#( ░ ❛ in the light of the moon the wolves will always call you back ❪ ch. study ❫

[deadghosy]

Mattheo, Theodore, Lorenzo x male reader (Group/poly)

Where they’re werewolves? — super protective & scenting their mate all the time

WEREWOLF! MATTHEO, THEODORE & LORENZO X MALE! READER

You didn’t know how this happened. All you did was be yourself around your housemates in Slytherin. Not knowing 3 of them were werewolves, and now. You’re their mate. Their scent all over you, always are around you. They look like bodyguards as mattheo and Theodore are by your side while as Lorenzo is behind you when walking to class or anywhere.

Some might say you are very protected, which is true. Your boys love you well to the point they get kinda aggressive when they deem someone as a threat to the relationship the four of you have. Mattheo almost got a boy into a coma, all because the student didn’t “back off”. Theodore goes with verbal abuse and confrontation. He knows how to scare people away. And then there’s Lorenzo who’s a devil in disguise. Doing small little curses at the person. Making them go crazy.

Sometimes you can’t even catch your own breath around those 3. When relaxing in the common room, mattheo is on your left, Theodore is on your right, and Lorenzo is just sitting in front of your legs and in between them. His head leaning back so you could scratch his scalp. The boys are always begging for you to scratch their scalp. The way you do it just makes them wanna claim you all over again.

When you scratch mattheo, his head is all in your neck. Pressing soft kisses, he’ll even do small nips at it as he rubs your hips. For when you scratch Theodore, his tall body is leaning down on you. Making you having to lay on something as Theodore is literally rubbing his face in your neck. Masking his scent again on you over, and over. Lorenzo is slightly tamed as he just smile while giving your wrist soft kisses. Your boys love you very well.

Sometimes you play little jokes on them. Mattheo would try to find you when you had sprayed your fragrance you use a lot on a hoodie so you can trick the riddle werewolf that you were in your room. When really you were outside in the yard. Mattheo found you an hour later and was absolutely touch starved. Immediately hugging you and kissing your face with those beautiful eyes of his tracking your whole body to make sure you were okay.

Lorenzo is practically the most softest of them all. He’s the one who follows you the most. Rubbing your stomach when lying down together, holding your hands.

And when the full moon hits. They can’t help but transform into their wolves and lick your hands and face. Their licks to your face is basically kisses as they try to speak only to growl in admiration at how you aren’t scared of them. Mattheo is a dark wolf, Theodore is a mixture of light brown and brown fur, and Lorenzo is just a bright brown color. So you’re lucky to know which one is which.

Right as of now, you are in what muggles call a dog pile. Lorenzo is on your stomach, mattheo is on your right, and Theodore is on your left. Cuddling you with their body heat as the slight broken heater in your room was heating it up against the cold night. Lorenzo was half asleep as he just cuddled deeper against your belly. Sometimes Lorenzo had “urges” deeper than the other boys surprisingly. Mattheo was playing with your fingers as Theodore was playing with your hair. “Darling..when is the next moon?” Lorenzo asks, his voice a little husky from drowsiness. You took a deep breath in and look over at the calendar.

“Oh my…it’s tonight…” you say, sitting up a little as your boys groaned annoyed. They hated turning into wolves. More or so reasons because they can’t hold you properly or ki ss you properly. They find it mostly annoying how you baby them when they pamper you so much in their regular form.

“I hate it..” Lorenzo said. Nuzzling his messy bed hair against your stomach before pouting up at you. “I know dear.” You said with a soft voice. You started to scratch his scalp, making him let out a sigh of relief. Your two boys only relaxed in your presence. Minutes passed and they could feel themselves wanting to transform.

“Can I kiss you before we transform?”

“Could I still lay on you??”

“Can I hug you right now?”

Questions were just thrown out in the air. You weren’t overwhelmed of course, just thrown off at how quick your boys wanted you before they transformed. You kissed mattheo gently, you let Theodore hug you. His dark wood scent clinging into you. And you nodded yes to Lorenzo who smiled still. Just happy to stay lay on you. Again, a few minutes pass and mattheo is the first one to transform. His dark black fur covering your eyes of Theodore and Lorenzo following suit. Now you felt a wolf’s nose on your stomach. Whimpering as Theodore and mattheo just snuggle into your arms.

“Awww Lorenzo..it’s just for tonight love.” You say that but the poor werewolf has his ears pushed back. It seems mattheo is laughing at the other werewolf. Because Theodore then smacks the dark wolf with his paw. Making mattheo growl a little. “Hey! No fighting on my bed you gits.” You give them a pointed look. Making your three boys nuzzle against you.

They licked your face, making you giggle. Your giggle made it even more known at how sweet and apiece you were and are to them.

They are your boys.

[maybe-im-dark]

Nocturnal

Wade burst through the door of their shared apartment, his usual swagger in full swing as he tossed his gear onto the floor. It had been a long day—bullets, blood, and chimichangas—but now, all he wanted was to kick back, harass Logan a bit, and maybe catch some terrible late-night TV with Blind Al. He flicked on the lights, ready to call out, but the words died in his throat the moment his gaze landed on Logan.

Logan was sitting on the couch, completely still, and for a brief second, Wade saw it—Logan's eyes flashed bright yellow, like the eyes of a predator caught in the light. Wade stumbled back, genuinely startled for once, heart pounding against his ribs.

"Holy chimichangas! What the fuck was that?!" Wade blurted out, one had instinctively reach for the katanas on his back.

Logan growled low in his throat, the sound almost vibrating in the dim room, and rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “My eyes.”

Wade blinked, taking in the sight of Logan sprawled out on the couch, looking more annoyed than usual. “Have you been sitting here in the dark the whole time? How do you see anything? That’s like, serial killer behavior, dude.”

Logan leaned back against the cushions, unbothered by Wade’s theatrics. “I see just fine. Don’t know why you felt the need to brighten the whole goddamn room.”

Wade paused, narrowing his eyes, studying Logan in the harsh light. “Wait… You’ve got, like, the whole tapetum lucidum thing going on, don’t you?”

Logan’s brow furrowed, the irritation clear in his voice. “The hell are you talking about now?”

Wade waved his hands excitedly, pacing back and forth, the pieces falling into place with every step. “You know, the tapetum lucidum! It’s that reflective layer in the eyes that gives animals night vision! Like cats and wolves and shit. It makes their eyes glow when light hits them. That’s why yours lit up just now. That’s why you’re always lurking around in the dark like Batman on a bad day!”

Logan sighed, rubbing his temples as if Wade’s voice physically pained him. “Yeah, well. Maybe I see better at night. What’s it to you?”

Wade’s face lit up, his excitement bubbling over as he dropped down onto the couch beside Logan, way too close, practically vibrating with energy. “Dude, this is amazing! You’re like… an actual nocturnal predator! That explains so much. No wonder you’re always pacing around at night, growling and glaring at the moon or whatever it is you do when I’m not around. You’re a damn apex predator who can’t sit still when it’s dark out!”

Logan rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smirk tugging at his lips. “You just figuring this out now?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Wade demanded, leaning in closer, eyes wide with fascination. “I mean, this is important roommate information! Like, what if you decided to go full feral one night and chew on my leg or something? Shouldn’t I be warned about these things?”

Logan’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had someone chewing on you.”

Wade blinked, and then burst into laughter, loud and unrestrained. “You know what? Fair point, fair point. But seriously, does this mean you, like, prefer to hunt in the moonlight? Are you secretly prowling around rooftops while I’m snoring my ass off?”

Shaking his head, Logan settled back into the couch with a sigh. “I don’t hunt. Not anymore. But yeah, I can see just fine in the dark. And if I’m up late, it’s ’cause my body doesn’t care much for sleep. Comes with the territory.”

Wade’s usual banter fell silent for a moment, his expression softening as he watched Logan. For once, his voice dropped, more genuine than Logan had ever heard him. “You know, Logan, there’s nothing wrong with being what you are.”

Logan glanced over, caught off guard by the sincerity in Wade’s tone. He wasn’t used to this—wasn’t used to anyone looking at him like he wasn’t just a weapon, wasn’t just some feral beast waiting to be unleashed. “Maybe,” Logan muttered, looking away, a flicker of vulnerability showing through.

But Wade, being Wade, wasn’t about to let the moment stay heavy for long. His grin returned, wide and unapologetic. “Well, if you ever feel the urge to go hunting, just give me a heads-up. I’ll make sure to stay out of your way. Or… maybe I’ll join you. I’m pretty good at prowling around at night too, you know.”

Logan snorted, shaking his head. “You’d scare off everything within a mile radius, Wade.”

“And yet, here you are,” Wade pointed out with a smirk. “Still haven’t managed to get rid of me.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and genuine, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

They sat there in a comfortable silence, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. Wade, ever the troublemaker, leaned in, whispering with a conspiratorial tone. “Just so you know, if you ever want to glow at me again, I’m totally into it.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but the faint smile stayed, lingering at the corners of his mouth. “Idiot.”

And for once, Logan felt like maybe, just maybe, there was someone who understood—someone who saw the animal in him and wasn’t afraid.

[lovelyjuju]

𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 - 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐤𝐢

werewolf!taki x fem!reader

genre: supernatural au, love at first sight (for taki), strangers to ??, some fluff & some angst

warnings: mentions of blood/injuries, contains vampires, switches between reader's pov and taki's pov sometimes

word count: 5.1k

a/n: this is very inspired by &team's webtoon, because this was the easiest way for me to write it. i've never written "supernatural" before and i think it really shows, i honestly don't like how this turned out lol

this was requested here, tysm for your request, anon! <3

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

the cool night wind was blowing against your cheeks, causing you to shiver slightly, as you pushed your hands even further inside the pockets of your coat. your steps felt heavier than usual, given the small layer of snow that covered the forest ground.

you mentally cursed your brother for refusing to leave from that goddamned party, making a fuss over it that ended in you leaving on your own before the two of you made fools of yourselves in front of the other people. your own hometown wasn't far, but there were only two ways to reach it: the barely lit highway, where walking would equal signing a death contract, or through the forest that seperated the two towns.

you weren't scared in particular, knowing the paths like the back of your hand from the countless of hours you'd spent in the woods during your childhood, playing catch or hide and seek with your brother, or climbing the trees to heights that would have sent your parents into a coma if they'd known. yet, despite the familiarity of your surroundings and the full moon that illuminated them more than any other night would have, there was just something about wandering alone through a forest at night that felt unsettling.

but you'd be home soon, only a few more steps until–

you stopped, squinting your eyes slightly, not quite sure where the dark spots in front of your feet were coming from. your gaze scanned the ground until it fell on a trace of more marks. you took out your phone and opened the flashlight, only able to catch a glimpse of their deep red colour before the light died down again.

your phone running out of battery seemed like a smaller problem, compared to the realization that hit you when your mind started racing until it had made sense of the red stains. they were drops. blood.

you tried to keep your breath steady, although your heart doubled its pace, at least. it was no secret that wolves roamed the forest, and from what you'd heard all your life, they were ruthless creatures – always poised to strike, always ready to take down their prey. but what if, this time, their victim hadn’t been an animal but a person? what if someone was lying just a few feet away, possibly still breathing, possibly in need?

you shouldn’t. not when you were alone. not when you had no way to call for help, too far from either town divided by the forest for potential cries to reach anyone. but against your better judgement, you followed the trail of blood, holding your breath and tightening your grip around your dead phone.

the further you walked, the bigger the stains became. your eyes were fixated on the floor, eagerly following the path, until a faint sound yanked your head up. it had sounded almost like... a whimper? your feet picked up the pace, almost running, hearing the same sound becoming clearer, closer, until you finally found the source of it.

your eyes widened again, an uncomfortable shiver running down your spine. you felt your stomach sink, and your insides felt like they'd turned upside down.

this couldn't be possible. you could have almost sworn your mind had played a trick on you – that there was no way that a wolf was not the perpetrator, but the victim of an attack – had it not been for another whimper that came from the wounded animal in front of you.

it sounded almost desperate, like a futile cry for help, and for some reason, it tugged at your heart. you hadn't grown up to feel sympathy for wolves, but you weren't heartless either. yet, you hesitated. your parents had warned you time and again about wolves.

almost out of reflex, you took a step back, flinching at the sound of wood cracking underneath your boot. fuck. you held your breath as the animal in front of you lifted its head just slightly, turned it in your direction, and looked you right in the eye. another cold shiver ran down your spine and you stood rooted in place although all your instincts told you to run away. you'd never be able to outrun a wolf, but you had a chance with a wounded one, no?

you mentally prepared yourself for the worst, yet, you didn't move. had you not been shaken with fear, it might have been almost comical how paradoxically beatiful the wolf's amber eyes looked under the moonlight. they were anything but threatening; instead, they held a sense of vulnerability, despair – and something else you couldn’t quite identify. fear, maybe.

without another thought, you took a few steps toward the animal. at first, it seemed to try to get up and move away, but it was too weak to manage. standing directly in front of it, you could finally see the source of the blood: a large wound on its side, still bleeding slightly.

after a brief hesitation, you slipped off your scarf and pressed it against the wound, gently at first, then with more pressure. you knew it was irrational, dangerous – maybe even downright stupid. but something about the creature before you broke your heart, and you realized you had no other way to help. running back to either town wasn’t an option; just picturing the townspeople’s faces if you asked them to help a wounded wolf was enough to tell you it was useless.

taki's pov: the sound of wood cracking caused taki to open his eyes. had he already found him? or had nicholas and euijoo heard his pathetic attempts to call for them? no – the strong scent of his blood would give him away before any howls would even leave his throat. when he caught sight of you, the moonlight illuminating your soft features beatifully, reflecting almost magically in your slightly widened eyes, the entire world seemed to shift. in an instant, his breath caught, his heart quickened, and a warmth spread through him despite the icy cold of the blood-stained snow underneath him. it felt like destiny had taken his hand, leading him to a place he'd always been meant to find. of course, he thought. the moon was full tonight. taki should have felt terrified. he knew the perception humans had on wolves. giri had always taught him to be careful – to stay away. he'd expected you to run away, not to approach him. certainly not to help him. he had tried to run away, but his body didn't allow him to even stand up yet. he knew he'd heal soon, but the cut was still too deep. when he looked at you, he saw the fear. you were scared, yet you took off your scarf, even with almost no hesitation at all. your hands were shaking despite the warm coat you were wearing, as you softly pressed the scarf to his wound. he hated that his mere existence scared you, but could he blame you? you'd probably grown up around here – that was the only explanation as to why you were here at this hour, alone, on top of that. growing up in the towns around the forest meant growing up to fear, to hate, wolves. he felt the tremble in your hands ease as he stayed still. he even stopped calling for the others, willing to do anything not to scare you more. but the silence only lasted for what felt like the blink of an eye. he sensed the smell even before the soft rustling of the nearby bushes made you flinch. he had come back – probably to finish what he'd started.

the rustling of the bushes drew your attention away from the wounded animal. a chill prickled down your spine as you remembered – something had caused that deep cut in the first place. and if that something could injure a creature this powerful, what might it do to a human?

you scanned your surroundings. at first, you thought his pack might have found him, but the shadow that the moonlight casted over the snow looked suspiciously human.

the shadow shifted until the man stepped into view. the animal beside you stirred, rising quickly despite its bleeding wound. you couldn’t quite read its expression, but the abrupt movement held a hint of alarm – as if the man himself were responsible for the injury. but that couldn't be. no human could inflict such a deep wound with bare hands, and he carried no visible weapon.

or had you missed something?

your gaze scanned over him once more, and in an instant, your blood ran cold.

a trickle of red dripped from the corner of his mouth, sliding down his chin.

it felt as though the air had been knocked from your lungs as you watched him lick his lips. a sharp fang glinted back at you.

what in the world?

you froze, caught between shock and disbelief. vampires? you had never believed in neither them, nor the tails that had been passed down through generations in your town. this had to be a dream.

there was no time to decide whether to stay shielded behind the wolf, who had somehow pushed itself in front of you, almost protectively – or to bolt.

the man took a slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight with an unsettling intensity. the wolf beside you let out a low growl, a sound that seemed torn between fear and defiance. you could almost feel its tension, muscles coiled and ready, yet it stayed rooted to your side as though bound to protect you, even in its weakened state.

you stood there, frozen, your mind reeling with shock and fear, but you knew the wolf wouldn't be able to fight alone. and for some reason, you refused to run off while you still could.

you didn't know what to do, just that you had to do something. your mind was racing, yet there was no time to think.

with a snarl, the wolf lunged at the vampire, managing to swipe its claws across the man's cheek. he hissed, stumbling back, crimson trickling from the fresh gash. in that split second, you seized the chance, grabbing hold of the animal's fur and half-dragging, half-guiding it backward.

the cave, you thought. it had taken you almost a year of playing hide and seek with your brother to find it, but from then on, you'd always hidden there and he'd never found you. you knew how to find it by heart.

“this way,” you whispered, although you knew the animal wouldn't understand you. you broke into a mixture of stumbling, running, and darting through the underbrush. every few steps, the wolf glanced back, teeth bared, ready to fend off your pursuer, but each time you pulled it along, urging to keep moving.

