#he’s supposed to look like a wolf as well as a deer

[tekkenenjoyerblue]

“Hello child, what’s this about missing villagers? Most curious, I do hope you find them soon, desu”

Went and cleaned up an old silly concept combining two interests of mine, I mean who wouldn’t wan’t Goenitz on their animal crossing island?

[miasmaghoul]

WAHHHH AEON CONVINCING EVERYONE THEYRE HIS FIRST. thinkijg thoughts about omega and aether breaking him in and then hes all virgin to whoevers next and after they go to aether like “why did u not fuck the new guy??” and aethers like i did?? and it all comes out but they keep it a secret to see how long/how many ghouls/papas aeon can get with his bit

I think Aether is his first, and he's enough of a gentleman not to let anyone know. Not his information to share - well except for one night when he replays it all for Dew in excruciating detail, but that's easily taken care of with a little quintosis. No harm done.

Swiss is Aeon's second, though, and he's been enough of an actual first to be able to see right through Aeon's coy smiles and the way he bats his lashes. It's easy enough to figure out who was:

"Can't believe I haven't gotten my hands on you yet."

Swiss murmurs it into his throat, both hands shoved into Aeon's hastily undone jeans. One tugging at his semi and the other curled around his bony hip, Swiss' rough fingers petting at his hole. Aeon's gasping already, still half-tangled in the hoodie he was removing when Swiss shoved him onto one of the hotel beds. This is what he gets for spending all evening - hells, all day, really - being a flirty little shit, he supposes. He licks his lips and swallows hard, putting on his best innocent face; wide, damp puppy eyes, pouty lips, the whole nine yards. Swiss stares down at him like a wolf who's pinned a deer, smile sharp even without his fangs, and Aeon's heart skips in his chest. He knew Swiss would be rough, but this is a thrill.

"Surprised Aether didn't get you first," Swiss rumbles with a twist of his wrist, and Aeon gives himself away when his eyes glaze over.

Swiss isn't even sure if the other ghoul knows he does this, or if the others have caught it, but when Aeon really remembers something he sort of...disappears for a second. Just for a heartbeat, very easy to miss if you aren't looking for it, but Swiss has spent more than enough time with the new kid to pick up on it. It's like he's reliving the moment he's been reminded of in a flash. Swiss wonders if it has something to do with his magick; Omega had something of a photographic memory, maybe Aeon has something similar? He doesn't know.

What he does know, is that when he says Aether's name Aeon does that thing where he goes away for a moment, and his cock flexes so hard they both choke.

So that's a yes, then.

Swiss doesn't say a word, lets Aeon play the blushing virgin because, well, it's not like he isn't into that, and holds him close afterwards. Gives him a bath and orders his favorite takeout meal before they go to sleep. He even lets Aeon be the big spoon.

He calls Aether while Aeon's in the shower the next morning, just to make sure, and the silence when he asks Aether if he knows if Aeon's slept with anyone is so, so loud. Swiss says it's kinda hot that Aeon likes to play pretend, and they both manage to squeeze out a quick one and agree to keep this knowledge to themselves before Aeon's even done in the bathroom. Swiss texts Aether a quick video of him blowing a kiss with his cummy hand, and Aether responds in kind.

After that, I think Mountain is next, but he isn't one to brag. Rain comes after that, but is suspicious about being Aeon's first despite his shy admissions while Rain was between his legs. He finds out for sure via a good ol' fashioned footjob, because Mountain would give up nuclear launch codes if it meant having the chance to feel Rain's toes work the head of his cock. Rain doesn't feel particularly miffed - the kid put on a good show, after all, and good sex is good sex. He and Mountain both think they're the only ones, though, so they agree to keep it between them.

Word gets out after Dew has his turn with Aeon and brags about it to Swiss over gas station coffee a few days later. Swiss, who cannot for the life of him let the little guy have anything, and immediately snorts into his styrofoam cup. Rain overhears them and they all share a knowing snicker (as soon as Dew finishes scowling) once they figure out Aeon's little game. Swiss calls Cirrus over to let her know, just in case Aeon's tried the same thing with her, and she looks absolutely delighted.

"He asked me just yesterday if I would "answer some questions about his body"," she shares, accepting a sip of Dew's hot chocolate. "That he's experiencing some "new things" and has "questions about girls." He was blushing like a whore in church and everything."

The squeak of sneakers on slick tile echoes behind them, and a pair of lanky arms loop themselves between Swiss and Rain's shoulders.

"Speak of the devil," Swiss grunts, Aeon tugging him down to plant a good morning kiss on his cheek. Aeon grins.

"Mornin' Cir," he greets with a nod, ignoring the rest of them entirely. The ghouls share a collective eye roll. "I just talked to Papa, like you asked." If the new kid's tail was out, it would be wagging like an excited retriever's. "He said it's $750 for tomorrow and $1250 for Thursday, but if you need more then just use the black card."

Cirrus gives him a warm smile, reaching across their little circle to ruffle his hair. Aeon beams at her, might as well have hearts in his eyes when she cups his chin and says,

"Good boy, thank you."

Cirrus gives his cheek an affectionate pat, and that blush they've all come to know by now makes its appearance.

"Tell you what - come to my room tonight. You can help me pick out where we stay for the next few nights. I can show you all sorts of secrets," she adds, giving him a slow once over that makes Aeon flush down his throat. "About how to pick the right hotel in these smaller areas, of course," she clarifies, handing Dew back his lipstick-stained cup and straightening her coat. "I might even have the girls drop in and give you some extra hints."

Cirrus winks, and Aeon's walk to the bus is slow and awkward. They all have the kindness to hold in their laughter until he's out of earshot, but Swiss and Rain both have tears running down their cheeks by the time they calm down.

"Don't break the kid, Cir," Dew says through a cough, wiping his eyes. "I have at least one more ticket for that ride."

"No promises," she grins, eyes sparkling. "Oh he's going to be fun."

That night, Cumulus and Aurora have him together, with Cirrus guiding them all through a very thorough anatomy lesson because Aeon is just so new to all this and has no idea what he's doing, please don't tell anyone:((((. And they're all just so sweet to him, so giving, even after it starts to hurt because they just know he must have so much stuffed inside those tight little balls of his if this is his first time!

They pinky swear not to tell anyone that he cries.

[skzdarlings]

the fifteenth heir ; faerie prince au ; jeongin/reader ; part one

masterlist.

When you save the life of an injured wolf, you are not expecting him to turn into a prince and save you in return. Of course, as it turns out, fairy tales are not that simple. - A prequel to The Same But Different: The story of how Prince Jeongin overpowered his fourteen older brothers to take the throne of the summer court.

part one | chapters tba | ao3 link.

pairing: yang jeongin/reader content info: set in the faerie prince universe, the prequel to the same but different. faerie/human romance. strangers to lovers. eventual sexual content.

content warnings: please heed the following trigger warnings and read at your own discretion. this story is predominately a romance but classified under horror as well. there will be gruesome scenes, images, and threatening scenarios. this chapter features murder, isolation, mentions of human cannibalism, neglect, suicidal thoughts, explicit violence, and dark fantasy elements.

chapter word count: 7000 words.

enjoy <3

-

Absolute silence surrounds the house.  In daylight, pests are lured closer by the meaty red stench of blood.  At nightfall, every lowly thing knows to keep away from the yawning maw of that front door.  Even animals understand a chasm, this black hole that swallows life and belches bones back into the woods. 

You wake behind the eyes of the monster, curled up in your cot by the attic window.  Even the slightest noise wakes you, the smallest disturbed pebble a thunderous exclamation in the silence.  

Your eyes adjust to the moonlight darkness.  You scan the yard.

Leave, you think, pleading with everything and nothing.  You beg whatever is out there to get away before it gets hurt. 

It’s been a week since your father’s last hunt and his hunger is going to get the better of him – and you are a selfish little girl in a terrified woman’s body and you don’t want to hear another murder. 

Silence is absolute until it is not.  It always ends with a scream.

Your own shriek is strangled in the sleepy rasp of your voice, startled by a shape emerging from the thrush of the woods.   Your racing heart patters as the shadow takes shape in the moonlight.  

Oh, it’s a stag.  

Two - no, three of them. 

It’s better than a person.  Your father won’t be hungry for an animal this late in the week. 

It’s still unsettling. Your father occasionally allows you into the woods to hunt for animals.  You are not allowed to venture far and nothing intelligent approaches the house, so you never find anything more than rabbits and squirrels.  If there are more animals out there, it is deep, deep in the miles of trees, well past where the footpaths fade and the branches start to tangle into a wall of impenetrable brambles. 

You have never seen a stag before. 

The first stag crosses the yard.  It steps tentatively, as you suppose deer are wont.  But there is something about the angle of its head, the curious, scrutinizing tilt as it looks at the house – like it’s really considering it, the way people might.  The way people do, with a breath of relief. 

Thank god, they always say.  A house. 

Our car broke down on the highway.

We were hiking and got lost.

There’s something about these woods.

We don’t know how we got here.

You don’t know how they get here either.  Despite the repeated claim, there is no highway anywhere close.  You have looked.  There’s nothing but the house. 

The stags cross the yard one by one, flicking their heads, their antlers waving in the dark.  For a moment, the shadows look like long, spindly fingers, stretching up and up as if taunting you with a friendly wave.  Hello, they say, we’re out here and you’re in there.  Can you see us too?

Then the porch lights wash yellow over the blue night.  Your father steps onto the porch.  He always answers the door, just like you are always in the attic.

The stags run, though it seems more jaunty than afraid, a bouncing trot back into the woods.  Your father hollers after them, enraged his hunger was piqued only to find no satisfaction.

You lay back down and close your eyes.  This screaming is preferable to the usual kind, but it is still screaming.

And it always ends with a scream.

-

You are sitting by the window, legs curled up and arms around your knees.  You watch the yard, the flies zipping here and there in the daylight.  You have been watching for hours, wondering if the stags will come back.  They seem like an impossible dream in the light of day.  Try as you might, you cannot picture them in the yard.  They just don’t belong there.  Nothing does.  It makes that murky dream feel like a nightmare. 

Your watching is interrupted by a creaking on the stairs.  Your father is coming up to the attic. 

You jump out of bed, dressed in your too-small shorts and too-big shirt, like always, and you fetch the key under your cot, like always, and you are waiting at the closed door when he arrives, like always.

Even though you can hear each other breathing, he still knocks at the door. A  semblance of politeness.  Knocking, like he is protecting your privacy.  Knocking, like you can’t hear him hacking his way through human bodies, like you can’t hear the mess, like you don’t know where the meat goes. 

He knocks, like always.

You slide the key under the door so he can unlock it.  It’s a type of understanding, isn’t it?  You can’t leave without his permission.  He can’t reach you without yours.

The door opens. 

He is holding a hunting knife.  It should scare you.  He has used it against you before, the one and only time you tried to run away.  He let you out to hunt and you ran for that elusive highway.  Ran, got lost, got scared, got found.  He cut at your legs, not to sever or maim, but in a frantic, desperate kind of threat.  That he would.  That he would do a lot.

But there are things he won’t do.  He won’t make you eat the remains of his human catches.  He hands you the knife and says, “Go.”

“Do you want something too?” you ask like you don’t know the answer. 

“No,” he says, with no further explanation for what he intends to hunt and eat.

You take the knife.

It’s a cool day.  You think it must be autumn but the deeper you sink into the woods, the warmer it gets.  The gentle breath of the autumnal breeze vanishes as you leave range of the house.  The sun brightens while the shade thickens, the forest a starker and starker contrast of light and dark.  You keep to the shade because it is sweltering in the sun with no breeze. 

It feels strange to do something like that.  Does a moment of comfort really matter?  Your legs are scarred, the woods are hot, and the house is always waiting.  Does a minute of shade really matter?

Resigned, you trudge through the woods in your bare feet, stepping into patches of hot sunlight.  The knife dangles in your loose grip.  You hardly feel the path under your feet.

A sound bleeds into the quiet nothing.  You ignore it even though it could be a catch.  That’s why you’re out here, isn’t it?  To find food?  A rabbit, a squirrel.  There are no stags.  You were dreaming.  There is nothing.  Nothing but the house, right? 

Nothing but this, like always. 

You stop.  Your grip tightens around the knife.  Every part of you throbs like it is begging to be pierced.  Maybe it will wake you out of this nightmare.  Maybe it will set you free.  Maybe you just want the house to spit your bones into the woods.  At least you’d never have to go back in. 

You hear it again.  It is not the skitter of an animal or a human scream or any sound you know. 

Crying, you realize.  It’s the whining wail of a hurt thing, more despondent than afraid.  It pierces those vulnerable places faster than a knife.  A new ache replaces it.

You follow the sound.  It sadness is so persuasive that you begin to cry as well. 

You stumble towards some trees, their branches low and tangled.  You swing at them with the knife like it’s a machete.  You need to get through.  You don’t know why. 

It must be an animal on the other side.  It could be hurt or it could hurt you.  It could be one of the stags.  Somehow, you know it’s not, thinking of those taunting antlers.  They couldn’t make a sound like this. 

The branches cave with a shatter, all at once as if tired of fighting. You stumble into an alcove, a little shelter among the trees. 

In the middle of it, curled up and crying, is a wolf.

A wolf? 

Its fur is a solid midnight black, darker than the shadows around it.  Its big body is irrefutably canine but the face is not wolf-like.   

A fox, you think, though the proportions are all wrong.  Foxes are not this big and overwhelming.

You don’t dwell on it because this fox-wolf is hurt.  In the obsidian darkness of its coat, you almost miss the streaks of blood, the open cuts just barely visible. 

You drop the knife.  The fox-wolf watches it fall, its whine gone silent in your presence.  Its black eyes are steady.  It looks at the knife then at you.  There is a horrible sadness in its gaze, a miserable resignation to the droop of its head.

You know this feeling well.

“Did he do this to you?” you ask, as if you expect an answer.  It is not more unusual than speaking to yourself.

The fox-wolf whines, a sad, imploring beg.  Its gaze goes to the knife. 

“I’m not like him,” you say.  “I’m not here to hurt you.” 

Even as you say it, you are not sure your father is responsible for this.  It’s not his nature.  For all his abominable offences, your father does not hunt for sport.  He slaughters indiscriminately but it is always purposefully.  Animals, early in the week, brought back skinned and ready for cooking.  Humans, later, when he changes, when he starts sweating under some invisible heat source and nothing else satisfies him.   

That is when you go to the attic and let the door lock behind you.  You know he’s still your father when you can hear him breathing on the other side.  When the hunger possesses him, he is a screaming, mindless thing, throwing himself at that fortified door, clawing it up like an animal before leaving to hunt easier prey. 

He has managed to avoid that state for a while, no longer waiting for the arrival of a meal but seeking it out in advance.  Preventative measures became necessary over time.  The length of his satisfaction keeps shrinking.  He used to last months, then one month.  Now it is a week before he hunts again.

He is hunting tonight so the hunger has not yet taken over.  He did not mindlessly attack this animal.  If he deliberately targeted this fox-wolf, he would have brought it back as meat for you. 

You approach the animal, tentative but not as wary as you should be.  It has big teeth: visible, sharp incisors when it opens its mouth.  It would keep away any sane person with a reasonable fear of suffering.  But a bite is not different than a walk in the hot sun.

You kneel beside the animal.  You touch it carefully, parting the bloody fur and exposing the wound beneath.  It is not the work of a knife.  It’s a gash near the neck, an attack as wild as it was intentional.

Blinking, you recall those antlers in the dark. 

“Did the stags do this?” you ask gently.

The fox-wolf whines.  It sound affirmative, even though that’s impossible. 

The greatest impossibility is the sudden pang in your heart.  You thought it had already turned to dust.  A small, broken shard beats for this hurt creature. 

“Poor foxy,” you say. 

You kiss the crown of the fox-wolf’s head.  It emits a whimper.  It rests its head in your lap.

It has been so long since you kissed anything.  You kissed your parents a long time ago.  Long before they disappeared on a walk in the woods, when your father came back alone and unnaturally hungry no matter how much your then-teenage self cooked and cooked and cooked. 

There was one final kiss you gave each of them, but you don’t remember it now.  It would have been inconsequential at the time, taken for granted there would be many more. 

You will remember this one.  Giving affection to another living thing is as important as receiving it.  You were affectionate, once, you think. 

For a time, you sit in the alcove, tucked away from the world and the woods.  You stroke the fox-wolf’s head from the crown to the neck, then back up.  You drag your pinky down its snout and its eyes close like a person lulled to sleep. 

The fox-wolf stirs first.  It lifts its head and looks at the knife.  When it looks at you with those glossy black eyes, you understand. 

“No,” you say without hesitation.  Terrible sadness cloys in your throat.  “I know it hurts, but you’re not going to die.  I won’t hurt you.  Don’t ask me that.” 

You don’t question its seeming understanding.  You know it’s still impossible, but you cling to that connection.  You imagine it sees your own scars and the obvious exhaustion of your weary body.  You imagine it recognizes the droop of your head.  You imagine a broken part of its animal heart beats for you too.

“You’re not going to die like this, okay?”  Your voice is small and rough.  A tear slides right off your cheek and onto the fox-wolf.  Despite your efforts, the tears keep coming, plinking along the fox-wolf’s scars like raindrops.  You brush the creature with careful fingers. 

“You’ll be okay,” you say.  “I promise.”

You use the knife to cut a strip of fabric from the bottom of your t-shirt. 

“This is the only shirt that fits me, you know,” you say, talking to keep the animal calm while you wipe its wounds clean.  “It was big when I got it.  We were just coming to the house for the summer.  I was thirteen.  I didn’t even want to go but Mama said it would be good to get out of the city for a couple weeks.  It’s been longer than that now, you see.  A lot longer.  I’m all grown up.  And Mama’s gone. It’s just me and Daddy and the House.  This isn’t a good place, but you know that.  The forest did something to him and now he gets hungry.  He's not my Daddy when that happens. He’s just hunger. And when he’s not hungry anymore, it’s like he wakes up, and then he’s a mess, like he sees all the blood for the first time.  The worst part?  I think it’s all because of me.”

You never say this out loud, not even to yourself in the quiet nothing.  You say it now because it’s the reason you rip your last shirt and bandage the hurt animal. 

You have to save something because of how much has died to save you. 

“He doesn’t want me to run away, to get too far in the woods,” you say.  “I think he’s scared that what got him and Mama will get me.  And whatever it is, it’s worse than this.  Whatever it is, it makes the house safe in comparison.  He’d rather keep getting hungry and kill all those people than risk the forest getting me.” 

You kiss the fox-wolf’s head when it whimpers. 

