arsène, what are you—mph.”

The fluffy texture was the first thing that hit you, a sensation that was quickly followed up by the sweet hint of whipped cream gracing your taste buds as you instinctively bit down on the sweet treat that was in your mouth, half-stuffed with cake.

In no time at all, the fat strawberry’s sweet juices mixing with the fluffy whipped cream splashed over your tongue, and you closed your eyes as you chewed and swallowed.

Chew, swallow. Chew, swallow. Chew, swallow.

The ritual of chewing and swallowing was repeated until you had finished the slice of cake, and there was a flash of pink as your tongue darted out to lick at your lips, scooping up the crumbs and bit of whipped cream that lightly coated your mouth.

“…How is it? Delicious?”

You glared as Arsène chuckled, but you nodded.

However, you smirked soon after, quickly mimicking Arsène’s motions.

It was certainly worth it to watch as his warm daffodil eyes widened, his mouth opening to object—only to find that his cheeks were stuffed with cake, too.

Giggling, you cooed, “You should enjoy the fruits of your hard work too, warden~.”

Arsène glowered as he chewed and swallowed until the cake slice was gone, staring at you as you all but glowed with accomplishment where you sat.

However…

Your eyes widened when you felt the soft warmth of lips pressing against your forehead.

It was fleeting, and could be classed as a ghostly kiss with how brief, how light it was.

You stared, bug-eyed, as you breathed one word—or rather, one name.

“Arsène…”

The warden simply grinned, apparently quite pleased with himself.

“Be thankful I did not kiss you properly, my lady. A gentleman does not take a woman’s first kiss without her permission.”

You rolled your eyes, but you smiled slightly.

“And who are you to say that I haven’t already had my first kiss?”

“Truly? But… I was sure that you hadn’t—”

He was cut off from speaking, but not by half a mouthful of cake.

It was your lips pressing against his.

Honestly, you were expecting him to object, to chastise you for catching him off-guard, however…

That wasn’t the reaction your cheeky stunt earned.

Your eyes widened as you felt cool leather touch your cheeks, and you felt heat crawling up your neck to shamelessly colour your cheeks with a rosy hue as ten fingers and two palms gently cupped your face.

“I… I was kidding,” you murmured, whispering awkwardly in-between kisses.

“So I noticed, my lovely wild card.”

His kind compliment only made you blush harder, and you swore that he could feel your cheeks burning through the black leather gloves he wore because he chuckled.

“I’m… I’m sorry for doing that… Without your permission.”

“I do not mind.”

He kissed you.

“You don’t?” you asked, astonished.

He kissed you again.

“Not at all.”

“O-Okay,” you muttered, mentally flinching at the clear stutter in your voice.

“After all… You have room to practice tonight.”

Your cheeks were the hue of red roses, you were sure of it.

And yet… And yet…

It was what Arsène said next that honestly and truly captured your attention. It made your cheeks burn with renewed heat, and what he said in a whisper that made the rate of your heart quicken as it beat in your chest, fluttering as wildly as a hummingbird’s wings.

“I love you, my dear Trickster. You are truly the world’s greatest woman.”

#Persona 5 #Arsène Lupin #Reader #Velvet Room attendant!Arsène #wild card!Reader #Christmas Drabble #Christmas Cake #sfw

[swindlersstole]

7, 32, 42?

i really hate to do this to you right now because it’s Go Time but also. it’s Girl Time

32. hammock

Gemma was learning a lot of things about herself these days. Specifically, about herself and travelling, and the lesson of the day was this: she was not good with boats.

This was good to know for the future, because now, as the official first apprentice of the master merchant Derk (titles pending), she would be doing a lot of traveling, both with him and alone as his proxy. Traveling to Dundrasil now was exactly such a proxy service--Derk had been away from his wife for far too long, and Gemma had done such a remarkable job organizing Cobblestone’s repairs, that Derk insisted that she help oversee Dundrasil in his stead. 

Of course, even if he hadn’t asked, Nova had wanted her to come along for the exact same reason. It would be hard work, to be sure, far harder than their village, but Gemma would do anything for her best friend--and she couldn’t turn back from a challenge. The people of Cobblestone were resilient, perseverant, and did not give up, and Gemma was no exception.

The boat did not respect that resolve in the slightest.

Gemma rose from the table on unsteady feet, and Nova caught her before she could hit the floor. “Oh, crumbs…”

“Not a fan of the ocean, huh?” Nova laughed, very obviously worried.

“Ugh…” She pushed herself up off his shoulder, one hand holding her stomach. “It’s not your grandad’s boat on the river, that’s for sure.”

Sylvando leaned out from behind the partition of the galley, chin in his hands and a frown on his lips. “Oh, Gemma, honey, I’m so sorry! Everyone got their sea legs so quickly before. I didn’t even think about someone getting sea sick.”

“If memory serves, Sylv, we didn’t have much of a choice on the sea legs front.” Erik poked out from behind Sylvando; without Jade on board, he’d been tasked to help prep dinner in her stead, but he seemed ready to jump at the slightest inclination that Gemma needed another hand. “You gonna be alright there?”

“I’m going to hafta be, aren’t I?” Now standing straight and independent of Nova, Gemma forced a smile. “So, I’m a little green around the gills--it’s alright! Better I find out now than later. I’ll just… ask to go on foot next time! That’s possible, right?”

It wasn’t the most convincing bluff of her life, and whatever parts of it actually held up as believable were quickly dashed when her stomach lurched again, loud and clear and impossible to disguise as creaking floorboards. Gemma doubled over the table with a groan; Nova raised his arms ready to catch her again, and Erik leapt over the counter in a bolt, and the only thing that stopped them was her was the hand she held up.

She took a few deep breaths, and then stood tall, but much more pale. “I’m okay!”

“Oh, no, darling, you’re really not.” Sylvando had crossed into the dining cabin, hands on his hips. Gemma might not have known him for as long as Nova had, but she definitely understood right away why Nova had said he reminded him so much of his mother. “Now, you need to go take that pretty little face of yours to the sick bay and get some rest. Captain’s orders.” 

“But…” She looked between the three of them, somewhat helplessly. “What about dinner?”

“Honey,” Sylvando raised an eyebrow, “do you think you’re actually going to be able to eat anything right now?”

Gemma opened her mouth.

“Without throwing up.” Erik added.

Gemma closed her mouth.

“Please, Gemma,” Nova pleaded, “We need you at your best in Dundrasil, and I don’t want you catching something more serious because of this.”

Gemma wasn’t sure that seasickness was an open door for pneumonia, or shypox, or--well, actually, it was probably more of a prelude for shypox--but the point was, even after a near two decades of knowing him, she still hadn’t built up an immunity to Nova’s puppy-dog eyes. Which, she supposed was fair, he wasn’t very strong against hers, either, but this was a weakness that had worked against her time and again, and this was no exception. Gemma accepted defeat with a sigh and falling shoulders.

“...Fine, fine. You win,” She’d accepted her defeat, yes, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it. “I’m awful sorry, Sylvando, it smells lovely…!”

“Darling, I won’t hear of it!” Sylvando had a complete turnaround from his motherly insistence, clasping his hands together in delight. “This ship runs on happy faces, you know, but forcing a smile on someone isn’t how I do things. So, you go get lots of rest, and then you come back and show me the best smile you’ve got! Deal?”

“Deal,” Despite what he’d said, that did get a smile and a laugh out of Gemma--but, she knew she could do better, and a deal was a deal. She breathed in deep, and steeled herself for the brief trek ahead, turning towards the door to the deck.

As she walked, Nova turned to Erik. “I’ll go with her to be safe. I won’t be too long, just a--”

“Ohhh, no you don’t!” 

It didn’t matter how ill she was, nothing could have stopped Gemma from turning on her heel and stomping back to Nova, just to stick the scolding; he jolted back from her shift in mood. “You’ll be up all night worrying about me if you do that, and then what are we going to get done in Dundrasil? Maybe I have to skip a meal tonight, but that’s not an excuse for you to, Nova. You’re so much more worse about taking care of yourself than I am.”

“Gemma, you’re over exaggerating,” Except she wasn’t, and everyone present knew that, but Nova persisted. “It really wouldn’t be that bad if I--”

“Ah-bup-bup!” She raised a finger to his mouth, effectively shushing him, before turning to Erik. “Erik, you have to make sure he stays put while I’m out. Feed him yourself, if you have to. He had a dream about it once. I read his journal.”

Nova’s face erupted in red. Sylvando cackled. And Erik brought a hand to his chin with a devious smile. “Oh, he did, now?”

“He’s a gentle, romantic soul, you know,” Gemma returned the smile despite her weariness, saccharine sweet and sly, “So I’m trusting you to do whatever you have to do to make sure Nova won’t leave to check on me--or even want to.”

“Ooh, Gemma!” Sylvando howled with laughter, slapping a hand on the dining table. “You naughty little thing, you, I love your style!”

Nova opened his mouth to object, to Gemma, to Sylvando, to anybody who could understand his sputtering, but whatever words he had turned into a gasp and a jolt when emerald-clad arms wrapped around his waist. Erik laid his chin on Nova’s shoulder, and looked to Gemma, all too proud like the cat that ate the canary.

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” He sounded far too enthusiastic about this allowance, and it made Nova groan and hide his face in his hands, “I won’t let you down~”

“...You know,” Nova said at last, after the resounding ‘clap!’ of Erik and Gemma’s high-five had faded, “there was this… a good ten minutes, when I was so happy you two became friends? I would love to live in those ten minutes again right now.”

~

Gemma found her way to the infirmary cabin without much difficulty. Once she was on her feet and moving, it was fairly easy to find a rhythm that could deter the rocking of the boat, and she reached her destination with little stumbling.