“just a bit further, ” you murmured, more to yourself than to the wolf. its breathing was labored, but it pressed on, muscles taut as it maneuvered alongside you. behind, the vampire’s movements grew louder, branches snapping and snow crunching underfoot.

you finally reach the spot, the small entrance partially hidden by bare trees. you pushed the animal forward, urging it through the entrance before ducking in after, crouching low and pulling a few branches over the entrance as quietly as you could manage.

you sat there in silence, the only sounds your ragged breathing. you could feel the animal trembling against your own shaking body, its breaths shallow and quick. without thinking, you reached out, gently placing a hand on its side and feeling the damp warmth of its blood through its fur.

your scarf must have fallen off somewhere and you were just praying it didn't give away your location anyhow. with that thought, the reality of your escape hit you like a wave – you had only barely gotten away.

a few deep breaths later, exhaustion began to settle in. you fought to stay awake, determined not to give in – you couldn’t afford to fall asleep out here in the woods during winter, not with a wolf at your side and a creature, once only a tale, lurking somewhere nearby.

but as the cold seeped beneath your coat, despite the cave offering shelter from the stronger winds outside, your eyes fluttered shut repeatedly, until exhaustion finally took over and sleep gently pulled you in.

a faint howl stirred you from sleep. you slowly opened your eyes, blinking away the haze, and pulled your legs closer to your chest, trying to warm your body that felt frozen to the core.

flashbacks from the night before crashed over you as another howl rang out – closer and louder than the first. this time, it came from right beside you, where the wolf you’d fled with only hours ago lay in the same spot. its wound had dried, looking far less severe than before.

another distant howl called out, answered quickly by the one next to you. they were calling each other. you needed to leave. this wolf had been too weak to attack, but who knew what a whole pack might do?

just as you began to move, the branches you’d used to cover the entrance shifted, and three other wolves stepped into view – each larger than the one beside you.

fuck.

the closer they came, the more you tried to edge away, but they halted when they reached the injured one, nudging it to its feet. with a last, lingering glance in your direction, the four of them turned and disappeared, leaving you alone, trembling – not only from the cold but from the shock and confusion of everything that had happened in the past hours.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

even days later, you could still not comprehend any of that night's happenings. you were dying to talk to someone, but who would believe you? you’d run off with a wolf who’d saved you from a vampire? it sounded like the textbook definition of insanity.

realizing you’d have to handle this on your own, you decided the best course was to forget about it entirely. so, you turned to the one distraction sure to keep your mind off things – working extra hours at your barista job, which you hated enough to guarantee you’d be thinking about anything other than that bizarre encounter.

you had lost count of how many times you'd greeted the familiar customers with a kind "the usual?" or how many times you'd engaged in the same small-talk, when customers finally stopped coming in for a while. you quickly left your spot behind the counter to tidy and wipe the tables, when the ring on top of the door signaled another customer.

"i'll be there in a second," you said without looking up from the table you were just cleaning. you quickly rushed back to the counter, placed the cups you had collected to the side and looked up with the usual, practiced smile.

"hi, sorry, i'm–" you stopped, eyeing the four unfamiliar guys in front of you for a second, before snapping back to reality, "i'm all yours now."

you took their orders, doing your best to cover up your earlier slip. it wasn’t common for out-of-towners to show up here, and you’d never seen any of these guys around before.

your breath caught when you looked at the last one. his amber eyes seemed so familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you’d seen them. you furrowed your brows, mind racing until it landed on the pair of eyes that had met yours in the forest just days ago. you quickly shook your head, willing away the memory of the wolf. you could’ve sworn their eyes had the exact same spark, but the ones in front of you clearly belonged to a human.

yet, you couldn't tear your eyes away from his. you didn't know how much time had passed when the gentle clearing of his throat snapped you out of your thoughts.

"i– sorry, what was that?" you awkwardly asked for his order again, gesturing them to wait at a nearby table until their drinks were ready.

as they left the counter, you exhaled sharply, forcing yourself not to glance back at the four of them. you really needed to forget this whole thing before your mind started playing even more tricks on you.

yet, you couldn't help but glance at the amber-eyed boy while you prepared their drinks – and each time you turned to look at him, you found his eyes already on you before he quickly looked the other way.

you placed their mugs on the tray once they were ready and took a deep breath before heading to their table. you didn’t even know why your hands were shaking just a little, but you cursed yourself for struggling to balance the tray – even after all the time you’d spent working here.

taki's pov: when you reached their table and set their drinks down, taki really tried to not look at you another time, but he just couldn't help it. your eyes caught his yet another time and, god, it was so hard to look away. time seemed to slow down, the world around him seemed to come to a halt – until he felt euijoo's foot gently kicking against his knee, causing him to flinch and tear his eyes away from yours.

he forced himself to keep his eyes on his mug when you walked away after almost whispering a silent 'enjoy'.

when you were out of earshot, euijoo shot taki a stern look. "stop being weird, taki. i know she’s the–"

"not now, euijoo," giri interrupted, his tone sharp and leaving no room for argument. he glanced around to make sure no one had overheard even a fragment of their conversation.

the table fell silent except for the soft clinking of mugs being lifted and set down, and taki kept his eyes fixed on the tabletop. he knew he couldn’t take any risks, especially after you’d looked at him like you almost recognized him – but there was no real way you’d understand.

once they left the café, following giri through the forest to a quiet hill they always went to when they needed to talk in peace, taki felt three pairs of eyes on him. just as he was about to speak, giri cut him off. "you can’t go back there, taki, do you understand?"

when taki stayed silent, eyes on the ground, nicholas spoke up.

"look, i know she helped you and all, but it’s too risky – for us and for her. you’ll forget about it, and she will too, eventually."

taki bit his lip, knowing nicholas was wrong but unwilling to argue.

"he won’t forget," giri corrected. euijoo and nicholas shot him puzzled looks. "it was a full moon when they met," he added.

he didn’t need to explain for them to understand, didn’t need to say the words we fall in love with the first person we see on a full moon night, bound to love them for the rest of our lives.

giri turned to taki again, his voice hardening. "can i trust you that you won’t go back? you won’t search for her, and you won’t forget what’s at stake if you do." giri's eyes narrowed, a rare flicker of fear surfacing. "if you care for her, you’ll stay away – for her sake as much as ours."

taki gulped down the lump that had formed in his throat at giri's words, but he nodded his head, unable to protest.

yet despite everything, taki found himself drawn back to the café. no amount of warnings from giri or silent judgment from nicholas could seem to break the pull he felt. it had only been days since he’d seen you in the forest, days that felt like eternities. each time he left the woods, he told himself it would be the last. yet he would find himself standing outside, hesitant and hopeful.

it became a habit. once, twice, then almost daily, he’d come to the café, knowing he risked too much and cared too little. at first, he stood in distance, waiting to catch just a glimpse of you when you closed the store at night. then, he found excuses to be away during the day, finally working up the courage to not just watch from afar. he tried to be discreet, ordering something small and sipping slowly to avoid suspicion, but it quickly became clear that something about his presence unsettled you too. still, he couldn’t resist.

your face would light up each time you caught him glancing your way, and his cautious heart felt its walls crumble each time you smiled. each day, he grew a little bolder, staying a little longer, exchanging a few more words, as if to anchor himself to the warmth of your world.

"back again?" you asked one day, your eyes warm but playful as you set down a cup of tea.

taki managed a half-smile, shrugging in what he hoped was a casual manner. "guess the coffee's better here than anywhere else," he joked.

"or maybe you just like the company," you teased, daring him with a soft smile. your eyes sparkled with something curious, something that made his heart race, and he couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh.

“maybe,” he said, meeting your gaze head-on for once, feeling his pulse quicken at the sight of your grin.

soon, your moments grew longer, richer, and neither of you made any real effort to hide how much you enjoyed each other’s company. you’d sit across from him on your breaks, filling the quiet with stories about your hometown and the strange little quirks of the café. he found himself smiling more, laughing at your jokes, losing track of time as you two talked about everything and nothing at all.

"it’s strange," you admitted one day, swirling your coffee and glancing at him over the rim of your cup. "it feels like i’ve known you forever.”

taki felt his heart skip, and he glanced down at his own mug, gripping it tightly. "i know what you mean," he murmured, unable to look at you without risking giving away everything he felt.

he felt like he was walking on thin ice, balancing between the safety of his world and the irresistible warmth of yours. the weight of giri’s warning hung heavy on his shoulders, yet the longer he spent with you, the more he felt pulled towards you.

as the days passed, you found yourself looking forward to taki’s visits more than you cared to admit. something about him – his quietness, the mystery in his eyes, the way he seemed a little more at ease with each visit – felt like an invitation you couldn’t resist accepting.

you'd steal glances at him whenever you thought he wasn’t looking, catching the subtle softness in his expression as he watched you move around the café. the comfort in his gaze had a way of making you feel like the only person in the room, as if his whole world condensed in the moments you shared over coffee and quiet conversation.

sometimes, you’d find yourself sharing things you'd never shared with anyone else – except for what had happened that one night, but that had by now moved to the back of your mind. taki listened as if each word you spoke were precious, his eyes brightening when you laughed, his face softening when you spoke of something that saddened you. he gave you the gift of being truly seen, of feeling understood in a way that felt as natural as breathing.

but soon, something else crept in – a feeling you couldn’t quite name. at first, it was subtle, barely more than an odd sense of being watched whenever you’d lock up the café at night or turn a corner in town. you’d catch a glimpse of a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye, only to turn and find nothing. your stomach would twist, a chill prickling your skin, but you’d shrug it off as your nerves.

then, one night as you closed up, you caught sight of a figure across the street, half-hidden in the shadows. they seemed to be watching, their stillness almost unnatural. your heart thundered in your chest, your instincts screaming to turn away, but your feet stayed rooted to the spot, your gaze locked onto the figure’s unmoving form. you waited, holding your breath, until the streetlight flickered and the figure vanished into the darkness.

the next day, you finally shared your unease with taki, hoping he might reassure you. but instead, a shadow crossed his face, his jaw tightening as he listened. he said little, just that he’d “keep an eye out,” though you noticed the tension that now lingered in his shoulders, the way his gaze darted over his shoulder whenever he left.

it didn’t take long for you to put the pieces together – the unease you felt, the strangers who seemed to lurk in the periphery of your vision, and taki’s quiet, watchful presence. you didn’t know what he was hiding, but you sensed the fear he tried to conceal, the way his gaze softened with regret whenever he looked at you.

"let me walk you home," he offered the next night after you closed the café. normally, you would have declined, but you had to admit there was a certain comfort in not being alone.

as soon as you stepped outside, that familiar unease crept in, your fingers trembling slightly as you locked the door and slipped the keys into your bag.

taki's hand, slightly larger than yours, reached over, giving yours a gentle squeeze – a wordless reassurance – before letting go.

a cold breeze cut through you, and you instinctively turned toward taki, who had gone still, his jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with an intensity you hadn’t seen before.

before you could speak, your breath caught as you noticed the familiar, imposing silhouette just a few feet away.

taki didn’t need to look back to know. the scent alone was enough. he turned, stepping protectively in front of you, his entire posture tense.

your knees wobbled as the figure approached, his movements eerily swift. then you saw them – red eyes. fangs. you felt like you’d been flung back in time, to that night in the woods, the wolf between you and the vampire.

"taki," you whispered, unsure of what to say. but taki didn’t break his gaze from the figure in front of him.

"close your eyes," he commanded, his voice strained, urgent. he glanced back at you for a split second, his amber eyes meeting yours. "trust me. just…close your eyes for a moment," he urged, trying to sound calm despite the tension.

you hesitated, but complied, closing your eyes. when you heard a sharp howl echo through the night, you opened them – and found taki gone.

it felt like a sick twist of fate, like déjà vu, as the same wolf from the woods now stood before you. the realization hit you with full force when it turned and you saw those same amber eyes that had just met yours moments before.

could it be that…

you didn’t have time to finish the thought, when three more wolves burst from the shadows. you were sure you recognized these wolves from that other night in the woods. your mind started racing. if there was a chance that the wolf in front of you was really taki, then... these three would be the guys you'd first seen him at the café with?

your heart raced as you watched them work together, swift and lethal. flashes of fur, the gleam of teeth, and the muted growls filled the air as they closed in, forcing the vampire back until it disappeared into the shadows.

you stood there, frozen, heart pounding, trying to process what you had just seen. your gaze dropped to the ground, unfocused, as your mind raced to piece everything together.

you flinched when you felt a sudden, yet soft touch on your arm.

you hadn’t even noticed that that the wolves were gone. that taki stood close beside you again, a few scratches across his face. you looked up, your breath catching as your eyes met his – those same amber eyes you’d seen so many times before, only now, there was no doubt.

you could only stare at him, your mind reeling. you remembered that night in the snow, the warmth of his eyes when he’d looked at you. you'd had no idea, but somehow, part of you had always known.

"i’m the one you saved, y/n," he said softly, as if to reassure your thoughts. his voice was warm, familiar.

you searched his gaze. “you’re...a werewolf? so they really do exist,” you managed, still trying to wrap your head around it all. there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, but then his expression grew serious.

“giri said it’d be best if i kept my distance. safer for you,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “but i couldn’t...stay away.” he paused, his gaze dropping. “i’m so sorry i got you involved in all of this." his voice trailed off towards the end.

for a moment, you just looked at him, letting his words sink in. his gaze was steady, though there was a flicker of vulnerability there that made your chest ache.

“taki,” you said softly, stepping closer. “i’m glad you didn’t stay away.” he looked up at you, a hint of surprise crossing his face. “i mean it. i love spending time with you, i told you things i've never told anyone else, i feel safe when i’m with you. even after – especially after tonight.”

a gentle smile softened his expression, the tension leaving his shoulders. “then i promise,” he murmured, his voice warm, “i’ll always protect you.”

you felt a warmth bloom in your chest, a feeling of quiet assurance that you hadn’t realized you’d been looking for. you nodded, smiling back at him.

the night air felt a little warmer with him beside you, and as he reached for your hand, you let him take it, feeling the comforting weight of his touch.

“come on,” he said, his voice lighter now. “let me walk you home for real now.”

© lovelyjuju (2024)

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[luveline]

Not sure if I’m doing this right because I’ve never really taken part in one of these but please can I request something for zombie Steve and reader with the below prompt:

𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐨𝐤 —send me a hurt/comfort request for any reader and any character and I'll write a ficlet, 2k or less

Maybe like, some time shortly after they started to become romantically involved or after he first calls her his gf, and Steve has a bad day and is a little short with reader and she’s worrying he’s regretting crossing that line with her but then he reassures her he’s not regretting it.

Sorry if I’m doing this wrong and no worries if you don’t like it, I just seriously love zombie Steve, especially when he’s a lil grumpy grump but always wants to make up for it afterwards 🥰

luveline's 40k party ☆ thank you for your request, you did it perfect don't worry! steve zombie!au —steve gets stressed when food is in short supply, but he cares about you more than you think. fem!reader, 2.5k

cw starving / food insecurity

"I don't think we can make it another day if we don't find something tonight." 

Steve's shoulders go rigid at your statement, backpack reflecting glaring light.. It's dark as night, the room illuminated by two twin flashlight beams. New batteries have the lights constant and consistent. It's a shame you can't live off of batteries. 

You're hungry in a way you've never been hungry before. Never. You and Steve have been starving for days. You have a pounding headache leaking down into your teeth that's made you quiet and Steve is quieter, pointing his flashlight into the next kitchen cabinet. The only thing inside is dust, motes swimming in a sea of white. 

What's worse, you're terrified to hop houses at night, because from afar, deep in the forest surrounding the residential neighbourhood you're in, you've been hearing wolves. Deep howls chasing a filling moon. 

You're so hungry you've had to risk it. 

Your head is heavy on your neck as you look up into another cabinet. "We're gonna die," you say. You can't help it —maybe it's the genuine and inescapable despair of thinking you'll die, maybe it's his recent bout of loving affection, but lately all you do is complain. 

"We're not gonna die," Steve says. 

"You don't know that." 

"Yes, I do." 

"How could you? All these houses have been stripped clean, there's nothing left–" 

"I just know, alright?" 

He slams the cabinet door shut and stalks to the other side of the kitchen. These houses are huge, rich people places with endless bedrooms and their matching ensuites. He shoves his weight into the door leading to the garage. You don't have a choice, following him in. Steve wants space but he can't have it, splitting up makes you feel sick. 

Your hands under his t-shirt, his hands on your back. An admission. I've been calling you my girlfriend in my head for weeks. 

Your Steve's girlfriend. He's your boyfriend, and he's gonna get eaten by a zombie in a garage in the middle of nowhere suburbia and you'll be all alone without him. 

"Steve," you say, irritated. The garage is even darker than the kitchen, no windows for moonlight to crawl inside. He's turned his torch to the storage bins behind a black, sleek car. 

"What?" he asks, using the brunt of his palm to lift a lid.

"What do you mean, what? If I walked away from you like that you'd bite my head off."

"Jesus," he hisses, quickly turning his light away from the bin he's opened. "What the fuck?" 

You creep up behind him to direct your own flashlight. You don't want to talk about what you find inside. 

Defeated and distant and wishing things could be different, you and Steve clip your rucksacks at the waist and prepare to move in the dark from this shitty empty house to the next. You can't sleep; Steve won't say it, but you think he might be scared that you'll both be too weak to get up again if you lay down. This is the final push. 

You don't ask for his hand. He grabs one of your rucksack straps and you slink down the concrete steps of the house back onto the picture perfect streets. An entire apocalypse and the only evidence is smashed glass. The cold night bounces off of the sidewalk to chill your calves, your old jeans little defence against the cold. It's so, so cold lately. 

The next house is locked. You and Steve look at one another, and whether you can see him in the moonlight dregs or if your mind knows him well enough to fill in the gaps is anyone's guess. He looks reluctantly hopeful. 

You take a silent walk around the house checking for points of entry. When each door you come across is locked and each window tightly locked, you kneel at the garage door and force your icy fingers beneath the door. Steve helps, flat of his knife scratching the asphalt. You lose all the feeling in your fingertips as Steve struggles to get his hands under as well, but together you sigh, pained, and lift the garage door with the last of your strength. You army under first quickly, almost dropping the shutters as Steve follows. 

Fingertips aching with quick-blooming contusions, you attempt to help Steve stand. He ignores your offered hand. 