“I want to save you, foxy,” you say.  “Because he only stays alive to keep me alive.  He hunts so he won’t hurt me.  All the horror, all the bodies, all the death… it’s to keep me alive.  Trapped, but alive.  And it’s not any kind of life worth protecting, but that’s what a daddy does, I guess.  I’m all he has left to protect.  I don’t think he’ll die until I do.  Maybe I should.  Maybe I should let this all end.”

The fox-wolf whines again but not from pain, lifting its head to turn those solemn eyes onto yours. 

“I know,” you whisper, scratching behind its ears.  “I guess we never know why things happen the way they do.  Maybe I was meant to be here so I could find you and help you.  Let’s make a bargain.” 

Steady black eyes gaze up at you. 

“I saved your life,” you say.  “And maybe that was the purpose of mine.  So you have to use it.  You can’t lay down and die in these woods.  You have to be okay.  Then you have to go back where you belong and you have to keep using the life I gave you.  Okay?” 

You curl around the fox-wolf.  You hide your tears in its fur, uselessly because it can feel your shoulders shake. 

“I think I’ll be okay for a little longer,” you say.  “Until it gets me – the forest, or the hunger, or him.  But I’ll be okay if I know you’re alive, all right?  You’re the first real thing I’ve seen in years.  I forgot the world could make such beautiful things.  If I can think about you free somewhere outside of the woods, it will make me happy, foxy.  Please be alive for me.” 

The fox-wolf curls around you too, twining in a big coil of wolven bulk and fur. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

You lay there for another moment, until the sun has shifted in the sky and the shadows fall differently.  The hot light touches the border of the alcove.  By then, your tears have stopped. 

You sit up and wipe your wet face.  You take a breath and the fox-wolf watches. 

“I have to go now,” you say.  “Be careful, foxy.”

You kiss its head once more. 

Then, because you never take a kiss or word for granted anymore, you say, “I love you.”

Because you do, because all the love you had for the world and your family is somewhere inside you still.  It needs somewhere to go.  It feels right, giving it to this sad creature that needs more life. 

“Take care,” you say. 

It does not whimper or whine.  It watches with those steady eyes as you take the knife and leave the alcove in your too-small shorts and ripped-up shirt, the only thing left that’s yours as you leave your love and hope behind. 

-

Your father usually hunts through the night.  You don’t know where he goes and you don’t what the path is like.  You just know that he doesn’t trust to send you down it even though you could get away once and for all.  You suppose it’s not hard to believe the path would be laden with monsters.  After all, he must be one of them. 

The house is empty.  You go inside with a bundle of berries cupped in the remains of your shirt.  The front door swings behind you.  It doesn’t lock because nothing approaches it willingly.  If it does, it won’t last long.

You go to the attic.  It’s the only locking door.  It traps you, like always.

You put the berries on the bed and the knife under the bed beside the key.  Your shirt is now a sticky, juice-spattered mess, cut at the belly, but it doesn’t really matter.  You sit on the bed and eat your berries one by one, watching the yard. 

You fall asleep at some point.  You wake hours later in your cot, long after the sun has set and the gloaming is gone. 

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dark.  You peer through the attic window across the moonlit yard, looking for the disturbance that woke you.  It might be your father.  He is due back.  Sometimes he kills his catch on the way but sometimes he waits until he’s at the house.  The body ends up over the fire in what used to be a cozy sitting room. 

You don’t go there.  You don’t need to see when you can hear and smell.

You hear a clatter on the porch.  He must have reached the house before your eyes adjusted.  The automatic porch lights flip on, that wash of yellow over the dark yard. 

It illuminates something on the border between the yard and the woods.  It’s another stag, tall and broad with spindly antlers.  You can just barely see the shadow of more stags behind it.  It’s hard to count them, antlers blending into branches.

The first stag steps forward.  Your head tilts as you watch, bemused by its awkward step.  Is it hurt?  It seems to crick and creak as it moves.  You imagine a pop as it lumbers forward. 

Then it rears up.  It lifts its head. 

No.  No, it doesn’t. 

Its neck is craning, its torso elongating.  It lengthens and pops and rises until it looks halfway like a person in the yard, hunched with too-long arms dangling down the length of a tall body.  It still has antlers. 

You fall back in a panicked jump when the front door opens and closes.  For a moment, it’s you that feels like an animal, skittering frantically on all fours.  You climb onto the cot and peek out the window.  More antlered half-human figures are in the yard, watching the house.  The yellow porch light glints in the eyes of the closest one, human-shaped but flashing bright with a heated anger. 

It looks at the door.  Then it looks at you. 

You drop down, not making a noise, too scared to even scream. 

There are footsteps on the stairs.  It’s welcome for once.  You have a monstrous thing of your own.  Your father has returned from his hunt.  Maybe he killed and ate it on the way.  He’s coming to see you and he will be clear-eyed and horrified but maybe, maybe, maybe you can find your father in that pain.  He will comfort you and tell you monsters aren’t real, like he did when you were young, when your father was the most indomitable force in the world.  He could keep out any monster. 

You grab the key and dash for the door.  You wait for the breathing, the gentle cadence.  Yours come rapidly.

You slide the key under the door and it scrapes the ground, like always, then it’s inserted into the lock, like always.  The mechanical unclick.  Like always. 

But it doesn’t open like always.  You stare at the door, breathing louder than any scream.  You push it open.  Your eyes are raised to look at your father, but he’s not there.

Your gaze drops. 

“Foxy?”

You don’t understand the sight.  This is irrevocably the fox-wolf, the very same one, still bandaged in your t-shirt scraps, still with those steady black eyes.  It’s sitting on its haunches, gazing up at you.  The key is on the floor beside a small covered basket. 

You take a tentative step to look around.  The house is empty.  Your father has not returned. 

The fox-wolf, who somehow unlocked your door, accepts your unintentional invitation and trots into your room.  You watch as it sniffs around then waits patiently beside the cot. 

You pick up the key and the basket, at a loss to do anything else.  You close the door and it locks behind you.  You don’t know how you are going to hide a wolf from your father, but right now you don’t care.  Its presence is an immediate and thorough balm.  You rush to the cot and take a seat.  A peek out the window shows the yard is now empty. 

“You scared them away, foxy,” you say, rubbing its head.  Its tail thumps happily, its eyes scrunching with pleasure.  It has an almost-human smile.   You kiss its head.  “I think you’re a sweetie,” you say.  “The woods are full of scary things.  We sweeties have to stick together.”   

You place the key under your bed and the basket on your pillow.  The fox-wolf nudges it with its nose, whining eagerly.  Its tail continues to hammer with excitement. 

You smile.  It’s probably an ugly smile, unpracticed and strange, but the smallest uptick of that unused muscle fills you with unparalleled delight.  You didn’t even know you could still feel that way.

“Is this for me?” you ask. 

The fox-wolf watches with that squinty-eyed grin.  Your smile returns, still an awkward flicker on your long unsmiling face, but true.

You uncover the basket. You are truly shocked at what you find.

As much as the monsters scare you, they are not unusual.  You are used to the woods and the horror.  You are not used to smiling and you are not prepared for a basket full of baked goods.

When did you last see such a thing? It feels like a memory of a story, fantasies of someone else’s life.  The basket is filled with rolls of pastries sprinkled with powdery sugar, leaking purple berry and yellow custard.  Dark sugar sprinkles, a spicy scent – cinnamon, you think.  You remember.  Was it your favourite?  Maybe it will be now.

You don’t know where to start or what to say or do.  You look at the basket of sweet sugar wealth, overwhelmed.  The scents are so sweet that it’s almost sickening, your near empty stomach roiling.  Your smile quivers and breaks and then you are crying with hysterical abandon. 

The fox-wolf whines with concern, its front paws up on the cot as it stretches to check on you.  You wipe your eyes and try to speak, though it takes some time to sound coherent through the gasping.

“I’m sorry, foxy,” you say.  You are even more distressed to find those black eyes glassy with sympathy.  “I promise I’m happy,” you say.  “I just don’t know how to be.  I’m sorry.  I promise I feel it inside.”

It continues to look at you with concern, its short ears wilting.  You rub the top of its head affectionately and try to smile again.  It feels toothy, like an aggressive snarl more than a smile, but it’s not afraid. 

You look at the pastries again.  You truly don’t know what to do next.  As much as the fox-wolf seems to understand you, it can hardly communicate, so you can’t ask where it found so much luxury in the woods.   It makes you think your father might be close, that the fox-wolf found this treasure abandoned by unlucky humans. 

You feel guilty, but the pastries are so tempting.  There is something especially wondrous about them.  Maybe because it’s been so long.  The longer you look, the more your mouth waters, and the more it looks like something from a dream.

You lift a pastry, feeling a combination of hunger and nausea.  You haven’t eaten anything like this in years and you are scared your body will reject it.  You still crave it.  You didn’t even realize you wanted it all this time.  You didn’t realize you were capable of wanting anything ever again.

You take a small bite.  The pastry is delicate.  It flakes and melts on your tongue, the sweet sugar leaving a powdery residue on your lips.  You lick it off.  It’s so sweet but so soft that you cry again.

“It’s perfect, foxy,” you say. 

The fox-wolf still looks morose, one ear perked to gauge the slightest negative shift in your tone. 

Your smiles are not reassuring, so you extend a gesture instead.  You break a piece of the pastry and offer it. 

“Please,” you say.  “Share with me.  It tastes even better that way.” 

It tickles when the fox-wolf licks the pastry off your fingers.  If a smile felt strange, laughter feels bizarre, an awkward guffaw, subsumed in the gasp of your tears. 

You eat a few more bites, sharing with the fox-wolf.  Then you cover the basket and put it under the bed.  You pace yourself.  You know you won’t keep down more than that.  Your stomach is already rebelling under the onslaught of foreign sweetness. 

There’s also a special pleasure in knowing it’s there.  You don’t even want to finish the basket because then it will be gone forever.

You look at the fox-wolf.  You know it will be gone soon too.  It can’t stay here.  It’s not safe.  Even at his best, your father will see a beast fit for food.  He won’t care about the intelligence in those dark eyes.

For now, the house is empty and the basket is full.  You rub the fox-wolf’s head.  Its tail thumps again.  You smile a smile you thought you had lost.

“Come on, foxy,” you say.  You make room on the cot. 

The fox-wolf jumps.  It turns in a small circle near the foot then settles.  It rests its chin on your knees.

You stroke your pinky down its snout as it blinks with sleepy contentment. 

For the first time in a long time – since a life that no longer feels like yours – you lay down to sleep with a smile on your face. 

You usually sleep lightly, disturbed by the smallest noise as it breaks the silence, but the silence is not absolute tonight.  The fox-wolf breathes and the gentle cadence of its slumbering breath is like a lullaby.  

It’s the deepest sleep of your life.  You hardly ever dream in your light dozes but it comes in vivid colour tonight.  Swirls of monsters, antlers, and hunting knives.  Also sugar, cinnamon, black fur and dark eyes squinting in an obvious smile.  In your dream, those eyes change, the intelligent but animal gaze softening to something human.  You dream of your attic room, a dream so vivid it almost feels real.  You can feel the cot under you, the chill of the nearby window, the familiar moonlight. 

But it isn’t real.  It can’t be.  The fox-wolf is gone. A  young man sits on the end of the cot, gazing out the window into the woods.  If this was real, you would petrified, but you feel that same peaceful calm, his company a comfort.  Old hurts and present fears feel far away. 

The young man looks at you.  Moonlight and shadows dance across his features, but you think he is beautiful, with eyes so dark and focused, hair black and smooth.  His cheekbones are sharp.  His face is like a knife and yet –

And yet –

There is something unspeakably gentle about him.  Not because he’s helpless, not because he’s dull, but in spite of all that danger and sharpness.  He looks at you with an undoubtedly affectionate gaze, tilting his head as he holds your gaze. 

You blink.  You think you might be waking because you shiver, but you don’t want to wake.  You want to stay right here with him.  You have been wanting him before you knew you could.  You want to look at those eyes forever.  You want to feel this safe always.

He moves, swift and soft as a shadow. A  blink and you would miss it.  He tugs the blanket back over your shoulder.  Your eyes stray along the length of his bare arm, across his bare chest.  The scraps of your t-shirt bandage a scar that runs along the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Then you look at his hand, so close to your face.  Any other hand and this dream would be a nightmare.  But this is a good dream.  You sigh contently as his long fingers gently brush the crown of your head.  His fingertips trace your temple, carefully down your jaw.  No one has ever been so gentle with you, not in a long time.

You sigh again.  He softly sweeps his pinky down the bridge of your nose.  Your sleep deepens.  You sink into a perfect peace, undisturbed for the rest of the night.

The morning is another matter entirely.  You wake in sunlight, more groggy than ever.  It’s not the familiar pale light of early morning but the golden heat of noon.  You haven’t slept for so long in years. 

You feel the usual ache of sleeping on a rickety cot, something designed for weeks of use, not a decade. 

You sit up.  The fox-wolf is gone.  There’s nowhere in the attic for it to hide, the space under the cot too small.  You crouch on the floor and check anyway.  The key is there, the knife beside it.  The basket is there too. 

The fox-wolf disappearing is an impossibility among many, but you know it was all very real.  You uncover the basket to find the pastries as fresh and appetizing as last night, not even a little stale from sitting out all night. 

You look around the empty room, sitting with the basket cradled protectively in your lap.

You don’t know what to do.  You haven’t felt that way in a long time.  Everyday has been the same, passed through a disassociated state of bland observation and slow breathing.  This single disruption has uprooted everything.  You feel the basket in your lap and you know you can’t spend another day sitting at the window. 

The choice is made for you.  There is a clamoring in the yard so you look out the window, not sure what to expect. 

It is the most mundane of all creatures.  Your father is dashing back to the house in a clumsy sprint. 

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge.  There is something wrong about the way he’s moving.  There’s a stumbling desperation to every wide leap.  He looks more like a stag than the stags did. 

Did he come home last night?  His hunt should be over.  The hunger should be satisfied. 

The front door swings and slams.  You can hear his frantic thunder up the stairs, so much thudding he must be racing on all fours.  You curl away instinctively, pressed up against the window, as far away from the door as possible.

He throws himself against it with a scream.  You squeeze your eyes shut.

He’s still hungry.  Maybe his hunt turned up nothing or maybe it didn’t satisfy him.  You don’t know what happens now.  Maybe he will eventually beat the door down.  Maybe he will drive himself to death in his hysterics.  If he dies, you’ll be trapped, sealed in here with that basket as it slowly empties.  Eventually it will taunt you, like the stags, waving, mocking you caged in your glass like an animal –

You are getting hysterical too, even with your hands clamped over your ears to block out your father’s wailing.  It’s not even just the fear.  He’s your father, sometimes, somewhere in there.  He used to make you laugh and tell you stories, lift you on his shoulders and tell you about the world.  He used to scare away the monsters.

“Daddy,” you try, voice breaking on a childish cry.  “Stop it.  Please.  Daddy, it’s me.”

You can’t find the strength to yell.  You doubt he can hear your wobbling voice over his own screaming.  The door shakes so hard that you imagine all the walls crumbling under the force of each slam. 

You drift in the fantasy of it, of this whole house crumbling around you.  There’s nothing to do but stare, silent, and wait to die.  It’s a better end than you expected, a last meal, a good sleep, a sweet dream to send you off.

You close your eyes. 

Something changes in the air.  You don’t hear it or see it, but you feel it, a rush of warmth that fills the house.  Gentle as a hand drawing a blanket over your shoulder.  The sun brightens and heats the window at your back. 

You lower your hands.  It’s then you hear a piercing bark, almost a scream but not quite.  Almost human, but not quite.

It can only be one thing.  You whip around and watch as the fox-wolf careens through the yard, fast as a bullet.  By the time you are on your feet, it’s already in the house and racing up the stairs.

“Back!” your father screams, the only coherent word out of his mouth.

You can hear them fighting.  A body thumps down the stairs but the weight of it sounds too heavy to be your feral, emaciated father.  He must have pushed the fox-wolf.

More than anything, that propels you into action.  You made a bargain with that fox.  You gave it a life.  You’re not going to sit here and let your father take another life at the expense of yours.

You put the basket on your pillow.  A part of you wants to eat the whole thing while you have the chance, die with a full stomach and a face powdered with sugar, but there’s no time.  You reach under the cot and you grab the knife and the key.

Will he even have the clarity to use the key?  You’re not sure, but you slide it under the door.  There is clearly some intelligent thought churning in his mind, because he picks it up.  He fumbles the lock while the fox-wolf stampedes back up the stairs. 

The door explodes open.  Your father and the fox-wolf crash inside, tangled in a violent fury.  Your father yells at it, prying at its jaw to release its brutal clamp on his forearm.  He is not stronger.  The fox-wolf might have ripped his arm right off it you hadn’t cried out. 

The fox-wolf releases your father so it can look at you.  Your father kicks it in its distraction, sending it hurtling to the door with a yelp. 

“Don’t hurt it!” you cry.  “It’s already injured!” 

Your father does not reply.  When he looks at you, your heart stops.  There is nothing of your father in his eyes, something vicious and lost staring back at you.  

No.  Not at you.  He doesn’t see you anymore.  He sees a clear path to prey and he takes it.

He charges you, too fast for you to react in your terror.  The knife clatters to the floor as he tackles you and slams you onto your back. 

Your body fights, an instinctive propulsion from something buried deep inside you.  Under all that disassociation, all that resignation, there is a part of you that wants to live.  It claws its way to freedom.  You push your father, your adrenaline spurred by his.  You scream with the same abandon. 

The weight and smell of him abruptly disappears.  The fox-wolf has clamped its jaws around his ankle.  It drags him clear across the room where your father is left to scrabble against the floorboards.

Then the fox-wolf pounces on you.  You don’t know what’s happening until you’re lifted, grabbed by the arms and hoisted onto your feet.

Except –

Foxes can’t grab.  Wolves can’t stand. 

It happens so fast.  You are on your back, the ceiling overhead, then you are on your feet and the only thing you see is a pair of dark eyes. 

Dark human eyes.  You blink at a face, a familiar face, the face of the young man from your dreams.  If he was beautiful in moonlight, he is devastating in sunlight.  His hair is so black that it sparkles blue in the light, his features so sharp in contrast.  He is like a drop of starlight.

The beautiful man grips you with two humans hands.  He stands upright in a human body.  You can’t look away from his human face, all those sharp and delicate angles.  He is so beautiful that he hardly seems real.  You would have been less surprised to see another monster. 

His grip tightens.  It wakes long slumbering parts of you. 

“Foxy?” you say in a pathetically small and fragile voice. 