The sick bay itself looked not much different from the regular cabins. It was certainly bigger, to accommodate all the beds needed for an infirmary, but much of the room for closets and bookshelves replaced with a good deal of cabinets for medicines and herbs. She thought about taking an herb for herself, to see if it would ease the pain, but decided against it; if it was that easy, Nova would have just used magic in the first place, and that would have been that.

Interestingly enough though, Gemma noted, was the hammock strung up near one of the windows--at least, she thought it was a hammock, she’d never seen one shaped like a box before, but there wasn’t much else she could think it to be--which struck her as a bit odd, considering. A hammock on a ship wasn’t a strange mental picture, but in a sick bay, it seemed more… counterproductive, to the seasickness problem. Not that seasickness was the only reason to go to a sick bay but--

A loud churn from her stomach cut off her string of thoughts, and Gemma crumpled over onto the nearest bed with a whine. The more she thought about being sick, the worse it was going to get, and she wasn’t about to spew and make a nuisance of herself on Nova’s account. And that was a worry that was already eating at her appetite enough without the ocean’s help, thank you very much.

Gemma shuddered miserably at the thought, and when her stomach had stilled once more, she kicked off her boots and tucked herself under the blankets, waiting to slip away into troubled sleep.

~

A knock at the door roused Gemma with a groan. She glanced at the window, and grumbled when she saw the sun setting above her, turning her back to the door, and tugging her headscarf over her eyes. “Novaaa, go to dinner…!”

“Oh no, he’s there!” came a voice that was very much not Nova’s, “I brought you something to eat, Gemma.”

It took a moment for Gemma’s groggy mind to fully recognize the voice, but when she did, she rose out of bed slowly from surprise; her headscarf fell around her neck. “...Serena?”

Serena came in at the sound of her name, all smiles and polka dots--she was in that pretty red dress that Gemma had complimented to no end (and that Nova had said he’d made her, and that Gemma could still not believe that Nova had made with his own, human hands), carrying a tray of bread and mugs along with her. She reminded Gemma in that instant of the old picture books her grandad would read to her when she was little, of milkmaids and farmhands living happily in the flower fields of Zwaardsrust before heading off on a grand adventure; all Serena needed was her hair in braids.

Well. Not really, actually, Gemma thought, because then Serena would look too much like Veronica, and she rather liked Serena the way she was.

“Oh, my! You’re looking much better already,” And if such a profound healer like Serena was saying that, Gemma supposed it had to be true, “Do you think you’re well enough to eat something?”

Good question, actually--Gemma supposed she was feeling a bit peckish now. “I… maybe? Is that a good idea for me?”

“As long as it’s nothing too heavy, yes.” Serena closed the door behind her with her back before entering the room in full, setting the tray she’d brought on a nearby table. “Some fresh, warm bread ought to do you good. And ginger ale will do wonders for nausea!”

The scent of the bread wafted through the room. That was one of Gemma’s favorite smells in the world, and her stomach made a noise again--but this time, it was an honest to goodness growl, and she was too relieved that it was a normal sound to be embarrassed that Serena heard it. Then Serena giggled her sweet giggle, and Gemma felt just a smidgen of embarrassment, but not enough to deter her from food.

“That sounds... really good, actually,” Gemma stood up from the bed, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and made her way to the table with care. “Did you bring all this for me, Serena?”

“I did!” Serena waited until Gemma had sat down before doing the same. “Although… I was hoping if I could join you, if that was alright. I couldn’t eat much of dinner tonight.”

“Oh, no! Ah, I mean--of course you can stay, but did you get queasy, too?”

“No, not quite,” Serena waved aside the worry bashfully, and reached for the bread; she cut a generous slice for Gemma before serving herself. “There was cabbage in some of the servings. I’m allergic.”

“Oof, that’s a rough one,” Gemma nodded in sympathy as she reached for the butter, “My grandma? She’s got a little onion allergy. Refuses not to eat it, though, so it makes cooking a right nightmare sometimes.”

“Gosh, I can imagine!” Serena covered her mouth while she chewed, soft and dainty, like a pretty princess Gemma had dreamed up long ago. “You’d have to substitute it, I’d imagine?”

“Oh, of course--but Grandmum’s so stubborn about it, y’see, so we have to be careful with switching things around so she doesn’t see. Nova’s had to sneak me fennel from him and his mum more times than I can count,” And speaking of, actually... “You know, I’m surprised Nova didn’t come with you!”

“Ah ha, well! He tried to, bless him,” And Serena laughed behind her hand, and that princess Gemma had dreamed up seemed more and more to come to life, “But we all know what he’s like when he gets worried. Nobody was having it when he said he wanted to come with! Erik had gone far enough to sit in his lap to feed him by hand so I could leave alone.”

Gemma squeaked, and put down her mug before she could take a drink and choke on her laughter. “Crikey, I didn’t think he’d actually do it!”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Oh--I was teasin’ Nova, before I got here. Told a little fib about reading his diary. And I said to Erik, if he tried to follow me, to do whatever he had to to stop ‘im,” Gemma raised her mug again, and grinned around the rim. “Might’ve given him a few ideas on how to do that.”

Serena’s eyes went wide as dinner plates, her cheeks tinged pink, but she soon fell into a fit of laughter--a bit more boisterous than her giggles, Gemma noted, but no less elegant and lovely. “Goodness, I wish I’d known it was that easy! Veronica teases him sometimes, too, but he always seems to shake it off. I didn’t think anything could get under his skin! You must have a gift for speaking ‘Nova’, Gemma.”

“Aw, it’s nothing special, really,” Gemma tugged off her headscarf and fiddled with it in her lap just the slightest bit shy, “I’ve just known him a long time, is all. I know what buttons to press.”

She wasn’t sure she could keep talking about herself, with Serena praising her so genuinely for something so small. She had to shift the topic. “But, you said Veronica’s tried? What’s she done before?”

“Oh! So,” Serena set down her mug, and her hands fluttered to life, a story on her lips and fingertips, “there was this one time, I remember quite clearly--we were visiting Gallopolis, and it was a particularly dry day—Veronica made a joke about Nova’s hair, and how he must use an army’s worth of conditioner?”

Gemma hummed, already understanding where this was going. “And he had no idea what she was talking about, right?”

“We were floored! Erik looked like he was about to lose his mind when he said that. I wouldn’t be surprised at this point if you told me he’s never used a brush in his life.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t get away with that one, not if his mum had anything to say about it,” Gemma shrugged, clearly faking exasperation, “Dumb boys, right? What can ya do?”

“Not very much at all!” Serena laughed again, and it struck Gemma now that Serena’s laughter was so striking to her because it sounded like a melody--a sweet, simple song that made Gemma fall into laughter too, and into a gentle, easy evening gossiping with her new friend.

~

They talked late into the night, much later than Gemma had realized, but not enough to make it urgent. Serena had a calming aura about her, which was something she’d always known since meeting her, but her voice had such a timber to it that all of Gemma’s earlier troubles were forgotten. 

They swapped stories, about nothing, about everything. Gemma talked about Cobblestone, about growing up with Nova (“I can’t tell you the real embarrassing stories, he found out I told Erik about when he put the slimedrop in his hair and he’s still mad about it,”), about how she wanted to go into the clothing business, and how some of the other kids thought she was odd for liking math so much. Serena responded in turn with stories of Arboria, about her and Veronica’s misadventures (“Oh, I was so hungry, Gemma, you have to understand, I was desperate to get out of studying! And the page had a picture of an herb on it, and I just--”), about all her favorite books and songs and plays, and, “I would be happy to loan you something, I have some books I think you’d rather like!”. 

And Gemma was sure she would like them, but hearing Serena tell her about those stories instead was fulfilling in its own way. She was such a gifted storyteller--Gemma could have listened to her forever.

She might have very well done just that, the way they were going; Serena was just finishing up an explanation on the musical complexity and range of Graham Globe when Gemma yawned, much louder and longer than she’d meant to. She clamped a hand over her mouth in shock, and it took her a moment before she could meet Serena’s worried gaze.

“Oh, gosh,” Gemma felt her cheeks burn. If it had been Nova, she wouldn’t have been nearly as embarrassed (he’d seen much worse with nary a blink as a response), but she couldn’t stand the idea of Serena having seen that, “Serena, I’m so sorry! I’m not bored, or anything, I promise.”

“No, no! You’re perfectly fine, Gemma,” Serena took it all with grace, as Gemma must have imagined she did with everything, “If anything, it’s my mistake. I didn’t even realize how late I’ve been keeping you.”

“‘Late’? But it’s not…” Gemma’s point was lost as soon as she turned to the window and was met with the dark, night sky. “Oh! Well, what do you know?”

“The lamp’s almost out of oil, too,” Serena noted, “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

“I’ll say,” Gemma wasn’t about to comment on how happy she was to hear that Serena had fun talking with her, there were bigger concerns at hand, “Should you be getting to bed, Serena?”

“Hmm… oh, probably,” She sounded disheartened by the idea. How odd, “but I would hate to leave if you’re still unwell.”

Oh. That was right! She was seasick! That’s why they were here! Gemma had all but forgotten about it, though now that Serena brought it up, she was conscious of the dull ache slowly growing again in her stomach--not painful, yet, but present.

“Well…” Gemma placed a hand over her stomach, brows furrowed, “We dropped anchor already, didn’t we? I don’t think it can’t get much worse until we start moving again.”

“No, you’re right,” Serena admitted, “I suppose I’m just being a bit of a worrywart… but, since we’re talking about it? I wanted to ask you something, Gemma.”

“Yes? What is it?”