This house is the same as the other, so while it's dark, it's manoeuvrable. Same daunting marble staircases up on to a balconied landing. Across to the left is a lone bedroom with huge windows and a staircase to the attic, and across to the right a handful of equally spacious rooms. You hadn't bothered searching the bedrooms in the houses before, figuring that whoever combed the kitchens to the insane degree they have was as desperate as you are now, and would've already done so. 

But this house was locked. 

You're filled with aching hope. You need to eat. You don't want to die. You don't want Steve to die. If there's nothing here, you aren't sure you'll have the energy to search another granite kitchen. 

Steve wastes no time opening a cabinet. 

You both stand still in shock. 

Cereal. Boxes and boxes of cereal. 

"What do you think the sell by date is?" you ask. 

"I don't know." He pulls down a box. It's off by a year. Pulls down another. Off again. Something awful inside of you wants to tear into the cardboard and eat it anyways. Too bad food poisoning can kill you quicker than hunger. 

Steve leaves the cabinet door open and moves to the next, practically ripping it off of the hinges. Your torch beam shakes with excitement when you see the insides, golden cans stacked high. 

Steve picks one up. Tosses it aside. "It's cat food." 

Well, if all else fails. The thought makes you want to cry. 

The next cabinet is full of glassware, and the next china plates. Steve opens a fifth and sixth at the same time. It takes you a second to calibrate the sight in front of you. 

"It's not more cat food, is it?" you ask quietly. 

Steve breathes out hard, grabbing a handful of skinny cans, metal popping against the counter as he drops one. "It's fish. Tuna fish." 

And just like that, you get to live. 

The last cabinet has a short supply of soups and bare essentials, enough for a week between you both (rich people ate less processed foods, apparently). It's the fish that promises security, a hundred cans of bluefin, yellowfin tuna, a couple cans of caviar. 

You and Steve eat it in the kitchen with fancy spoons. The smell is undesirable but it doesn't make you feel sick until hours later, half asleep on the kitchen floor. 

You stand up, ushering him with you, and pull yourselves with heavy emphasis on the handrail up the stairs to the first bedroom you come across. You take your toothbrush from your bag despite the begging pull of sleep and brush your teeth, eager to escape the salty tang of fish. If Steve wants to kiss you tonight, you'd rather taste like Arctic Fresh than fish. 

"Can I have some?" Steve asks. 

You raise your brows, squeezing toothpaste onto his brush. While he brushes, you construct a little lamp using the low-power torch and a half full water bottle. The room is far less intimidating after that, light reaching into the corners and exposing the raw wooden beams above. Steve spits his toothpaste into the wastebasket and leaves the room. He returns as you're taking off your shoes, disapproving as he drags a chair in. He hooks it under the door handle, jigging it to test. 

"I can't wear them anymore," you say. 

"Okay," he says. 

You'd hoped finding food would make him less snappy, but no luck. He's even quieter than before. 

You get changed in silence, like you've both decided now you're not hungry that actually you'd been kind of filthy. It's just… your reality. You want to be clean, and fed, and brushed, but you're grimy. You settle for another layer of deodorant and a fresh pair of underwear. 

Steve is looking at you, half-naked. He's allowed, it doesn't matter, but he averts his eyes when you catch him and doesn't speak to you again. Thankfully, your sated hunger removes despair to some extent. You climb into bed and Steve slides in next to you, and for a few hours, you sleep. 

Waking up is a new agony. 

You're bad at being separated from one another, and finding him gone fucks you up. Your heart immediately leaps into your mouth, a raw, beating thing. The daylight disarms you at first, blinking against it, but proves to be your friend when you find Steve's shoes at the end of the bed. It's a marker, a note from him to you: I'm still here.

He's leaning heavily on the countertop in the kitchen  with a notebook laid flat and a pen in hand, tallying up the cans.

"Hey, you scared me," you say, his shoes in one hand, yours in the other.  

"Sorry." 

You put the shoes on the counter. 

You hesitate to touch him first. You'd been thinking last night before you slept, his hand near your hip instead of on it, that Steve's finally realised he doesn't want to be with you. Like a near death experience, he'd had an epiphany. Why would he want to spend the bare strands of a life that he has playing house with you? 

He didn't have a choice. One sudden day and you were his burden.

Steve takes your hand without looking. Firm, he squeezes his fingers between yours and pulls you into his side. "It's a month's worth of food, easily. But it might make us kind of sick if we aren't careful. There's Mercury in it. Less than the cheap stuff, but we still shouldn't be eating so much." His arm presses to yours. He meets your eyes over his shoulder. "I hate fish." 

"You're talking to me today." 

He looks down at the notebook, his eyebrows pinching in like you've stepped on his foot. "I– sorry. I wasn't very nice, yesterday, I guess." 

You're relieved to hear his apology, not because you really even want one, but because it means he isn't as mad at you as you thought. "I was complaining." 

"It was all shit. You're allowed. I… was stressed." 

"It was all shit," you agree, explaining away his bad mood. But, last night, he didn't wanna hold you. It sounds pathetic but on a small scale, this is your life. Any change feels foreign. 

"I wasn't mad at you for complaining." 

You feel the back of his hand with your thumb. Fine hairs, skin rough from a few weeks of the elements. "Thanks for clarifying." 

"I'm serious."

"So am I." 

Steve looses go of your hand to put his arm on your shoulder. His fingertips skirt against your back, tickling gently. His eyes are serious but his mouth curves with a smile. "Why are you upset?" he asks. 

"I'm not." 

"I think I'd know." 

It seems silly now to tell him with his touch, his face this close to yours. You take in a shuddering breath and his expression pinches. 

Steve stands as close to you as he can without hugging you. "Hey, tell me," he says. 

You push your tongue against your teeth, thinking. Tears threaten to collect, a burning lump bobbing in your throat at his question. 

"Do you ever regret this?" you ask. "Sometimes I think you do." 

"This?" he asks.

"Me and you." 

Steve laughs, and that really is foreign what with the last few days of moroseness you've had. It's not a humoured laugh, just a shocked one, the sound inking his words as he says, "We're not something up for regretting." 

"What's that mean?" 

"It means," —Steve ducks his head a little, eye to eye with you as his arm curls behind your neck— "it's not even an option. Us, me and you, you alone, it's not an option. I don't regret what's happened or what's happening between us. I wish… I wish I'd been less of a dick to you. I wish I was nicer to you now, and that's a shitty thing to say, but this–" Hid eyes flare with annoyance directed inward. "I get fucking abysmally moody because I can't believe I'm this bad at taking care of you."

You lift your chin ever so slightly and Steve kisses you. Sweet but a little rough, like he'd been waiting for an offer. 

"I don't regret this," he mumbles, tapping the tip of his nose under yours. You lift your head, and he fits another kiss to the seam of your lips. 

"You didn't wanna hug me or anything last night–" 

He hugs you immediately. "I'm sorry," he says over your ear. "It was just a bad day." 

"But I'm here with you. I'm having the bad day with you, I want to be there for you," you say, semi-desperate. 

"I'm sorry," he says again, relaxing as your arms fold behind his back. 

Steve pets your back. You wish things were different, that he could be hugging you somewhere different. You can picture it, Steve dropping you off at some college class or putting his hand in your back pocket on the way to dinner. Things could be so much better and they never, ever will be. 

You don't ask, afraid to even suggest it if he hasn't thought of it, but you worry Steve is with you out of habit. Bad habits are hard to break, but anyone can stop smoking if they really want to. He could move on.

He must read your mind. 

"Sorry," Steve whispers, leaning back to kiss your cheek. "I'm a shitty boyfriend sometimes when I'm trying to be good at keeping us alive. You're the only good thing. I'm really sorry, honey." 

You nibble on the inside of your lip and hug him harder. "Stop saying sorry. You didn't do anything wrong, I just think too much." 

He breathes out in surprise at your ferocity, dropping his head into the curve of your neck. 

"I'm sorry," he says anyway.

Unbeknownst to you, it's in lieu of a different confession. 

You crack a smile. Steve pulls away to fret over your face uselessly, wiping away things you can't see and smiling back like a guy in the movies, all confident and flirtatious. It's a stark difference to the previous gloom. 

"Let's go find some water," he says, taking the side of your face into his palm. "I smell bad and you're shiny." 

"Nice, Steve."

[fluffywolfboyy]

In the light of the moon the wolves will always call you back 🐾

[hawkeyetrained]

Hurry

Derek Hale x reader (established relationship)

Other Characters: Scott, Chris Argent, Isaac (mentioned)

Warnings: Mention of blood and wounds

Summary: It's not Ms. Blake that gets trapped in the supply closet when Boyd and Cora are rescued.

Word Count: 1678

We had to hurry. After breaking into the old bank in an attempt to save the trapped werewolves, Derek and Scott had struggled to restrain them, causing Allison to break the protective barrier and allow the two rouges to run off into the night. We had a plan. We always had a plan. I was in the car with Chris Argent racing our way towards the high school. Our plan was to trap the two out of control werewolves in the boiler room below the main halls and keep them there until the moon went down and their strength faded.

Chris slammed on the breaks in the large SUV he drove, stopping just outside the doors on the opposite side of the school that the wolves were headed. “Do a quick search. No one needs to be here when we send them down.” He commented as I jumped out the door, slamming it shut and listening to him as he sped off towards the woods to help lure the wolves to our location.

I did a quick scan of the parking lot as I ran up to the main doors, noticing one car still parked over by the English halls. The new teacher, Ms. Blake, was still here, her room lit up with the bright overhead lights. With a roll of my eyes, I headed down the hall as quickly as I could, making sure to slow down as I got to her door.

“Ms. Blake?” I knocked softly on the door to make sure I wouldn’t scare her. “What are you doing here?”

Her head snapped up from the pile of paperwork she was grading, bright red pen in her hand. “Oh, my. Honey what are you doing here so early?” She ignored my question. “It’s barely morning.” She looked out her window into the darkness surrounding the school.

“Umm.” I had to think quickly. “Study group was supposed to start early for a big test in chem today. I was just headed out after grabbing some stuff from my locker, wanted to grab some breakfast.”

“Well, I’d be happy to walk out with you. I just have to reload the copier down the hall. I used most of it printing assignments for later. The other teacher are very particular about the copier being full in the morning.” She started to gather her things. Paper was stored downstairs, next to the boiler room in the supply closet.

“Oh, you know what, I’ve gotta grab some stuff from my locker on the other side of the school. I know where the supply closet is, I’ll just grab the paper for you. I don’t have a first period, so I don’t mind the extra few minutes here.” My hand pulled my phone from my back pocket, glancing down to see the HURRY test from Derek lighting up my screen.

Ms. Blake slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’d hate to leave you here alone. I’ll just wait.”

I shook my head as another text came through. They’re almost there. Get out. “No, it’s ok. My ride is running a few minutes late, so I’ll grab the paper and then head out. See you in a few hours for class.” My phone slipped easily back into my pocket as I gave her a rushed smile that I hoped didn’t give off how worried I was.

“Only if you’re sure.” She smiled softly, pulling her keys from her pocket.

“Yeah, I got it.” I waved her off as I turned down the hall towards the basement stairs. “See you later!” I called and disappeared down the stairs. It would take all of ten seconds to grab the paper and then get out of the school, something I knew would be cutting timing close but the door in the basement had to be unlocked to let the wolves in. I rushed in, heading to the locker space that held the supplies. I dragged the gate open and stepped in, heading for the back to grab a pack pf printer paper.

Just as my fingers brushed over the smooth paper wrapping, footsteps stomped down the stairs and a few people came rushing through the boiler room. My hands shook as I moved slowly towards the supply closet gate and dragged it shut as silently as I could. The main door slammed shut and all I could hear was the huffing and growls of two wolves as they paces around the room. My heart raced in my chest as I slid away from the gate I had just closed, willing myself to stay quiet and hidden until the sun came up.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I rushed to pull it from my jeans before the two wolves would hear it. WHERE ARE YOU? Lit up my screen from Derek. With shaking fingers, I turned the brightness down as low as it could go and made sure the ringer was off and that any buzzing would be silenced by the sweatshirt I was wearing as I typed a response.

YOU’RE GOING TO BE MAD. I sent back, sliding back into the corner of the supply room and behind a filing cabinet.

The door I had come through just a few minutes ago was quickly opened and slammed shut again, a new set of footsteps being added to the mix of the two prowling wolves. My heart pounded and I was sure the two wolves would turn and find me any second. They would rip the door off the gate and come in to tear me into pieces. I could only pray that Derek had locked the wolves in and was outside looking for me with Chris Argent.

“Hey.” The voice I did not want to hear in the moment echoed through the large room, making the two wolves silence their growls. “I want you to stay there.” I knew Derek wasn’t talking to the two other wolves in the room. “Hands over your hears, eyes closed. You don’t open till I come get you.”

My shaking hands pressed against the sides of my head, muffling everything around me, as I squeezed my eyes shut and tucked myself further into the corner I had picked. Chaos erupted around me, loud snarling and deep growls echoed around the vast room, mixing with the steam sounds and the mechanical whirrs that made the school run. I could hear tearing of fabric, grunts of pain, and shrieks of anger through my hands.

Derek’s grunts of pain and the strained growls slipping from his mouth brought tears to my eyes. I had begged to let me help them tonight. I had told him that I wouldn’t take any chances and that I would stay safe, but now I’m the cause of the pain he was enduring. I was the reason he was probably covered in blood and barely hanging on as the two wolves tore into him.

Sunlight filtered in through the small half windows after what felt like forever. The growling stopped, two loud thuds hit the concrete floor, but I kept my hands over my ears and my eyes slammed closed. Soft hands rested gently against my arms and I shrieked loudly, kicking my legs out and trying to get away. “No! Leave me alone!”

“Hey!” Derek’s soft voice called out to me. “Open your eyes, honey. It’s ok, I got you.” My eyes flashed open and instantly connected with his, my heart still pounding in my chest with tears running down my cheeks.

“Derek?” He was covered in blood. His shirt torn in multiple places with wounds slowly closing on his sides and his shoulder. His face had a few lines of blood trickling down, the cuts that caused it already closed and healed over. “Oh my god.” I launched myself into his arms, mine wrapped tightly around his neck as he pulled me from my corner and up to my feet. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I cried into his shoulder, trying not to hit where he may be hurt.

“I know.” He mumbled, his face pressed into my shoulder as well and his hands holding tightly to his chest. “I know, but you’re ok. I’m ok and were both safe now.” One of his hands had come up to brush my hair gently.

“It’s all my fault.” I pulled back from him. My hands were still shaking as they brushed against his side to try and see the cut that had soaked his shirt in blood. “You could’a been killed!”

“Hey. I’m here. I wasn’t just gonna let them tear you to pieces.” His voice shook like the panic was finally wearing off and the pain was setting in. “Are you hurt?” His hands rested on my face as he looked me over.

I shook my head, wiping away my tear stains. “No, I’m ok. You healing?”

“Yeah honey, I’m healing. I’ll be fine.”

The large door slammed open then, the two of us jumping from the sound and Derek’s arm instantly pulling me behind him, always ready for the next threat. “Hi.” Scott waved. He, Isaac, and Chris Argent stepped into the room and headed to the two now tame wolves who were passed out on the floor. Boyd was lifted up by Chris and Isaac while Scott went over to the pretty brunette girl and heaved her up into his arms. “We’ll meet you guys back at the loft.”

I nodded. “Erica?” I looked up to Derek.

He shook his head softly. “She didn’t make it.” His arms wrapped around me again, pulling me into his side as we started to make our way out of the school before people started showing up. He got me seated in the car before he headed to the driver’s side. “You’re ok?” He asked again.

I nodded, taking his hand in mine and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “I’m ok.”

He repeated my action and kissed the back of my hand as well. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

@thetallassgirl @hallecarey1

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Wolves at the Door

In a tidy well-built home on the outskirts of a village on the outskirts of the world, lives a doe in homespun skirts. MaryAnne lives in her ancestral home with antlers nailed to the mantle. Aged enough to be an old maid but not old enough for it to be charming, a howling comes for her. 

Oh, the Beast Folk of the north know better than to live alone. Lighting candles in the darkest months. Hanging Evil Eye charms in their windows to ward off wickedness. MaryAnne, all the same, cuts her own firewood and pickles her own vegetables. She survives the winter.

That is until that howling comes. Wolves are at her door. 

Claws scratch at the wood. A long snout snuffles at the windowsill. A voice croons, as they always do, in a plaintive song. In those long months, the villagers and MaryAnne bury their faces in their arms. Stuff their ears with wax. Cluster together if they can. That is how you made it through a winter in the north.

Yet, a howling comes.

That year, MaryAnne forgot to restock her wax. Too late to go out, she curls into a ball on the hard floor, buries her face, and refuses to look up. A voice floats through the cracks.

“Little doe.” A growl. “Why do you hide inside your nest?”

Mustn’t answer. A female wolf casts a long shadow through the window. Backlit by a yellow moon. She has a voice for turning wine to honey. MaryAnne squeezes her eyes shut tighter.

“You’ll turn to dust within these walls. Nothing left but bones.” The voice laughs, guttural and wind-rough. Heavy steps sound from outside, crunching in the snow. “The breeze is fresh. The snow is young. A night for running.”

Mustn't answer to the night.

“They have marked your door with Juniper. Tell me, what makes you so unlucky?”

A whine escapes from deep within MaryAnne’s chest. There is no escaping rumors it seems– even among wolves. A gentle sun-tanned face flashes through her mind’s eye. He is smiling there. The memory frays at the edges in an instant, like crumpling paper by the fire. He is frozen in that eternal melancholy look. Like he knew what was coming.

MaryAnne lets out a second hiccup of sound.

“There you are.” The voice laughs long and harrowed. A scratch drags down her door, rattling the hinges. “Why don’t you come out?”