Your father is back on his feet and the – the man? –

The fox-wolf-man –

He dives at your father and lands in canine form, those sharp incisors snapping at his face. 

The knife is within your father’s reach.  You see it but the fox does not.  When your father grabs it, you jump, catching his arm before the knife can do any damage. 

The three of you are locked in a messy tangle.  Your father is bleeding from wolf bites and the animal is snarling.  Everything feels wet.  You can’t tell finger from claw, limb from wound, spit from blood. 

You kick and scratch and bite like an animal, seeing nothing but red in the terror of your frantic adrenaline.

That part of you so desperate for life is at the surface.  You feel your whole body for the first time in a long time.  You feel the shattering pain when your father hits your head with his own and you spill back.  He holds you down while grappling with the knife.

The whole thing is over in seconds.  Your mind is flooded with every gory image of a tooth in a slab of meat.  You don’t reach for the knife.  Your father is close, his neck within reach, and the animal of your body rears with terrified instinct.

Do you mean to kill him?  Do you want to kill him?     

It doesn’t matter. You kill him anyway. 

The skin breaks shockingly easily as you tear into his throat with your teeth.  Blood spills out of him, pounding jugular and a bath of red. 

You sputter and choke on it.  You use a last burst of adrenaline to shove him off you.  You are not sure how fast he dies.  You don’t look, spitting up blood and retching. 

You wipe your mouth, smearing more of the relentless red mess.  You are on your hands and knees.  You lift your head and open your eyes. 

The fox-wolf is a man again.  He is on his hands and knees as well, his face only inches from yours.  He is staring like you are the wondrous anomaly, his mouth open with his shock. 

You look at each other for a long moment.  Then he smiles.  He has deep dimples, frighteningly sweet next to the sharp inhuman incisors still visible in his mouth.  Like your own crooked snarl of a smile, it is not a pretty grin so much as it is big.  And like your broken smile, you can see he means it truly affectionately. 

You can’t speak with the blood on your mouth.  You try but you sputter.

He reaches for you.  He gathers a red wet smear on his fingers, gently wiping your lips.  It wracks your whole body with a shiver, the shock of violent residue, the shock of being touched. 

You finally take a clean breath.  He looks at the blood on his fingers. 

He flashes you that sharp, dimpled smile again.

“Wow,” he says with a wheezing laugh. 

You can’t even think about asking what’s so funny.  The last drop of adrenaline bleeds out of you.  The floorboards rush to meet you as your arms and legs buckle. 

Your body surrenders your mind to blackness.

[binniebakery]

(What's The) Hot Topic?

HotTopicWorker!Gyu x Fem!Reader, Strangers to Lovers(?), Suggestive! ♡ Summary: In search for a birthday gift for your friend, you stop by your local Hot Topic where you stick out like a sore thumb. A certain employee sees a pretty girl in need of his assistance, so who is Beomgyu to say no? (In which emo gyu takes a liking to the girl dressed in delicate ribbons and bows.) ♡ Warnings: Things move a little fast here, makeout with a stranger, cursing, reader gets called fem nicknames, etcccc not proofread! ♡ A/N: ty for the request! I got so motivated to write this I hopped on my pc so quick LMAO (this user loves oreo beomgyu with a passion n will do anything to write for him) so more coquette x txt !!!! lmk if u guys want me to do other members too! Hope u enjoy~

The mall was quieter than usual today. A perfect time for you to show up in your cute heeled boots and winter coat, perfectly lined with white fur and ribbons. The sound of your shoes clicking mixing in with the atmosphere of the mall. You found your way to the store you were looking for. As you stood in front you stared at your phone with furrowed eyebrows. How were you supposed to find Yeonjun’s gift again? You walked in with eyes glued to your text messages. Nirvana, yes. You wanted a Nirvana shirt for your good friend Yeonjun’s birthday. Easy right? Or maybe he wouldn’t like that? It was hard to figure out what he had and what he didn’t have in his collection. You bit your lip as you looked at the t-shirt section in the back of the dark store. You could practically feel the stare of another shopper which made your uneasiness grow. Though you couldn’t blame them, you sort of stood out like a sore thumb. Pretty pearled headband with light ribbons tied, and a purse in the same color to match. Your whole outfit screamed sweet pastels and spring while you stood next to the bloody horror movie merchandise. You sighed in relief as you saw the previously mentioned customer get helped by an employee. Yet to your luck, you were left standing waiting like a lost deer. Maybe you should’ve just ordered something online– “Hey there, has anyone helped you yet?”

You turn to see a taller figure standing by you, his black long hair chopped into a wolf cut with platinum blonde highlights to further highlight his pale skin. He was a guy your age for sure, and he had quite an eccentric appearance. Which made him even more attractive. “Hi! Um yes sorry, I do need help with something if you don’t mind? I’m looking for a gift for a friend. I don’t really have the same style so..” you trailed off, noticing how his eyes look over your figure, a tinge of pink blooming on his ears. “Sure thing. Just tell me what kind of stuff your friend likes and I can help you, pretty girl. Name’s Beomgyu.” he grinned. You felt your heart nearly stop as you choked out an “Ah! I’m y/n.. th- thanks..” and proceeded to show him Yeonjun’s list of favorite artists and demands for his birthday. “Hm. I think I have the perfect thing for him. Follow me please.” you watch him swiftly turn around as he walks deeper into the back of the store… into the employees-only room? You stood there dumbfounded, were you supposed to go in there too? Was this a normal thing for Hot Topic? You hardly came to the store but you swear the employees-only room should be for.. Well, employees only. “Don’t worry doll, you can come back here.” He chuckles as he watches your big eyes scan around nervously. You nod and walk in with him, the door closing behind you. The room was dim, a single light bulb being the only source of light for the two of you. It wasn't too large of a room, with an employee bathroom towards the end of it, a desk with a computer sitting in the corner, and tons of shelves filled with extra merchandise waiting to be set up. Beomgyu hummed as he dug through the boxes with various artists’ names labeled on them. The room was quiet and the atmosphere felt thick. You played with the ribbons on your soft coat as you waited for him to find what he was looking for. “I have a question for you. You ever visit this store?” Beomgyu asked as he dug further, you tilted your head at the question. Was he trying to say something..? “Yes.. but I’m not really a common customer..” You nervously laugh and Beomgyu stands up with a set of items in his hands. “Mhm, I figured. No offense, but you really stick out in here. That dumbass was staring at you like you were a zoo animal.” He laughed. “Though I mean that with no offense- I wouldn’t blame him. You’re a pretty girl y’know?” He smiled as he handed you the merch in his hands. Your face flushed at the compliment. “Ah, thank you. You’re really kind.” You smile. Neither of you move. You’re looking at the floor, you really want to say something more. Ask him for his number, tell him he’s attractive as hell, or that you want to just stay in here a little longer. Alone with him. Suddenly, you feel a hand stroke a strand of your hair. You look up to see Beomgyu admiring your soft locks with gentle eyes. “Such a pretty girl.. You have a boyfriend?” He tilts his head, lips forming a smirk with tongue in cheek. You could almost pass out. Your eyes were locked on Beomgyu’s expression, his face scanning yours as he waited for your response. You could tell he was taking his time analyzing your features. You felt yourself shudder under his intense stare, you shook your head. “No actually.. I don’t..” Beomgyu’s smile widened. “Really? An angel like you? Surely I’m not your type though, someone like me with a angel like you?” “Well..” You looked away, staring at Yeonjun’s present that was still in your hands. He did have a point. You were just a sweet little thing, dressed in bows and frills, while Beomgyu wore ripped jeans and dark shirts with multiple band pins, all while sporting multiple bandaids from his skating endeavors. “I could say the same about you…Beomgyu.” His name sounded like candy coming from your glossy pink lips. He just had to hear you say it more. Beomgyu decides he’s had enough and closes the gap between you, pulling you in for a kiss.

His lips are warm and soft, leaving you craving for more. His hands snake their way around your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer. You find yourself tilting your head, deepening the kiss and he groans at the feeling of you pressing yourself against him. “Wanna hear you say my name..” he mumbles against your lips and your mind is growing fuzzy. “B- Beomgyu..” you whisper and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth the second you say his name. You spend minutes like this, his hands roaming your warm and soft coat, your fingers tracing the choker on his neck. Yeonjun’s gifts long forgotten on the ground. When you both finally separate for air, Beomgyu presses his forehead against yours, admiring the way your eyes have darkened, pretty lashes glistening in the dim room’s light. “I get off in an hour babydoll. You want my number?” You find yourself nodding profusely and he smirks. “I’ll see you when I get off then.” “Promise?” You tilt your head cutely, voice soft and sweet like cotton candy, and he feels himself drawn more to you by the second. You separate from each other's arms and he helps you pick up your items. After all, you still had to head to check out. “I prom-” The door swings open as Beomgyu’s coworker walks in. “Beomgyu! What are you doing? There’s like two customers out there and- oh what-” The slightly taller male who’s nametag read Soobin tilts his head in confusion. His brows knit together as he sees your slightly disheveled hair and Beomgyu’s face smeared in your pink lipgloss. “Oh my- get the fuck out of here! Jesus man, it makes sense for Taehyun to pull something like this but you?” he groans as Beomgyu’s shit-eating grin moves him to the side, walking out with your wrist in his hand, guiding you to the counter to pay.

[jyoongim]

DANGEROUSLY IN LOVE

Word count 1.1k

”he’s a wolf in disguise

but I can’t stop staring in those evil eye

i asked my girlfriend if she’d seen you ‘round before

she mumbled something while she got down on the floor

we’ve might have fucked, not really sure, don’t quite recall

but something tells me that I’ve seen him yeah

that boy is a monster”

alastor x burlesque!reader pt 1

An inaccurate southerner 1920 fic.

I am Black sooooo reader is black for the sake of this and so is Alastor cause that’s a black man idc idc idc fight a skunk.

Monster by lady Gaga really had my juices flowing

themes: Alastor himself is a warning,

violence,

alcohol use,

 drug use, 

nsfw, 

teasing, flirting, taunting, smut, 

banter, possessive/protective behavior  

You hummed a little tune as Mimzy finished doing your makeup and hair. 

Tonight was your first debut at the club and you were excited to be the opening act.

You ran your hands over the tight corset in an attempt to soothe the nervousness that was trying to settle in your belly. You adjusted the feathered headpiece as Mimzy finally finished everything with hairspray (why did set your makeup as well….oh well).

You were finishing up putting on your jewelry when you heard Mimzy gasped, you turned seeing her poking her head out to look out the door out to the growing crowd.

you fixed your lips to ask her what had her so shocked, when she twirled around, eyes wide and excited “He’s here! I can’t believe he here!”

You blinked, confused “who is here Mimzy? One of your little boy toys? Or someone you owe?”

she flipped you off before smirking “what you live under a rock doll? Him! Hell’s Stereo himself!”

Your eyes widened as you gawked “No way!” You ran over to the door to peep without people seeing you and your eyes settled on a lone red, lanky demon sitting at the bar. You couldn’t really see him well from where your dressing room but before you could crane your head out further, Mimzy pulled you back in

”You are suppose to be a surprise doll! Can’t let that lot get a eyeful without proper payment now can we?”

You soon forgot about the red demon as you primped a bit more, chatted with some of the other dancers, and laughed with Mimzy.

 The lights in the club had finally dimmed and Mimzy slapped you on the ass, leaving your dressing room “Knock ‘em dead doll!”

You took a deep breathe as you heard the band begin to play your song.

You straightened your back, and took on a composure that oozed seduction and confidence.

Hearing the beat of the music, you waltzed out onto the stage, giant feathered fans concealing yourself.

The whistles and catcalls never failed to make you nervous, but you used it to fuel your confidence.

You pivoted around the stage, teasing those who tried to steal a look around the fans.

A swing lowered and you took a seat on it and as it rose into the air, you finally revealed yourself in all your glammed glory.

the spotlight prevented you front seeing much of the crowd but your were Able to spot Mimzy, who was chatting with the red demon from earlier.

Your body moved on autopilot, maybe it was from hours of practice or maybe it was because the red demon was drop dead gorgeous. 

He was a rather tall fellow, at least compared to Mimzy.

Lanky build adorned in a red pinstriped suit with a black bowtie. He had a bob-like hair cut, the tips black that was cut into an undercut. Protruding on top of his bang were two little antler like horns and

omg were those ears???? His ears mixed with the color of his hair. 

They reminded you of a deer’s. They seemed to stay alert, sticking forward, never flickering.

His eyes were a bright red, like rubies.

and he had a ever-present sharp smile.

Uncanny. But OH  he was so pretty.

You locked eyes and automatically you flashed him a flirty wink. You half expected him to throw a wink or look away, but instead he held your gaze as he raised his glass in acknowledgment. You felt your cheeks heat up as you tried to focus on your performance.

You swung and twirled on your little perch. Slowly, you started to remove pieces of your costume.

You perched yourself alongside a gentleman and smirked as he practically melted at your touch. You wrapped your boa around his neck and  pressed your fingers lightly to his mouth; he smirked, nipping at your fingertips and slowly dragging your glove off. You glided through the crowd, losing a piece of clothing here and there.

By the time you circled around to the bar, Mimzy was drunk and dancing along to the music and the mysterious demon was tracking your movements.

Hitting a little jig with Mimzy, you were intending to make your way to the lanky devil, when an arm circled around your waist and tugged you into a fella, who obviously had been drinking waaaay too much.

”why don’cha take the rest of these off princess?” He took a swig of whatever cheap liquor and leered at you “i like a gal dripped only in jewels” he snickered.

You frowned and tried to play off his perversion.”sorry dearest but I fear i am simply too much for you” you slapped his hand off of you and made your way to the bar.

Taking a seat, you ordered a bottle of whiskey and manners be damned, you chugged it for a good second.

maybe this’ll put you back in a good mood.

you were too busy sipping your sorrows you didn’t notice that a dark presence had settled beside you.

“And here I thought you were just pretty entertainment ” a deep brawl said from behind you. You turned and let out a soft squeak at the close proximity of the demon you had been eyeing all night. He cocked his head, mouth stretched in a big smile, showing off his sharp teeth. “You kept me waiting for a while doll” 

You could blame the courage on the whiskey, but you smirked at him coyly “and who might you be?” The red demon crouched to your level and raised your bare hand to his lips, keeping eye contact as his grin widened “Alastor doll. Pleasure to meet to you”

[thesongoficeandfir3]

The wolf, the raven, and the hunt ( the wolf, the raven and, the arrow part 2)

Benjicot ‘Davos’ Blackwood x fem!Stark reader

A/n: The long awaited part twooooo!!! I’m not gonna lie, I wasn’t planning on making a part two but since so much of you asked I just had to!

I hope atleast some of you like this because I know I don’t , I’m sorry for any grammar mistakes :/ 💔

Warnings: female reader, female pronouns are used, Canon typical sexism but not really, sexual themes alluded but not described, canon typical violence, sa is talked about but happens to no one, No deers were hurt in the making of this story, lmk if I missed anything

It was the earlier hours of the morning when the courtyard of Riverrun was hustling and bustling with activity. The hunting dogs are barking, the horses neighing, and the servants, stable boys, maids etc.. are all moving about urgently getting everything ready for the hunt that is about to leave.

You and your brother were supposed to leave the Riverlands a week ago, but a certain Stark had taken up interest in a certain Blackwood. That being Cregan and Alyssane of course…..

As you walk among the chaos of everyone preparing, you spot Benjicot sitting on a bench in the corner breaking his fast. After the archery incident you two had spoken here and there not as much as you hoped. The reason being him having to go back to Raventree for a few days for some urgent Lord of Raventree Hall business, but you’ll never admit that you were disappointed when he left.

As you approach him he shoveling food into his mouth not even noticing your presence until you sit right across from him.

“Seven hells Blackwood, you sure can put it away.” you

laughed resting your head on your chin as you looked at him.

“Wot can I say, I’m veruh hungrry.” He laughed back food still stuffed in his cheeks.

“Yes and very messy.” you say as you take the cloth near him wiping the food from the side of his mouth.

He raises an eyebrow and grins as you wipe the corner of his mouth and doesn’t bother to pull away. “Oh? You going to clean me up, My Lady? That’s quite the wifely task, no?” he taunts you.

“Please I do this for my nephew Rickon, who is only a year I might add.” you reply neatly folding the napkin and putting it to the side.

Instead of feeling offended that you were in fact just treating him like a child his grin just widened. “Aww well aren’t I in luck you’re the wifely and motherly type” he says reaching out to grab another chicken leg.

You roll your eyes to the sky at how fast his comebacks are. He snorts at your lack of comeback and continues to go the town on his chicken leg as if this was his first time eating in days which you knew not to be true giving his status.

“I wonder if you’re this hungry when it comes to other things.” You ask rhetorically taking a strawberry from his plate and slowly biting into it, trying to tease him back even if it meant you had to tread in dirty waters.

“I can assure you, Lady Stark, my insatiable appetite is... very much not limited to just food.” he smirks looking at you, his eyes slowly trailing down your figure not covered by the table. He then leans closer taking your hand with the strawberry eating the rest of it. You could feel his soft lips brush against your fingertips, he then darts his tongue out licking the rest of the strawberry’s juices from your fingers.

“It was a jest!” you practically yell as you felt your body heat up. You shoved his head away not expecting him to reply so fast and more so not expecting him to do that.

He laughs and sits back down in his chair, finishing his last chicken leg “Oh was it? My mistake, I thought it was a request…”

“So the hunt!” you quickly try to change the subject. “is there anything you riverlord do differently than us in the North?”

He shakes his head throwing the rest of his food to the ground near him and stray dogs quickly began to snack on it.

Not necessarily except we just have different types of game, but speaking of the hunt you’ll be riding with my party“ he says it more like a command that a request.

“Seven hells and why would I want to do that” your face twisted in disgust.

“Come now, it’s either spending several hours alone in the woods, with your love sick brother and my love sick aunt or you could spend the whole day with me and my much more entertaining friends.” he says before downing his cup of ale in one go.

You groan at the thought, already not liking when you sit near them during dinner in the great hall. You can’t imagine how’d they’d be in a more private area.

“Are they as dumb as you…..if that is even possible?”

“Lady y/n! I’m hurt that you even have to ask that,” he feigns shock. “of course they’re dumb, but we're also far more charming than the other options available to you.”

You giggle at his dramatics. “Very well then least I’d be entertained.”

He smiles as he hears your laugh, a warm feeling in his gut growing at the sound. “Oh, you won’t be disappointed, I have plenty of ways to entertain you I promise.”

You walked up to the carriage Benjicot told you to be and found him near it along with two other lads you knew to be lord Kermit and Oscar Tully. You only ever spoken to then once or twice but it was in a much more formal setting and it was with both your families so you did not know the two young lords well.