Serena reached forward, tentatively, curiously, and picked up one corner of the blanket around Gemma’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you lay down in the hammock?”

“Uh--” Her sudden forwardness stunned Gemma into silence, and it took a moment for her to collect her thoughts. “I--it didn’t seem like the best idea, you know? If all this rocking is what’s making me sick, then more of it would just make it worse, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, no! Quite the opposite, actually.” Serena clapped her hands together; her expression was still no less concerned, but her eyes sparkled with knowledge she was more than happy to share. “Sea sickness is just motion sickness. Laying in a hammock helps cancel out the movement of the boat, so you should have a much easier time sleeping in one than a bed.”

“Ah--no kidding!” So much for the hammock being a weird addition to the room. She wished Sylvando had mentioned that earlier. “You think that I should…?”

Serena, ever the dedicated healer, nodded assuredly. “With how out of sorts you were, I don’t think it would hurt.” 

“Well… I guess you know best. Gosh, I hope it’s as comfy as the bed was,” Gemma fiddled with her scarf in her lap, laughing a touch awkwardly to herself, “Definitely won’t be as easy getting in, that’s for sure. Never was too good getting settled in a hammock.”

“No?”

“No, but… hm. I guess I might’ve been just too little, then? I could never get in one without… oh.”

Gemma stopped. 

“...O-Oh.” Oh.

Something… struck her, just then. She’d been sharing so many stories tonight so haphazardly, she’d barely given it much thought, but now that she was giving them thought, the dull ache in her stomach began to grow into a pounding intensity--the strongest it had been all night. She doubled over, wincing and whining and clutching onto her abdomen, and all too suddenly, she felt far too small.

“Gemma!” Serena was upon her in an instant; she’d barely let a gasp escape her before she began to reach out. “Gemma, what’s wrong? Is your seasickness back?”

But Gemma shook her bowed head, quietly denying the hands that came to her aid. 

“Gemma…?”

“I couldn’t do it,” Gemma spoke quickly, and pained, trembling in voice and body, “I couldn’t do it without Nova’s help.”

The confession alone made Gemma run cold. She’d agreed to this trip--to work in Derk’s stead, to organize the reconstruction of a kingdom she’d only seen in storybooks, to help her friend when he called on her--to make a point to herself. To prove to herself that she could stand on her own two feet, without relying on Nova all the time. Gemma had grown dependent on him, and complacent, she could admit that now, and such a thing wasn’t fair to her or him.

She wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t bitter. They would always be best friends, Gemma always in his heart, and Nova always in hers, but Nova wouldn’t always be right next to her to catch her when she stumbled. She had to learn. She had to get better, but she’d already caused Nova so much trouble and worry with just a stomach ache--and now here she was, being a nuisance to Serena, too. Serena, who was so soft and gentle and impossibly lovely, who said her name so sweetly, who had only ever shown her kindness since they met that night in Heliodor, and Gemma couldn’t understand why, but it didn’t matter. A burden was still a burden.

She didn’t think her heart could bear much more of this.

“Gemma.”

Serena’s hands were warm over her own, pulling them away from her stomach, and Gemma realized just how badly she was shaking. And when she finally made herself meet Serena’s gaze, she found that Serena was looking at her with soft, gentle, almost revering eyes, and any response Gemma could have made was gone before it saw the light of day.

“...You know,” Serena started, “you and Nova are very much alike. You both think far too loud.”

Gemma sniffled, and pulled away one hand to rub at her eyes. “W-What do you mean?”

“You’re both rather hard on yourselves. You both take on so much, on your own, because you think that you have to do it on your own. And… to be fair, that might be true, for some things. But certainly not everything, and I think that ends up forgotten along the way.”

Serena paused, breathing in deep. Gemma couldn’t think of a time she’d ever seen her so serious. “Nova’s gotten better about it. He has a lot of help from a lot of people...plenty of people who are happy to remind him that he doesn’t have to do everything by himself. But, Gemma… I’m not sure if anyone has ever told you that.” 

She swallowed. “So. I’m going to.”

Gemma felt her shoulders tense, and her cheeks burned in the dimming lamplight. Her lips parted, as if to speak, but so in shock, she didn’t dare interrupt Serena now.

“I… I think you’re very amazing,” Serena said, “If I try to put myself in your shoes, I’m not sure I could do what you do. You’re a much braver and more resourceful person than I think you’re giving yourself credit for, Gemma. And I really mean that.”

And she really did, Gemma could tell, but she didn’t think she’d ever know why.

“So… please, don’t be disheartened. We can’t make it on our own--we need other people to help us, and they need us the same. Asking for help isn’t a crime, Gemma. It’s in our nature. It’s what makes us human.”

Serena bit her cheek. Her thumb ran circles around Gemma’s knuckles.

“...I wish I could make it better for you, just saying that, but… we both know I can’t. It’s a deeper problem that magic and words just can’t fix. But if nothing else… you should know I’m here for you. And I’ll help you in any way I can. If you can’t turn to everyone yet, please know you can turn to me.”

Gemma swallowed, but she nodded a grateful nod, and subconsciously squeezed Serena’s hands. She really did know, Gemma thought, she understood, and the world didn’t feel so lonesome anymore.

“...Thank you, Serena,” she sniffled out her thanks, but Gemma managed a tiny, grateful smile, if only for a second, “I’m… sorry, you had to see all that. I was planning to talk to Nova about it all, I swear…”

“Please, don’t be sorry, Gemma--I truly did mean what I said,” Serena patted her hands consolingly, “We’re all companions here, remember? And that means you and I, too.”

Companions. Right. The word alone alleviated some of the pain in her stomach; in retrospect, it figured that Gemma would stress herself sick. But it had been reassuring beyond measure for Serena to say that regardless. Nova would never tell her if she was causing trouble, so he was an unreliable opinion, but Serena had no previous attachment or ulterior motives to lie. 

If Serena said she wasn’t a bother, then Gemma could finally, slowly but surely, start to believe it.

“Now then,” Serena stood from her chair, her hand still holding Gemma’s, pulling her up with her, “let’s go and get you all settled, shall we? I don’t know about you, but I’ve always found a warm bed the best comfort after a good cry.”

She bent down a moment, to pick up the blanket that had fallen off Gemma’s shoulders, and wrapped it back around her. Gemma watched her, stunned, but vacantly grabbed at the blanket’s edges and tugged them over her chest. Satisfied with this, Serena gave her an affirming nod and smile, and stepped around her to prepare the hammock, and she watched her go, a thousand thoughts spinning in her mind, and suddenly-- 

“Serena?”

Serena stopped. “Hm?”

“Could I ask… would you stay with me? If it’s… not a trouble to you,” Gemma fidgeted with the blanket, burying her face in the fabric, “I--I’m feeling better, really, but I… I’m not sure I can be alone, right now.”

Goodness. Asking for help did ease some more of her aches, but it did nothing for how embarrassing such a thing was to say out loud. It wasn’t as though Serena hadn’t made… something of an offer like that herself earlier, but that had been before she’d seen first hand how needy Gemma could be. It felt silly of her, to bank on Serena’s support so soon after she’d made it known.

“It would be my pleasure.”

But Serena, voice tender and delighted and relieved, answered her as clear as day, as easy as breathing, and a part of Gemma had to wonder why she’d been worried in the first place.

~

As promised, Serena helped Gemma in first.

The hammock was snug, to say the least. Gemma wasn’t sure if that was because it was meant for only one person, or because she and Serena were just too big. Distantly, she remembered those warm autumn days where she and Nova and Sandy would nap in her grandfather’s hammock, but they’d only been children, then, and Sandy still a puppy; a part of her wondered if this hammock might fall over like Grandad’s did, too, when Sandy jumped on it fully grown.

But Serena climbed over the edge and settled in beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist like they’d done this a thousand times before, and Gemma pushed the thought away, because that was then and this was now, and now felt much more important to address.

Their legs brushed together, and Gemma jumped from the contact. “Ah! Sorry—“ It was unavoidable, but Serena was so warm and soft the brief touch made her heart race.

Serena whispered a laugh, and her smile illuminated by the moonlight made Gemma’s heart race even faster. 

“It’s alright,” she explained, hushed, “I’ve done this before. Veronica--she never got seasick before, but when she shrunk, it changed her center of gravity. The first few nights we were at sea, I stayed with her here like this.”

“O-Oh,” said Gemma, unable to parse if that actually did set her at ease or not, “was it... easier with her?”

“Easy or not doesn’t matter,” Serena answered, “I just want to protect what’s important to me.”

Something about hearing that made Gemma let go of a breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding, and as her mind and lungs reeled, Serena raised her hand to the back of Gemma’s head, stroking her hair idly. She hadn’t realized until now, with her head near tucked under her chin, how much taller than her Serena was--or perhaps, Gemma was projecting confidence onto stature. It wouldn’t be the first time; Erik still refused to tell her his real height because her (apparently wildly incorrect) guess had fed his ego far too much.

“Shh--don’t overthink it,” Serena’s voice grew softer, more soothing than it already was, and Gemma felt her muscles start to lax from that alone, “Just feel. Let yourself relax. I’ve got you.”

Gemma had heard stories of mermaids before, and about how their songs could hypnotize even the most fearsome of sailors the seas had ever seen. Nova had explained that those stories of sirens were greatly exaggerated, but listening to Serena talk, and feeling the way her body gave in to her every kind request, she had to wonder if that was really the case. 

Serena had told her to relax, and she did. Serena had said that she had her, and Gemma felt beyond secure. She let her eyes close, to fully immerse herself in the feeling; the scent of a bakery was on Serena’s skin, and a hum buzzed delicately from behind her lips, and Gemma thought--

No. Don’t think. Just feel. And what she felt was...