“Leave me alone!” Her voice is hoarse from disuse. “Leave before I, before I. . . Leave!"

Oh no. She had answered. What a silly girl she was. The beast outside throws her head back and howls. And howls still.

—--------

Days pass in which MaryAnne doesn't hear the howling. She sweeps and mends and peels peas. Sometimes, the doe wakes in the predawn hours, half-frozen and shivering. She stokes the dead embers and looks out. Faded stars and quilted black look back at her. The night is quiet then, peeled to its barest layers and forgiving. An exhale. 

But those aren’t most days. A howling comes at her door. MaryAnne's ears begin to ring with it. She dreams of fangs and rust-colored waters. In the light of day, MaryAnne rubs at her eyes until she sees spots and some curling grin remains. I won’t survive the winter, she thinks. My time has come.

MaryAnne goes to the village Wise Woman. 

She trudges through the glittering snow and ducks behind trees when strangers pass. Mother Grace lived near the outskirts of town too. Though unlike MaryAnne, footprints ring her squat home– deep grooves of movement. MaryAnne follows the grooves and creeps forward like she might fade into her own shadow. 

The house is dark evergreen and churns enormous plumes of smoke. Charms for luck hang in the window and MaryAnne averts her gaze. Some of them look like pawed feet. She hunches her shoulders, tugs at her sleeves, and lifts a hand to the entrance. A door thick as slabs of good brown bread swings open at her touch. 

“Hello?” she calls into the gloom. “I am MaryAnne. Daughter of . . .” She doesn’t finish the thought. If there was one thing to know of Mother Grace, it is that she hates tedious things. “Mother Grace, I have come to ask you of the world. I’ve come to ask you what wolves fear.”

“Questions, questions.” A grumbling answers her. “For yourself, child? Or some grand cougar king. Conquering their enemies.”

“For me. Yes. Myself. I am, I’m a doe.” MaryAnne stumbles forward and eyes adjust to the dimness.

“I can smell that.”

An old woman sits before a stone shelf, wrapped in blankets and surrounded by books. An iron stove dominates the living space and the air shimmers with heat. Mother Grace rocks back and forth in her chair. She is entombed in pillows, waiting to remind the young that the winter is long. And bound to grow longer.

MaryAnne repeats her question. “Do you know how to rid yourself of wolves?” How to escape being hunted? She dare not speak those words into existence though. Hunted. Cursed anew.

The woman grumbles under her breath once more. Grey-haired and petite, her rabbit ears hang long and limp down her shoulders. Her milky eyes were unseeing and body bent forward. Yet, her bearing is steady and unflinching. MaryAnne wishes in some distant way she could embody the same self-assured air. A knowledge of herself, good or bad.

Unable to bear it any longer, she repeats herself. “Please. Wolves are at my door. You are the most learned Folk. What do they fear?”

Mother Grace doesn't look at MaryAnne as she speaks. Her voice creaks. “I cannot say. Fear is a shifting thing. Wolves, too, shifting creatures." The Wise Woman grunts a dry laugh. “Hard to separate the two.”

"Ah,” MaryAnne says like she understands, heart sinking to the bottom of her shoes. 

Mother Grace sets her jaw and looks past her. "Go to the mulberry tree at sunset and bow your head. Speak true and earnestly.” The Wise Woman gnashed her gums. “It will show you how to greet a wolf.”

MaryAnne swallows. “Will that save me?” 

The wisewoman does not answer.

—-------

The sun sets in in a purpling line, sending the towns folk scurrying behind their locked doors. The Beast Folk know better than to linger alone after dark. But MaryAnne is Juniper-marked and given a task. She approaches the Mulberry tree in the shadow of a hill. Red ribbons tied in its bare branches and framed by twilight.

MaryAnne bows her head and kneels on the snowy earth, her cheeks pinched with cold. The knees of her pants soaking through.

“How do you escape a wolf?”

The Mulberry bush sways in the wind. The ribbons turn a dull navy in the light and MaryAnne shivers.

Two knotted eyes blink and the nymph bows back. Her hair sticks straight in the air– naked branches reaching for sky. She considers MaryAnne for a long moment. 

“Your father came to me once. Asking questions.” A pause follows that could suck the marrow out of bones. “He could not deter his fate. You may not be able to either."

“Please.” MaryAnne swallows over and over, suppressing the stinging in her eyes. “There is a wolf at my door. She will not leave. She has my scent.”

“Ah,” the Nymph says, pity trapped in her wispy vowels. “A Stray perhaps of their terrible rituals. The Bone Cities are far and often cruel. Come closer, girl. I may teach you to greet a wolf and thus defer her task a while longer.”

—-------

The wind whips against MaryAnne’s walls, battering the sides of her home. The dark wood was tightly joined and held. A syrupy silver light bathed the snow outside and MaryAnne’s eyelids grew heavy. She had been watching her door since she returned from the Mulberry tree.

And it had not ceased since the moon arose. A long cry mixed with the violent gusts of wind. A howling. MaryAnne’s shoulders set in a hard line, back aching and mood even more dour. Let it be over, she prays to the Great Mother Doe. Though, who knew if the starry mother listened. Let the wolf go home empty-handed.

MaryAnne’s head nods to her chest, jerking upright at the first sound. A scratch peels down her front door. Claws against wood. 

“Little doe, why do you hide?” the wolf sings in that beseeching tone. 

MaryAnne does not bother to curl into a ball. She straightens to her full height, nubby horns facing the door as if she might charge. Fangs flash in her mind’s eye and she takes deep breaths. MaryAnne forces her legs to work.

"Good evening," she booms. An imitation of how she imagines governesses speak to future kings. MaryAnne bows before the door, taking her time falling to her knees. Her chest tightens-- a thrum of terrible life. “I am pleased to meet you."

“Pleased?” The wolf sounds amused. Perhaps wolves can always afford that.

“Yes.” In slow increments, MaryAnne brings her wrists near the crack under the door. Bile rises in her throat and she pushes closer. “I see you've come to call on me. Perhaps I may have you over for tea. Do you take it with cream or sugar?”

The laugh is thunderous. A long snuffling follows and MaryAnne thinks she imagines whiskers under the crack.

“You smell like fear. Are you afraid?”

“Always,” MaryAnne says bitterly. “Is that not our nature? You, at our doors. Me inside my home. But you could knock.”

“I have a home too, you know,” the voice purrs. “Many leagues away and by the sea. Perhaps you might enjoy running to it.”

“You may have me over for tea,” she keeps her tone even. “Come back in the morning to exchange invitations. I have stationary you might borrow.”

Hot air blows against her wrist. The wolf audibly inhales. “You think yourself clever. Juniper-marked and clever.”

“What else could I be?” Her voice trembled and she didn’t like the way it broke on the last words.

“I can make a few suggestions.” The crunch of heavy paws against the snow. “Open up the door and I will show you.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” MaryAnne grits out despite herself. Run, run, run. her mind says. Her feet say. But the Mother Doe isn’t there to light her way. “My name is MaryAnne. I would like to invite you to tea.”

The door gives a violent shake, a weight thrown against it. Dust rains from the rafters. The hinges shrieks and the wolf lets out a howl to match. The door holds– as it was meant to.

Life spikes in her chest this time and fills her belly with warmth. MaryAnne holds herself perfectly still, wrists shoved to the crack in the door. 

“I am Shier of the Northern Pack,” the wolf spit out the words. “You may keep your twice-damned tea.”

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

Part 1 of 3

[that-basic-simp]

Dis Dane

Fem! Eivor x Fem! Reader CW: N/A WC: 3.3k+ A/N: Get it. It's because they call Vikings Danes. And it's a play on words of the word "disdain". I'll see myself out.

This is not good. Not one bit. As soon as I saw their boat sailing through our waters, I knew we were in for it. They were always brutes and whenever the first wave of Danes came, it was all over for us. This was a new world for them and all they ever knew was pillaging and violence. They didn't speak the language of the English. They certainly did not have the intelligence either. Now, there are more and more of them coming from across the sea. They must be stopped if we are to ensure the safety of our current people and the next generation.

I tried to tell that to my father, as he was a nobleman under the King's court. He did not listen and now the Danes were on our doorstep, slaughtering our people, taking what is not rightfully theirs. And it was all because the King could not see what was happening under his own nose. It was madness. New blood was spilled everyday and the livestock was growing thin. The farmers had fled East, away from the Danes and further into England. More and more people continue to flee and what do we do? Stay and do nothing. I was not going to become another victim.

I set out late in the night, so that it was dark as could be. The only thing that would light my way was the moon. I did not dare use a torch as it would give me away easily. Once I walked right past the gates, since we were running low on guards and soldiers, I was into farmland that was burnt or overwhelmed by the stench of dead animal carcasses. Wolves and other predatory animals found a home there and they were another threat to us.

After passing another set of gates and stepping onto the bridge, I turned and looked at the large castle in the distance. For my entire life I had lived there. I grew up with my father and sat beside princes, noblemen, everyone who held power. I remembered so many feasts whenever we had taken over new land or gained new allies. Our empire was growing, but now, it would see its end by the Danes. I for one would not want to witness such a powerful empire be brought down by a bunch of savages.

The night grew on and I grew tired and weary from walking. I had no idea how far East some of our people went. I expected to see some settlements by the river, as that brought in great opportunity for trade and hunting. But there was nothing. Those settlements were burnt down or pillaged. So much for settling on the river side after fleeing. The moon started to get higher in the sky and my feet were growing more weary by the minute. I had to press on. I couldn't stop, not even for one minute. But as the weariness washed over me, I found myself sitting down underneath a small cliff.

Sounds of metal and snickers caused me to wake from my slumber. I opened my eyes to find my arms were tied behind my back and my ankles bound. I was laying on the ground so all I could do was wriggle around like a useless worm. I let out a sigh as there were some men sitting in a circle by a fire.

"Unhand me, Danes!"

One man turned. They weren't Danes. They were Saxons. Bandits.

"You're really going to lump us in with them?" he asked.

"You can be as brutish as the Danes. Now unhand me. My father will hear about this."

"Can't do much now," he said, shaking his hand. "Your kind is as useful as thralls."

The others started to laugh while I just continued to lay on the ground in the cold. The moon was starting to dip down and little streaks of daylight were crawling onto the night sky. They got up once the sun was up and started to mill about their camp, getting ready to set off to who knows where. And I unfortunately was going to be with them. If only someone could save me.

A bush nearby started to rustle and I turned as much as I could to find there was something blue that stared back at me. I was about to scream, but a hand reached out and covered my mouth. Their face poked out from the bush and a finger was over their lips. I nodded my head and they removed their hand, receding back into the bushes. Over the course of ten minutes, the men who were in the camp were slowly being dealt with by this assassin. Once the last man was no longer standing, the person stood up. A Dane. I was saved by a filthy Dane?

She came over and cut off my bindings. I stood up and immediately slapped her, which she had no reaction to.

"You think a little slap can hurt me?" she asked in a low, raspy voice. It was like nails on a wall.

"Of all people, I am saved by a Dane!"

"You should be grateful. Your own kind wanted to use you."

"How do you know?"

"I followed them ever since they took you."

"And you just now decided to intervene?"

"Seems you were enjoying the show from down there," she snickered.

"I'll have you know--"

She reached over and pressed a finger to my lips.

"Little lady, I don't care who you are, what power you hold. If you're not someone I need to associate with, I will be on my way."

I smacked her hand away, "Get those rotund fingers away from me."

"Why? Afraid you might like them a bit too much?" she grinned.

"How uncouth! I would never associate with a Dane in such sinful manner."

"Not what I was implying, but ok."

"I must be going."

"And where exactly are you going?"

"Why? Are you going to follow me?"

"If you continue to be a target, I might as well."

"I am not some damsel in distress."

"You just were earlier."

"Fine, if I am to be a damsel in distress, I might as well wait for my knight in shining armor. An actual knight in shining armor."

She smacked her lips and shook her head, "I could have just let you be used as a thrall. I could have let those men have their way with you."

"I'd prefer that than be saved by someone like you."

"Believe me, my kind are not as bad as your people lead you to believe," she walked off.

"Can I at least get your name?" I asked.

"Now you want to be nice?"

"Just so I can put a name to your face. So I can avoid it later."

She laughed and removed the bear head she wore. Her blonde braided hair came into view and it made her piercing blue eyes stand out. There was a marking on the right side of her head and I could see some tattoos on her arms.

"Eivor," she said before putting the bear head back on, walking off into the woods.

Eivor. I shouldn't be thinking about her, even after I had finally made it East and found a small settlement to be a part of. Things were going smoothly for me and even if I wasn't in some fancy castle, it was nice being with like minded people with a similar disdain for the Danes. But as the days turned into weeks and people have been talking about the growth of a certain population of Danes, I couldn't help but think back to Eivor and that fateful night.

How the right corner of her mouth tipped upwards into a smirk. Those dangerous, yet gentle eyes that looked like the seas itself. And the blonde hair that looked like the wheat in the fields, soft and thick. Then it was the skin on her face, the scar that stretched across her left cheek. Through the ruggedness of her personality, that appeared to be the only soft thing about her.

"Y/N!"

I opened the door and found one of the villagers with someone. Wait a minute.

"Someone wishes to speak with you."

"Thank you," I said and walked towards the person. I could tell who they were just by their height and build.

I reached down and grabbed her hand, pulling her into my small house. As soon as the door closed, I ripped the hood of her cloak off.

"How'd you know it was me?" she chuckled.

"I could just smell the blood on you," I hissed.

"Really?"

She grabbed the corner of the hood and raised it to her face, taking a deep inhale.

"I just washed this."

"Idiot!" I said and smacked her upside the head.

"Hey, hey."

"I wasn't being serious."

"You need to lighten up," Eivor said and spun around the house.

"Small, yet cozy."

"What are you doing here? And how did you find me?"

"How can you eat and sleep in here? I'd be afraid of burning the place down," she tapped the small pot that was over the fire with her foot.

"Hey, stop that."

"And you sleep on that? Little lady, you really down graded from the once luxurious life you had."

"I'm actually happy."

"You are?" she turned, an eyebrow perking up.

"Yes. I am. I am happy here because I have a commune that share similar ideals and morals."

"Let me guess, you all hate the Danes. Us."

"Yes. Which I am surprised you were able to step a foot in here."

"I have to blend in where I can."

"Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"Came to see you. More like check in on you."

"It's been weeks since we had last spoken and now you're coming after me? What are you? A stalker?"

"It's not stalking if I had no idea where you went in the first place. Call it tracking."

"Alright, how did you track me?"

"Asked around of course. How else?"

"You didn't send a spy?"

"Synin is hardly a spy," she said.

"Synin?"

Eivor stepped towards the window and held out her arm, a sharp whistle came from her lips. A raven, black as night and large like a bull's head, came flying in and landed on her arm.

"This is Synin."

"She's huge," I exclaimed and stepped towards her.

The raven didn't even fly away or step back. She didn't even try to peck at me.

"May I?"

"Of course."

I reached over and rubbed the feathers. The raven let out a small caw of appreciation before I pulled my hand away.

"She's beautiful."

"The finest raven I have ever seen," Eivor said. "She's one of my best friends."

"Are you friends with all the animals?" I chuckled.

"More or less," Eivor stuck her arm out of the window and Synin flew off.

"You should leave," I said.

"Kicking me out already?" Eivor laughed.

"No, it's just that, once word travels that a Dane was here, everyone will be searching one another's houses and stuff. It is best that you keep a low profile and don't come here as often."

"I can handle myself."

"I know you can. But I don't want to be the reason I am ostracized from the village."

"Even if they do, I can always bring you back to Ravensthorpe."

I slowly nodded my head, "That's generous of you, Eivor. But would your people be willingly open to let my kind in? Especially after the way we've treated you?"

"We've seen change lately. For better and for worse. But even if you feel threatened by my clan, I won't hesitate to step in."

I smiled, "Thank you, Eivor."

I just realized my heart pounded against my chest, my face had grown warm and I felt light headed, like I was going to faint any second. What was this Dane doing to me? Was she cursed? Had she cursed me to feel this way? No. She's not like how my people describe her to be. She's different. And I've been blindly eating what my people feed me.

"I'll leave the back door open for you. Come any time. Preferably at night."

She smiled at me, "Thank you."

The back door swung open and she raised her hood on her cloak. She waved goodbye to me and stepped out of the house, heading back to where Ravensthorpe was. As she departed, something slipped out from behind her and onto the ground. I quickly went out and grabbed it before I came back inside. It looked like it was part of the gear she wears. Like one of her furs. I looked around the house before I brought the fabric to my face, taking in the scent of it. No blood. It smelt of the river and fish, the air and the birds, the pine of the trees and fresh grass. Of all people for me to be friends with, it was a Dane. I shouldn't be calling her that. A Norse woman.

I opened my eyes and found someone sitting across from me. I almost yelped and leapt out of my bed, but after I found it was Eivor, my heart calmed before it began to beat rapidly again. Her head was slumped over and her left arm was resting on her left leg as it was bent upwards. Her right leg was against the floor while her right arm was just dangling beside her. I couldn't help but smile. I got up and stepped towards her. I shook her shoulder a bit, but she remained asleep. I grabbed underneath her arms and dragged her to the bed. That was a struggle as I didn't know she had that much muscle density to her body. Once she was on the bed, I pulled a blanket over her.

"Sleep well, Eivor."

I began to do my daily chores about my house and by mid afternoon, after I had come back from helping a lady milk her cows, Eivor was awake.

"Did you bring me into your bed?"

"Yes. You looked uncomfortable sleeping against the wall."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," I said and put some things down on a small table, preparing dinner for tonight.

"I still never got your name."

I turned around and was face to face with her, those curious eyes looking right back into mine.

"Y-Y/N," I stuttered.

That was new.

"Y/N," she repeated. "Beautiful."