If your brother were to find out you ditched going with him and Aly, to go with three young men out in the woods alone he’d for sure strangle you but what he doesn’t know won’t kill him.

Realistically however, from an outside view this did seem like an extremely dangerous and wild thing to do. A highborn lady, who was still a maiden confined in a carriage with three other young men then going to an even more isolated place, the woods....Yet you did not for a moment feel like this was unsafe.

You may have called Benjicot psychotic many times but in reality you never truly meant that. Yes, he could be a bit crazy, but not in a way were it made you feel unsafe to be around him and you’ve been around men who made you feel unsafe. A prime example being lord Bolton and his sons who you’re sure crawled out of the seven hells themselves.

The Boltons always give you such an uncomfortable feeling and made you cling to your dagger tighter when they were near … but not Benjicot … he didn’t make you feel like you needed to be alert around him, you trusted him so by extension it goes onto Kermit and Oscar.

“Ah, she’s here, the Lady Stark herself.” Oscar, who you believed was the youngest , says as he approached you excitedly.

“My lords” you bow, though it was a more informal setting you still didn’t forget your manners.

They both bow respectfully before Kermit steps forward, clearly the more well mannered of the two lads “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Lady Stark. Benjicot has told us so much about you.”

“Has he now?” a small smile appearing on your face finding it cute Benjicot still talks about you when you’re not there.

Kermit and Oscar exchange a glance with each other before a wide grin appears on their face.

“Oh yes, he just wouldn’t shut up about you, going on and on about “Y/n Stark this” and “Y/n Stark that”. Kermit starts.

“He wouldn’t stop gushing about you” Oscar rolls his eyes pretending to be annoyed.

You laughed wondering what else they would spill. “Did he also tell you how I elbowed him last time he got too close?”

“He told us all about it the very same day it happened. He said he’d never been more attracted to a woman in his entire life.” Kermit says as he snickers.

Oscar grins and nods, then suddenly burst out laughing when another thought came to his head trying his best to get it out through the laughter.

“And… and he said he nearly threw himself on his knees and thanked the Sevens above that you’d touched him, no- no matter how violently it was.” the younger and clearly more immature Tully brother doubled down laughing.

Your eyes widen in amusement and Benjicot who was sitting on the stairs of the carriage the entire time, just giving you three a chance to familiarize yourself with each other immediately shoots up at what Oscar says. He stomps over and shoves the Tully lords away from you which caused them to laugh harder.

“Haha, ignore them they’re just being arseholes, come let me help you into the carriage” Benjicot throws them another glare putting you in front of him, using himself as a barrier so the Tully brothers don’t say anything worse.

You don’t speak on what they said for now… taking a mental note to bring it up later if you two have another one of your unofficial teasing battles. Benjicot takes one of your hands, leading you up the stairs to the carriage and the other on the small of your back. Once you make it to the top his hands stay there longer than they need to be, but then he quickly pulls away when he realizes what he was doing.

The carriage ride went relatively smooth enough. Kermit and Oscar both calmed down with embarrassing their friend and you all just spoke about different things, nothing in particular.

By the time you four reached the hunting grounds it was mostly set up and hunting parties were already making their way out.

“So how do you guys do this?” You ask stretching your muscles from the long cramped carriage ride.

“Oh we uhh we usually split up that way we can cover more ground.” Kermit lies and say but you didn’t know it.

“Huh? No we d-“ Oscar is about to say but quickly change his mind realizing what his brother is trying to do “oh yes! We certainly do.”

“Yes it’s the fastest and most efficient method. Plus it makes it more fun and exciting since we get to see who’s able to catch the most game.” Benjicot replies immediately catches on, silently thanking the brothers for their support.

“Oh well in that case,” you pretend to think looking between the three riverlords “I want to team up with Kermit.”

Benjicot opens his mouth about to argue but then when you laugh he relaxes.

“I only jest.” you say with a laugh and Kermit and Oscar laugh with you already liking you being apart of their little group.

The two of you are walking through the woods, the sound of other parties echo in the not too far distance from different directions. You can hear other hunters laughing and shouting, and dogs barking as they find a chase to follow.

“There’s far too many people here, all the animals have already ran off from the noise, but don’t worry, I know a place where we can go to hunt come on.” Benjicot says motioning for you to follow.

You two walk deeper and deeper into the woods doing a few twist and turns and soon come up to a tall old stone wall that stretched too far to just walk around it. Benjicot easily went over it, you have no doubt he’s done this many times. You handed him the hunting gear before you began to climb over. You sat down on top of the wall about to jump off, when before you could,he grabbed onto your hips lifting you down without a second thought.

You unconsciously hold onto his shoulders as he lifted you down and thought the moment was for a second your heart races as your chest was pressed against his. Once your feet hit the ground he held onto you just for an extra second but only to make sure you were stable.

“Did it look like I needed your help?.” You say faster than you could process and inwardly curse to yourself at the fact that was what you say instead of a simple ‘thank you’.

Benjicot fortunately just laughs and rolls his eyes playfully. “You know you don’t have to act so tough, I can see right through your cold northern ice exterior.”

“Wow so original comparing me to ice.” your voice laced with sarcasm.

“I can’t help it, you’re such a feisty, stern, tough, she wolf of the North. I’m trying so valiantly to melt that frozen wall you’ve built around your heart.”

“You somehow prove to me everyday why you’re the most annoying person in Westeros and even across the Narrow sea.” you mutter pinching the bridge of your nose at his horrible attempt to be poetic.

“You say things like that and yet you keep talking to me, it’s almost like you enjoy it Lady Stark.” He looks at you deeply trying to gape a good reaction out of you.

“Shut up and keep walking or else I’ll shoot you and call that my game. “ you try your best not to sound flustered pushing him forward.

You two soon made your way to a clearing with a river, its waters flowing past the trees. The only sounds being the rippling water, songs of the birds and the occasional sound of the whistling wind as it passed through the tall trees. You follow him as he stoops down behind some bushes near the river.

After a couple of minutes some birds and rabbits go over to the river for a drink, but Benjicot doesn’t draw his bow just yet. More time pass and a deer trots over going for a drink oblivious to you two hiding. It wasn’t such a huge deer were it would beat records but it wasn’t so small where it would not be a good catch.

His eyes gleam at the sight and he picks up his bow handing it to you. You look at him as if he was mad and push it back against him but he then just pushes it back to you.

“You know I am not near the level where I can actually catch game.“ you hated to admit it, but it was the truth.

“That’s why I’m here, I’ll be guiding you the whole time. I’ll make sure you don’t miss, now take the bow.” he gives you a reassuring smile pressing the wooden material to your hand.

You take the bow and ready it as if you were going to hit a normal target in the training yard. Benjicot moves closer to you, his shoulders pressed against yours as he looks at the deer and back to your bow to see if it was in line of fire. The position was no where near as close or…. Intimate as the first time he’s helped you with your archery skills. Feeling his warmth pressed up against you like this however, reminded you of it.

Eyes still on the buck ahead he reaches out and gently lifts your hand more to where he thinks is the better position, his large and callous hand a stark contrast to your smaller and soft ones. Your mind wonders back to that day in the training yard, your body reliving every detail. From his smell, the feeling of his hot breath on the shell of your ear, how he made you feel warm in the cold and how his words left a coil in your stomach.

Still thinking of the day you nearly miss when he gives you the command to shoot, only now remembering the deer in front of you. You let go of the bow without realizing it. The bow soars through the air and gets closer and closer to its prize but then hits the water mere inches from a head shot.

Benjicot lets out a frustrated groan and wasting no time the deer runs back into the forest startled. You slump your shoulders in great disappointment.

“ I’m sorry.” You mumble.

Benjicot looks over to you and see how disappointed you are. “Why are you apologizing that was your first hunt ever. You can’t really expect to hit it on the first shot do you?” He says in a casual tone standing up and dusting his pants off.

It had not even been a full year since you picked up archery yet you still couldn’t help but constantly get frustrated with yourself when you miss.

“I suppose but we’ve been here for so long and have nothing to show for it…. You were better off going with Kermit or Oscar.”

“Please, don’t be ridiculous. Kermit and Oscar aren’t going to find anything either. They’ve probably been walking around in circles and shouting at each other the whole time. If by the Seven they do catch something the poor beast was probably on its deathbed and wanted a quick death.” He shakes his head able to imagine the whole thing while throwing the quiver over his shoulder.

You laugh feeling a bit better, you haven’t known them for a long time yet you could definitely see that going down.

“Besides more importantly I picked you to go with me not Kermit or Oscar… you. Now come on let’s go see if we can find those idiots.” he starts walking ahead.

You two walk back through the path you came from and once you left the thick dense and woods you felt a drop of water on your head. You stick out your hand and a few more drops fall onto it causing you to frown.

You knew it was going to rain, when earlier you saw the dark pregnant clouds rolling in from the north, but you thought you’d make it back to camp my then.

Before you could comment on it a very familiar red and black cloak is thrown over your head momentarily blinding your vision. You lift it from your face and quirk an eyebrow looking at Benjicot.

He meets your glance and smiles slightly, amused by your bewildered expression. “What?, what kind of man would I be if I let you walk through the rain and get all wet and soaked?”

“Oh well Umm thanks.” you gulp as the rain starts to fall harder.

He adjusts the cloak, pulling it around you more to make sure it’s covering you properly. With you wrapped up in his cloak a surge of possessiveness runs through him. He’ll be damned if the sight of you wearing his clothes doesn’t send a warm tingling shiver all over his body. He clears his throat, trying to ignore the impure thoughts flooding his mind, and he tries to sound nonchalant as he responds “Don’t mention it… let’s keep going.”

As you continue on back to camp you glance over to him and see how at this point he is completely soaked. Compared to you who, save for a small part of your legs that your boots and his cloak doesn't cover, is dry.

You glanced back at him your eyes looking at the way how his dark wet hair sticks to his forehead and how his wet clothes cling onto him. He doesn’t notice how you scan over his body or how your gaze lingers a little too long on how his clothes cling to his frame fortunately for you.

By the time you reach camp the rain stopped. You walk him up to his tent where he’ll get changed into something dry before joining you for dinner. He already started to unbutton his doublet not wanting to bring the soaked material into his dry tent.

“I feel bad.” You say as water still rolls off of him, you felt so guilty he sacrificed his comfort for yours.

He glances down at you with a small smirk, trying to make light of the situation and ignore the uncomfortable feeling of his now wet clothes sticking to his body. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just rain, I’ll be fine.“ he says as he throws the doublet to the side.

“Oh right you’ll probably want this back.” You go to take off his cloak but he quickly stops you.

“No, keep it It’s alright. I’m going to change out of these wet clothes so I won’t need it,” he gently puts his hands on your arms to keep you from taking it off. “besides I think you should get use to wearing my house colors. ” Benjicot teases.

You scoff at his words but your heart flutters at the same time.

“You can’t go an entire hour without being a smart-arse can you Blackwood?”

“Only for you my lady, only for you.” he says as he walks into his tent.

You walked away from his tent going to find a place to sit and wait for him. You subconsciously pull his cloak closer to you inhaling the scent… it smelt of the forest mixed in with metal. Your mind starts to wonder throughout the day and think back on how kind and gentle Benjicot was.

You’re so engrossed by the cloak, you don’t realize you were about to walk into the group of drunken Bracken men, but at the same time they don’t notice you.

They seemed to be getting rowdy and rough with each other as men their age do. They were all boasting about how tomorrow they’ll catch an even bigger game and argued who was the better hunter.

The lord of Stone Hedge Aeron Bracken had the most say.

“Hey this sword is good enough for killing Blackwoods it’s well enough for killing a beast besides what’s the difference.” they all roar in laughter.

One of his brother’s then mocks him telling him how he’s never killed either teasingly pushing him. Aeron not suspecting the push stumbled back and at the same time you just so happen to be walking behind him which caused him to stumble right into you, you both crash to the ground.

You slightly groaned in pain at the weight of the man on top of you, Aeron quickly stood back up and looks down at you shocked and guilty for what he just did. He was about to apologize and offer a hand for what he just did when in a blink of an eye. Benjicot, who just turned the corner and only sees you on the ground with a Bracken looming over you acts before he knows the full extent of the situation. He roughly slams Aeron up against the tree and pins him there firmly, looking at him with a glare that could kill.

“What in the seven hells do you think you’re doing Bracken ? Picking on women now, is that it? Huh?” his voice low and threatening as he slams the male against the tree again, knocking some wind out of him.

You are shocked by the suddenness of everything and look around to see if anyone would intervene ,but no one seems to care as if this was a normal occurrence and the rest of the Bracken men look worried but don’t dare get up. You had heard of the Blackwood-Bracken conflict before, but you never knew how bad and often it was.

It’s taking everything in him not to run his sword through the Bracken’s neck,the only thing stopping him from doing so is the thought of you seeing him commit violence. He’s not sure if he’s ready to show you why they call him “Bloody Ben.”

You stand up rushing over to him. “Benjicot wait no- it was an accident I swear it’s fine!”

His angry glare softens ever so slightly when he looks at you, yet he still doesn’t release Aeron.

“He’s a Bracken bastard they thrive off of putting others down.” Benjicot already hated the Brackens as is, but the fact of all people they mess with you makes him angry beyond measure.

“Yea well not this time, I swear I’m fine, please let him go.” You truly did not want someone to get hurt for what was an accident. You wrap your hands around Benjicot’s arm trying to pull him away.

The urge not to at least punch the Bracken bastard in the face is hard for him to subside, but not wanting to disappoint you is even stronger.

He shoves him away from behind the tree. Aeron nearly falls at how hard Benjicot shoved him but catches himself walking back to his group where they immediately walk away in case Benjicot changes his mind.

“Cowards.” he huffs out a sharp breath and watches the men walk away, his eyes still filled with anger as he glares at the group.

“I’ll do it.” You say bluntly

He looks back at you and frowns a confused expression on his features.

“huh? You’ll do what?”

“ I’ll marry you.” You say without any hesitation.

He just stares at you for a moment, his heart stopping in his chest and his breath catching in his lungs. For a moment he just stares at you, completely lost for words as his brain struggles to wrap around the words that just left your lips.

“You…. Wait… I-I….” he stuttered not being able to complete a sentence his cheeks turning pink. “look I get we have this thing going on where we tease each other, but bloody hells Stark your killing me.” he says as he pretend to wipe his face to hide the blush.

“No Ben,” you pause saying his nickname for the first time and liking the way it feels on your tongue “I’m serious.”

The gears in his head starts to turn slowly and he stares at you for a long while just waiting for you to blurt out it was jest,but when you don’t he drops to one knee grasping both of your hands in his.

“I swear to the old and new gods to be a good spouse to you. I promise to always protect you, and care for you. I promise to worship and be devoted to you with my body, mind and soul….. so will you Y/n of house Stark be the lady of Raventree Hall….. will you accept these vows and become Lady Blackwood?” for the first time since you’ve met him he seems nervous.

“Yes I want to be Lady Blackwood.” you smile down at him.

His heart swells and a rush of excitement and nerves, but mostly excitement, flood through him. An enormous smile spreads across his face. He gets up and is about to pull you in for a hug when you stop him.

“But….” you raise a hand to stop him.

“But?” He asks nervously expecting the worse.

“I have a few conditions.”

“Like?”

“I want a traditional Stark wedding.”

He relaxes slightly, a small amused smile on his face as you declare one of your few conditions. He can’t help but chuckle slightly as he nods.

“Simple enough.”

“It has to be in the godswood not the sept.” you say your second condition

“Sure.”

“I want to be able to visit Winterfell a few times a year”

“Of course I know how important family is to you Starks“

“I want some of my ladies-in-waiting to be from the North.”

“ Very well, is that all or are there more demands? he says jokingly

“And“

“Andddd “ he says in a sing song voice.

“I want Visenya to live with us”

He quirks an eyebrow. “and that is?”

“My direwolf of course.” you say as it’s the most obvious thing.

He smiles extremely amused, but not entirely surprised you own a direwolf. “Well obviously,” he matched your tone “can’t have my special girl living without hers”

You open your mouth to speak again then realize that, that was all your requests you were fully expecting to have a bit of an argument not expecting him to agree so easily.

He noticed and smirks grabbing your hips and pulling you into him. “Why so surprised, I did say I’d give you everything and more the first time we met didn’t I?” he smiles his thumb tracing circles in your waist

Cregan then just so happens to be walking towards your direction and when he spots you two his face goes from disgust, to anger to confusion, then anger again which causes you to laugh.

“Before you go doing anything unwise Blackwood, I suggest you ask for my brother’s blessing first.” you laugh nodding your head towards the direction of your brother who stood behind Benjicot boring holes at the back of his head.

Benjicot body froze and you swear he got pale, he didn’t dare turn around to meet eyes with the wolf of the North and instead he slowly takes his hands off of you pulling them back to his sides.

“Danm, it was already hard enough to convince one of you” he mumbled.

[writeforfandoms]

Howlin’ For You

Find my CoD masterlist

Wolf shifter!Soap gets himself lost on a run one night and runs into you. The problem? You think he's a dog and take him home to try and find his people. Naturally, Soap falls head over heels.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, shifter lore, world building, I just kinda throw y’all in the deep end, Price is pack dad. 

Word count: 8k

Alright. So maybe the nighttime run had been a bad idea. Maybe. And maybe Soap shouldn’t have shifted on his own. And maaaaaybe he should have paid more attention to where he was going. 

But he wasn’t lost! He’d never been lost in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now.

He just… had to find the right road back to base. That was all. 

He briefly debated shifting back, but he didn’t fancy having to explain why he was running around naked. Price would kill him for that. And then Ghost would probably kill him, too. 

So he huffed and continued trotting along. Fortunately the wound in his shoulder had healed enough not to bother him at this easy pace, though he was careful to monitor it. Despite what medical said, he didn’t like being benched for injuries.

Which was why he’d gone on a night run in the first place. Couldn’t sleep, pack was gone on a mission, it seemed like a good idea at the time. 

…Yeah this had definitely been a bad idea.

Soap huffed again, pausing to shake himself off. He’d slid down a hill earlier, which hadn’t hurt him, but it had half-covered him in mud. He did not approve. He would much rather be clean.

And he’d get to clean off just as soon as he got back to base. 

Lifting his nose, he sniffed around for any hint he could pick up. But there was nothing special here - hints of deer and rabbits, old car smell, and tiny whiffs of human. But not a particular human, not like he was close to infringing on anyone’s property. 

Which meant he was pretty well in the middle of nowhere.

Gaz was never going to let him live this down. 