“...Serena?”

“Yes?”

Gemma nuzzled herself closer to Serena’s chest, as close as she could dare. If she concentrated, she swore she could hear Serena’s heart beat like the beat of a drum, in perfect tune with her voice. “I think you’re amazing, too.”

Serena stilled against her, and for a second, Gemma worried that she’d gone too far, but she was pulled into a tight, warm hug, and the worry ebbed away with the quiet lull of waves. 

~~~

“Knock-knock, get the door, it’s Erik.”

Serena looked away from the window--she’d been watching the clouds roll by the rising sun as Gemma slept--and craned her neck towards the door with a smile. “Quiet now, it’s Serena.”

It took a moment of fumbling with the handle before Erik opened the door just a crack, slipping in without so much as a creak. From Serena’s angle, he looked like he’d just woken up, still in his pyjamas and hair more wild and askew than usual. It must have been earlier than she’d thought; Erik was usually one of the first awake, and he put enough care into his appearance to be dressed before anyone could see him this disheveled.

He closed the door behind him with a soft ‘click’, then turned to her with a knowing grin. “How’d I know,” he whispered.

Serena smiled at him, and there was an underlying air of mischief in her smile that she knew he would pick up on, and she whispered back, “Oh, you knew, did you?”

“Not exactly, but I had a pretty good feeling,” Erik shook his head with a sigh, but he wasn’t trying at all to hide his amusement as he made his way over, “Leave it to you to vanish for the night, and then be found cuddling a cute girl.”

“Well, that was just a pleasant surprise. But you and I have always had similar priorities, Erik,” She spoke wisely, knowing full well that she was correct, “I’m impressed Nova let go of you long enough for you to make it here.”

“It’s never easy. Despite what dinner would have you think, he’s incredibly clingy.”

“And it’s great?”

“The best,” He peered over the hammock to look at Gemma, still nestled up underneath Serena’s chin, “Seriously, though. Is she doing alright?”

“Mmn. Much better now,” Serena fiddled with the ends of Gemma hair between her fingers, “I think she was just anxious, is all.”

“That’s seeming more and more like a Cobblestone standard every day. Not that I can blame them.”

“It’s a good thing we’re here for them then, isn’t it?”

Gemma sighed in her sleep, and the two of them fell silent, but it quickly proved to be a false alarm; instead of waking up, she burrowed herself further into the blanket, and into Serena’s arms. Serena beamed at the sight.

“Man,” Erik whispered with a roll of his eyes, “and here I thought I had it bad.”

“You did,” Serena didn’t look up, “You had it worse.”

“Details,” he nudged Serena on the head with one knuckle, drawing her back to look at him, “I’m gonna go get dressed. I’d say you have another two or three hours before breakfast happens.”

“How long before Nova comes to check on her?”

“If we play our cards right? Hopefully he’ll sleep till midday,” Erik raised his fist above her, “I’ll keep him in bed long as I can.”

Serena raised her first in turn, bumping it quietly against Erik’s. “You’ll succeed.”

“Not unless I want to eat, too. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“And thank you for yours.”

Erik pulled back, his fist becoming a two-fingered salute, and he stepped away as quietly as he came. The door opened and shut again with barely a sound, and soon enough, the only sound remaining was the quiet crash of waves against the boat, and Gemma’s soft, peaceful breathing.

Serena had to watch her while she slept--to watch the way her lashes fluttered and chest rose and fell, to watch the subtle puff of her cheeks and the way her lips puckered ever so slightly, and Serena had no other option but to smile at the sight. 

She already knew that Gemma was amazing, for a multitude of reasons both said and unsaid, and had long since thought that--but it was always nice to see those facts take shape.

#panda does a write #ladies and gentlemen we have entered REAL SEREMMA HOURS #nedryn-laughs #seremma

[jungdrizzydraco]

Short-Story Slam 2019 Day 13 (Tonight, We Dance!)

WARNING: DEATH, GORE, AND WITCH-STUFF ENSUE

Clarisse looked over herself in the mirror for the sixth time, trying to drown out the loud music and shrieks and howls of laughter from the other girls outside her cherrywood door. The other girls in the dormitories always got rowdy on a full-moon, and Clarisse looked down on them for it; what kind of basic-witch over the age of 16 can’t control themselves during a full moon? Clarisse splayed her hands over her lavender dress, a simple slip, and admired the ritual prayer beads that hung around her neck. The old beads looked more like fossils, perhaps the first pearls man has ever discovered, but the energy they could hold and manipulate was nothing to fart at. Before she could finish insuring her presentability, a hard knock pelted her room door. Her green eyes flickered angrily at the sound, and with a flick of her neck & head the door flung open violently. A dark-skinned girl with finger waves and matching ritual beads, stood in the doorway, unimpressed with Clarisse’s rather apparent anger.

“Claire-bear, hurry your sweet ginger ass up! The dance is starting, and your Virgo ass is in here, looking over yourself for-”

“The sixth time, no thanks to any of you merciless bitches out there.” Clarisse said, stomping her feet into an unassuming pair of combat boots.

“It’s what I’ve always wanted: To be a merciless power-bitch.” Donna replied grinning proudly.

“Besides, it’s not our fault your OCD ass needs to look over yourself six times: one for every limb, and an extra two for your head and forehead.”

“My forehead is attached to the rest of my cranium, smart-ass.” Clarisse said, near-instantly regretting her comment.

“Yeah, but your forehead is so big, I’m sure it runs on it’s own time so-” a snickering Donna was interrupted by a hastily thrown hairbrush, which froze in mid-air right before hitting Donna in her expensive nose. A wrinkle of annoyance crossed her face.

“Bring your pasty ass, we’re not gonna wait for you all night!” Donna huffed from the doorway threshold.

“What? Literally no one is ready, everyone is out there yelling like fucking illiterate sociopaths-”

“Girl, no one is in the dorms at the moment.” Donna said rolling her eyes.

“Now how is that possible, there’s music playing as we speak?” Clarisse said, marching out to the hallway. Then, silence…you could hear a pin drop.

“Who. The fuck. Hexed my fucking room?” Clarisse growled to herself.

Yeah, everyone left a half an hour ago. Maybe if you bothered to actually be nice to folks, instead of looking down that pointy-nose of yours-”

“Careful Donna, years of pent-up frustration is very quickly coming to a head, and I can’t guarantee I won’t set you on fire if you say another wrong thing to me.” Clarisse said, storming back into her noisey room. She bit down on her thumb hard, causing a cut that could bleed, and smeared the blood on the faux-marbled floor. She muttered a command in a language lost to normal civilian ears, and the room was swiftly enveloped in a vacuum of silence.

“Good for you. But I know you’d better drop that shit attitude of yours, a bitch doesn’t wanna get eaten by some 3-headed dog demon that pops up because you can’t take a joke. Now bring that ass, let’s go hunting.” Donna said, before twisting away and making her way down the corridor.

The duo traversed the nearby woodlands expertly, they’ve been through these woods a thousand times before they had even kissed their first boy, it was a witch's responsibility to connect more with nature than people (especially men). They came upon the rest of the coven, young ladies shimmering in the bright flame of a bonfire, dancing around in a frenzied circle. With a closer look, one could see that there were three people tied up, sitting on the ground (and quite possibly shitting themselves).

“Goddammit! They already caught the sacrifices, fucking with you!” Donna said, scoffing at her demi-friend’s tardiness.

“So you like getting all sweaty and shit? It’s better for us anyway, and your edges won’t have to suffer, we all know they need as much support as they can get.” Clarisse snickered under her breath.

“Watch it, Clair, I might charm yours to strangle you in your sleep.” Donna said, dusting off her distressed skinny jeans. The girls joined their coven mates in the circle, and began the ceremonial dance; a series of frenzied yet purposeful movements, meant to maximize energy output and reception. It may look like ecstatic flailing to some, but it was a science to the girls, and it took years to master and perform properly. One of the dance’s most important components was a clear mind, which Clarisse definitely did not have, she was still upset with whomever messed with her room. Clarisse never suffered fools well, especially when she was made the fool. Her curly mane practically twisted with vengeful thoughts, but she soon found out they weren’t her own: an ominous feeling bunched her stomach up into knots of squirming millipedes, and her eyes seared with heat and bold blotches of colors, some of which could never be found in any light source of this world. Something blunt and hard smacked Clarisse in the mouth, and the warmth and iron of fresh blood soon filled her bottom lip. She looked up to see who had the big idea of punching her mid-dance, only to find that the circle had come to a complete halt. The expressions on all of the girls had faded, now left only with dead fish-eyes staring into the abyss of what used to be the base of a sizable bonfire. Clarisse found herself fixated on the pit as well. She wondered if the pit beguiled Donna as well. And she could swear she saw something staring back. The boys were traumatized, both by all the events of the evening that led to this moment as well as the current moment in question. One took this as an opportunity to try and make a break for it: he squirmed desperately against his bindings, and eventually freed himself of one hand. Of course the bindings weren’t too tight, the witches liked to give occasional chase to the really brave and smart boys, and untying themselves was a good indicator of that. The blue-eyed boy frantically began pulling at the ropes at his ankles, the other boys mumbling loudly for help, but there muffled pleas fell on deaf ears. Clarisse felt her stomach un-knot, and her vision returned to normal, simultaneously, a long tree branch erupted from the base of the pit and ran straight through the would-be escapee. Clarisse lurched backwards in shock which gave way to disgust and pure horror as she took notice of the “branch”: it was no branch at all actually, but instead a long, malevolent forearm, aged raw by wickedness and hatred. The boys panicked again, one fainted the other soiled himself. A very tall and slender figure slowly arose from the pit, the bile of the underworld tumbling off of it like soil off a groundhog, and the figure stood nearly nine-feet tall. The smell of rotting flesh and sorrow and mold filled the air, the boys sat at the beings feet, frozen or unconscious from fear.