There was a long silence between us. Unlike the other silent moments I have experienced, this felt natural and comfortable.

"I should be going. It's getting late."

She was about to take off through the back door, but I reached over and grabbed her hand.

"Stay," I said.

"Why?"

"Stay for dinner."

"Do you need help preparing the meal?"

"I should be ok. Thank you."

The night was an interesting one. She told me stories of her journey from Norway and how she sailed across the sea with her people. She told stories of her raids and how she would kill those who needed to be killed. I could listen to her talk all day. That low, raspy voice was tickling something in the back of my head. It made me feel giddy inside, light weight. Like I was floating on cloud nine. After dinner was cleaned up, she bid me farewell and headed into the night. This would soon become our daily routine before a month later, someone was catching on.

"That person that keeps visiting you," the lady with the cows said.

"What about them?"

"You two seem to like one another."

"Not at first we didn't."

"They're mysterious."

"Indeed they are."

"How are they? Are they kind? Gentle? Brutish?"

I squeezed one of the udders too hard and the cow mooed loudly. I released my grip and turned to face the lady.

"I know who that person is."

"Y-You do?"

"They're a Dane."

My mouth opened and closed, but words have failed me.

"They're not causing any trouble."

"Not yet. They're all the same. Once we do something that they don't like, they're going to kill us. Slaughter us all like how they did back at home! We cannot let this happen again."

"You must believe me," I stood up, wiping my hands on my apron. "She would never hurt us."

"She?!"

"Yes. She. Not all Danes are men. And not all Danes are the same. Hell, they're not Danes. They're Norse!"

"A month ago you were talking to us about how you left the city to escape the Danes. Escape what could possible be our downfall. A month ago you were spitting on the dirt they walked on. Now, you're friends with one. Have they plagued your mind, Y/N? Have they made you commit sins against your own kind?"

"Eivor would never!"

My eyes widened and I slapped a hand to my mouth.

"Eivor," the lady whispered. "That's her name?"

I didn't move, but the tears forming in my eyes gave it away.

"Leave at once."

I ran back to the house and that night, when Eivor came, she was knocking on the back door as I had locked it. I had put something over the window and I locked the front door. She tried the front door, tried the window, but I wouldn't let her in. I can't anymore. For both of our safety.

"Y/N, if you don't open the door I am going to break it down."

"Fine, fine. G-Give me a second."

I got up and unlocked it. As soon as she stepped in, a worried look came across her face.

"Y/N, is something wrong, dear?"

"They know."

"Who knows?"

"This lady I milk cows with. She knows about you."

Eivor closed the door and pulled me into a tight embrace. The smell of the woods and river hit me. It reminded me of home. How I could smell the river from just opening my window and I could look out at the woods from the city. Tears filled my eyes and I found myself silently sobbing in her arms. Of all people, it was a person my people hated. It was someone I hated before. But now, how could I ever hate someone who is so soft and kind, gentle and caring as much as Eivor?

"Shh, shh," she cooed in my ear as she ran her hand through my hair. "We have to leave then."

"Where would we go?" I asked.

"I told you. If anything happens, you'd come to Ravensthorpe with me."

I pulled away and found the worried expression was replaced with a serious one.

"You mean it?"

She nodded her head, "Yes. I mean it."

"Thank you, Eivor," I hugged her once more.

"Of course, Y/N."

"E-Eivor?" I pulled away and faced her once more.

"Yes, Y/N?"

I grabbed her by her cloak and pulled her down to me, since she was a bit taller than me. Of all the nights we spent together, having dinner, sharing stories, being us around one another, it made me realize something about her. While she was a strong and powerful woman with a rage so strong I could never imagine, she also had a deep vulnerability that was as vast as the sea. There were nights of her crying in her sleep to where I had to comfort her. She taught me Nordic poems and songs that I sang to help her calm down. And she would do the same for me when I had nightmares of my mother. She was someone I had looked for in the city, but never found.

Her hand reached up and cupped my jaw as our lips met one another's. They were soft and warm, like how her cheeks were. Like how she was. Our lips melded together as if we were made for one another. I never would have thought I would love a Norse woman as I do now. I pulled away and tears were now sliding down Eivor's face. Her cheeks were flushed and a joyous tint was in her eyes. Such joy came together with awe and what appeared to be love was held in her eyes.

"You are mine, Y/N."

"I am yours, Eivor."

"We must go. Now. While people are asleep."

"Yes," I said.

Eivor helped me gather my most valuable belongings and we set out from the back of the village, making sure we were quiet on our way out. Once we had reached a safe distance away, we were home free to Ravensthorpe, where I would be greeted with a warm welcome and lots of mead.

[aimfor-theheart]

|| zhongli x afab!reader || E/18+ || smut/a touch of angst/comfort || wc: 7k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

You have never been patient enough for worship. Sometimes, he thinks you always expect to be scorned or feared or hated. As a god of hunger, you are not beloved or worshiped by many, if any at all.

You’ve never known the sort of worship that he gives you. 

✧ meet fruit collab masterlist ✧

a/n: this is apart of @willowser 's house server summer collab, meet fruit!! i took plums as my prompt!! this really got away from me and i had a lot of fun with this dynamic and i WILL be writing more of godly wife!reader and zhongli. i have a whole backstory. a huge massive fic i shouldn't work on but will fjdkslfdk i also need to give a special thanks to @itoshisoup , @lorelune , and @petrichorium for helping me with brainstorming and riffing earlier! also finding some godly names for the reader! in particular, mao came up with the name Tanai Zhenjun, which i will leave a note at the end about!! i hope you enjoy this sweet taste!! thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts <333

tags: afab!reader referred to as wife, and has several godly titles that mortals have called her, etc., a complicated relationship between zhongli and reader, mentions of past fights/canon typical violence, erotic fruit eating and feeding, finger sucking, biting, oral sex (f!recieving), some over stimulation, praise, maybe a little sex pollen because the reader causes feelings of hunger/lust/etc. but its consensual and zhongli can withstand it if he wanted, scratching, unhealthy godly dynamics, let me know if i missed anything!

In the shadows of his home, he would know you anywhere. 

(He would know you even if you didn’t appear to him like this, fully formed, and in the visage of mortals. He’d know you in the thunder and the wolves’ howl. He’d know you in autumn’s bitter wind and the fox’s cry. Across all of time, he’d know you.) 

You slip, serpentine, slow and with the easy grace of a predator into the last falling light of the sun; bronzed, honeyed, and appearing before him like you did decades ago, perhaps a hundred of years ago. 

Has it been so long already? 

The sight of you–perhaps simply you, yourself, spark an ache in his chest. Fierce. Hunger pains. 

And after all these years, he welcomes it, savors the pit in his stomach like a sweet fruit. 

You, his god of hunger. 

You, his divine wife. 

He tips his head back, leaning further into the chair at his deep, mahogany desk, as if he could fix his eyes to better see you. As if he could take in more of you, somehow, greedily, hungirly. 

“Hello, my Morax.” You hum and the sun catches in your eye as you step into his life again, after so long without. 

“Hello, my love.” He responds, as if it could’ve just been yesterday.

As if you are his wife and you’ve come home to greet him. As if he is your husband and he’s been working all day without you. 

“It’s been a long time,” he says then, “you’ve been away a long time.” 

You meander closer, on the other side of his desk, peering at the scrolls and papers there. His hands are stained in ink. He catches the downturn of your lips, the small quirking of them in displeasure. Such mortal things, he can hear your voice, the little hiss you get when you dislike something. 

But then your eyes roam to the bowl of fruit, now untouched, that had been brought to him in hopes of eating;

Slices of plum, gold and orange and tender on the inside, their moon-dark skins still curved to them. One still has the pit attached to it, carefully nestled within its flesh. 

Plums always remind him of you. 

(In truth, anything with pits, with bones, with something that can be picked clean and left behind reminds him of you.) 

In an instant, your fingers, nimble–adorned with his jewels, the jewels of his earth, snag a slice.

He watches as you sink your teeth into it, juice bursting, caught on your lip. 

You chew only a moment, swallow slowly as you watch him. 

“I thought I wasn’t allowed around Liyue Harbor,” you begin, “I thought I wasn’t allowed around your precious mortals.” 

His voice, low and soft, rumbles in affirmation. “Yes, that is true.” 

“And yet you speak to me like I’m welcome.” You hold the last bite of your slice to your lips, speaking against it, “like I should’ve visited sooner.” 

You bear down into the fruit again. 

“You’ve come to pick a fight?” He asks, “I can feel you’re trying to stir trouble.” 

And it's true; your ability as a god of hunger, to spark it in others. To sharpen and change it from starvation to bloodlust to desire to despair to greed–to any form of hunger. 

You caused whole towns to be decimated, driven mad with just the residuals of you, the feeling of you too near, like a wraith haunting their doorway. You turned tides in the Archon war for him and against him. You have always been one of the biggest threats to Liyue’s peace—to the world. Perhaps even beyond.

You perch on the corner of his desk prettily. 

“I can’t visit my husband?” You purr.

He quirks a brow, “you only ever call me husband when you’re trying to kill me.”

Your grin is a wild slip of excitement, a fissure of heat in the clash of your gazes.

“I am trying to kill you,” you agree, but perhaps you have always been trying to kill him. The battles between you two carved the very land of Liyue and at the end of them, no matter what had transpired, he was still your husband. And you, his wife. “But I don’t feel like fighting tonight.” 

You pluck another slice of plum from the bowl and bring it to your mouth. He watches your lips part to take the fruit in again. 

He thinks of replacing your hand with his own. He thinks of the sticky sweet taste he would find if he licked into your mouth, he thinks of being between your teeth again like the little piece of plum.  

Something inside of him yawns open. 

You’re toying with him. 

“You’re in rare form, then.” he hums and does not deny your draw. He has long since stopped trying not to be swept up in you–he realized it was inevitable at some point. You would always pull at parts of him none of the world had, and like a puppeteer did you play with those strings. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

You gaze down at him, almost lovingly, if he didn’t know better. 

Then you shift slightly, adjust yourself. 

And the first touch he has of you in decades, perhaps a century, is just a brushing of your calf against his forearm from where you sit atop his desk. Your bare skin beneath the pooling silks of your skirts. 

Heat rips through him like a tearing wound. 

His gaze flicks up to yours. 

“Did you know I was in Liyue?” You ask. 

“I always know the moment you enter my land again.” 

I always know the moment you come home. 

You shift your leg again, this time, a steadier press to his arm. 

He can’t help himself–he shifts his arm, opens his palm up against the curve of your bare calf to fully feel you, to hold you, in any minute way you might let him. Rough calluses scrape up  against the soft skin of your leg, the silk of your dress pooling around his arm, cool and like spun moonlight. 

You let him hold you like this, curl against the contour of you. His hand moves, dips down almost to your ankle, and back up to the bend of your knee. 

“You missed me,” you accuse, your voice a teasing lilt. 

Perhaps it’s you and the heady rush you cast on a room, on him, “yes,” he agrees honestly, “I always do.” 

“So sentimental in your old age. You’ve spent too long around these mortals.” You tell him, looking away so all you give him is the profile of your lovely face. The upward tilt of your chin, the haughty way you look down your nose. 

“Did you miss me?” He asks and he isn’t looking for you to placate him, but his hand is broad and inching up the back of your thigh. He pulls at you, urges you to the edge of the desk, where his other hand fits around the curve of your waist. 

“Don’t get greedy,” you chastise gently, but you still go with the pull of his hold. 

You slip into his lap like you were always meant to be there, fitting to him the way the moon fits into the sky, or the land against the sea. It’s an ancient feeling, bone deep, soul-cut. 

You let your arms fall around his neck loosely and to have you again in his embrace, after so long, does in fact, make him feel greedy. 

“I can feel it,” he says instead, perhaps just to spite you a little–to move another piece in this eternal chess game with you. “I can feel how you ache. I can feel the way you missed me.” 

“I always feel like that,” you snip, deft fingers slipping the band in his hair out so that it all falls free, loose and flowing over his shoulders in a wave of inky black. “I am always hungry like that.” 

“No,” he says and his voice is low like a wolf’s growling, a tiger’s purr, “I know your hunger. And I know this hunger of yours. You missed me.” 

“If you’re looking for a heartfelt confession, you won’t find it in me.” You tell him, proud little god that you’ve always been, “perhaps you’ll find it in your precious mortals.” 

Your voice takes on an edge, just shy of a sneer.

He laughs, a low rumble from his chest, amused, and pleased.

“Oh, that jealousy of yours. I missed that, too.” 

“Don’t get full of yourself,” you hiss like an asp and now, he worries you’ll bring your claws out. Your eyes glint in the last rays of light, like a bolt of lightning, like a spark of flame in a cold night.

He reaches up to touch your face, thumb sweeping over the arc of your jaw bone in a possessive hold. He forces you to look at him. “Come now, I thought you said you weren’t in the mood for a fight.”

“Then don’t test me.” You snap.

He fights back another fond smile in order to not test you further than he already has. 

He leans closer, his nose almost nudging against yours, “if you’re not here to fight. What are you here for?” 

“To eat through all your land until it is barren again.” You murmur and he knows it is just to pester him. Your fingers are winding in his long, silky hair and your eyes have gone half-lidded, so he knows you are not nearly as waspish as you’re pretending to be.

“If I could satiate your hunger, I would.” He murmurs darkly, lips brushing against yours as you carefully hold yourself back, a dog on a strained leash. At your best, you have always been a caged beast, pacing and desperate for escape. At your worst, you have been nothing short of desolation, teeth upon the earth in a vicious grasp, shaking hard, tearing it to shreds. Your bite never compared to your bark. You’d threaten destruction and deliver devastation; even you, surprised with your own vitriol, your own capability for demolition. 

He threatened to muzzle you once, long ago. 

You rear back slightly to look at him, “no, you wouldn’t. What would you have me be? Content?” 

He laughs softly again, low and warm, terribly fond of you despite it all, “yes,” he says very frankly, and then, “soothed, for once in your life.” 

“I won’t ever be soothed while you walk this earth.” You tell him and he cannot tell if you mean it with vengeance or with love. Are you being romantic? Or threatening him? Sometimes, he felt that your violence was supposed to be more like a kiss, and your kiss the type of violence that leaves him ruined for decades after. 

“And you would be after?” He asks, “I don’t think you’d know what to do if you finally managed to kill me in a meaningful capacity. You’d be bored.” 

You move to pull away from him with a snarl but he fastens his hold onto you tighter to get you to stay, he touches your face again, coaxing. “I only tease you.” 

“I said don’t test me.” You respond, but again, there is nothing nearly so vicious in you tonight. 

No, he knows the hunger in you tonight is a soft creature, a warbling, tender one. He’ll be kind to it, he will feed it and tend to it, even if he knows it will only grow larger still. Like caring for a tiger cub, only for it to grow into all those teeth and muscles, to bite the hand that fed it. 

“Forgive me,” he rumbles, and this time, he angles your head so that he can skim the strong line of his nose against your jaw, “let me make it up to you.” 

“You will not be able to,” you say indignantly and his own smile now feels sharper with the challenge, with your throat so near. He settles himself into a burning kiss against your pulse. Inside of him, something catches and sparks. Your hands curl around the muscles of his shoulders. 

“I know,” he coos, low and soft, almost sympathetic. “Then at least indulge the hunger you’ve caused in me.” 

This, in the least, you settle into. 

He pulls away barely to sit back, to look at you fully in all of your glory a moment. 

You look back at him, perhaps taking him in as well. 

The smoldering turns into a flame. 

The decades of years unspool inside of him and give way to a racing mind, images of what he wants, how he wants you. 

It is always like this, he thinks, eternally, desiring you, and never getting enough.

He thinks he must know how you feel. 

And then he gives into one of several of his desires that are rearing their large, horned heads inside of him. The beasts of his desire are all chained to you, he thinks. He reaches for the bowl of fruit. 

Perhaps it's your turn to be amused as he brings a slice of plum to your lips. You must know how he was looking at you earlier, you must know his desires if you are the one to stoke them. 

Still, you accept the fruit easily, minding your teeth as his finger slips against your lips. Sticky and soft and warm. You draw his finger into your mouth briefly, closing around it. He can feel the edges of your teeth as he pulls it out. 

The moment you swallow around the piece, he surges up to kiss you. 

To finally kiss you. 

He wishes he could call it something of a greeting or reunion, but it is too desperate and too vicious for that. Your teeth click together, coming up against one another, like an old key coming up against a lock. 

He tastes the plum in your mouth, sweet and a little tart, and can’t help the groan that rumbles out of him. 

Your hands disappear into his hair, tangle in the strands so that he can feel the press of your nails against his scalp. He feels the way you arch into the slide of his hands along your torso, bending to them, as if he is a sculptor. It pulls you closer, opens your hips wider in his lap in a way that makes heat rip through him.

When he pulls away, you’re already hazy-eyed, heady with the quick-burn of this sort of hunger, this lust. 

It pulls at him like the tide on the shore to drag him under. 

This time, when he places his lips to your throat, he sinks into a bite at the tender flesh there. 

Sometimes, he wishes he’d treat you more tenderly. As if that might be all you ever needed; more gentleness, and less teeth at your throat. 

But you arch and from your mouth spills your own moan finally, fingers tightening in his hair as if to hold him there. He feels your hips twitch forward, into him, an aborted rock of them, perhaps unknowingly or subconscious.

He wishes you inspired patience in him. 

(Usually, he claims to have a great deal. Unfortunately, he cannot claim the same with you in his arms again. Forgive me, he thinks again, but I haven’t seen you in nearly a century.) 

He stands suddenly with you still wrapped around his waist, hands fit beneath your thighs to lift you and place you on the broad expanse of his desk. Papers get pushed aside, some topple onto the floor in a fluttering mess. You laugh when the bowl of plums rattle precariously, but his mouth covers yours again, and he swallows the sound eagerly. 