His ears pricked and he turned his head as he heard a car coming down the road, slowly getting louder. He trotted a couple steps off to the side, just in case, and watched as the car rounded the bend, headlights even brighter in the relative dark to his eyes. The car slowed and the hazard lights turned on, flashing orange in the dark, even as the car slowed to a stop on the shoulder. 

The driver’s door opened and Soap tensed a little, watching carefully. But it was just a woman - she smelled good. Human, absolutely, but good. His nose twitched in interest. 

“Hey pup,” she greeted, getting out of her car and crouching down. “You okay over there? Where are your people?” 

Oh. She thought he was a dog. Well, he supposed she could be forgiven for that - it was dark, and he was muddy, and okay yeah he did kind of look like a dog. Gaz liked to tease him about it sometimes. 

“I’ve got some goodies here,” she continued, moving slowly, pulling a bag out of her car. The crinkle caused his ears to perk, and he sniffed hopefully. Smelled like jerky. Mmm. “You want some? C’mere, I’ve got plenty.” She tossed a piece about half-way across the road, and he trotted forward to gobble it up. 

Really, she was nowhere near a threat, even with him on four legs. He could get himself out of trouble easily enough. 

“Good pup,” she crooned, keeping her voice gentle. “You want more?” She held out a piece to him. 

Soap paused to consider this. On the one hand, free food. On the other, she was clearly trying to get him close enough to check for a collar, which she wouldn’t find. 

Well. If nothing else, she’d get him back to civilization, and from there he could figure out how to get back to base. He’d be fine.

So he stepped forward to take the jerky from her, making sure to be very gentle. He didn’t even flinch as her free hand checked for a collar. 

“Looks like you escaped from someone’s yard,” she mused softly, gaze sweeping over him. “Alright. Do you wanna come in the car? Go on a little car ride? I’ll give you more jerky.”

Soap just wagged his tail at her, waiting patiently as she opened the back door before he hopped in. At least she didn’t try to buckle him in, he hated that. She did give him another piece of jerky, as promised, before she slid back into the driver’s seat. 

This was going to be interesting. 

–

You couldn’t help glancing back at the dog in the backseat. Partially to make sure he was okay, partially because you were nervous, and partially because you were trying to figure out if you’d seen him before. He was a big dog, but very well behaved. Hopefully you’d be able to get the mud off of him to get a better look at him. 

The vet was undoubtedly closed by now, so you wouldn’t be able to get him checked for a microchip until morning. 

But you couldn’t regret bringing him home. You just didn’t have it in you to leave a dog on the side of the road, especially one so obviously a beloved pet. 

You parked in front of your tiny house, getting out and gathering up your things before letting the dog out. You had another piece of jerky in hand, hoping that would entice him to cooperate. 

“This way,” you murmured to the dog, watching him hop down out of your car. “C’mon, let’s go inside and get cleaned up. And maybe have some dinner, hmm?”

The dog wagged his tail again and trotted right up to the front door, like he expected to be let in. You laughed softly but let him in, giving him the piece of jerky and then giving him a minute to sniff around. 

“Alright, if you’re a pet, you should know better than to potty in the house,” you said, setting your things down. “Shower first, I think. For you.” You eyed the muddy pawprints left on the floor and decided that was now a tomorrow problem. “Okay. C’mon pup.” You tapped the side of your thigh, and the dog followed you back to your bathroom. 

He didn’t even protest getting in the shower, thankfully. Just stood under the spray calmly. 

The problems started when you got out the shampoo. (Which, honestly, you were amazed you still had any under your sink, you’d bought it for a friend’s dog ages ago.) 

Then he boofed softly, circling in the shower and refusing to hold still for more than a second at a time. He kept pulling his paws away from you. 

“Stubborn,” you grumbled at the dog, though you couldn’t help but laugh when he kept walking under your hand, inadvertently spreading the shampoo. “Well, I guess this is one way to do it.” 

Rinsing off was another exercise in patience - the dog didn’t want to hold still, and ended up shaking muddy soap suds all over the shower, and your clothes. You just sighed deeply. 

“Don’t make me regret being nice to you,” you grumbled, finally washing off the last of the soap. “Alright, guess it’s time to dry off.”

The dog bounded out of the shower and bounced around the tiny bathroom. Seriously bounced. Water got everywhere, and you just stared for a moment in absolute dismay.

“Definitely regretting all my life choices.” But you grabbed a towel and started working on drying him off.

It took two towels before you released him into the rest of the house and changed out of your dirty clothes. 

The dog, of course, acted like nothing was wrong and sat patiently in the kitchen, tail wagging. 

“You’re a menace,” you told the dog, although you started gathering up ingredients anyway. “It’s probably super late for your dinner, but oh well. This is when I normally eat.” You paused. “Shit, you can’t eat some things, right? Hang on.” You whipped out your phone to do a bit of frantic googling. 

The dog boofed again, walked two circles around you, and then laid down with the biggest sigh. You looked away from your phone and right into big gorgeous blue puppy dog eyes… and you caved, crouching down to scratch his ears. 

“You’re just too cute,” you grumbled. “I can’t be mad at you.” You stroked your hand down the dog’s back. “You’re a handsome boy too, aren’t you?” He really was, mostly red with a white stripe down his nose, white socks, and a little white blotch at his shoulders. You’d lay even odds that he was part husky. 

He stayed where he was as you cooked, humming a little to yourself, big eyes following your every move. But at least he wasn’t underfoot. 

“Tomorrow I’ll take you to the vet, see if you’ve got a microchip,” you told him, leaning back against the counter to let everything cook a bit. “And if not, I’ll put up signs. You can’t have traveled too far.” 

The dog just sat up when you plated food, leaving a bowl on the ground for him. You’d checked all the ingredients and just had to hope it wouldn’t upset his stomach. 

After throwing the dishes in the sink and taking him out for a potty break, you were more than ready for bed. 

Apparently, so was the dog, as he immediately hopped up on your bed.

“Hey!” You frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

The dog wagged his tail at you and then circled the end of the bed before laying down, curled into an almost perfect circle. 

“Oh my god.” You threw your hands up and turned to get ready for bed. “Fine, but don’t complain if I kick you in the middle of the night.” 

But if you were being honest with yourself, when you laid down to sleep, the soft breathing and the warmth of the dog was… soothing. He made you feel less alone, less isolated. 

You reminded yourself firmly to not get attached, because he wasn’t staying. 

So, of course, he wasn’t microchipped.

“Nope,” the vet tech confirmed the following morning. “No microchip. I don’t recognize him, either.”

“Well, it was worth a try,” you said on a sigh, patting the dog’s head. “Thanks for checking for me.”

“Sure thing!”

“Guess I need to make some posters,” you said, looking down at the dog. He boofed at you, tail wagging. 

You had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

–

Soap actually hadn’t meant to stay this long. He really hadn’t. But, well, you were pretty and lonely. It wasn’t hard for him to smell it on you, although it was less pervasive when he stuck near you. 

And the team wasn’t supposed to be back for a few more days, so it wasn’t a problem to stay for a little longer. 

(He could also admit, if only to himself, that he also needed more time to orient himself. He had no idea where the fuck he had ended up.) 

Maybe it was a bad idea, but he was making it work. And he wasn’t stupid, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay long. Tonight, probably, he’d have to leave. Now that he knew where he was and where he needed to go. 

Hell, he knew that if Price found out, he’d have Soap’s head. Staying with an uninitiated human was risky, even though he had excellent control of his shifts. And it wasn’t just a risk to himself, but to his whole team. 

Bad decisions seemed to be the theme of his forced downtime, though. 

He’d just have to leave tonight and sneak back onto base. No big deal. Nobody would know, he wouldn’t get in trouble, everything would be fine. 

He did feel a bit bad when he hopped down lightly from your bed. Hopefully you wouldn’t spend too much time looking for him. 

Making sure to leave the back door cracked open a few inches to show how he’d gotten out, Soap trotted off back towards base. It would be tight, getting back in before sunrise, but he’d always enjoyed a good challenge. 

He didn’t enjoy being wrong.

Which he very much was.

Price stood outside the barracks, arms crossed, staring down at him. Soap gulped, ears flattening to his head, tail tucked. 

“Inside,” Price growled, opening the door for him. Soap slunk through the door, obediently following Price down the hall and to his room. 

By now, the lot of them had no shame around each other. Hard to be body-shy when they’d all shifted together, many times, and shared sometimes tight sleeping quarters. So Soap just waited until the door was closed to shift back to human. 

“Explain.” Price leaned back against the door, arms crossed over his chest again.

“Didn’t think ye’d be back so soon,” Soap muttered, grabbing a shirt first. 

Price didn’t say anything, just stared Soap down, even and outwardly calm as only he could be. 

“Just went for a run,” Soap said, shrugging, even as he grabbed more clean clothes to pull on. “No’ a big thing.”

“Must have been a long run.” 

“Aye.” Soap swallowed. “Might’ve gone farther than I wanted.” 

Price nodded once. “Any trouble?”

Soap shook his head. “Nah. I was careful.”

Finally, Price’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. And your shoulder?”

“Almost healed.” Soap relaxed too, grinning briefly. “I’m careful ‘bout it!”

Price snorted his disbelief of that. “Then you can go running with Ghost. 0600.”

Soap didn’t groan, because that wouldn’t help his case. He tried not to pout, because this was absolutely a punishment, and they both knew it. “Yes, sir.” 

Price nodded once and let himself out, the door clicking shut softly after him. Soap flopped face-first onto his bed and groaned into his pillow. 

–

You tried hard not to be heartbroken when you found the back door open a little, cold morning air wafting in. The dog was gone.

Hopefully he’d find his way back home on his own. 

You spent the next three days keeping your eyes open any time you went anywhere, just in case. If he was still lost, well, at least he knew you. You could always make more dog-friendly food. 

And when you didn’t see the dog for a week, you figured that was it. He’d found his way back home. That was okay. It was much better for him to be at home. You wouldn’t wish losing a dog on anyone. At least, not anyone who took such good care of their dog. 

You parked in front of your house and slumped forward, forehead resting on the steering wheel. You were tired. Exhausted, really. The kind of exhausted that came from too little sleep and stress and probably a little bit of touch starvation. 

You might have stayed right there for longer, trying to find the energy to move, except there was a woof, and then the car shook a little as a dog stood on its hind legs to look in the window. The dog. 

“What the hell?” You blinked at the dog and then grabbed your things, opening the door. “What are you doing here?”

The dog wagged happily at you, boofing at you and running up to the front door. When you didn’t move fast enough, he ran back to you, tail still wagging. 

“I thought you went home.” You blinked again but moved slowly to the door, opening the door. The dog pushed past you to head inside, trotting right along. He looked good - no mud this time, at least. His coat looked good, and he didn’t look like he’d lost any weight. So he was being taken care of.

Even if he had escaped yet again. 

“You’re going to give your people a heart attack,” you scolded gently, locking the door behind you before putting your things down. “How did you even get back here?” 

He whined a little, excited, tail still going a mile a minute as he tried to wait patiently for you in the kitchen. You dropped a hand to pat the top of his head, opening your fridge to look inside.

Not that there was much to see. You hadn’t been shopping, and it showed. 

“Um.” You frowned, glancing down at the dog. “Hm. Well, I can probably whip up something.” 

The dog watched you, sitting just at the edge of your space so he was barely not in the way, eyes bright and ears perked. He was pretty big for a husky, even though the coloring matched. He was probably a mutt of some kind, but you were a bit surprised at his size. 

“Here you go, big boy.” You set a bowl down for him again and took your own plate to the tiny table. 

Where you sat and stared at it, stomach turning. You needed to eat. You knew you needed to eat.

You just… didn’t want to.

The dog rested his head on your thigh, whining softly. But he was looking up at you, not at your plate. 

“It’s okay, pup,” you immediately murmured, one hand dropping to scratch between his ears. “You still hungry? I’ll give you more in a little bit, have to make sure that settles okay first.” You gently rubbed your thumb over his furry forehead and between his eyes in slow, soothing strokes. His eyes closed with a big sigh. 

You weren’t sure exactly how long you sat there, curiously blank, stroking this dog. Long enough that your food had gone cold. Finally, you gave up on it and put a bit more into the dog’s bowl before putting the rest away for another day. 

Your bedtime routine was barely disturbed by the dog, and he once again hopped up onto your bed. This time, you didn’t protest, just let him get comfortable. 

And when his head landed on your thigh, his warmth stretched out next to your legs, you just sighed softly and closed your eyes. 

You weren’t sure if you were surprised or not when you woke to an empty bed and chilly morning air. 

It took a while to drag yourself through your routine, getting ready for work by rote, brain definitely not engaged yet. Why bother?

But you still stopped, blinking owlishly at the sight of the dog sitting in the middle of the kitchen, tail wagging, jaws parted in a doggy grin.

“Oh. You’re still here.” You felt dumb saying it out loud, admitting to what you’d assumed. That he was gone again. And then you felt even more stupid because he couldn’t reply and didn’t even know what you’d said. “Well. I guess you’ll want breakfast, then.”

You reheated the leftovers from last night for him and set them down before getting your own things ready. You still had a few minutes before you had to leave for work, which you spent pondering what to do with the dog.

You couldn’t leave him locked inside. It wasn’t fair to him, and you didn’t want to come home to a ruined house. 

He solved your dilemma by walking to the front door and sitting calmly, looking back at you. You huffed out something close to a laugh.

“Well, I guess you know your way home by now,” you agreed, gathering up your things and opening the front door for him. “Be careful, there are always idiots on the road.” 

The dog boofed at you once before trotting off again, tail held high. 

You got in your car and went to work. 

–

Soap wasn’t an idiot. He knew this was a bad idea. He knew he should put you out of his mind and move on, because you didn’t know and couldn’t know about his nature. 

But something about you just… pulled at him. Maybe it was how uncomplicated things were with you. Maybe it was the way you smiled for him. Maybe it was that he could help you feel better.

Maybe it was that his wolf loved the way you smelled and wanted to just bury himself in your blankets.

Whatever it was, Soap ended up sneaking away to you just about every chance he got. Any time the team had downtime, he was off. He couldn’t go during the full moon, because the pack always ran that night together, but he still managed to make time to go visit you. 

“If you keep running off, Cap’s gonna follow you one day,” Gaz said as he dropped down next to Soap. 

Soap huffed. “He hasn’t yet,” he pointed out, mostly just to be contrary.

“Ghost will, then.”

Soap had no retaliation for that because LT absolutely would. Actually, he was a little surprised that Ghost hadn’t already. 

“Might be better to just come clean about wherever it is you run off to,” Gaz continued, slanting a look at the Scot even as he pushed food around his plate. 

Soap huffed. Gaz was… not exactly wrong. But it still wasn’t a good idea. Not even close. He needed to figure out how to tell Price without the captain flipping. 

“Don’t suppose you’re offering t’ help,” he grumbled, side-eyeing the other sergeant. 

Gaz perked up a little, taking a moment to think as he chewed. “Might be,” he mumbled. “For an interesting enough reason.”

This was a bad idea. This was a very bad idea. 

But Gaz was right - this was going to blow up in his face sooner or later. He could mitigate the damage with a bit of help and a fair bit of luck. 

“Swear you won’t tell.” Soap held his gaze, drawing himself up a little straighter. 

Gaz looked briefly taken aback before he nodded, slow and serious. “I swear.”

Soap nodded, took a deep breath, and started from the beginning. (Well. Not the beginning, because he still refused to admit that he’d been… temporarily discombobulated.) 

After the expected razzing (and only a bit of shoving), Gaz stood to clear his place, Soap scrambling a little after him. A quick look around and the two went back to Gaz’s bunk to talk quietly. 

“Right,” Gaz muttered, gaze darting around as he plotted. “I want to meet her.”

Soap puffed up, eyes narrowing. “Why?” 

“To see what she’s like for myself.” Gaz shoved him a bit with a little huff. “No offense, mate, but you’re a bit smitten.” 

Soap opened his mouth to protest… and then shut it again. Because. Well. He couldn’t, in fact, protest that. He swallowed.

“This is not a good idea,” Gaz muttered. “Got a couple days off coming up, yeah?”

“Aye,” Soap agreed slowly.

“We’ll both go.”

Soap blinked at that. “Shifted?”

“Well, you said she takes you in, thinks you’re a dog.” Gaz shrugged. “Probably won’t think any different of me.”

This was truly a terrible idea. Part of Soap rebelled at the idea for no good reason, too - you were his, and he didn’t want to share you. But he’d have to. Especially if he ever wanted more with you than the stolen moments as a wolf. 

“Right.” Soap breathed in deep. “We’ll try it.”

–

You almost didn’t even bother to get out of bed. But it was after noon, and you needed to drink something at least. Even if the very thought of food made you nauseous. So you shoved yourself out of bed, hands shaking only a little as you put the kettle on. 

A soft woof at the back door nearly made you drop your mug, and you fumbled for a few moments before you saved it and put it on the counter instead. 

There was a dog at your door. No, scratch that. The dog was at your door. With a friend. 

“What the fuck.” You stared at the two dogs, blinking stupidly. The second dog was just as big, medium gray with the classic black saddle and tail tip. His snout was black too. Almost like a German shepherd, but in gray instead of tan. 

Your dog, the red and white one, woofed again, tail wagging. Almost on autopilot, you opened the door for him. 

“What the fuck,” you said again, watching as the second dog came in too, just as easy and confident as your dog. “Damn I wish you could talk. Is this your buddy? Do you live together? Have you both escaped the same yard? Or did you steal someone else’s dog?” You rubbed a hand over your eyes.

The kettle started whistling, and you trudged over to it to pour hot water for tea. Your dog kept pace with you, sniffing your legs and then your belly and whining softly at you. 

“I dunno what you want,” you said, one hand drifting down to his head, rubbing a soft ear between your fingers. “It’s not dinner time. …I think.” You frowned, squinting at your phone. “No. Too early.”

The other dog kept a little more distance but did sniff your hand and accepted a couple gentle head pats. Tea helped you feel more steady, and your dog hopped up on the couch to curl up next to you. 

“You can relax,” you told the other dog quietly, eyelids already drooping again. “You’re safe here. I’ll make dinner for you later.” 

The other dog laid down on the floor a couple feet from the two of you, head resting on his paws, eyes open and trained on you. You didn’t take it personally, just huffing a soft laugh and closing your eyes the rest of the way. 

“It’s too bad you have to go,” you muttered, hand resting on your dog’s head, which was pillowed on your thigh. “Nice to have some company.” 

Your dog sighed, warm even through your clothes, and wiggled even closer to you. An afternoon nap was definitely in order today. 

You woke to the sound of grumbling. Not quite a growl but not exactly a happy sound either. You blinked a few times, lifting your head (ow) to try to figure out what was going on.