“You summoned me, sistren?” The tall figure spoke in Clarisse's mind. The intrusive voice scratched like nails from a black cat onto a chalkboard, but there was a familiarity to it. It was like a much louder version of thoughts she’d had only a few minutes ago.

“W-what?” She whispered meekly.

“Your thoughts called unto me…ever so loudly…even the fog of Death could not block you-”

“I didn’t…I never…I don’t even know what you are…” Clarisse said, tears streaming down her face.

“Hekate’s dance…is not to be taken with a child’s grasp…of knowledge…you danced with forces far greater than your own. Beloved…I am your vengeance. I am Madame Nemesis…and you were a fool to bring…a darkened mind into…Lady Hekate’s purity circle…now your coven will pay your burden with you.” Nemesis said, raising her absurdly long arms into the air, and like a satanic choir conductor, all the witches screamed at the highest pitch they could muster…and that’s when the heads began to explode. First the two boys, then every witch in a counter clockwise formation, skipping Clarisse including Donna. Then, in the reverse order, every cadaver caught fire, lightning up like tiki torches. The scene horrified Clarisse, who couldn’t even move her mouth to scream or her tear ducts to produce anymore tears, let alone run away. The tall, wicked woman that stood before her, took something of a kneel and outstretched her hand towards Clarisse.

“Take responsibility…beloved…it is you who brought this upon your coven…come quietly…suffer no more.” Nemesis whispered in the darkest corners of her mind. Clarisse only found the strength to sob again, before the knots came back and the heat blotches skewed her vision. A yell of great pain and agony jumped out of her throat, as she joined her sisters in death.

#writeblr #short story #short story slam 2019 #witchcraft #suspiria #veryquickfic

[whumphoarder]

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)

A/N: This is the extended version of the drabble I posted a couple days ago, now including the formerly cut crack-ish lead-up to that scene. I wasn’t originally going to post it, but @xxx-cat-xxx​ and @sallyidss​ changed my mind lol

Summary: Following a mission, a blizzard strands the Avengers together in a small cabin somewhere in rural Minnesota. Peter can’t sleep because of broken ribs. Tony can’t sleep because of shitty coffee.

Word count: 1,698

Genre: Fluffy angst, whump, hurt/comfort, humor(?)

Link to read on Ao3

“Here we are,” Clint announces. He slaps his hand at the light switch on the wall. A single bare bulb in the middle of the ceiling flickers to life, illuminating the cabin’s interior. “Mi casa es su casa.”

Peter stumbles in, letting his gaze travel around the one-room structure. The windows have all been boarded up, the paint is peeling off the walls, and there’s a strong smell of mold in the air. There is an array of mismatched furniture in varying states of disrepair, including two twin bunk beds, a wooden rocking chair, and a hideously floral patterned futon that looks to be straight out of the seventies.

“Su casa should be condemned...” Tony mutters, sidestepping around Peter further into the room.

With one arm slung across Natasha’s shoulders for support, Sam comes limping in next, his other hand braced against his bandaged side. He lets out a grunt as she deposits him down on the futon. “Shit, man...” he groans, stretching out on the mattress. “I think we finally found something lumpier than Cap’s gravy.”

Steve is standing just off to the side, stomping snow off his boots. “One time,” he grumbles. “That was one time...”

Natasha smirks. “To be fair, Bruce broke a tooth.”

Peter shoots his mentor a questioning look.

Tony just rolls his eyes. “Don’t even ask, kid,” he mutters. “This is why I don’t go to team dinners.”

A strong gust of wind slams the rickety door shut behind Peter with a bang. Dust and bits of plaster rain down from the ceiling. That, combined with the fresh whiff of mold he inhales, sets him off on a coughing fit. Tears instantly spring to Peter’s eyes as each hack sends fiery daggers of pain through his already injured ribs.

Smiling broadly, Thor gives the kid a few hearty thumps on the back.

(Peter nearly faints.)

“Yo Legolas, before we trekked two miles through the woods in a raging blizzard to get here, I distinctly remember you saying you were taking us to a ‘safehouse’,” Tony says, opening the metal door of an ancient-looking cast iron furnace. He pokes at the pile of ash inside. “This place is neither safe, nor a house.”

Clint crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s got four walls, a toilet, and at least eighty percent of a roof,” he defends. “That automatically makes it better than half the safehouses SHIELD has assigned me over the years.”

Natasha hums in agreement.

Despite all Tony’s grumbling, he soon gets right to work building a fire in the stove. Peter shuffles over and watches his mentor fiddle with the kindling for a minute or so before he finally gives into exhaustion and lowers himself down onto the nearest bunk bed. Pain flares in his chest at the movement, but releases a bit once he’s still again.

Clint takes a large plastic tub out from behind the futon and removes the lid to reveal that it’s stuffed to the brim with old quilts and hand crocheted afghans. He pulls one from the pile and tosses it at Peter.

“Mr. Barton, why do you own a cabin in Minnesota?” Peter can’t help but wonder as he catches the musty-smelling quilt. “I thought Mr. Stark said you lived in Iowa.”

“I do, but Laura’s parents have had this place in their family for decades,” Clint explains. “It’s perfect for hunting season—Cooper and I were up here for two weeks last fall.” He grins. “Nothing says father-son bonding time quite like gutting your first deer together.”

“Indeed,” Thor muses. “I still recall Father guiding me and Loki through our first disembowelment.” He smiles fondly at the memory. “We were six at the time.”

“You disemboweled a deer at age six?” Peter balks at him.

“No, no,” Thor chuckles. “Not a deer—a prisoner.”

They continue on like that for the next half hour, the team bantering back and forth as they work to make the drafty cabin a little cozier. The blizzard howls outside and Peter’s ribs still ache dully, but surrounded by his team, he somehow feels safer than he has in months.

X

Pain is what wakes Peter from his sleep. He lies there on the thin mattress, disoriented and confused, until the day’s events start flooding back to him. He recalls the team’s earlier mission, the subsequent blizzard that’s stranding them somewhere in northern Minnesota, and making the trek from the grounded Quinjet to the small cabin.

The dull ache in Peter’s ribs from the hit he took earlier has graduated to an inescapable throbbing now. It’s starting to make him feel sick.

Realizing there’s no way he’s going to be able to fall back asleep without some assistance, he gingerly pushes himself up to sitting. He’s grateful that the howling wind outside masks the whimpers that escape as he slips past his sleeping teammates, towards the cabin’s adjoining kitchen.

Peter pushes the kitchen door open and enters as quietly as he can. His hand fumbles around on the wall for the light switch and he flips it on, blinking at the sudden brightness. “What are you doing up?” Peter startles a bit at the voice. Tony is standing over the counter in the cabin’s small kitchen, spooning instant coffee granules into a mug. His eyes are bloodshot and he sways on his feet as he stands. “Just wanted a glass of water…” Peter mumbles. And a buttload of ibuprofen, he adds silently. Tony frowns at the way Peter is bracing his arm against his chest. “You told me they were bruised.” “I mean, they definitely are bruised,” Peter defends, glancing down at his ribs. “...They’re just maybe also broken?” He rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. “And, uh, they kinda might be healing weird.” “Jesus, kid...” Tony mutters, rubbing a hand over his face in exasperation. He makes a beckoning gesture with his fingers. “Alright, let’s see ‘em. Shirt up.” “I mean, it’s not like we can do anything about them anyway...” Peter points out as he shuffles over. “I’ll be the judge of that,” Tony mutters back. He lifts Peter’s sweatshirt up and gently runs his fingertips over the mottled bruises covering his ribcage. Peter bites his lip hard to keep from whimpering. “Alright, we’ll have Cho look at them when we get back,” Tony decides after a few seconds of prodding. “‘kay,” Peter gasps out, rolling the sweatshirt back down. “Are they healing wrong?” Tony shrugs. “No idea,” he admits. “But you’re breathing alright and nothing seems to be punctured or hideously deformed, so that’s a good sign.” Peter huffs out a short laugh. “Awesome.” Locating a bottle of painkillers from the open medkit on the counter, Tony shakes out four tablets and hands them over. Peter swallows them down gratefully. “Alright Underoos, back to bed before those wear off,” Tony instructs. Peter watches as his mentor picks the spoon back up from the counter and resumes his coffee making. “Uh, Mr. Stark?” he asks tentatively. “Are you… okay?” Something flashes across Tony’s features, but it’s gone before Peter can place it. “I’m fine, kid,” he dismisses with a hand wave. “You’re making instant coffee at like, three in the morning,” Peter points out. “I wanted coffee,” Tony huffs. Peter narrows his eyes at his mentor. “But last week you told me someone could brew a pot of coffee, drink it, piss it out, and then drink that piss again and it would still be better than instant coffee.” “Yeah well I don’t exactly see a Starbucks around here, do you?” Peter hesitates for a moment, taking in his mentor’s haggard face and the bags under his eyes. He honestly looks like he could keel over at any moment. Tony heaves out a tired sigh. “What, kid?” And then all at once, Peter understands. The mission that day—the battle, the aliens, the wormhole—it’s triggered something in his mentor. He can’t sleep because he can’t afford to dream. Peter swallows hard. “It’s okay, Mr. Stark,” he whispers. “I already know about the nightmares.” All traces of humor dissolve from Tony’s features. His words come out in a broken whisper. “Pete. Just go back to bed. Please.” Peter nods. “Okay.” Quietly, he slips back out of the kitchen and into the cabin’s one main room. Over the muffled sounds of the howling blizzard outside, he can hear the crackle of the dying flames in the fireplace and the snores of his sleeping teammates scattered throughout the room. He’s just easing himself back onto his bunk when an idea occurs to him. A moment later, Peter re-enters the kitchen, ignoring the protests from his ribs as he drags two flimsy mattresses in after him. Tony’s eyes go wide and he half-chokes on the mouthful of coffee he’s just sipped. “What are you doing?” he demands in a hoarse whisper. “Sleeping out here with you,” Peter says simply. Wincing as he carefully lowers himself down to the floor, he goes on, “That way, if either of us should have a nightmare, the other person can just wake him up right away and no one else needs to know.” Tony sighs. “Look, kid, I appreciate the thought, but–” Peter locks eyes with his mentor. “Please, Mr. Stark? I’m never gonna be able to sleep knowing you’re in here, dead on your feet, drinking freeze-dried piss-coffee all night.” It’s a long moment before Tony lets out a deep exhale. “Fine,” he grunts. He flips off the light and plops down on the remaining mattress. “But only because you probably shouldn’t be lifting more than ten pounds and I don’t feel like dragging these things back.” Peter stretches out on the mattress. “Pretty sure enhanced people get enhanced restrictions,” he mutters sleepily. “Could probably still lift a car, but just like, a smaller one.” He hums to himself. “Maybe a Beetle. Or like, a Toyota Corolla…” “Hey kid?” “Yeah?” “Shut up.” Peter grins. “Alright, Mr. Stark."