He kisses you hard again, hitching your hips up to fit snugly to his, fitting his broad hands over the curves of your waist. You respond in kind, though, and twine your leg around his waist to pull him closer, arch your back to press your chest up to his.

When he pulls away this time, he takes you in, splayed out beneath him. 

“I did miss you,” he gets out roughly.

“Then show me,” you respond, stretching out beneath him, as if to tempt him. 

His hands move over the silk of your dress, bunching parts of it, tangling it. He decides in an instant that he doesn’t actually wish to deal with it, so he sets his hands on the bust and simply pulls. It tears like paper beneath him. And again, you laugh, amused with him now, with what you do to him.

“So impatient.” 

“It’s been a long time, my love.” 

And this time when he kisses you, perhaps you give into him more, feed what he wants. You mewl into his mouth, arch against him, drag your nails down his covered back. 

“Touch me,” you get out, demanding, a little fussy. 

“So impatient.” He mocks dryly. 

For his trouble, you pull harshly on the hair at the nape of his neck, baring his throat to you. 

His broad palm roams up the expanse of your side, your bare stomach, and to your chest. He cups your breast, thumb brushing against the peak in a way that makes you hum and squirm beneath him eagerly. 

You bury your face in his now exposed neck, nudge your nose there, which turns into your warm, open mouth. 

For a moment, surprisingly gentle, until he feels the quick flash of pain from your teeth. He rolls your nipple between thumb and forefinger with a little more pressure than necessary, just to hear the little noise of pain you make. 

He drops his face to the crux of your chest, lips dragging along the skin there, above your beating heart. And for all your bite and bark, you still offer yourself up to him for the taking. You still draw your hands over his shoulders, pushing at the clothes still on him. He doesn’t indulge you, but draws lower, hair spilling over your chest as his mouth opens against your breast. 

He nips and marks, sets his teeth against the tender flesh and sucks a bruise into you. 

“I miss your sharp teeth,” you admit.

He huffs, breath fanning against your skin. He raises his eyes, molten gold, to meet your own, “there’s no pleasing you.” 

And then he captures the bud of your breast in his mouth and at least manages to pull another sound from you, meandering, growing in your own desire. You squirm beneath him again but something inside of him (old and draconic) blinks its eyes open and he seizes your waist to still you the way a predator subdues their prey, sharply, and with a slow rolling of muscle, a flex of their strength. A serpent squeezing down around a mouse. A tiger bearing down on the deer. 

You don’t go easily, though. 

And the moment you feel his resistance, you squirm and push harder, straining. Arching and impatient. 

He nips, he fights back the more base urge to growl, and readjusts his hold on you.

“Stop squirming,” he commands.

“Stop teasing,” you reply, stubborn, and disobedient. 

“Let me enjoy you.” Zhongli responds, watching his own hand sweep over your breast, cover it, and toy with you. 

“Enjoy me later.” You snip, fastening your legs tighter to his waist, hitching him closer. 

And he feels a head rush of your ability pour through him, the tightening of your desire and lust, of your hunger spilling from you. It’s purposeful. He feels the dull thud of his heart kick upwards, the warmth that simmers beneath his skin. He blinks hard with it, but does not succumb. 

“You’re so insolent.” He finally gets out, just shy of a growl, “now hold still for me.” 

His lips skim the top of your stomach as he lowers himself to his knees in front of you. 

You sit up onto your elbows, eyeing him, inching your hips to the edge of the desk eagerly. 

“I’ve always liked you best on your knees, Morax.” 

He sinks his teeth into your inner thigh in a more ruthless bite, forcing your legs open even as they threaten to close with the sudden jolt of pain. Hard enough that you hiss through your teeth, twitching towards or away from him, he can’t tell. 

(Images of days long past flash hotly in his mind, in another form, with those sharper teeth you’d said you missed.) 

He feels your hunger burst open like a ripe fruit, like the plum between your teeth. 

He soothes the bite with a slow, lingering pass of his tongue. 

His eyes flick upwards towards you. 

You look a little shaken finally, eyes glassy, teeth stuck in your bottom lip. 

He drags you closer, pulls you flush so that your hips are almost off the edge. You fall back with the movement and he doesn’t give you a moment. He isn’t feeling generous or very kind anymore. 

His mouth opens against you in a crush of heat, eager, perhaps impatient himself. 

A groan, low, from the back of his throat, works out of him at the first taste of you. 

Again, you try to squirm, and something ancient and vicious in him squeezes hard enough on your waist that if you were a mortal, he might sincerely hurt you. He doesn’t care if you’re trying to squirm closer or away, he realizes, he doesn’t care if it hurts a little, as long as he can have you like this. Open. His. 

Ah, he realizes, perhaps he isn’t ignoring your sway as well as he thought he was. 

He delves between soft folds, already slick, but he’ll make it worse still. 

(Perhaps, at one point, he had ideas of being a gentleman of some kind with you. Perhaps, at some point, he thought he would carefully work you open with mouth and soft tongue. He’d be loving and gentle with you. But you’ve always done something horrible to him, something he can’t tame, something he wishes he feared more.) 

You whine a little and the sound pools straight into his own desire for you. 

He fits himself closer, keeps your legs wider apart with his shoulders. 

“Morax,” you gasp and it’s with more heat and desperation than he is anticipating.

His eyes, heavy and gold, flick up towards your face, looking up at you beneath the dark fan of his lashes. 

Oh, you’re closer than he thought, he realizes. 

He doesn’t slow or stop or lessen himself, groans a little, and fits himself tighter to you. He digs his fingers into your skin and keeps you close. 

To his surprise, that is all it takes. 

Your gasp is strangled, perhaps a little surprised, as you arch off the desk in a bow-curve, poised to snap.

You fall to pieces as a cry loosens from your throat. 

He feels you pulse against his tongue and without thinking, he growls a little, a pleased rumble, and doesn’t stop.

He tastes you, savors it, and doesn’t let you hide or pull away from him.

Your hips twist and he follows the movement, wrestling you still, so that he can still enjoy you. 

You’re out of breath, hiccuping a little, trying to squirm away from him but there’s nowhere to go.

He won’t let you go.

He pulls away to rest his head on your inner thigh a moment, “so quick.” He teases, “you must’ve been pent up for it to be that easy.” 

He thinks, I wasn’t even doing that for you yet—I was still enjoying myself. I was being greedy. Hungry in my own way, in the way that you inspire.

“I should leave you now.” You huff, picking yourself up on your elbows to gaze down at him, but your eyes are simmering.

He squeezes at your thighs, “you’re not going anywhere tonight.”

And before he can hear your protests, he dips forward again and flattens his tongue against your folds. Slow, broad licks that make you twist and twitch. 

“Morax—“ 

“I’m not finished with you yet, my love.” He says lowly, somewhere against where you’re most tender and sensitive. 

He takes his time teasing now. 

Enjoy me later, you’d said, and he doesn’t think this is what you meant. 

You have never been patient enough for teasing–for worship. Sometimes he thinks you always expect to be scorned or feared. You were always Deus Inanis, Tanai Zhenjun, and later, Rapax Regina to the people. You have many names from them, none particularly kind or cherished. You were always the ghoulish god, the bad omen, the drooling maw of a starved predator. Your myth is not a beloved one by most. 

And some dare not even speak your name at all, for fear of inviting you. 

You are not a welcome god in the home and hearth, you are not for protection or courage. You are feared and warded off. You are, at best, used as a condemnation. 

(To him you were always softened with affection, even at your worst; little god, my curse, my love, keeper of my heart.) 

You’ve never known the sort of worship he gives you. 

You struggle with it, keen sharp and broken when he gives it to you. 

Sometimes you have all-out tried to refuse him or hasten him, poured your lust and impatience into him to get your way, to sway him to your own will. He can feel it again now but it never manifests in him the way you’d like it to. You assume his desire is one of his own pleasure. But it has always been this; 

You, belly-up and vulnerable, only for him, delicate in a way the rest of the world will never know. Pleasure-drunk and hazy. Lost to what he can give you–he wants to gorge you. He wishes he could fill the empty place inside of you. 

He’s spent an eternity trying. He’ll spend an eternity more. 

He focuses his intentions, strengthens the pass of his tongue with what he wants. He wants your pleasure. He wants it again and again. 

You curse a little, an ancient word, from when the land was Archon-less and free. 

He lifts his mouth from you briefly, “you are already cursing like that? This will be a long night for you then.” 

He opens his mouth again to taste you, to suck gently, your legs twitching over his shoulders as your breath hitches. 

This time you curse him, hissing through clenched teeth.  

He laughs against you in amusement, low and dark, and smooths a broad hand over the soft plain of your tensing stomach. As if he might soothe you, or perhaps because he wants to feel all of you, have you in his palms, in his arms. Against his mouth.

The next time you fall apart, he doesn’t let up once. His eyes have gone half-lidded and burning, a flint-strike of amber. You try to fight him again, wrestle out of his hold, but he strengthens himself. He steels himself, even, to your pulling of his hair, to your fussing and snapping–all of that melts to whining, to near-crying, as he continues. 

You’re too stubborn to cry for him now–there have been only a handful of times he’s broken you down that much. 

Perhaps if he were feeling crueler, he would try. 

(These instances have always come in the wake of something worse; your largest fights, or worst transgressions where he felt the need to punish. To strip you bare. These are saved, not for his desires, but for your catharsis after all your grief.) 

But your voice has gone higher with desperation, more broken, and he is pleased with that. 

Pleased enough that when you burst on his tongue again, your nails digging into the back of his hand as he holds you, he finally rises. 

Instantly, you twine yourself around him, legs around his waist, arms pulling at the front of his clothes to drag him down into your arms. You are always more desperate for affection like this, softened by pleasure, hungry for more. 

He goes down easily for you.

 Kisses you hard and open, so that you’ll taste yourself from his mouth, the way he tasted the plum from yours. 

You groan weakly and manage to gasp when he pulls away, “please–more. I need more. Need–” 

Always need, you say, when you get like this. Never want. 

“Need you.” 

He hums, the noise lumbering from his chest in a pleased, dark sound. 

“You have me,” he soothes, even as he feels dizzy with your own desire, a headrush of desperation–of need that rushes from you to him. 

Feed me, need me, fill me, possess me, take, take, take me. Fill. Aching–so empty, I’m so empty. Please, please, it hurts– please, I need more, need, need, need–

He lets out a harsh breath. It aches, almost sharply, almost on the wrong side of pain and pleasure. 

He does not torment you any longer. He does not torment himself, either. 

With fingers far more nimble than he feels, he loosens his slacks, he pushes his clothes out of the way just enough, enough to take himself in hand and hiss through his teeth as the head of his cock touches your slick folds. 

Molten. Fluttering still with sensitivity, with desperation. 

Your hips roll, eager, trying to urge him closer, inside–

“Morax–” you cry and the sound twists something in his chest, blooms like a bruise being pressed on. 

 He presses inside you and fills you in one, deep thrust. 

You gasp sharply, you pull at him, force him to collapse over you nearly, cover you completely. You cling to him, you wrap yourself around him like a serpent, now constricting him–

(He’s never been able to tell who is the serpent and who is the mouse, anyways. Who is the tiger or the deer? Was he capturing you? Or were you always capturing him?)

You hold him so tightly, calves flexing around his back, that he can hardly pull out from you to thrust.

He groans, almost in frustration, or maybe some form of defeat. 

“Darling,” he gets out roughly, “my love. My little god.”

The old, affectionate nickname burns through you and he can feel the desire like a knife’s blade in his own stomach. You moan– a soft, warbling sound. 

He manages to move his hips, barely leaving the hot clutch of you, to push back in deeper, harder. 

“Please–” you gasp, “more–kiss me. Touch me.”

“So demanding,” he scolds, but he kisses you hard, with too much teeth and roughness, and fits his palms over the sides of your body. He takes handfuls of curves, of your waist and your breasts, rough hands bending over the lines of you the way the light of the moon bends over the hills and valleys of his land. 

His next thrust is harder, a little rougher. You turn your face into his throat after you break the kiss and your teeth sink down into him hard. 

You always draw blood. You always have to leave your mark on him, on all that you’ve touched. 

But then you draw your tongue over the wound, licking softly, perhaps in apology. Perhaps to satiate another need that winds around inside you. 

Your hand tangles in his hair again and he bites back another raw groan as he thrusts, in and out, on a slow, rough drag. You’re clinging to him, tight and so wet that it’s making his thoughts bleary and clouded. Your lust shadows any rationality; your hunger possesses him. 

“Harder,” you gasp, you beg, you plead. 

And he thinks who am I to deny you? Who am I to deny the god of my hunger? 

His hand slips over your arm, your free one clawing at his clothed back still. He knows you will mourn not getting your nails into his skin after, but he will let you satiate the need all you like later. He’ll savor the way you try to tear him apart, like he always does. 

(And sometimes, he swears, you’re just trying to tear down his skin to be closer. Deeper in him. Scratching at his ribs and his sides like you want in, in, in. A bad dog at his door. A wraith that claws at his soul.)      

As he pulls at your forearm, flattening it out against the desk beneath you to pin you beneath him, he knocks into the bowl of fruit. 

The last of the plum slices tip out onto the desk and the remaining juice at the bottom of the bowl pools in a sticky mess over the wood, some over your forearm and wrist, over his own, too. 

He thinks you move without thinking, bringing his wrist up to your lips where you lick up a stripe up into his palm, against his thumb. 

You take his thumb into your mouth with ease and he cups your cheek in a possessive hold as he lets you suckle, tongue soft and warm and gentle against the pad of it. You groan, lashes fluttering, and this seems to please some part of you. 

His thumb in your mouth, cock lodged deep inside you. 

He pushes himself deeper on his next thrust, enough that you whine a little, eyes going glassy, cheeks hollowing around his thumb. 

He can feel the spit pooling in your mouth, wet and slick, can feel the way your walls squeeze and flutter around him desperately. 

He presses on your tongue, thrust growing a little faster, but still hard, deep–a little ruthless. 

But it’s what you need–so it’s what he gives you. 

You hold his wrist, little nails digging into his skin, desperate to keep his thumb between your lips. He can feel the press of your teeth in the meat of his hand. 

He readjusts, tries to draw his thumb out barely, only for you to latch down tighter on his wrist, and slide it back into your mouth with a noise of protest. Saliva spills a little, slick and messy against your bottom lip, against his hand. 

He coos, but it’s too dark to sound reassuring, and sounds more like a rough purr, just shy of a pleased growl. 

“I won’t go anywhere,” he soothes lowly, but it sounds like less of a comfort from a husband, and more of a promise from the beast you shouldn’t have let in in the first place. It’s loving in the same way a possession is. “My little god, I have you now.” 

Your peak this time makes something inside of him roar open. He feels your inner muscles bear down on him, fluttering desperately. 

Your eyes tip behind your eyelids, hiccuped breath against his hand as it twists into a guttural sound that he feels against his palm. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, turning your face so that he can press open mouthed kisses against your throat, suck a bruise there, turn the flesh tender, “I’ve got you. Good girl–that’s it.” 

Perhaps he draws blood when he bites you this time, too. Tastes it sharp on his tongue, the blood of a god. He lifts his head from your neck and finally draws his thumb from your mouth, spit slick as he traces your bottom lip. He pulls himself up from you to gaze down at you, slack jawed and messy, near feverish with your lust. 

His hips quicken, harder, and you reach out to splay your hand out against his tensing stomach, to push at him a little. 

But he doesn’t stop, feels you nip at his thumb, still making a mess of your lips and chin. 

Your legs are still hitched tight around him, drawing him in, keeping him close. 

He squeezes your hip with his free hand, he loses his rhythm when you draw his thumb back into your mouth, suckling softly on it. 

He groans, feels his own pleasure in a rush down his spine, a burst of heat that unfurls like a supernova. Collapses inward. Expands outwards. He buries himself inside of you, as deep as he can manage, deep enough that you make a little noise of pain maybe, but you hold him tight to you. Again, you constrict around him, dragging him back down by his clothes to slot your mouth against his as he fills you. 

It’s your turn to hum, pleased, almost purring, tightening your hold around him, locking him against you.

The kiss this time is slower, but dirtier, all tongue, open and messy. He groans into it, holding your jaw, feeling himself twitch inside of you, his own eyes fluttering with pleasure, lashes against your cheek. 

When you both pull away, you’re out of breath. Chests rising and falling against each other. 

You seem subdued now, heavy-lidded, but your lips drag to his cheek, down to the curve of his jaw. 

You roll your hips a little.

“More–” You murmur, “I want more.” 

His laugh tapers into a moan. He flexes his hips a little, heat simmering beneath his own skin. 

Your hands pull at his clothes finally, tugging at them, pulling at buttons until they snap and burst beneath your fingers, until you reveal bare skin. Instantly, your hands are on him, nails scratching into his chest gently, over his shoulders. 

(He’s going to take you to bed after this and he’ll rid you of the scraps of your clothes and the rest of his. He'll get rid of anything between you.) 

The ache in him builds again and suddenly he’s rocking into you again, deep and slow, watching the way he disappears inside of you. The mess he’s already made of you, the way he wants to make it all worse. He feels feverish himself now, a little lost to the sight– his desire suddenly feels inhuman. Monstrous. Too big for his own skin. 

You always seem to remind him of his divinity. 

“Hold me,” you demand now and as if commanded, he goes to you. 

He gets his arms around you and he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. His desire unwinds. Time unspools from him. He loses himself in the pull of you, in the undertow of desire and hunger. He tries to satiate the ache you have carved in him. The ache you always have nestled inside of you. 

You beg him of more–more pain and more pleasure and more of him–until he feels near mindless with it. Gone with it. 

Shuddering with sensitivity and feeling you tremble with it, too. 