Your dog was perched over you, head low, grumbling a little at the other dog. Who huffed right back at him, ears flicking forward and back. 

“No fighting,” you mumbled, almost reflexively. “Or take it outside or something.” 

Both dogs paused, looking at you, and your dog sniffed your face before licking your nose. You blew out a breath that was almost a laugh. 

“C’mon, get off. I’ll cook.” You pushed the dog, more or less gently, until he hopped off the couch. 

Cooking didn’t make you nauseous, at least. Even if you still had very little interest in eating anything. 

The two dogs seemed to have given up on whatever spat woke you up, for which you were grateful. Your house was not at all dog proofed, and you were amazed nothing had been broken yet. 

You forced yourself to shower, because you needed to and it was easier to motivate yourself to do something with the dog around. Then you sat up for a little while reading, your dog curled up on your bed with his head resting on your stomach, the other dog laying on the floor near the foot of the bed.

You were honestly surprised when you woke up and they were both still there, two heads popping up as soon as you sat up. 

You finally felt better this morning. You’d slept better, too. You actually ate after you cooked and spent a bit of time outside, watching the two tear around the yard chasing each other. 

But when your dog stopped next to you just as the sun began to sink, you knew.

“Time to go back home?” you asked him, smoothing down his fur from his playtime. He whined softly, wiggling closer to you and resting his head on your knee to look up at you with those big blue puppy eyes. “Well. You be careful.” You gently smoothed your fingers over the top of his head, smiling a little even though it hurt. “I don’t wanna hear about any dogs getting run over, okay?” 

He huffed out through his nose, his eyes closing as he leaned his weight into your legs. You chuckled, patting his head before removing your hand entirely.

“Okay. Go on, before it gets dark.” 

He looked up at you, almost pleading, before a soft bark from the other dog got his attention. His ears half-lowered, and he licked your hand once before he backed off and then darted off to join his friend. 

The two of them were gone from your sight in moments.

You didn’t move until the cold forced you to go back inside. 

–

“You,” Gaz started once they were both back in human skin, “are so fucked.” 

Soap slumped. “Donnae remind me,” he groaned. 

“So fucked,” Gaz continued as if he hadn’t heard. “Pretty sure your wolf has all but actually claimed her.”

Soap rubbed a hand over his face, because Gaz wasn’t wrong. But you had no idea he was a shifter, and he couldn’t tell you without Price’s permission. Which meant he also couldn’t pursue anything with you until you knew. It was… a situation. Definitely. 

“Lucky for you, I have an idea.”

Soap perked up at that, hopeful. “Aye?”

Gaz had already grabbed his phone, typing quickly. “We can’t tell her,” he said, gaze focused on his phone. “But we can give her a nudge in the right direction.”

Soap leaned over, trying to see what Gaz was doing. “Gaz,” he said slowly, confused. “Why are ye texting yer mum?” 

“Trust me.” Gaz flashed him a grin that was mostly teeth. “She had to woo Dad. She can help.” 

This was probably a terrible idea. But. It was better than anything he’d come up with. So Soap shrugged, letting it happen. 

“Now, for the other part of this plan.” Gaz grinned as he dug through Soap’s things, ignoring the Scot’s grumbling, until he found the collar. (Soap had drawn the short stick and had been stuck for an op. The collar had been to make him look less threatening. Fortunately for everyone involved, it had been a short op.) 

“No.” Soap crossed his arms over his chest, glowering.

“Just wait,” Gaz soothed, grinning like the looney he clearly was. “I have a plan.” 

Soap groaned. This was going to end terribly. For him.

–

There was a box on your front porch. You blinked at it, confused. You hadn’t ordered anything. And yet your name was written on top of the box, with no shipping address or return address. 

You brought the box inside. Foolish, maybe, but it was too cold outside to stand out there and go through the box. 

A handful of books filled the box most of the way, with a letter on top. Letting your curiosity get the better of you, you opened the letter first.

Keep an open mind while you read the books. There’s some very good information here. Things will make sense sooner or later.

It was unsigned, of course. You huffed. If this was a prank, it was pretty elaborate. 

So you pulled out the books, examining them one at a time. The first one looked hand-written, with no information on the title page. The second book was labeled, simply, Etiquette. The other two books were no better, giving you very little information.

It took a good five pages for you to figure out the handwritten book was about werewolves. Or wolf-shifters? The terminology became confusing very quickly. 

It felt like a prank.  You were sure someone was going to pop up and prank you, maybe record your reaction. Who, you didn’t know, but still. The feeling persisted.

Because this? This was crazy. This was an entire secret society, a subset of the population that lived an entire secret life. It was impossible.

And yet you kept reading.

But you forced yourself to stop and walk away after you finished that book, having barely moved. You needed to eat. You needed to drink something. You needed a damn reality check. 

Even so… Even so, you came back to the books after a meal and a walk. The little pile taunted you until you swore and swiped up the next book. 

Which was all on shifter-people etiquette. Apparently. How they interacted with each other, how they interacted with humans. 

Even if this did turn out to be a prank of some kind, it was an incredibly elaborate one. 

One you couldn’t get out of your head. 

It took a few days to read through all the books in between work, but you did. And then you went back and took a few notes, because some things were just… too interesting. Too unique. 

You did keep the books in your bedroom. Not that you had a lot of company (or any), but it felt… wrong. To leave them out on display. So you hid them away. 

You couldn’t explain why, but it felt like the right thing to do. 

Now if only you could figure out why. 

It was another three weeks until the dog came back, once again arriving at your house at almost the same time you did. He looked the same as always, tail wagging, jaws parted in a canine grin.

Except he was wearing a collar.

“Oh so your person does have a collar for you,” you grumbled, opening the front door for him. “Look at that, it’s practically a miracle.” 

He boofed softly at you before running around to sniff everything, clearly trying to get caught up on whatever he’d missed. Which was… not much. A spill of take-out one night, a few naps on the couch, and late dinners after work. 

Typical for you.

“Alright, c’mere pup.” You tapped your thigh, pulling your phone out. “Let me call your person to come get you.”

The dog drooped a little but obediently walked back to you, sitting patiently while you dialed the number you found on his tag. “Soap,” you mumbled, examining the tag. “Who the hell names their dog Soap?” 

“Yes?” The man who answered the phone sounded brusque, borderline rude. You blinked, caught off guard.

“Um, hi. I have your dog? He’s been wandering over to my place recently and, um, I figured you might want to come get him?” Your eyes slammed shut. You hadn’t meant to make that a question. Really. Your people skills were seriously awful. 

There was silence, then a sigh. “Soap?” he asked, dry with a hint of humor.

“Yeah.” You looked down at the dog, absently petting the top of his head.

“Right. I’ll be there soon. What’s the address?”

You hesitated for a moment before rattling it off. Well. He probably wasn’t secretly an axe murderer with such a sweet dog. 

There was a soft grunt as he confirmed the address. “It’ll be about an hour,” he said. And hung up.

“Well,” you muttered, looking down at your phone, “rude.” 

Soap whined at you softly, pawing at you gently until you resumed petting him. 

“Guess we’ve got an hour, buddy.” You stretched and stepped around Soap into the kitchen. “I need food or I’m gonna be hangry when your person gets here, and nobody wants that.” You slanted a look at him. “I assume you want food?” 

Soap’s tail started wagging, even though he sat patiently in his normal spot out of the way.

“Yeah, okay.” You huffed a little laugh and started pulling out ingredients. “You were gone for a while, buddy. I was worried about you.” You didn’t expect any kind of reaction from the dog.

Which is why you startled when he pressed his nose to your thigh with another soft whine. You looked down to find those big blue eyes focused on you, ears half-down, tail wagging slowly. 

“Aw, I’m not mad at you,” you murmured, leaning over a bit to scratch under his chin. “You’re okay, cutie.”

His tail thumped faster against the ground, and you had to spend a minute petting him before you could wash your hands and continue with dinner prep. 

Somehow, the knock on your door still caught you off-guard, enough that your fork clattered back to your dish. You looked at Soap, who looked back at you, ears up. Then you nodded once and stood, heading to the door. 

You opened the door and blinked up at the man on the other side. Muttonchops, floppy hat, stern-set mouth. Big. Broad. 

Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

“You called about Soap,” he said, voice brusque, though his tone gentled a little. He also didn’t make a move towards you, which helped a bit. 

“I did.” You pulled the door open further, turning to call Soap. Only to find him already right behind you. “Here he is.”

“You’re in trouble,” he said, gaze focused on Soap. “Come on.” 

But Soap took two steps forward until he could press against your legs, and stopped there. Leaning a good bit of his weight onto you. 

The man blinked once, one eyebrow raising as he looked between you and the dog slowly, something almost calculating in his gaze. 

“What are you doing?” you asked Soap, exasperated. “This is your person, you’re supposed to go home with him. Silly pup.” 

“He’s stubborn when he gets an idea in his head.” The man planted his hands on his hips, looking down at Soap. “How long has he been runnin’ up here?” 

“Oh, a few months.” Something about his tone made you nervous, made you shift your weight. But with Soap still leaning against you, the move ended up almost sending you falling over, and only a quick grab of the doorframe saved you any dignity at all. 

The man sighed, shaking his head briefly. “Stubborn,” he muttered again. “Should get Simon out here.”

Curiosity burned at you, but you kept your mouth shut. Instead you nudged Soap, trying to get him to leave your side. 

“Go on,” you encouraged him. “Don’t you wanna go home?” 

The man’s eyes sharpened suddenly. “What did you say?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Don’t you wanna go home?” You repeated, only a little squeaky. 

Soap pressed harder into your legs, shoving his head under your free hand. And then the man sighed noisily. 

“Right,” he grunted. “Can I come in?” 

“Why?” You stiffened, hand gripping the doorframe tighter. 

“We need to have a conversation and I’d rather not do it out the door.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious. This was weird. This was definitely weird. You looked down at Soap, who was still pressed up against you, and back to the man. A little lightbulb went off finally.

“Is this about those books?”

“Books?” He frowned and then shook his head. “We should discuss this inside.” 

A little reluctantly, you let him inside. Soap stayed right next to you, going so far as to hop up onto the couch next to you. 

“Right,” the man muttered, rubbing a hand briefly over his chin. “What books are you talking about?” 

“I got these books, they were in a box on my porch. I thought it was a hoax at first, but…” You stood and jogged back to your room, grabbing the first book, the handwritten one. “I’m not so sure about that anymore.”

He took the book and flipped through the first few pages before he lifted his gaze to Soap. “Did you have something to do with this?” 

Soap huffed and rested his head across your lap as soon as you sat down again. 

That, more than anything, solidified things in your mind. Soap wasn’t just a dog. Soap was a shifter, of some kind. And undoubtedly this other person was as well. 

“Huh.” You looked down at Soap, examining him more carefully. “Guess that’s why you kept finding your way back here, even when you shouldn’t have been able to.” 

He just blinked up at you, wiggling a little closer and pushing his nose under your hand. 

“What do you know?”

You pulled your gaze back to the man across from you, chewing on your lip for a moment. “Honestly? Just what’s in the books. And like I said, I thought they were a hoax at first. I’m still…” You trailed off, not sure exactly how to express what you were feeling. 

He nodded, looking pensively between you and Soap. “Normally, we don’t tell others.” He paused to let that sink in, and you grimaced. “But this one found a way around that.” 

Soap’s tail thumped against the couch. Clearly, he was totally unrepentant. 

“So.” The man leaned forward, elbows braced on his thighs. “Let’s start from the beginning.” 

It took hours to cover it all. Price, as you finally learned his name, was more or less patient with you. Less so with Soap. 

The two finally left, with promises to bring you to base tomorrow. (Because, that’s right, Soap was apparently military, something you never would have guessed. And apparently Soap deciding you were his person got you some benefits? Honestly you were very unsure about all of this but Soap had given you such big imploring eyes that you’d caved.) 

You would have expected that you’d be up for hours longer, pacing, working through everything in your head. Honestly, though, you just had energy for a shower, and then collapsed into bed and slept hard. Clearly, you already had too much on your mind. 

You were still scrambling when the knock came at your door in the morning. “Hang on!” you shouted, hopping on one foot to shove your other shoe on, grabbing your purse and making sure you had everything you needed. 

Not that you really knew what you’d need, but. You had the basics, at least. 

Finally, you yanked the door open to an amused Price standing on your doorstep. Thankfully, he didn’t comment, just raised an eyebrow at you.

The drive was silent. Price kept his gaze on the road, sparing you only the occasional glance. For your part, you were too nervous to try talking. 

When Price turned down a long drive to a fenced area, you swallowed hard. 

“Nervous?” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice.

“A bit,” you admitted, knee bouncing so at least you had some kind of outlet for your nerves. 

“Relax.” He slanted a look at you as he slowed near the gate guard. “You’ll be fine.” 

You swallowed again, knee bouncing as the guard lifted the gate and let the two of you through. Price continued down the road and pulled into a parking spot, cutting the engine.

You’d known, sort of, that this base was here. People talked about it - that base out of town. Sometimes military men came through to the store or the bar, although you weren’t the closest town to the base. 

But being here was something else entirely. You had no idea it was so big - lots of land, all enclosed. Multiple buildings spread out around the area, and you could see a group of runners off in the distance. 

“This way,” Price grunted, jerking you from your thoughts. You turned and hurried to follow him inside, fingers twisting around each other, nearly jogging to keep up with his longer strides. He stopped in front of a door, pushing it open and stepping inside. A little more slowly, you followed. 

Another man was standing in the middle of the room, mohawk mussed like he’d been running his hands through it, shoulders tense. You almost asked… but you met his gaze, eyes wide. 

“Oh.” You couldn’t help but smile, still holding his gaze, those beautiful blue eyes fixed on you. “Your eyes really don’t change at all, do they?” 

“Nah.” He smiled slowly, taking a step closer to you. 

“Still want me to call you Soap?” You smiled, tipping your chin. 

“Or Johnny.” His teeth flashed in a grin. “Ye can call me anythin’ ye want, lovely.”

You warmed at the easy affection, but you didn’t drop his gaze. “Can I…?” You lifted one hand slowly, a little cautious. 

Apparently that was all he needed, though, because he stepped straight into your space and wrapped himself around you. You blinked and then snorted, your hand settling at the back of his head to rub against the hairs there. 

“Personal space optional?” you teased, though you made absolutely no move away from him.

“What’s yours is mine,” he quipped, squeezing you affectionately. 

“Sergeant.” Price sounded exasperated, and you pulled back enough to peek at him, suddenly worried again. 

“This is why he didn’t let me drive to get you,” Soap said, unrepentant, shifting his grip on you enough to smooth one hand up and down your back. “Didnae think ah’d come back.”

“No,” Price said, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d come back until tomorrow.” 

You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped you at that, and you relaxed again. “So, what now?”

Price huffed something akin to a laugh. “You get to meet the other two, then we do some paperwork.” 

“Speakin’ of.” Soap nodded to the door, grinning. Price heaved a sigh but walked over and pulled the door open. 

“Gaz.” He stepped aside to let the other young man in, and you blinked at him. He gave you a quick smile and a little wave, though he gave you a bit of space. Something about him seemed… familiar. 

“Did you come with Johnny one day?” You blinked, putting the pieces together. He kept the same bit of distance the other dog had, the same kind of reserved politeness. 

Gaz blinked twice, lips parting in surprise. “How’d you guess?”

“I mean, it’s not that big of a leap.” You shrugged, ignoring Soap chuckling. 

“We’ll talk about that later,” Price grumbled, shooting Gaz a look. Whoops. 

Another man slipped into the room, almost as big as Price, wearing a skull mask. You blinked, a little intimidated. 

“LT is a big softie,” Soap whispered in your ear, swaying the two of you side to side just a little. 

“Johnny.” The big one sounded vaguely amused but also disapproving. 

“This is Ghost,” Price said, since clearly he was the only one in the room with manners. 

You twisted in Soap’s arms to look at him, lifting your hand in a little wave. You almost felt awkward with Soap still hanging off of you, but you were also comfortable. Sure, he wasn’t a dog, but still. This felt normal. 

“Couldn’t keep your mouth shut, eh, Johnny?” Ghost sounded more amused than anything, though. 

“I only told Gaz,” Soap defended, squeezing you a little tighter. 

“Yes, about that.” Price raised one eyebrow at Gaz. Who immediately buckled and spilled the whole plot - the two of them going to visit you, and then Gaz writing his mum. 

“So those books were from your mum?” You’d all settled into chairs or the couch. (You’d had to swat Soap a few times when he tried to pull you down to sit in his lap.) 

“Must be.” He shrugged. “You still have ‘em, yeah?”

“Of course, they’re at home. I’ll bring them next time.” 

He shrugged. “No rush. We’ve got time.”

And you did, you realized with a blink. With Soap crowded up against your side, the other three ranged around the room, you realized you had plenty of time. Now that you weren’t just waiting on a surprise visit from a dog. You smiled to yourself and leaned into Soap. 

Yeah. You could get used to this. 

[fantasyandshit]

The light and the dark (remake!)

Type: Series

Pairing: Azriel x Archeron!reader

Part two

I spot Feyre coming down the path immediately and after wiping my brow and setting the axe down, I rush to her side. She carries a deer over her shoulder, but this time is covered oddly in wolf skin. I decide I’ll ask her about that later, taking the animal from her quickly as we make our way inside. I can hear her slight protests as I push the door open but I don’t care, she’s been out all day, the least I can do is take the damn thing inside to prepare it.

The deer lands on the table with a loud ‘thump’ and I swivel around to take a knife off the counter. “I thought Nesta was supposed to be chopping wood today?”

“She uh- she didn’t want to.” I pause as I bring the knife down on the first bit of meat, “I figured I’d handle it for her.” My shoulder twitches as I bring the knife down again, the bastard at the ring today had a mean punch.

My sister of course noticed this immediately, “What happened to your shoulder?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

She turns to Nesta now, with a huff, “Why’d you let her chop wood if she was hurt?”

“She seemed fine.”

I can tell my sister’s anger is rising and I make quick work of trying to tone down the situation, “And Nesta would be right. I’m fine, I promise sis.”

Knowing it’s not worth the fight, Feyre sighs before moving to the other side of the carcass and beginning to chop the meat up. “Feyre, stop.” My brows furrow, “You’ve been out hunting all day, go sit.”

“I’m fine.” And gods the level of sass in her voice almost made me laugh.

I huff, unable to argue and continue my job, “so the wolf…how’d that uhm- how’d that happen.”

“Well it was gonna-“ she’s stopped mid sentence by the door busting open. Elain shrieks, hiding behind Nesta and our father, Feyre and I whip around to see a giant beast.