Fic Masterlist

For more heartfelt Tony & Peter moments, try Give the Kid an Oscar

#spiderman fic #spiderman homecoming #mcu writing #hurt peter parker #hurt tony stark #my fic

[erosluna]

Felicity

Next: Felicity p2

Min Yoongi x hybrid reader

wc: 4k

Dying to write a smut shit but damn, some people (me ofc) can’t just get on without proper plot so here we are. 

Another roar from the sky is about to come. Though already curled up like a ball, you still pulled in your knee as if they could actually go through your chest to the point that you feel piercing pains on your spine. Your tail is wet from the strong spray coming from the small opening atop the confined space you were shoved in today, nevertheless it stood on end as another thunderclap banged your senses. You can only squeeze your eyes shut and curl up on the cold wet concrete trying to muffle your cries as much as possible. This, you learned from experience, that any sound or cry you make, you will surely get a painful hit from your cager.

Tears fell down your cheek remembering how much you miss your owner, that warm and soft knitted blanket your mama used to tuck you in while she held you in her arms during storms like this, her super comforting scent that would calm you even in the loudest of roars you hear from the sky, even her favorite menthol oil that sent your head and stomach into an automatic spinning state. You were her precious daughter. Her only family. She adopted you when you were just a newborn kitten, you grew up filled with nothing but love, warmth, and affection and there's nothing else in the world you could ever wish for. As you grow older, your mama seemed to grow weaker but since you were always watching her all the time at home, you slowly took over each chore when you feel like she's starting to have trouble doing it herself. Until one day, your mama, your precious mama, got claimed by the roars. She was sitting on the rocking chair at the porch when it started raining heavily. Startled by the first thunderclap, you ran around the house frantically looking for that knitted blanket your mama gave you on your 17th birthday. Finding it on the drawers, you then looked for your mama to lunge hurriedly into her arms but you didn't see her inside the house. Running around tensed like you've never been before, your heart almost stopped seeing her sleeping peacefully in her rocking chair. "Mama! Get inside you'll get soaked, you'll sneeze! Mama! Mama come here!" you couldn't get out. You're too afraid to step outside the door knowing the monster of your dreams is around here. You see a flash of light draw from the sky and by instinct squeezed your eyes and prepared to receive another roar but then you remember your mama, with the roar coming anytime, you can't let her be exposed like that, it is extremely dangerous. With that, you gathered up all the courage you could muster to save your most precious mama from the monster, you opened the door slowly and crept your way to her chair. As expected, she's already soaked in rain but her serene sleeping face shows nothing against it. You calmed down a bit seeing her this way but the roar suddenly dropped and it made you jump. "Mama, mama come one now. You'll  get sneezes if we don't get covers soon. Mama!" No budge. You decided to just pull her up and wrapped her arm on top of your shoulder to support her weight, you got a bit startled as her icy skin touched the back of your neck, but this isn't important now. You carried her on your back ever so carefully, already used to her weight and lifted her with ease having much adrenaline running through you. You lay her on the couch near the fireplace, slowly lowering her head down the armrest, and then run upstairs to get a change of clothes for the two of you.

How can she be sleeping with the roars like this? Mama's so cold from the rain, she's like ice I better prepare hot tea soon as she wakes up before she catch those sneezes.

Gathering a pile of clothes on your arms you headed straight to her, dried her up and change her clothes for her. Then you went to pick up that knitted blanket you dropped before fighting the roar and wrapped it around her, before you lay your head on her lap, you took her arm and placed it against your cheek. You recalled her story just last night after the weather report on the radio. About the roars.

Your ears propped up with the sound of footsteps drawing close. Did I let out a cry? You thought to yourself. Expecting another beating, you perched you self hard on the corner of the room, squinting to the coldness of concrete against you. Those footsteps... Why are there so many? Whose voices are these? Your head is about to break, the stress is getting too much but you bit your tongue to keep yourself from howling for the better, or anything less from the worst. Suddenly a shout telling everyone to move away from the door erupted from a distance. Loud bangings came one after another, a lot of voices and cries filled your ears each one getting distant moments later. The ramblings eased up and you thought maybe they weren't coming to hit you, then you heard a pair of footsteps drawing near. Slow footsteps stopping every now and then but surely headed to your direction. "Is anyone inside? Hello? Move away from the door." You didn't answer, there's no way. You will never let out any sound from your mouth ever again, you don't wanna get hit, and then your door was kicked open. "W-hat's happening? Who are you? I didn't cry, please don't hurt me I didn't cry! It was the rain! I-" the man who kicked your door open lifted his arms and you prepared to receive the hit, you got so scared of the sight and startled that you couldn't swallow your voice and you just squeezed your eyes shut-- then you felt a soft tug on your shoulder. "Hush- hush baby, you're safe now. Come on, get up. We'll leave this place, okay?". Without fully understanding, you stood up obediently looking down, still expecting the hit to land anytime as the strange man guided you out of the confined room. In your head you imagine a more crampled and confined space than the previous room you were in, you only got moved there this morning and you're afraid you must've angered them that much with your weeping.

To your surprise, the strange man actually led you outside. It was raining hard and there were so many cars with colored blazing lights that almost blinded you as you still haven't adjusted yet from that dark space you were in. He removed his jacket and placed it on your shoulder, his hands covered your head as he ran and led you inside one of the cars.

"I got her!" The strange man said to the other men. You don't understand what's happening but you kept yourself quiet, behaved and your gaze will never lift off the floor.

"I can't believe we almost left one back there, damn she could've died alone." "I know dude, I wonder though how Officer Min knew that there's still a soul inside. I swear she never know how to make a sound!"

You woke up with the rambling voices around you, there were so many people, and so many of your kind too. The place was well lit, clean and warm but still, fear took over you and you curled up instinctively again. "Hello, how are you? What's your name?" A voice hovered on top of you. You wouldn't answer for a sound you make means a hit. "You must be hungry, do you want to eat?" You don't know, and you can't answer to this either, they just shove in your food by the door, you know that.

Three days have passed and still Min Yoongi couldn't shake you off his mind. He has lead numerous operations like this before, finding victims of worse and gruesome states, but the look on your eyes bore a hole through his soul. There's an ache from within him that no amount of sleep or medicine could relieve, finally he reached for the telephone and dialed the Hybrids Protection Desk where they've turned you over.

"She's not on the missing list, sir. She wouldn't breathe a word too so we can't extract any information from her, for all we know she could be mute. The others have been claimed already, we'll take this one on our custody."

"Is that so? If anything comes up, let me know."

"Right, okay sir. Let us take it from here, you need not to worry."

"Oh, and she actually spoke to me. She's not mute."

"Ah- sir are you sure? This is the cat hybrid, white ear and tail with a portion of black in the end we're talking about right?"

"Yes, she was scared. She's mentioned about hitting or something idk i couldn't hear her clearly."

"Okay sir, give me a minute and I'll call you back."

Yoongi felt pained knowing of your current situation, there's no reason for this, he kept telling himself. Why was he so concerned about you? His fingers tapped nonstop unconsciously on the table, mind drifted back to hearing your silent cry. He found you in a secret room within walls the team had no idea of, it was behind the lot and almost underground. Everyone thought that the small hole was a part of drainage system where he peeked inside and found you tightly hidden in the corner. Wondering how in the world he could have heard you from your position- then the phone rang.

He picked the receiver in a heartbeat.

"Yes sir, it's me. Do you think it's possible for you to come over tomorrow if you have time?"

"Tomorrow? What time does your office close?"

"7pm sir, but it's okay you can come some other time if you're busy."

Yoongi glances at the clock, 6:48pm.

"Do you think you can wait for me? I'll be there in 20 minutes."

"You mean, now sir? You can come by some other da-"

"I really want to. I'm on my way."

And with that, Yoongi bolted out in a hurry to come see you again.

Your ears twitched as you catch a scent, a familiar scent.

 "Good evening head officer Min, please take a sit. Do you want coffee or juice?"

"I wanna see her now."

"Oh, okay sir my bad, this way please."

Yoongi's hands trembled while speed walking behind the personnel, heart beat ever so loud he could almost feel it on his back. You were inside a big white room, sitting tightly at the corner gaze never leaving the floor. The personnel held the door open as he ushered Yoongi inside, he stood frozen at the sight of you. A feeling from the guts once again swirled from within him.

"Okay sir, I'll leave you for a moment now. Please let us know if you get any reaction from her, it'd be of great help."

"A-alright."

The personnel left you two. You knew who this man was, the strange man. The one who pulled you out of that place. Your mind shut down when you got transferred to this white place days ago, afraid or whatever, you wouldn't lift your gaze off the floor, but the moment his scent registered your senses sprung back to system.

"It's me."