He doesn’t regain himself until another peak has been reached and fallen from, until he realizes the hour; the moon hanging in the window of his study like a copper penny. He forces himself to slow. To lodge himself deep and go still inside of you and let his head fall to your chest.

You cradle his skull, fingers slipping into his hair, catching your breath as the haze fades for a moment. 

He picks his head up barely, shifts only so he can catch your gaze. 

“Stay for a while.” He demands now. 

 You let go of a sigh, deep, perhaps tired. 

“I thought I wasn’t allowed.” You hum softly. 

“Will you behave?” He asks and you lean down to kiss him–sweeter now. Perhaps apologizing. He accepts your affection with warmth, though. 

“You know how I get restless.” You respond, fingers tracing along the nape of his neck, one of them trailing down the bend of his jaw. 

You are softest now, like this. It’s a rare sight; one he savors, one he will stay hungry for his whole life, he thinks. 

“Yes,” he agrees, perhaps fondly, perhaps sadly. “If you could keep mortals out of it, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Even if I tried to kill you again?” You ask, finger tracing the bow of his upper lip. 

He smiles faintly and you touch the corner of his mouth, “yes,” he agrees, “even then.” 

“Or tried to steal your Gnosis again?” 

He snorts softly, picking himself up further to hover over you, to gaze down at you with more love than you have ever known what to do with. “You can certainly try again.” 

“Perhaps I should try harder this time.” The threat is fangless this time and you are at least soothed somewhat for now. He knows it won’t last long. 

But for now, he takes advantage of it. He cups your cheek, brushes his thumb along your jaw affectionately, and for once, you nuzzle into the touch. You rub your cheek into his palm like a cat. 

A flash of your teeth. You bite down into his hand. 

He laughs softly, but pulls his hand from you, dislodges your teeth from his flesh. 

Slowly, he tries to detangle himself from you. You are reluctant, but he appeases you with promises of more, of his bedroom. Of a bath and whatever you want. 

“More plums,” you say, letting him carry you to his bedroom like a young bride, cradled in his arms. “I’ve always loved plums.” 

He smiles, “I know. They remind me of you.” 

The admittance is a tender one, one that he has held for centuries that has finally loosened from his mouth like a bird taking to flight. 

In the morning, when you have slipped from him and his bed and his life once more, all that’s left are the marks you left on him, the deep scratches and latches of your teeth on tan skin–

And the pits of plums you devoured before you left. Not one is spared and he thinks his heart never has been, either. 

Not from you, his wife, his curse, his love–not from his god of hunger. 

***

a/n part ii: thank you for reading!! here are those notes on the reader's godly names:

There are three titles the reader is referred to. Two of them are latin, similar to Rex Lapis, and the third is from @itoshisoup, and is Tanai Zhenjun, which mao explained as such: "贪爱 (tanai) is a Buddhist term that is often translated as "craving", and refers to desire for both physical and mental things. From my understanding, tanai is sometimes considered a cause of suffering (苦 or ku), but is sometimes considered closely related to suffering in other ways. Given the motif of hunger, I would name the god Tanai, and additionally give them the honorific "Zhenjun" (a title associated with Taoist gods - much like "Dijun", which is the honorific in Zhongli's Chinese title, Yanwang Dijun; however, it is a lesser title than Dijun). Tanai Zhenjun is therefore what I'd call them."

The other two are Deus Inanis and Rapax Regina, which mean "empty god" and "rapacious/ravenous queen" in Latin.

i plan to write more of this reader and use these godly names again soon &lt;3

[specialagentlokitty]

Klaus x reader - change for you

Can you do klaus x reader - Anon💜

Sitting in the tree, you overlooked the vast forest around you, only lit up by the light of the moon, shooting stars racing across the sky.

It would’ve been a perfect night to anybody, it was peaceful, and stunning.

But for you it was just a chance to sit there, lost deep in thought, away from everything that was going on.

You had seen these sights over a thousand times, you had seen everything again and again, nothing in this world was new to you anymore.

It was boring.

Sighing heavily, you listening to the howling of wolves in the distance, and the sounds of nocturnal animals out and about.

But what wasn’t an animal was the sound of the steps coming closer and stopping underneath the tree you were in.

“Why are you here?” You asked.

“I know where to find you.” Elijah relied.

Looking down at him, you went back to what you were doing.

“Niklaus requests your assistance.”

“No.”

Elijah looked up at you.

“No? You have never told my brother no before.”

Sighing you jumped down, standing next to him as you crossed your arms.

“I’m tired of running around after Klaus Elijah, I grow bored of it and this never ending life. When I agreed to this, I thought I would never be alone, that was what I was promised, but I suppose I was wrong. So no, I will not help him anymore.”

Elijah turned to look at you.

“Is everything alright?”

“I just wish to be left alone Elijah.”

With that, you walked away from him.

It was hard, the Mikaelsons had been part of your life for as long as you could remember, ever since you became a vampire they were there to help you every step of the way.

But now you realise the beauty to mortality, and you missed that, you missed the simpleness that was a human life.

You wanted out of this world.

So that’s what you did, you withdrew yourself to the deepest forest you could possibly find, and you resigned yourself into isolation.

You had lost track of time, and you weren’t sure how long you had been away for.

Sitting on the log you had turned into a bench, you looked almost like a statue to anyone that would have found themselves this far.

But the man stood in front of you knew better, and he knew that you sensed him there because you got up and walked inside of the small cabin.

“I never thought I would see the day you would walk away from me.”

“Did your brother not tell you I want to be left alone Klaus?” You asked from the doorway.

“He did.”

Klaus walked over, stopping in front of the doorway, watching as you retreated into the home.

You seemed to do a few things before you came back over.

“If you’re here to kill me then fine, just get it over with.”

Klaus sighed a little bit, shaking his head at you.

“I would never, you know that love.”

“Then leave me to my peace.”

“I can’t do that either, not until you agree to come back with me.”

“Then you’re going to be there a long time.”

Klaus walked to sit on the bench you were sat in, and he looked around the little land.

“I would appreciate it if my spouse came back with me, but if not then we can stay here.”

“I don’t want you here, and don’t call me that.”

Klaus furrowed his brows and looked at you.

“Why? We’re married.”

“We haven’t been married for a long time.” You said lowly.

You were fed up.

Everything you had been holding in was bubbling at the top of your throat, waiting to be spilled out.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not Niklaus? It’s true enough is it not? We have been married for years, you made a vow that I would never be on my own and you would always be there but you never once have been there.” You snapped.

Klaus slowly stood up.

“I have been busy.” He growled.

“Chasing nonsense and trying to murder teenagers who have nothing to do with whatever the hell it is you want!”

You pulled the ring off your hand and tossed it into the forest as hard and as far as you could.

“I thought this would be the most amazing life when I fell for you all those years ago. I realise now I was wrong, and I wish I had died a human. I am weary and have grown sad if the life I have now. I no longer wish to be a vampire, and if the witch I hired cannot find a cure to make me human than I suppose I will die with as much dignity as I can. I will not follow you around like a lost puppy anymore.”

You slammed the door shut.

“Don’t you walk away from me!” Klaus roared.

He knew you would ignore him.

You were always more stubborn than he was, and that was something he loved about you, your stubbornness.

Looking in the direction you threw the ring he began to search for it, and you hadn’t seen him for days.

Those days turned into weeks.

You decided to take a walk, heading through the trees to one of the cliff faces to watch the water, listen to the gentle sounds of the waves.

“I was hoping you would leave me alone.”

“I have something for you.”

You glanced at Klaus as he stood next to you, and he held your ring in his palm.

It was a little dented with scratches.

“I did have someone fix it, but he was unable to get the scratches or dent out of it. I can have a new one made if you prefer?”

“I prefer to be left alone.”

Klaus sighed, putting the ring into his pocket, and he looked at you.

“I’m just trying to make a world where we can both live happily.”

You turned to him.

“That’s what you don’t understand, I don’t care about any of that. Klaus I was happy to just spend my whole life with you. Me and you, that was enough for me. You came into my life and you set my whole world on fire, you made me have a happiness I’d never had before, I thought we would have the most wonderful future together.”

“And we still can my love.”

You shook your head.

“No, we can’t.”

You went to leave.

“You set my heart on fire (Y/N), you are everything I’ve always wanted and more. And I understand I haven’t always been the best husband to you. You were always there for me and I was never there for you, I know.” He sighed.

You turned around to look at him.

“If we were humans I’d want to be with you until we grow old, but I want to be with you until the end of time, I couldn’t picture my life without the likes of you. Please, don’t walk away.”

“I’m done with this Klaus, I cannot do this anymore.”

“Do you want to push me off the cliff? Would that make it better? Because you can.”

“No you idiot.”

“Do it.”

He held his arms out and stood with his back to the water.

“Push me as many times as you want until you feel better.”

“Oh my god I don’t want to hurt you idiot, I’m just tired of this. Maybe this life is for you, but I don’t think it’s for me.”

Klaus walked over to you, and he took your hand in his, placing his other hand on the side of your face.

“It is for you.”

“Klaus.” You warned.

He smiled at you.

“Do you want to live out here? A whole different country? What do you want?”

“I want you to be my husband klaus, I want you to put me higher on your list of priorities, not be the last thing you think about.”

“Oh love you are my highest priority.”

He pulled you in for a hug, holding you tightly.

He hated the thought of not having you with him, not knowing you were were stood right next to him where you should be.

He knew he hadn’t been the best husband, and there was many things he should’ve done differently, but he hated the Idea of you not being there.

Your hands came up to ball into the fabric of his jacket, and you rested your head on his chest.

“Never leave me…” he whispered.

He kissed the side of your head and held you tightly, he wasn’t sure how he was going to change, but he was going to try

[ashintheairlikesnow]

WIP

Just a lil snippet:

The moon left him restless, but the call of the shift from human to canine always did. Misae stripped before the shift could take hold, throwing the sweatpants and shirt onto the bed even as he felt himself bending over, the first prickles of sensation running like goosebumps and setting his hair on end.

As bones cracked and broke beneath his skin, painlessly reforming, he dropped to all fours and felt bare, vulnerable fingers change to rougher paw pads and clicking nails. Canine teeth lengthened and his ears grew. Fur spread over skin like a blanket, warming his chilly body, but even as he became the first form he ever knew - the one Bill kept them in for their first year in silver-lined kennels that dulled the ability to shift and left the young wolves toddling unsteadily on two legs when they only knew four - Misae knew he had to hide. He had to avoid the silver light against his fur and ignore the call to run or to howl and see if other wolves nearby would answer. Misae paced restlessly around the small room, snuffling a newly-dark nose against the ground, tracing the hints of Eden and Anaya in here and then following the softer smell of Vanessa, who had cleaned in here before they arrived, until he found the closet door was cracked open. He had to paw at it, whining softly with his ears flat against his head, looking nervously at the patch of moonlight heading inexorably in his direction. His heart raced beneath his fur at the sight. Bill had always said - never let the moonlight touch you. During the full moon, the pack in the kennels would all shift, the moon made them do it then, and they would huddle together inside big wooden boxes that formed a kind of den. Anyone caught outside the den, by Bill or by the cameras, would be punished. It was the first thing the puppies learned, before they were ever allowed to join the older wolves. Never let the moonlight touch you. He'd broken the rule running from the guns, from the grave of his family. He'd broken the rule running from Austin. But that had been different, hadn't it? Misae clambered clumsily over a pile of cardboard boxes, pushing them with his snout until he had made for himself a sort of barrier, protecting him from the world outside this tiny space. He turned in a circle and then laid down, tail tucked and ears flat, watching the silvery light that cut across the bed. Beneath his nose, soaked into the floorboards years ago, he could smell a hint of a rose perfume. Left by some other person, long before any of the familiar smells of Vanessa's life had entered this place. Bill's wife Ada wore rose perfume. The smell of roses, for the children in the puppy kennels, meant one of you might vanish that day. Ada sometimes took them. She mostly brought them back, after sticking needles to take blood or give what she called 'medicine' that put the puppies to deep sleep and left them groggy and confused upon waking. She mostly brought them back. But not always. He trembled, whining softly, but he quieted the sound as fast as he could. It was something all of them learned - how to hide from the moonlight. How to be so quiet none of the men and women inside the house could hear and think of them, decide they needed to be punished. He wasn't in the kennels any longer - and Bill was far, far away - but Misae still knew it was safer to hide. Not just for him, either. Wolves were most dangerous when the moon was full, calling on their nonhuman blood. It made them monsters - hungry, mindless killers. Everyone knew that. Bill made sure everyone knew that.

[marcandreyuri]

Storm for the ask game!

word challenge meme

continuation of the sashew werewolf au that someday i'll organize into something cohesive and put on ao3. part one and part two

(edit: i did kind of realize immediately after posting this that basically every installment of this has been the same story so.... whoops! i might rewrite this one when i put everything together for ao3)

The night before the full moon, a storm whips and lashes at the sea, winds blowing sand over Sasha’s deck, the waves crashing loudly against the shore.

“Gonna be hell,” Chucky says from his place on the couch, tv remote in hand, turning the volume up on the Senators game he's watching. They’re playing the Bruins in Boston, Brady getting knocked around by Marchand and giving it back just as hard.

“What?” Sasha asks. He’s standing in front of his windows watching the white-crested waves rise up in the storm’s surge, looping over themselves before hitting land. The moon is hidden behind the clouds, and with no light to illuminate the beach, Sasha has to focus to make out what’s happening. The wind rattles the house a little. 

They get storms in Finland, but he didn’t live next to the ocean there, and watching it respond to the downpour is strangely fascinating, in a way that makes Sasha feel small and powerless, an observer of nature instead of part of it.

“Shifting tomorrow,” Matthew clarifies. Sasha turns to look at him, and his eyes are still focused on the television, frowning a little as Brady whiffs on the puck and the Bruins pick it up and take it back towards the Senators’ zone. “I hate turning in the rain.”

“You could turn here instead,” Sasha says without thinking. Chucky’s turned around him a few times now, in hotel rooms on roadies and that one time in Finland, but it feels—too intimate to offer this, shifting in his home, like Sasha’s exposed his own nerve and is just waiting for Chucky to press down on it.

“Nah,” Matthew says and shooting pain goes through Sasha. “The wolf’s been—I don’t know, weird lately. I’m gonna lock the gate at home.”

“Weird like what?”

Chucky bites his lip and shrugs, humming nonchalantly. “Just weird,” he says, and Sasha knows he’s lying, knows Matthew knows exactly what’s going on with his wolf and won’t say. 

Sasha’s been researching wolves a lot lately, watching documentaries on the mythology of werewolves, the biology behind the change, the behavioral patterns. He thinks he could understand, if Matthew would let him.

The storm slows to a drizzle by morning, but comes roaring back by afternoon, parts of the roads flooding and practice getting cancelled. When he goes to sleep that night, the wind outside howls and it sounds so much like Chucky that he turns on all the lights, like he could give Matthew a beacon to follow, a guide to bring him home.

Sasha feels stupid for thinking it. Matthew has his own house and he even said he wasn’t coming tonight anyway. He turns the lights off and gets back in bed, turning on some white noise on his phone to drown out the storm.

His volume’s on full blast when he gets a call at six in the morning, sunlight just barely coming in through the curtains as it peeks over the horizon.

“Hei?” He says, blinking awake. His vision is still blurry, and his mind is clouded. English always take a minute to come online for him.

“Barky?” He hears. Matthew’s voice is tinny, like he’s calling from a place without very much reception. “Are you—”

“Chucky,” he interrupts, “are you okay?”

“I’m—” Matthew laughs before saying, “I guess. I have no idea where I am though.”

“Who’s phone do you have?”

“I just knocked on some random person’s door. Hold on—” He hears Matthew pull the phone away from his mouth and say something, a low murmur from the other person’s reply. He puts the phone back and rattles off an address, just a few minutes from Sasha’s.

“I’ll be there soon,” Sasha says, and just before he hangs up he hears Matthew asking for some clothes. 

He grabs his softest sweatpants and a sweater out of his closet, debates on bringing some boxers but Chucky freeballs it more often than not so he leaves them.

Besides, he flashes back to the last shift Chucky had on the road, the morning after when they fucked in the hotel bed before anyone else on the team even woke up, Chucky lazy and slow below him, opening up for Sasha so easily, so relaxed. He thinks he’d like to see if Matthew wants to repeat that today.

He pulls up to the mansion a dozen streets west of his and sees Chucky with a kitchen towel draped over his middle, sitting on the wet curb. The streets are still a little flooded, but the drains are clearing it out now that the rain has stopped.

Matthew practically jumps in the car and throws the towel out the door before he slams it shut. Sasha hands him the clothes he brought and they sit in silence as Matthew quickly dresses, Sasha driving slowly back towards his house.

“Thanks,” Chucky says after he pulls the sweater over his head, his fingers pulling at the neckline to draw it away from his throat.

“Thought you were locking the gate,” Sasha says as he turns east towards his street.

“Yeah, I did,” Matthew says. “Guess the wolf didn’t like it much. I have splitters everywhere, so he probably tore at the fence or something.”

Sasha thinks of Matthew’s wolf—huge, deadly, clawing and biting at the fence keeping him in, lightning crackling in the sky and thunder booming through his bones, his claws getting bloody as he worked. 

“I guess he got lost in the rain or something. Woke up on a lawn with some kids poking me in the ass with a stick.” Matthew laughs, like it’s funny. Sasha feels a pit in his stomach, growing heavier with every word. “I tore up their plastic flamingos though, so I guess I deserved it.”

“Change at my house next time,” Sasha says. “You always find me anyway.”

Chucky says, “Yeah, sorry. It thinks—I guess it thinks we’re mated or something. It’s—I mean, it’s an animal. It’s stupid.”