A fae

That’s what it has to be, Antlers and the body of bear, the head of a wolf?

“Who killed the wolf?”

I turn to my sister, she’s practically vibrating and it’s then it hits me, staring at her pale skin..the wolf hide, my eyes shift to said object on the table.

Before another second passes I speak up “I did.” But apparently my sister had the same idea. Our voices are in unison but the beast seems to know, his head turning to bore holes in my sister skull, he steps one paw forward, prowling to his pray.

It’s them I take the risk, adjusting the knife in my hand, I lunge, plunging it into the fae’s shoulder, only to be swatted at like a fly by its massive paw, sending me flying into the wall.

I hear muffled voices and screams and then. Nothing. Everything’s gone. Peace.

—————

When I awake next, I’m in a carriage. Groaning I look around, hissing as I push myself up. I take a head count as I hear someone gasp beside me.

Nesta

Elain

Feyre

Wait

Where’s Feyre?

This spooks me and I shift up swiftly, “Where’s Feyre?” My head swivels wildly, Elain asks me to calm down but my sisters gone. How are they calm?

“She’s gone. Off to Aunties house. Don’t you remember?”

Yes, it clicks now. But not..fully. Something feels off, I touch a hand to my face, deep cuts in the shape of claws run down the whole of it.

What is going on?

—————

I fly up in bed, blanket sliding off my body. I’m shaking, I think I was screaming, my throat feels like I was screaming. Cold sweat drips down my forehead and I rise onto shaking feet, heading to my bathroom.

I breathe as cold water surrounds me. I fall back. Back. Back…

A beast burst through the door

“Who killed the wolf?”

“I did”

“I did”

Sharp claws dig into my face, sending me back to the wall.

“Your sister. In return for your safety. Your families safety.”

“I’ll do it.”

I gasp, my head shooting from under water as I splutter.

What is going on?

Where is my sister?

——————————

Okkkkk here we go Part one done! What do you guys think? Love y’all!!

[links-in-time]

Fair Weather Fellows

@torpetavantas asked for a fic where Legend and Twilight' hair changes colour, due to their animal forms and cold weather.

This fic allowed me to explore their relationship a little bit more, as they're a pairing I don't see very often. So thanks for the suggestion, I hope you enjoy this little tail.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

“Any luck?” Legend asked, trying to stop his teeth from chattering as he looked up. 

Twilight gave his head a forlorn shake as he came closer. Snow dusted his black pelt and had started to soak into his hair, which he tried to shake out. 

“None, this blizzard is too thick and after that mess of a battle the others could have spread out anywhere over this mountain,” Twilight sighed, hands on his hips. 

Legend's shoulders dropped and he held his fire rod that bit tighter. At the moment it was their only source of heat among the pine trees providing what little shelter they could. However, Legend could feel it drawing on his magic reserves and they wouldn't be able to rely on it for much longer. 

Twilight stared around at the sheet of white surrounding their little hollow. His keen eyes scanning for any sign of movement or shelter. But he was faced only by a wall of white. Even the mountain peak which had been visible earlier, had completely disappeared. 

“We can't stay here Lege, we need to find some shelter. I can survive the cold for a while, but I'm not sure you're so well equipped,” Twilight indicated Legend's bare legs. 

“If this is a ploy to get me to wear trousers, it's not going to work,” Legend grinned playfully. “But you're right, if we sit out in this storm much longer we'll both be in trouble. Don't suppose you have any idea which era we're in?”

“Not a clue. Those monsters were a mixed bag so no indicators there, we'll just have to hope we stumble across some civilisation at some point.” 

“So we just wander around in the snow hoping to find some shelter? Sounds like a good way to get us killed!” 

Twilight shot Legend an exasperated look as he pulled his fur cloak from his shoulders. He tossed it to Legend, who caught it with fumbling fingers. 

“Don't you need it?” Legend asked, already feeling the second hand warmth radiating from the dark fluff. 

“I've got another one,” Twilight replied with a crooked smile, before a shower of jet crystals surrounded the hero. 

Twilight shook out his coat and the aches of his transformation before padding towards Legend. The wolf gave a soft boof then turned to look over his shoulder. 

“You want me to get on?” Legend asked, uncertain about this arrangement. 

He was still a little uncomfortable about the fact that Wolfie was his brother Twilight. Legend had been less welcoming of Wild's wolf companion than the others in the first place. His borrowed instincts telling him to stay away from large predators. Then after the revelation that Twilight had been the wolf the whole time, Legend was dubious about the dark magic surrounding his crystal. 

Needless to say, Legend didn't find the idea of riding the wolf particularly appealing. However, the thought of trudging through deep snow with bare legs was even less so. With a sigh, Legend threw Twilight's cloak around his shoulders and put away his fire rod. In a few hops he managed to climb up onto the wolf’s back. 

Twilight only waited a moment to make sure Legend had a good enough grip on his fur before he was off. With his heightened senses the mountain came alive with scents and sights invisible to his Hylian eyes. There were deer trails and bear signs, but very few recent tracks. The constant snow having covered them up. 

Legend of course saw none of this. He decided to hold onto Wolfie for dear life and bury his face in Twi's fur. The rocking motion of Twilight's strides was uncomfortable and verging on nauseating. Legend was reminded of the feeling he got when he used the tornado rod, jostled about at something else's whim. He just hoped Twilight would find them some shelter sooner rather than later. 

***

“I think this is a good spot,” Legend shouted over the rushing wind. 

He emerged from the narrow cave to find Wolfie still on guard by the entrance, but he turned his head when Legend approached. 

“We can pack snow around the entrance to make it smaller and stop the wind getting in, but it will do for now to get us out of the elements. Are you going to…?” Legend's question trailed away as Twilight answered it. 

As he turned around, Legend watched the last shadow crystals fading away as Twilight stood up on two legs. 

“Why do you stare like that?” Twi asked. “You have an animal form too, is mine so odd to you?” 

“It's not that, look, don't worry about it. Let's just get inside and get a fire going.” Legend dodged Twilight's question and turned back towards the cave. 

Troubled by his companions' behavior, Twilight followed Legend at a distance, making sure not to crowd the smaller hero in the narrow cave. They quickly set about making a campfire and worked together to block up the entrance to the cave with hard packed snow. 

“My hands are freezing!” Legend shuddered, holding them close over the flickering flames. 

“You want some spare clothes?” Twilight offered. 

“I've got a blanket,” Legend replied stiffly. “We should probably take it in turns to sleep, make sure we aren't found by monsters or wolfos.”

“Agreed. Rock leaf blade to see who goes first?” 

Legend sighed, they often settled small decisions like this with the children's game. 

“Okay, on three, and no best of three like Wind plays it either.” 

“Alright, one, two, three.”

The two boys slapped their fists against their palms in time with the count until Twilight reached three. Legend kept his hand curled into a fist, while Twilight held out two fingers. 

“Rock beats sword, you're taking the first watch,” Legend announced, with a satisfied wiggle. 

“Fine, get some sleep, Lege, I'll wake you in a few hours.”

Legend was more than happy to oblige as he wrapped himself up in his thickest blanket, making sure to tuck in all his limbs. Laid down on his bedroll, as close to the fire as possible, Legend closed his eyes and willed for sleep to claim him quickly. Meanwhile, Twilight gently touched the crystal hanging from his neck and shifted back into wolf form. The now familiar ache and pain of his transformation exacerbated by the frigid cold. Shaking his shaggy fur to fluff himself up, Twilight padded over to the entrance to their little sanctuary and sat down to peer out at the cold world beyond. 

***

It had been mid afternoon when the Chain had been split up. Twilight gave Legend until what he deemed midnight before he decided to wake him for his turn on watch. Wrinkling his nose and letting out a long yawn, Twilight rose and walked back towards the fire. Though his thick fur kept him nice and warm in such conditions, the heat of the fire was extremely welcoming to his extremities. 

Twilight started to focus his thoughts into transforming back into his Hylian form, deciding Legend wouldn't appreciate being woken by a giant wolf in a strange cave. However, when he saw Legend shivering on the ground, he hesitated. 

The slender teen had done his best to wrap himself up snug and tight, but clearly one blanket and a dwindling fire wasn't enough. Legend's teeth chartered and his eyelids flickered every now and then. With his blanket pulled all the way up to his nose his boots stuck out at the other end. Clearly he was uncomfortable and cold, but Twilight wasn't sure what the best thing to do would be. 

He didn't want to wake Legend only for him to have to sit and shiver through the night on watch. The Captain would probably berate them both for not setting a watch, but the Captain wasn't there. Legend was cold and exhausted and Twilight could only do so much. 

Deciding to lend his own body heat to the problem, Twilight curled himself around Legend's back. He just prayed he wouldn't give the vet a heart attack when he woke up. 

***

“Mnn,” Legend moaned, as he drifted back into the realm of consciousness. 

As soon as he realised he was awake however, he decided he wanted to go back to sleep. His body tingled with warmth and comfort, something this adventure had been sorely lacking. The last time he remembered feeling this cosy, he had been sitting beside his fiancé in front of a roaring fire, a cup of his favorite tea warming his hands. 

Right now however, despite his desire to drift back to sleep, Legend was curious to know why he was so warm. And why Twilight had apparently neglected to wake him for his watch. Legend focused his eyes a little better and found the campfire was close to burning itself out. Only a few smoldering coals remained from the branches and sticks he had piled on before going to sleep. 

Alarmed that their heat source was about to go out, Legend rolled free of his blanket and quickly stacked some small sticks on top of the embers to bring the fire back to life. 

“What gives Rancher?! You almost let the fire go out!” Legend began to reprimand his companion, as he turned around. “What the…!” 

Legend fell back onto his hand as Wolfie’s sleeping form met his gaze. The dark creature opened its jaws unnaturally wide as it yawned and clicked its tongue. Twilight looked around bleerily at the sudden exclamation, his eyes quickly finding Legend staring back at him. Though the Vet was alarmingly close to the fire and Twi was concerned he might fall backwards and hurt himself. 

“Woo,” Twilight mewled softly, nodding at the fire then Legend. 

“You nearly scared me half to death!” Legend replied. “Why are you Wolfie?”

In his current form Twilight could understand his brothers well enough, but was unable to speak back to them. After considering for a moment, he shifted, instantly feeling the chill of the cave as his fur disappeared. 

“Sorry Lege, I was going to wake you in the night, but you were so cold I was afraid you might freeze to death if I didn't keep us both warm. I'm sorry I frightened you.”

“You should have woken me up Rancher, I would have been just fine. I've dealt with the cold plenty of times. You don't have to fuss over me like I'm a child.”

“I wasn't fussing, I was just worried,” Twilight insisted, pushing himself to his feet. 

“Well you can save your worry for someone who needs it. I need to go take a leak.” Legend brushed himself off as he stood and walked towards the mouth of the cave. 

Twilight was about to warn Legend that it was still frigid and dangerous outside, but given the Vet’s prickly nature this morning, he decided against it. 

***

“No sign of anyone?” Legend asked, as Twilight squeezed himself back through the cave mouth. 

“None. Wherever we are it's not a well trodden area. There's no sign of the rest of the boys either. Looks like we're stuck up here until the weather clears up,” Twilight sighed, shrugging snow from his shoulders and shaking it from his hair. 

“Hmm, the news just keeps getting better!” Legend scoffed. “You've still got snow in your hair by the way.”

Twilight ran his hands through his hair once more, but he couldn't feel any more snowflakes clinging to his locks. Maybe Legend was just messing with him. After being trapped on the icy mountain for over a week, they were both beginning to get cabin fever. 

“What's for supper?” Twilight asked, pulling off his wet cloak and picking up a blanket instead. 

“I'll give you three guesses!” Legend said in a tired voice, as he poked at the pot over the fire. 

“Mmm, ration stew, my favorite!” Twilight replied in an exaggerated faux excitement. 

Rations had been Warriors’ idea. Each time they were able to stock up on supplies, each of the boys took enough to last them a few days on their own in the wilderness, in case they got separated. Legend and Twilight had estimated their joint supplies would last them another week or so at their current rate. After that, they would either have to hope the seemingly endless storm would finally blow over, or they could at least hunt some food. 

As Twilight plonked himself on the ground beside the fire and rubbed his hands over the flames, Legend's hair caught his eye. 

“You been outside while I was gone?” He asked. 

“Huh?” Legend looked up from the stew. 

“Your hair,” Twilight said, pointing at Legend's lop-sided fringe. “The pink bits are all white, like it's got frost on it or something.”

“What are you talking about? I haven't been out…” Legend frowned, putting down his spoon to examine his hair. 

As he lifted the lock to his face however, he stopped short. Twilight wasn't exaggerating. At least six inches of Legend's hair had turned a brilliant white. Definitely the hair itself, not frost touched as Twilight had suggested. 

“Huh, that's probably concerning, right?” 

“I don't know, I always thought the pink was pretty strange to be fair,” Twilight shrugged unhelpfully. Not that he could think of anything else to say. 

“Well whatever it is, you've got it too. And weren't the marks on your face black before?” 

“What?!”

Legend rummaged in his pack and pulled out a small hand mirror which he tossed towards Twilight. Catching the small disk and holding it up to his face, Twilight's brow creased as his eyes widened. Large strands of his dark blond hair had turned white, just as Legend's had. Alarmingly the Vet was right about the mark on his forehead and cheek bones too. The Twili eye, a mark of his cursed form, had changed from charcoal gray to brightest white. 

“Fuck!” Twilight exclaimed, holding the mirror closer to his face to get a better look. 

“Something in this area must be affecting us somehow,” Legend said sagely. 

“D’you think…” Twilight trailed off, his mind racing. “Hang on a second.”

Before Legend could object, Twilight grabbed his crystal and shifted. As the shards of twilight faded around the wolf, Legend raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, that's interesting. Um, Twilight, you're going white.” Legend said tentatively. 

Twilight frowned and lifted a paw to inspect his fur. Just as Legend said, the dark gray colour had faded away to an almost pure white. Though there were still dark patches, Twilight's pelt was definitely in the process of changing colour. Concerned eyes met Legend's as Twilight lifted his head and let out a soft whine. 

“I don't think it's something we need to worry about. Unless it's permanent of course,” Legend sighed, still fiddling with his own hair. 

As his gaze drifted from Twilight back to himself a thought began to form. A possible explanation to what was happening to them. Legend sighed deeply. 

“Can… can you transform me while you're like that? Or do I have to touch the crystal?”

Twilight did his best approximation of a shrug while he tilted his head to one side. 

“I'm gonna take that as an ‘I have no idea’!” Legend chuckled, uncrossing his legs as he pushed himself up. “Let me try something.”

Twilight padded forwards and Legend held out a hand, which he softly placed on Twilight's forehead. Right over the now black mark on his head. Twi's fur was warm beneath Legend's fingers, and though instinct tugged at his insides that this was a predator, Legend fought to keep his focus. 

Legend wasn't sure what he was doing, but he had an idea. Reaching out with his own magical awareness, he searched for the Twili magic that had transformed his brother. It was difficult to distinguish between Twilight's own innate magic and the power of the Twili crystal. They seemed so intertwined and integral to one another. 

In that moment of connection, Legend finally understood why Twilight coveted the crystal and the power it bestowed upon him. Their ranch hand often spoke of the Twilight Princess he had fallen for, without being able to declare his love. Since the crystal was his only remaining connection to the Twilight Realm, there was no wonder he enjoyed being in his wolf form so much. 

When Legend opened his eyes Twilight loomed over him as though he had grown twice his size. Looking down of course it wasn't Twilight who had grown, but Legend who had shrunk. 

“Huh, he looks a bit like candy floss!” Twilight thought to himself. 

Legend suddenly froze, an action which had nothing to do with instincts or the cold. Slowly, he turned his head to stare at the wolf standing beside him. 

“Did you just…? Did I just… hear you speak?” He uttered, voice almost stuck in his throat. 

“Wait? You can understand me like this?!” Twilight exclaimed, excitement evident in his voice as he lowered his head. 

“Um, yeah, I can understand you perfectly. Your voice is a bit deeper like this, but you still sound like yourself Twi.” Legend replied 

“Wow, the only person I've ever been able to talk to in this form was, Midna,” Twilight still sounded thrilled, but his tone changed as he said Midna’s name. 

“No one else understands you like this?” Legend frowned, which in his current form Twilight thought was adorable. 

“Well I've always been able to talk to other animals, maybe that's why you can hear me? Maybe it's an animal thing more than a crystal thing?”

“Perhaps. Wait, did you say I looked like cotton candy?!” Legend suddenly exclaimed, crossing his tiny forelegs.

“Yes, sorry. I didn't know you would hear that.” Twilight replied sheepishly. 

Feeling a little more relaxed, Twilight sat back on his hind legs, his tail wagging softly behind him. 

“Right. So, your markings have almost completely reversed,” Legend mused, taking a few steps forwards. “The bits that were dark are now going white and the white bits are sort of gray.”

“Really?” 

Twilight tried to look back on himself to get a look at his coat, but one thing he had always found as a wolf was that he could hardly see his own form. Realising Twilight's struggle, Legend picked up the mirror off the ground and held it up. In his tiny fury paws the mirror felt huge, covering his entire head. 

“Wow, I look… Really different,” Twilight uttered, as he observed what he could see of himself in the tiny mirror. “I hardly recognise myself!”

“You still look like a big dumb beast to me!” Legend scoffed. 

“And you really do look like candy floss! Especially that fluffy little tail of yours, all pink and white swirls.” Twilight teased, baring his teeth. “I could just eat you all up, probably wouldn't take more than a few bites.”

Enjoying his game, Twilight began to stalk towards the pale rabbit. Mischief and hunger in his eyes. He lowered his body to the ground as though about to pounce. 

“Perhaps I'll have a candy rabbit for supper instead of rations tonight?”

Legend's heart beat was racing. He could feel it pounding against his small rib cage. His nose twitched, taking in every scent emanating from Twilight. But curse his rabbit's heart for making it impossible to figure out what to do. His eyes darted left and right, searching for escape. 

Twilight shifted in his peripheral vision and Legend panicked. He turned on the spot and dove beneath the blankets in an attempt at hiding. Burying himself so completely that Twilight lost sight of him. 

“Vet?!” Twilight huffed a laugh. “Legend? Hey, are you okay? I'm sorry if I scared you. I just wanted to have some fun.” 

No response came from the pile of blankets, save for a faint shivering. Twilight let out a deflated sigh, perhaps he had taken his joke too far. After all, Legend had been cautious of Twilight in his wolf form when he was a Hylian. Only Spirits knew how he felt about Twi in his rabbit shape. 