You slowly shift your gaze across the floor on his shadow. The personnel was watching you from the glass window of the room, surprised that you seem to respond with the most minute movement of your eyes, he ran to get the resident psychiatrist of the facility.

Yoongi drew closer to you. He lowered himself down trying to catch your gaze but you buried you face in your arms once again. He then sat a few inches from you leaning against the wall.

The personnel together with the psychiatrist hurriedly turned on the monitor and connected the headsets to try and listen as Yoongi conversed with you. Taking notes and carefully watching the scene as this seemed to be of high importance knowing officer Min Yoongi was in a rush, himself.

"Mama-" you whispered. All ears, Yoongi waited for you to continue. "August 19, Elizabeth Cowell."

The prying heads from the monitoring room quickly ran a search from their system and files popped up. This is it.

"And your name?"

You carefully lifted your face, hesitant about meeting his gaze but something in you felt warm with this strange man's presence.

"She's gone."

"Sir! We got something!" the personnel came to fetch Yoongi after half an hour to report the file they've seen, a fresh case.

"Her owner was found dead, 20th of august lying on a couch comfortably. Death was of old age. On the record she had no family, but she had a female hybrid she kept as daughter for 17 years, that wasn’t around on the scene, she must have been kidnapped right then." the personnel eagerly reported. "What was her name?" Yoongi inquired. "Sir, the name is Y/N". "So basically she's an orphan now?" "Yes sir, we'll put her under therapy since it seemed she has been traumatized heavily and then we'll set her for adoption?".

"How long?" "We're not sure sir, but we'll update yo-" "Sir, do you want to take her in?" the psychiatrist finally butted in. "Is that possible?" Yoongi mused.

The personnel's jaw dropped open as Yoongi left the facility with you. He actually made the man pull up the documents, signed, payed everything right then and there. "Do you know what just happened?" the psychiatrist asked the personnel. "No idea, doc." "Page 62 to 67, you should know more about hybrids." the psychiatrist answered passing the personnel a thick book about the subject.

It’s been 3 months since Yoongi took you into his home. Compared to how you were when he visited you at the protection desk, you have progressed a lot. You were supposed to undergo therapy that should take a year at least as the psychiatrist said but seeing you now only proves that Yoongi made the right decision to take you as you were back then. You almost had no voice. You only do as he says, eyes stuck to the ground and ears always pressed on your head. Before taking you in, Yoongi was a solitary man. Being an unwanted child of both rich but clumsy teenage couple who later on decided they don’t want to settle with anybody, more so a baby, he was raised by a maid in a mansion in a very remote place from when he was little. His childhood should have been a difficult phase knowing the boy’s position in life and overflowing curiosity of children his age, except it wasn’t. Yoongi turned out to be a highly introverted child with sharp intuition, he was smart and resourceful thus not actually needing the help of others in solving any question a child could think of on his own. He loved reading. From educational, to literary, politics, everything under the sun, no matter what the text is about, his eyes would easily devour the words forming with every letter that would come across his sight. He loved music just as much, but as the trend suggested a spiraling fall for the essence of new songs, he stopped listening and preserved what he used to adore back in the good old days. Growing up, Yoongi didn’t change much. He socializes barely enough to progress in school, to take a degree, to finally work, and to start standing on his own feet and totally detach from the lifeline of finances from the two names he only had known from his bank account. As to why he took such career path, no one knows, but just one day, he found himself prolonging a finished operation hearing things and searching frantically for the source of a silent voice that no one else could hear. That’s where he found you. You were a victim of serial kidnapping of hybrids that had just reached your town.

Hearing the familiar sound of the engine coming from a distance, you rush from your room down to the front door waiting for a specific vehicle to come into vision and in a minute the car arrives. Only when the car window rolled down and seeing Yoongi wave his hand did you step out and hurriedly open the gate. You waited for him to park thoroughly before closing the gate again and waited back inside the house right behind the door. Yoongi entered the house and stood in front of you eagerly waiting for you to greet him, you silently gasped for air summoning all the courage you got to finally gaze right back at him who readily had a smile waiting across his face. “W-welcome home, Yoongi.” You whispered. “Wow, baby it only took you 3 minutes today! Look!” He enthusiastically showed you the timer on his phone making your lips slightly curve upward. “I-is that.. Could you possibly be smiling now baby?” he tried to lift your chin yearning to see your sweet little face but you jumped at his touch and ran back up to your room with your tail wagging like crazy.

 “Seokjin hyung, there’s no mistake. I have multiple references to confirm this action, hang on let me send you a video of how it looked like.” Seokjin was the resident psychiatrist who permitted Yoongi to take you out of their facility right off the bat. “I see, if that’s what it really is then that’s great! I’m sure you know what it means though, she can now display her excitement and happiness, I wonder what you did to get such a jolt of progress just today.” “Well, I- let’s see. I praised her for breaking a record in meeting gazes, and then I- oh this is the part where she ran away, I tried to touch her face. Sorry.” “No, that’s alright, her ears were alright.. right?” “Yes hyung, it wasn’t pinning down hear head.” “Okay then, glad to hear her progress, I think she’d open up real soon. Please be patient with her officer Min, she’d heal up eventua-“ “Hyung I’m in no rush, she got all the time in the world, no one’s chasing her .” “Good to know.”

After recording Yoongi’s update on his files, a feeling of relief and satisfaction flooded Seokjin’s heart. The psychiatrist not only intended to heal the traumatized you but the almost permanently closed up persona of Yoongi as well. You sure have made an impressive progress, but how far Yoongi have leaped is just unimaginable. Picturing you two from the monitor back then, just one look, and he knew that you both were the key to open each other’s cage.

It’s getting late, the roars aren’t stopping, and this heavy downpour won’t ease up anytime soon. You can’t help yourself but panic because as much as the roar scares you, the knot in your stomach for the missing Yoongi makes you delve in great distress that could almost break you.

“Sir you can’t drive in a storm like this, it’s too dangerous please stay a bit” three lower ranked officers scrambled on their feet to stop Yoongi on his tracks since he’s determined to leave even knowing that the road is far from being friendly for his drive, but as time passes the downpour is just getting worse making him desperate to leave all the more. Yoongi knew how much this phenomenon scares you, he witnessed you three times suffering from the impact of thunderclaps on your ultra-sensitive hearing, rare occasions where you’d disregard everything and run straight in his arms to hide, how he’d have to actually hold to real tight to calm you down. “Look dude, if you’re scared then just stay here. I have important things to tend to and I swear if you stop me this time you’re all gonna regret this. Understand?!” Angry, Yoongi shoved the blocking party out of his way and leaped through the distance to his car in an unbelievable speed. He smashed the car keys and hit the gas before anyone can follow, at this point Yoongi became nothing but a road killer. The slippery road and strong wind had no say from his determination just to reach you as soon as possible.

You were curled up on the floor by the open door, ears pinned down, and tail between your legs. You would have wanted to reach the gate atleast to open it up for Yoongi in case he arrives but the sound of roars behind the doors exceeded your limits and the blinding thunder lines drawn consecutively across the dark sent you shaking that your legs couldn’t bring itself to take another step and instead let you down flopping on the floor. The heavy downpour showed you no mercy as the rain drenched completely in a matter of seconds, suddenly you’re back to that night. Behind your tightly shut eyelids you see the sky lit up much brighter and the loudest roar soon followed completely knocking out your already drifting consciousness.  

You’ve been out cold for half an hour when Yoongi finally arrived. One headlight of the car busted, a huge dent on its side, none of it mattered with what he saw the moment he eyed you by the door. He rushed down from his car and climbed over the gate, even almost stumbling to ground, he needed to reach you. And he did. He carried you in his arms, kicked the door close and sat by the fireplace. Tears are rolling down his cheeks, seeing you like this reminds him of the night he first found you. A heart pounding directly at your ear called forth your consciousness, you opened your eyes and there you were cradled by a strange man. “Y/n, I will not let the roars take you. Soon they might claim me but do not worry. Mama loves you and my only duty in this world is to love you and keep you safe. Until your one true protector comes I will always watch you from where I’ll be even if the roars have taken me.” You hear the words clearly as the memory rolled back in your head. You gazed up to see what the owner of the arms holding you looked like. Tears wouldn’t stop falling from his eyes when they held your gaze firmly. You were both drenched from the rain but the warmth radiating from this man was enough to keep you content and comfortable, you leaned back to his chest to once again to hear the beating of his heart and the comforting rhythm pulled a soft purr out of you “What is your name?” you asked without a sound, “I am Min Yoongi, your protector” he answered in his head. He felt your soft ears rising from under his chin, and your tail delicately curling up around his waist.

Feeling your stable and minute rise and fall on his arms soothed the ravaging worries on Yoongi’s mind. He’s been watching your serene sleeping image in his cradle for who knows how long, he wanted to run his hand through your hair, so he carefully shifted you for better support, his fingers brushed your cheek ever so lightly but still you twitched. There’s a weak electric sensation from where he touched your face waking you up once again, in his arm. You held his hand hung only a few inches from your face, and it was cold. “Sneezes! You’ll get sneezes! We need to change, come on!” Your sudden energy surprised Yoongi the most, with what happened the moment you spoke earlier he knew that things are going to change but this made his heart more complacent. You shuffled from his cradle and pulled his hand as you stood up. Not recognizing where you are, you looked around with slight confusion drawn on your face, seeing this, Yoongi took a step and lead you to your room.