Werewolves' mates are as shrouded in myth as werewolves themselves—people that keep werewolves tethered to their humanity, give them purpose and something to protect. The science of it is still undetermined, why some people have wolves just drawn to them, whether it’s human emotions mixing in with wolf instincts or something scent-based or something else entirely, not able to be understood with the science they have right now.

Sasha thinks of Matthew’s wolf, the way it looks at Sasha, the way they can communicate without words, the way he feels when the wolf is laying in bed next to him. “It’s not stupid,” he says. 

“Sure it is,” Chucky says. “It doesn’t get that like—we fuck, but we’re not. You know.”

“We could be,” Sasha says, his eyes straight forward, focused on the road. There’s something about being in the car that makes this feel easy, like they both have a reason not to look at each other. “I think your wolf knows more than you think.”

Matthew’s quiet the rest of the ride back to Sasha’s, but when they pull into the driveway, the smell of wet concrete and mud and the salty ocean air coming in through the window Matthew’s opened, he says, “Next time I’ll change here.” Sasha looks over at Matthew, and they both smile at each other, a feeling of something beginning sparking through the air like lightning.

[flyingwargle]

tw: beginnings of an anxiety attack midway through

the show was a disaster.

lynette thinks it’s because of sabotage. lyney thinks it’s because of him.

when he palmed the wrong card at the start of their act, he should’ve taken it as a sign that nothing else would go well. instead, his smile became wider, raised his voice louder, swept his arms in more and more elaborate gestures. the stage lights hid the audience’s faces, but he could still hear their whispers, their judgments, their disappoint. this is not what i paid for.

that’s why he refunded their tickets. it’s the least he could do.

he sends his sister home while he inspects their props. she already did it while he was talking with the ticket office, but he has to be sure that the fault lies with him. there’s no sign of tampering, and all equipment remains in its rightful positions, waiting for tricks that would never happen. they aren’t to blame – he is.

do you really call yourself a great magician?

the theater is empty. lyney sits cross-legged onstage, facing the shuttered overhead lights. it’s cold, amplified by the empty seats and corridors. he’s cloaked in darkness, with only the stars shining through the windows.

i should go back. the others will be worried.

are they, though? do they really want such a pathetic brother back?

he squeezes his eyes shut. he picks himself up, stumbles down the hallway to exit through the back door. security locked the front entrance hours ago. he couldn’t bring himself to leave among his dissatisfied patrons.

the court of fontaine is a different entity at night. whereas light makes water seem friendly, night makes it seem unforgiving. streetlamps illuminate his path, boots echoing around him. he walks with his back straight, head held high, as if walking home after a successful show, full of bravado. this is just an act, a mask to hide his turmoil, like the teardrop he paints on his cheek before every show.

he slows. the stars accompany the moon, yet no one accompanies him. he leans against the railing to peer down at the lower levels of the city. storefronts are darkened. stalls are covered with canvas. only the faintest light radiates behind closed curtains, followed by hushed voices and rustling blankets. soon, it feels like he’s the only one left awake.

that’s why only silence answers him when he curses. “dammit!”

people make mistakes. it’s natural. he doesn’t because he knows the consequences. all he’s ever known is that a single misstep can mean being thrown to the wolves, to be claimed by the darkness without a way back. as the oldest, he can’t afford wrong moves. it isn’t just him who suffers, but his brothers and sisters.

his hand sneaks up to his chest. it’s heavy. his heart is racing. his breaths are quick. stay calm…stay calm. i…have to go back. i can’t…let the others know–

“lyney?”

he jumps. when he raises his head, his vision is blurred. tears form in the corners of his eyes. why?

why did you have to find me like this?

lynette stands on his right, freminet on his left. their gestures are light across his arms as they guide him to sit down. “you were taking so long,” lynette whispers. “we were worried about you?”

what’s there to worry about? i’m fine.

“no, you aren’t. you’re always like this when a show goes badly.”

freminet nods. “it- it’s hard to keep it together all the time. you can be frustrated. we aren’t supposed to be perfect.”

i’m supposed to be. what good am i if i can’t even put on a magic show?

“it’s not just you.” a hand rests over his own to quell his trembles. “i’m onstage, too. fremmy designs our props. our brothers and sisters help make our stage costumes. you might be the one doing the sleight of hand, but we work together to make the show work.”

“a failure now means success later,” freminet adds. “we learn and we grow. that’s how it is.”

lyney draws in a shuddering breath and squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing to clear them of tears. lynette continues to hold his other hand. “it’s okay to cry.”

that’s all the permission he needs.

neither his sister nor brother speak, simply press against him as his tears flow down his cheeks. how unbecoming of him. he watched his sister cry after she was rescued from that terrible place; he watched his brother cry when he learned that his mother would never come back. he embraced them both, lent them his shoulder, murmured soothing words. it's okay. i'm here. i'll never leave you.

even if they don't do that for him, their presence is enough to reassure him that they mean the same sentiment.

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

For as long as the de Rolos have lived, so has their curse. Its roots have long since been forgotten, perhaps a spell from a witch long dead, maybe the genes of someone married in, or maybe it’s just always been that way. No matter how the curse came to be, it’s been passed to every bloodborne de Rolo born as long as memory serves. 

But as much as the curse is known among the immediate family, it is also Whitestone’s best kept secret. None but those bearing the last name de Rolo are privy to what happens to anyone carrying de Rolo blood under the light of the full moon. 

Percy doesn’t remember a time he was told about the curse, it’s just always been part of his life. He didn’t start to change until after his third birthday, a bit early in comparison to his other siblings, something he still holds over their heads as a teenager. 

“Percy, dear,” his mother calls him over with a soft smile and a gentle wave of her hand. With a sigh, Percy does as he’s told and heads the call, sinking into the chair beside her at the dining table. 

Before he’s even properly seated, Johanna starts making him a plate, knowing that he probably won’t eat much unless she forces him too. “You need to eat breakfast,” she chides him. “You have to keep your strength up for tonight.” 

“Tonight?” Percy asks with a frown, stabbing a piece of fruit with his fork.

“The full moon,” Frederick chimes in, already on his second helping of food. 

Percy sighs heavily. It’s bad enough that the full moon interrupts his nights in his workshop, but it also means that he is forced to spend time with all of his family. All of whom become very very annoying in their wolf forms. 

Percy has long since lost the argument of him staying in the castle, in his workshop during the full moon. His mother, though she doesn’t change herself, refuses to let him be alone when he’s as vulnerable as he is in that state. Not to mention that keeping the fact that the Lord de Rolo, along with all his seven children, is a werewolf becomes significantly harder to hide when they remain that close to the castle.

So Percy piles food on his plate under his mother’s watchful eye. He slumps in on himself as he forces himself to eat. All around him, his siblings are rowdy. They always are before a full moon; even his father is playing into the antics more than usual. 

Johanna sighs and leans over to Percy, tucking his hair back. Percy forces himself not to pull away, he knows that makes his mother upset. “It’s just one night, Percival.”

“I know.” He bites into a piece of bacon. His mother sighs again and pulls away. 

When sunset comes, the whole family is waiting in a clearing in the woods. They go there every month, it’s just far enough outside the castle to not arouse suspicion. Percy sits on the grass, tugging his shoes off and setting them to the side. 

Cassandra and Ludwig are already wild, running and chasing each other through the clearing. His mother sits behind Whitney, braiding her hair back. Frederick comes over to Percy with a smile, “Are you ready, Percival?”

He sighs and allows his father to help him to his feet, “I suppose.” Frederick laughs as though Percy made a joke and squeezes the back of his neck. He guides Percy over to the rest of the family just as the sun begins to dip below the horizon.

The shift happens quickly. At his age, it no longer hurts, his bones and muscles move into place. When he blinks, he along with the rest of his family are wolves. Cassandra’s transformation still must hurt because she scampers over to their mother, whining as Johanna runs her fingers through her thick fur. 

continue reading on ao3

[ongaunt]

ᵐᵒᵒⁿˡᶦᵍʰᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵃᵗᵃ

ˢᵘᵐᵐᵃʳʸ: ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵖᵃʳᵗʸ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ. ᴼᵐᶦⁿᶦˢ ᴳᵃᵘⁿᵗ ᵈᵃⁿᶜᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠˡᶦʳᵗˢ. ᴱˡˡᶦᵒᵗᵗ ᶦˢ ᵈᵉᶠᵉⁿˢᵉˡᵉˢˢ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᶦᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᶜᵉʳᵗᵃᶦⁿ ᵇˡᵒⁿᵈᵉ. ᵐᵉⁿᵗᶦᵒⁿˢ: ˢᵉᵇᵃˢᵗᶦᵃⁿ ˢᵃˡˡᵒʷ, ᵍᵃʳʳᵉᵗʰ ʷᵉᵃˢˡᵉʸ & ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵒᶜ'ˢ. ᵗʷ: ᵃˡᶜᵒʰᵒˡ, ᵛᵃᵖᶦⁿᵍ, ʳᵉᶜʳᵉᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿᵃˡ ᵈʳᵘᵍ-ᵘˢᵉ.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

“Oi Penndragon, pass the spliff!”

A random Ravenclaw fifth year called out to him as Elliott exhaled. He took another deep inhale, letting the fumes fill his lungs and cloud his better judgement. He smiled lazily as he passed the unknown brunette the joint in his hand. It was getting cloudy in the tavern, raised voices woven through the blaring music around them. Many were drunk, high or both. Elliott was definitely a bit of both, more high than drunk. He could’ve sworn he saw Natty dancing on the bar at one point. His body swayed to the music, humming the melody as the vibrations snaked over his body like a whisper.

“Drink?” Sebastian nudged into him, leaning close to be heard.

“Nah mate,” Elliott replied with a smile. “I’m so buzzed. I might throw up.”

Sebastian’s hearty laugh was a joy to hear, his head of unruly dark hair thrown back. He clapped Elliott’s shoulder affirmingly before disappearing into the tangled mass of sweaty, dancing bodies. Another party for the books, no doubt. They had even convinced Ominis to come out after pinching some earplugs from Professor Garlick’s supplies. He spotted the blonde sitting down with another Slytherin girl, talking amongst themselves. He recognised the figure and felt safe to approach.

“Eloise, Ominis,” he greeted them both warmly. “Glad to see you both out and about!”

“You look like shit, Elliott,” Eloise retorted with a knowing look on her face, one he interpreted as a good thing nonetheless. She was right, he was sweaty and gross.

“At least I’m having fun! Come dance with me!” Elliott wriggled his brows, a charming smile warm on his face. “Come’on Ominis, you too!”

Begrudgingly, they obliged. Elliott saw the courtesy to refill Eloise’s glass before joining the two awkward mooncalves on the dance floor. He made sure to keep them on the outer rim, in case neither wanted to bail. It was fun while it lasted, not even half a song and Eloise had returned to her seat. Elliott thanked her with a warm shrug before turning his attention back to Ominis. The blonde looked utterly ethereal under the flashing lights, Elliott was thankful he couldn’t see how his cheeks warmed. He had always admired Ominis but platonically of course. Well, perhaps a little more than platonic.

“Are you still here?” Ominis yelled.

Elliott placed a firm hand on the small of his back, leaning in. “Of course.”

He took the opportunity to get close to Ominis, guiding him with the sway of his hips, admiring how the other looked from behind. Time stopped still as they danced, Elliott’s hands still glued to Ominis’s hips. The trance was only broken when the music softened. Ominis turned in Elliott’s arms, inching closer to his ear after cold hands cupped his face to find it. “Can we get some air?”

Elliott instinctively grasped Ominis’s hand and guided him through the busy tavern. They dodged a few classmates eagerly wanting to start a conversation – Elliott was solely focused on Ominis’s needs. Cold air greeted them with much needed breath as they meandered nearby, gravitating toward the first bench they found. Elliott reluctantly released Ominis’s hand.

“Better?”

“Much, thanks.”

Wolves howl in the distance as Elliott looked at the familiar figures around them. Most were engrossed in deep conversation or exhaling puffs of smoke from their well-worn lungs, it was rare to see the tavern so full. Hazel eyes casted back to Ominis, scanning his face for discomfort. Elliott was ready to leap to the moon if Ominis asked.

“Need anything?” he asked, head dipped where he stood.

The blonde shook his head. “Sit with me for a little while, will you?”

Happily, Elliott complied. He produced a small metal device from his pocket, “Mind if I smoke?”

“’Course not.”

He admitted he might have been a bad influence on their mutual Sallow friend lately. Elliott had picked up a bad habit and therefore, Sebastian picked it up too. Two bowtruckles on a tree branch. He made sure to exhale away from Ominis, watching the clouds of vapour slither onto navy canvas of the night sky.

“I didn’t know you could dance like that, Gaunt.”

Elliott was sure Ominis could hear the smirk in his voice, the corner of his mouth tugged up. “A lot you don’t know about me. Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

Elliott’s smile grew, his head thrown back as he exhaled another clump of smoke. “Are you flirting with me?”

Before he could stop, the words slipped through his lips. It wasn’t unusual of him to be so bold but this was different. Elliott scanned Ominis’s delicate features, searching for any clues. Seemed like an eternity before the blonde spoke up.

“And if I was?”

Jesting. Elliott was impressed. He had never seen this side of Ominis before and the tiny crush he had blossomed into a full blown craving. Time stopped again as nervous lips inched closer, hands brushing and hearts raced. The moment was perfect by all accounts. Of course, until they were rudely interrupted by a tall ginger.

“Oi oi! What do we have here? Enjoying a moonlight sonata, are we?” Garreth Weasley crept up behind them, jostling the two out of the moment.

Ominis sighed, annoyed. “Weasley. Perfect timing.”

“Wassup, Fergalicious?” Elliott jested, flashing his friend a bright grin as they shook hands.

Garreth nodded to the tavern. “Coming back in?”

“Yeah, in a bit,” Elliott replied, keeping one eye on Ominis.

He was thankful Garreth was oblivious to the scene, he couldn’t fathom Ominis being okay with someone knowing just yet. Let alone Garreth of all people. As much as Elliott saw Garreth as a brother, Ominis was still warming up to him.

“What do you think? Wanna go back inside for a bit? I’ll walk you back afterwards.”

Ominis shrugged. Elliott could swear he saw a rosy tint to his cheeks. “I suppose, we have to keep an eye on Sebastian.”

“Wish I was there when he got so drunk he almost got a tattoo,” Elliott laughed, throwing his arm over Ominis’s shoulder as they slowly headed toward the building. He wished he could bottle the moment up and keep it for a rainy day. Needless to say, he finally got an answer to a question he was eager to solve.

‧₊˚ ⋅

[meowbomb]

I don’t think who killed Bonnie matters but what caused it and who Bonnie was is more important.

Something I’ve always thought about in security breach was that Bonnie’s green room changed locations.

In security breach his green room was in rockstar row

However I think this was changed in ruin with this becoming his green room. The pause menu message even calls it Bonnie’s green room.

(I probably know this was probably a retcon but let me dream real quick.)

Of course they’d move his stuff into a spare room if Bonnie was decommissioned. However, how do we know if this was the case?

Most of the messages in security breach have no specific date on them. We just have to guess where they take place in the timeline based on the contents of the message.

I’m going on the wild idea that Bonnie was being slowly taken out of the spot light. Now you might ask “Bonnie was popular that kids asked about him, why would the company want him gone?”

It’s quite simple. In security breach and ruin, there’s no clear picture of who Bonnie really was. We have no idea what Bonnie was like. Sure, Freddy loves and grieves him but bear in mind, Freddy still considered Roxy, Chica and Monty as his friends despite the fact they were hunting down Gregory. He was still horrified with their fates even though they threatened Gregory because Freddy still saw good in them. The same goes with his relationship with Bonnie.

All the animatronics in the pizzaplex all act out in some form. They each have their problems. I think it’d be more strange if Bonnie wasn’t doing anything bad. Most of the animatronics have attacked staff bots: Roxy decapitates them, Chica attacked them for food, Moon (and probably Sun to a degree) rips endos and staff bots. Monty hasn’t been said to have attacked a staff bot but he has broken fences and Freddy was in safe mode during the game.

Besides don’t you think it’s quite interesting the bowling screens show Bonnie attacking the pins in an almost sadistic way?

That’s why they’d move Bonnie away from the spot light. If he’s becoming a major problem, Fazbear Entertainment does not want him to possibly damage their reputation further therefore they need to put a stop on him. They made first help wanted game to build their reputation back up and to play off past mistakes as “rumours”

The glamrocks contradict the personalities they were programmed with. Roxy is the cool one with a beauty salon but she has major insecurities. Chica is the fitness guru centred around food but has an impulse control issues and binge eats. Monty is a laid back rising rockstar yet has anger issues and stays away from shows.

But Bonnie? We don’t know. The stuff in Bonnie bowl is little to go off in all honestly and the most you could get was that he’s also this sorta laid back guy but is that really all?

It’s also really funny to note alligators, rabbits, wolves and chickens are mostly social animals meanwhile bears are more solitary except for a few.

If Bonnie was becoming a problem for the pizzaplex, fazbear entertainment would slowly relegate Bonnie to just a side show in Bonnie Bowl like how Monty was probably just a side thing in Gator Golf. They don’t want to risk anything with him. They no longer let Chica sing because of the risk of lawsuits after she did instead of trying to fix anything. If Bonnie is popular and held no risk, why wouldn’t they try to bring him back? Yeah Monty could be more profitable but Monty is just a side thing like the Daycare Attendant and DJMM compared to a popular member of the main band.

Fazbear entertainment wanted Bonnie gone. His decommissioning was the perfect opportunity and they took it. They just needed a replacement and Monty was the best option and next in line.

I’m not saying Bonnie was 100% evil or 100% good. But the circumstances and what drives something to attack him is interesting. Was it out of malicious intent? Self defense? Or an accident? Who knows. But the reason can change everything.