  TBC

#bts #hybrid bts #min yoongi #yoongi #suga #bts scenarios #bts au #bts fanfiction #yoongi au

[wickedsingularity]

Candy Cane [one-shot]

wickedsingularity’s Christmas Stories 2018 Masterlist

Fandom: MCU Pairings/characters: Steve Rogers x reader (but not really), brief cameo from Sam Wilson and his girlfriend Words: 1926 Warnings: Semi-public sex, bit of fingering, penis in vagina, spanking

Prompt/summary: A cold, rainy, windy day is best spent inside under blankets and with a Christmas movie and hot chocolate and candy canes. But Steve is a bit distracted by his girlfriend’s way of eating her candy cane.

Christmas spirit was hard to come by when it was raining cats and dogs and the wind was howling like a million ghouls. But I had to admit, it was very cosy sitting inside all snuggled up in the crook of Steve's arm. Lights were strung up here and there all over the big room, some blinking gently, other casting a warm glow over the decorations. The Christmas tree decorated with multi-coloured lights was reflected in the windows behind the television. And outside those windows were red taillights on the odd car driving by somewhere in the distance, and rows of yellow streetlights, all blurred because of the rain spattering onto the windowpanes.

It was a rare day in the Avengers facility, calm and quiet, smack dab in the middle between Christmas and New Year's. Some people were out doing errands, some were training, and a couple were off on a mission to tie up some loose ends at the end of the year.

Steve and I were all alone in the entire building, and he had first suggested we take a walk, but while the weather had been bright with barely a cloud in the sky, the forecast had said it would be wet and miserable. Instead, we took full advantage of being alone and occupied as much as possible of the comfiest couch, watching an old Christmas movie, one of Steve's favourites. I made us hot chocolate with marshmallows, Steve had brought candy canes and the rest of the Christmas cookies. It was a perfect afternoon.

"You're not paying attention to the movie." Steve's chastising voice brought me out of my holiday daydreaming. I blinked slowly, glancing up at him, the candy cane I'd been sucking on making a smacking sound as I pulled it out of my mouth. Despite the tone of voice, his eyes were playful.

"I'm revelling in the cosiness instead," I explained, popping the candy cane back into my mouth, letting my tongue curl around it, soaking up the flavour. I continued with it sticking out of my mouth. "Besides, we saw it before Christmas too."

He smiled slightly down at me and when I laid my head back on his shoulder, he pressed a kiss to my hair.

We sat in silence for a while. I tried hard to watch more of the movie for Steve's sake, but the heavy raindrops sliding down the windows made the lights outside flicker slightly and drew my attention. I stared dreamily at the colourful reflections, hearing nothing but the pitter patter of the rain, and continued to suck up the candy cane. But after a little while, something poked at my consciousness, and I pulled my mind back to the room.

Steve was staring at me.

I slowly pulled the candy cane from my mouth again, there wasn't much left of it now. "You're not paying attention to the movie," I said playfully, throwing his own words back at him.

"Watching you suck on that thing is turning me on."

I only raised an eyebrow in response.

"You don't even know how fucking indecently you were doing it." He turned slightly in his seat, causing me to sit up. The way he was looking at me sent a thrill running through my body. I looked him straight in the eyes and reached out with my tongue, to swirl it around what was left of the red and white striped cane, letting it slide into my mouth again. The blue of his eyes was almost swallowed by black in an instant and I felt that sweet ache between my thighs. "Careful..." he warned me, and it did nothing but turn me on even more.

"Or what?"

I could almost see the gears shifting in his brain for a split second, before he glanced around the room, then pulled the candy cane from me and threw it across the floor. His lips crashed against mine, hands cradling my face, tongue wrestling with mine. He tasted of chocolate and marshmallows and Christmas and Steve, and I moaned into his mouth. If I could taste nothing else for the rest of my life, I would be happy.

My moan seemed to spur him on and he ran his hands into my hair, pulling gently on the strands between his fingers, but I pulled away.

"What?" he protested, voice already a bit gravelly.

I answered by rising up on my knees and moving to straddle him, my Santa patterned pyjama skirt riding up a bit. I laid my hands on his chest, slid them slowly up and around his neck. Steve looked into my eyes the entire time, seeming almost enthralled when I leaned down to press my lips against his and finally sat down on his lap, feeling him half-hard against my core already.

Steve's arms wound around my waist, pressing me to him, as I opened up to him, savouring the Christmas on his tongue. I ground my hips down on his clothed cock, earning a groan from him that set the fire he had lit ablaze inside me. My nails scratched lightly along the hairline on his neck, our lips melded against each other. His hands slid down my thighs and then up again, my pyjama skirt sliding up even more. Then they moved to my ass, squeezing lightly and making me hum into him, before sneaking up under my t-shirt his hands so warm against my lower back.

"Want you, doll," Steve murmured against my lips.

I broke the kiss and leaned my forehead against his, breathing heavily. "I can tell." I deliberately pushed my hips down and slid my core over his hard length. I hoped he could feel how wet I was, even though there were too many clothes in the way. "Want you too. Now."

Steve looked up at me, a little bit of hesitation in his eyes. "Now? Here?"

I nodded and moved back a bit, giving me room to untie the string on his sweatpants and put a hand down there to squeeze his length, hot and hard.

The super soldier groaned and threw his head back.

"How convenient that you're not wearing underwear," I commented, pulling down his pants a little to reveal the tip of his cock.

"Saves precious time when I want to fuck you."

I rolled my thumb over the tip and Steve cursed. "I knew you were smart, Captain."

"Stop teasing, sweetheart." There was a warning note in his voice that did nothing but soak my panties. "We need to be quick before someone comes back."

I pulled the waistband of his pants down and he lifted his hips and helped slide it off just enough to completely free his cock. Then he lifted my skirt a bit and slipped two fingers inside my panties, pressing right down on my clit and making me fall against him in surprise. I caught myself on the back of the couch while he snickered.

"Just get inside me, dammit."

Those two fingers pulled my panties aside and he held his cock with his other hand. I slowly lowered myself and he slid it through my folds, getting it nice and slick, before aiming at my entrance. When I felt the warm tip press against me, I sat down, fully enveloping him in one stroke, both moaning at the sensation.

Steve laid his hands on my hips and signalled for me to move, and I didn't need to be asked twice. Arms around his neck, eyes locked on his dark blue ones, I moved. Pulling up and pushing back down, getting him as deep as I could, feeling every inch of him filling me again and again. Our moans and groans mingled with the audio from the Christmas movie. In the corner of my eye, I saw the merry lights on the Christmas tree. Anyone could walk in on us at any moment. All of it made it that much hotter.

"Fuck, doll..." Steve groaned. "Taking my cock so well."

"Feel so good, Captain. Feel so good." I started moving faster, bouncing on his cock, a wet smacking sound every time our hips met. My back arched, his hands on my hips kept me from toppling backwards. "Make me come, Steve. Please, make me come."

His grip tightened and he began guiding me, harder and faster. It felt like he got even deeper. My hands grabbed the back of the couch until my knuckles turned white as he helped me ride him. The coil was tightening in my stomach, but it needed more.

"Steve... Please..." I begged near his ear.

He gave my ass a hard smack and I made a sound of surprise, faltering for a bit as the pain shot straight to my core, squeezing his cock in delight.

"Damn, doll..."

Two more, quick and hard. The sting of them added to the pleasure, and I whined. The fourth one made the coil snap, a drawn-out moan filling the room, my entire body shaking in Steve's hands. He snapped his hips into mine now, holding me still, chasing his own release and drawing out mine. Only a few moments later and he groaned and pulled me to him, holding me tight as he spilt everything in me. I made sure to squeeze and grind, milking every little drop from him.

We stayed connected, coming down from our highs, arms around each other. I slowly moved my hips, drawing out the pleasure for both of us.

"If you keep doing that, you're going to make me hard again," Steve spoke against my shoulder.

"Oh no..." I said, voice dripping with sarcasm. But I did stop moving. Revelling in the feeling of him still inside and around me, the peace I always felt after he made me come falling over me.

But suddenly there was the sound of footsteps downstairs.

Adrenaline shot through me and we scrambled apart. I stood up on slightly shaky legs and righted my underwear, straightening out my skirt. The Santa-drawings seemed to stare at me in disapproval. Steve packed himself away, pulling up his sweatpants and tried to tie the string again, but his fingers shook too much. He pulled his t-shirt down as far as it could go instead and ran his hands through his hair. I found my seat next to him and pulled the blanket back over us. I felt Steve threaten to spill out and I squeezed hard, just imagining everyone's face if I stood up and revealed a wet spot on the couch.

Just as the footsteps reached the top of the stairs, Steve grabbed his mug of hot chocolate and I grabbed a cookie, eyes on the movie but not really seeing it.

"Oh, hey guys! We thought no one was in."

Steve and I looked over the back of the couch, seeing Sam with an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. "I didn't want to go out in that weather," I explained. "So, movie."

Sam and his girl were giving us a strange look. "Uh-huh."

"But I'm feeling a bit sleepy," I said, looking at Steve, his face was tomato red. "I'm going to go lie down."

Realisation lit up his eyes. "Oh, nap, yes. That sounds good." He grabbed the remote and turned off the movie. Trying not to look too guilty, we headed out, me trying my best to hold onto what Steve left inside me.

Right before the door closed, we heard Sam's girlfriend: "Why's there a half-eaten candy cane under the TV-stand?"

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