Twilight dropped down to the ground, pressing his chin against the floor of the cave. He puffed out a breath through his nose before nudging the lump under the blankets. 

“Legend,” said Twilight in his softest voice. “I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Well, maybe I did a little bit. I guess my instincts in this form are pretty strong. But I really don't want you to be scared of me. You're my brother and I only want you to be happy, I don't want you to think of me as a big scary monster. So please come out and talk to me.”

It took several minutes for the blankets to stir. Twilight waited patiently as two white ears appeared on the other side of the bed roll, followed by a pair of violet eyes and a tiny black nose. Legend's eyes were still wide and wary, and they never left Twilight as he emerged from the safety of his cover. 

“For a minute there, I really thought you were going to hurt me,” Legend breathed. His heart still racing as he struggled to calm his breath. 

“I would never hurt you, Legend, I was being stupid. I'm so sorry I scared you. Please believe I would never wish you harm, no matter how I look.” Twilight insisted, a shard of ice forming in his heart at the stare which Legend fixed on him. 

“I… I know you wouldn't hurt me. I do. It's just, when I'm in this form, it's like I can't control my instincts. I hate being a rabbit. It makes me feel weak and vulnerable. Can't believe you got turned into a wolf.”

Legend crossed his forelegs again and turned away. His left ear twitched in frustration and Twilight could sense Legend's emotions coming off of him in waves. 

Great, as if he didn't feel guilty already. 

“Lege, I… I don't know why our forms are so different. But you are definitely selling yourself short. You should see just how fast you can run, it's impressive. I can only run fast for a short time before I get exhausted. And it's clear your senses are far stronger than mine. You keep twitching your ear like you're listening to something. I'm guessing you're listening to the storm outside?”

“It's loud and annoying, kinda like you,” Legend scoffed. 

“In any case, you shouldn't compare yourself to me. You've done and seen so much Lege, I had one adventure and I had so much help doing everything. Without Midna I never would have succeeded in saving Zelda and the Twilight Realm. Without this form and her power, I never would have made it. 

         But you, you've been on so many quests I've lost count of all the stories you've told us. Even if you were weak and vulnerable, which you are not, surely being a hero of courage means overcoming those obstacles. Which you have done ten times more than the rest of us.”

“Hmm, I guess you have a point. Courage not being the absence of fear and all that.”

Legend paused and sighed. The fire was dying again. During their shenanigans they had both neglected to keep it going. Even through his fur Legend could feel the air in the cave steadily growing cooler. 

“We should change back and get the fire going again.”

“Um, about changing back.” Twilight said slowly. 

“Urgh, I totally forgot about that. Don't suppose you've come across any moon pearls since the last time I was like this?” Legend groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he tapped his foot on the floor. 

“No, sorry. I should have said something earlier, but I forgot you can't change back on your own. But since we're kind of warmer like this anyway, I'll stay like this until we can get out of here.” Twilight insisted, sitting up again and giving his head a firm nod. 

“You sure?” 

“Positive, I like being Wolfie. And I have no idea if this colour change thing will ever happen again. I kinda like it.”

“Its probably because of the weather,” Legend sighed. 

As he spoke he began pulling the blankets into more of a pile together. Twilight stood up and joined him, lending his teeth to the effort. Teeth which Legend found he no longer flinched at the sight of. 

“Wha do ou mean t wever?” Twilight asked with a mouthful of blankets. 

“In my time there are hares that live on the snowy peaks. During the summer when there's less snow on the ground, their coats are brown to disguise themselves. But in the winter when it gets colder, their fur changes to white so they can blend in with the snow cover.”

“Thats really clever. Goats do something similar by shedding their thicker wool during the summer. But I've never known of a colour changing creature before. That's so cool.”

“Yeah, well, looks like we are now thanks to these forms,” Legend sighed un-enthusiatically. 

He plonked himself down on the edge of the blankets beside the fire and picked up a few sticks to throw onto the pile. A few sparks flew up but the fire barely changed. Twilight decided to help and picked up a larger branch in his teeth, adding it carefully to the fire. With the extra fuel the flames began to grow once more, adding a little more warmth to their little haven. 

“I know I've said your rabbit form is cute, but it's also pretty cool. You know I like animals, and having a brother who can turn into one is pretty great.”

Twilight stared at the fire for a moment, the orange light dancing in his dark blue eyes. Legend watched Twilight. No longer petrified of the blue eyed beast, instead finding his presence comforting. 

“I always saw it as more of a curse. But seeing how you use yours to your advantage, how you thrive in your wolf form, makes me think maybe I was wrong.”

“How long do you think we'll be stuck on this mountain?” Twi asked, shifting the conversation in a new direction. 

“Who knows? Nayru can be a stubborn bitch, maybe she'll keep this storm up for another month!” Legend exclaimed, tucking his legs under his body as he tried to stay warm. 

“Well, if we are stuck up here for another month, we'll work together to survive. Right?” 

“Yeah Twi, a white rabbit and a white wolf, alone in the wilderness!” Legend chucked, though the idea warmed his heart. 

Perhaps being stuck in his rabbit body wouldn't be so terrible this time. 

***

“Guys! I think I found them!” Wild's voice echoed off the surrounding trees. 

Twilight quickly shook off the drowsiness of sleep and was instantly alert. Legend, who was snuggled up between Twilight's legs, was slower to react. 

“Hey guys, we found you at last. Are you both okay?” Wild continued to talk as he forced his way into the small cave. 

“Ah shit!” Legend exclaimed when he realised who was talking, and what he looked like. 

“It's alright, they'll be fine about it, I'll make sure of it,” Twilight assured him, as he slowly pushed himself up onto four legs, careful not to jostle Legend too much. 

Twilight shifted back into Hylian form and asked Wild if Sky was with him. Unfortunately Sky was with another search party and Wild only had Four and Time with him. With a sigh, Legend allowed Twilight to pick him up and carry him from the cave. 

“Whoa Twi, what happened to your hair?!” Four remarked, unable to keep himself from pointing. 

Twilight could guess what he looked like, his usually shaggy hair as white as the surrounding snow. It had been a boon for him while he'd been out hunting for boar. Now however, it seemed to make him stand out. 

“Wait, where's Legend, and why do you have a rab…” Time began, however while he spoke his brain worked quicker than his mouth. 

He stared open mouthed at the creature cradled in Twilight's arms. Its fur was as starkly white as Twi's hair, but the little tunic it wore was still bright red. 

“Is that? How is that…? What happened to him?” Time fumbled. 

“Calm down Old Man, there's plenty of time to explain. Yes I'm a rabbit, no it's not a bad thing, yes our hair is white, it's probably because the climate is so cold and our bodies reacted to it. Any more questions?” 

Legend stared around at the small circle of boys surrounding him and Twilight. All of them seemed just as dumbfounded, and unable to stop gawping at him. 

“Right, good. Now can we please get off this damn mountain and find Sky, so I can change back!” 

[klausysworld]

Hello, I read your Klaus in his wolf form stories and really liked them. It gave me this idea that when Klaus broke the curse and turned into a wolf, rather than falling in love with a human, he fell in with a wolf. Though he doesn't know it, the wolf is immortal, like existed from the dawn of time, and the wolf was the cause of werewolves, like if she bites you, then you would be a werewolf. Klaus wouldn't know that or that she, the wolf, was there when he was a kid, and he called her a pet. This part I just thought of, but what if Klaus was Mikael's kid but just got bit but didn't know. I was wondering if you could right this, I am cool if you don't, though. Thank you for even reading this.

My queen

PT2

(Present day)

I watch silently through the trees as his bones snap, as he scream in both pain and pride of his accomplishment.

The pain of the turn was one part I don’t appreciate about the gift i have given to those i had chosen.

But he embraces the pain, he doesn’t go through so much struggle as he allows the power to fly through him, he embraces the wolf.

And a stunning wolf he is.

His coat thick and eyes dark. A midnight wolf, his fur looking almost a shade of the darkest blues as the light of the moon shines over him.

I turn my head to see his brother, Elijah, he watches cautiously as Niklaus nears him. The threatening growl he gives him as the sticks snap and the leaves crunch beneath his paws. He’s experiencing the inner conflict, the urge to give into his instincts to attack the vampire.

I took a few steps forward emerging from behind the bark of the wood that hid me before. I made sure to step on enough sticks to make a ‘crack’.

Both originals looked to me, both wide eyed and confused. Niklaus took five large strides to stand before me, his nose almost touching mine as he bared his teeth in warning.

I huff at him in disappointment, you would have thought he’d recognise me. I’ve been present for many moments of his life, his childhood especially though i suppose a thousand years will have him forget.

I step back from him before circling his body. He stands tall and strong, a mighty wolf.

Through the years my bite has began to carry through blood. What once was only given through the power of my bite is now becoming more frequent through genetics. But not Niklaus, he was my own, i have him his power all that time ago. It was a dream for us both that he managed to bring this side of him back, his mother and father locked it away claiming it a curse rather than a gift. Simply because it gave him an advantage they could never provide.

———————————————————————

(A thousand years ago…ish)

I lowered my head slowly allowing the young boy to place a flower crown to my head. I glanced back up to see his bright smile as he adjusted it.

“There, now you’re a queen” he said taking a small step back. I gave a small bark in response, my tail wagging subconsciously as he pet my face, his hands smoothing the fur back so i was less poofy.

“I must leave, my father wanted me to learn to hunt…he wouldn’t like me playing with the wolves, he says you’re to be killed because…well because you’re dangerous but I think you’re lovely, I won’t let him kill you” he promised as his little arms hung loosely around my neck and i licked his arm.

———————————————————————

(A few years later)

Niklaus grew to be a rather handsome young man. He was relatively strong and well mannered. He was a free spirit and spent his time within the forest with his berries that he had ground up to create colours where he would spread them over rocks and large leaves to make an image.

He wasn’t the best at hunting with an arrow but was excellent with a sword.

And so i would often kill the deers or rabbits for him, give them to him so that his father couldn’t harm him, so that his family remained proud…and so that he continued his visits to me in the woodlands.

(On another occasion)

“My queen?” He called softly into the cold air of the night. I lifted my head from the ground of the opening a tree i laid in. I stood quickly and made my way out to find a battered Niklaus. My legs moved fast to reach him as he collapsed to the ground, he clothes soaked in his own blood and face covered in shades or blue and purple.

I let out a high whine and a long howl, the other wolves i had created came running at my call to assist. They helped me clean him. The magic through my veins allowed me to lick his wounds until they healed, until he no longer weeped and sobbed, until the pain was relieved and he fell asleep with his hands clutching my fur.

I knew then that he needed the power of the wolf more than anyone. To begin with i feared that it would only cause him more damage, more shame to his parents but those people-monsters would never stop their beating and this was the best way to protect him.

And so with his body safely tucked to mine, i ran my tongue over the space between his shoulder and neck. I gently let my teeth sink into his skin, feeling my power grow as i fed more of it into the world.

No matter what other magic or pain he suffered, the wolf would save him.

His mother cursing him to have it locked away was one of the worst things possible to happen to a gift given wolf. To be stripped of who you were, before he could even experience it.

———————————————————————

(Present day)

I made a sound closely replicating a growl but too soft to be threatening to urge him to follow me as i begin to walk through the woods.

I can hear as his paws meet the ground faster and faster as we fall into a fast pace, running quick and with purpose as he chases me as fast as his body will let him. I can sense his frustration not being able to keep up with me, his growl in desperation as he throws himself forward, tackling me to the ground roughly.

We both tumble through the woods, rolling down threw the forest. He yelped as i bit his scruff pulling him with me. A tanglement of limbs rushing through the trees as both of us scrambled to gain any sort of balance.

Eventually i managed to get up on my feet, i turned to sprint again but i heard his whine, such a familiar cry, a reminder of his suffering from his late teens into adulthood.

I froze in stride turning to check on him, his body was low to the ground as he got ready to pounce. Relief floods me knowing he isn't harmed and before i can thimk about hisnplayful stance, he's already lauching himself at me.

His body collided with mine pushing me onto my back and his teeth around my throat. The position should be threatening and i should be fearfully submitting but he seems to have forgotton I'm the reason he holds his strength.

I pushed up from the floor and on top of him. My fave directing above his as my paw pressed down on his neck, claws puncturing the flesh making him whimper. I don’t like to be the cause of his pain but his dominance was an issue, he had grown far more narcissistic over the years compared to his selfless younger form.

After another minute or so of his pitiful attempts to push himself up and get me off of him, he gave in. His head tilting back to offer me his neck as his eyes looked to the ground in what i assume to be shame. I stepped back letting him stand again, the question of ‘why?’ In his eyes as he looked at me cautiously.

I nodded my head for him to follow me, we continued to run throughout the night and i watched the surprise in his eyes as we both woke the next morning still in wolf form, the day after the full moon.

And the day after that too when we hunted and he made his own display of human bodies. I had indulged with him for a few hours but eventually grew bored and waited for him to finish. His aggression was something i was still unused to, i forever missed the gentle touch as his face brightened and he weaved plants together to create a crown.

I found him on a number of occasions patiently waiting by my den, as soon as i arrived he was on his feet and ready to run to the falls, often pushing his luck to see if he could push me into the water which would always end up with him being dragged in too and us both having a water war for hours on end.

A moment I cannot forget is when his mother came into town, an attempt to kill her children but she chose the woods to do so and i could sense his fear.

But when i arrived and broke through her magical barrier, recognition spread through her face as she stepped back

“No…it can’t be” she uttered looking from me to Niklaus

“After all these years you still protect him?” She murmured but i didn’t allow her many more words before launching at her, Finn dragged her away after I mauled her.

I reluctantly looked to Niklaus seeing his eyes soft and lips parted, only two words whispered before i dashed back off to the forest

“My queen”

[lavender-z-love]

In Denial | Koga

───—･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. —───

Genre | Black.FemReader X Koga, Demon X Demon, Mature (Nothing crazy you'll see), Cat x Dog, Nakedness, 'Tsundere'? (The reader), arranged marriage.

Content warning | Nudity, spelling errors.

A/n | This was supposed to be a Halloween Special but I got busy so, here you go ♡

Wordcount | About 1.2k

—♡

Cat demon Tribe and the Wolf demon tribe. The both weren't on good terms which is why a arrangement was set. The marriage between Y/n and Kouga was to be set, the two leaders to destroy what disagreements they had and stop this ridiculous rivalry.

Kouga, had nothing but the up most respect for you. So did some of the wolf demon tribe members. Those 'Some' being the few you grew up with as a child. You'd never thought in a million years your parents would force you to marry.

Kouga, willing to wait. A total gentleman, not to mention beautiful and agile. Though, you...not with any of it. More like you hated Kouga. Dispite your uncooperative-ness Kouga loved you anyway.

Avoiding him at all costs because you wouldn't deny you were attracted to him, you just wanted to live in denial.

A warm evening you decided to go for a bathe in a nearby pond. Bringing soaps and shampoos, which a human friend of yours 'Kagome' gave to you as a gift. You set your items down and began to strip. Neatly folding your clothes, you jump into the water; fully submerging yourself.

You relaxed completely under water, enjoying the way the mini current felt on your face. That was until, you sensed something..rather someone. Quickly bringing your head above water you turn around to see who it was. Your fiancé sat at the edge of the pond.

"Hey Y/n." He said softly,"I didn't know cats loved water." You stared at him blankly.."Mm, delightful.."

Kouga chuckled,"Is it okay if I hop in?"

"Yes, I was getting out anyway", You say with a tinge of annoyance in your voice. Going to the opposite end of the body of water to get out.

Kouga raised a brow,"Getting out? Oh come on, I saw you just get in." Oh, you'd been caught, like a deer in headlights.

You feel your cheeks burn, realizing what he had said. You turned to face him before scolding him, "Y-You watched me?! So you're a pervert! I knew I-". Stopping mid sentence as he was fully naked and getting in the pond. You were visibly flustered as the sight before you. "O-Oh my god!" Quickly turning around, your mouth gaped as you looked at the picture in your mind.

Kouga slowly making his way to you,"Y/n I don't mind if you look at me...". Still stunned, you fan yourself with your hand and whisper, "Be gone bad thoughts be gone.."

"Oh? I thought I was a pervert.."

You turned around to face him,"Look here you– Im-!.." Is he doing this on purpose?! Its like he's trying to get you to see his body. You turned around and because of how much taller he was than you; your eyes meet at his chest. Sculpted abs, toned biceps, his curved collar bone– then up to his neck, that delicious adam's apple. His jawline was well-defined and sharply angled, like it could cut anything with a simple touch. Then, his face. Handsomely majestic–

You knew you were staring, you were checking him out and it was plain as day. He didn't say anything, he just watched you do so as you day dreamed. When you snapped out of it, you took a deep breathe before turning away.

Kouga wouldn't let you, he pulled your arm back. "Hey..Why avoid me again? It's not going to stop you from marrying me you know."

I laugh,"So far its worked–"

Kouga sighed,"Thats because I let you be. I could bug you like I am now, but I didn't." He reaches for your hand, he guides it to his chest. Sliding your hand along his torso. Pulling you in close, his free hand looping around your body and placed on your waist.

Kouga's voice, whispering: "You can't run from me forever"

You whisper back,"I will..watch me."

Kouga sighs,"What do I have to do to get you to love me?"

"Nothing, because it's not happening."

Kouga narrows his eyes, raising a brow. He smirks,"Sweetheart, you've been feeling me up for the past 5 minutes.."

"You started it..", you hissed.

"You're right, but I let your hand go. So, A: it seems like your hand has a mind of it's own..or B: You're the pervert."

You look at your hand and, its migrated up to his bicep...You retracted your hand and walked around him with annoyance. "You're starting to get on my nerves!" You couldn't stay any longer or you were for sure to give in to your desires.

You should've known, nothing would get past him. "Y/n, will you please stop avoiding me." He follows after you, "I don't understand why you don't like me so much. I can assure you we can come to an agreement– I promise to treat you like a goddess." You turn around facing him.

"You hardly know me, why are you okay with this marriage?"

"I just want to stop this useless fighting"

"So you admit you're using me to get my tribe to side with yours? Hm? What tired of having so many enemies?",you smirk.

"No! I'd never do that Y/n..I just want all this ridiculous rivalry to come to an end. I want everyone to be happy."

You fold your arms. Kouga reaches his arms out to you,"You know, Im more than willing to protect and cherish you."

You back up, and Kouga walks forward with an soft empathic smile. "W-What if I dont want to." You continue to back up, Kouga persistent, he continued in your direction. "We'll come to a conclusion, help me understand."

Your back hits the edge of the pond, Kouga stops in front of you. "Help you understand huh.."

You scoffed,"Understand this..I dislike you..." Kouga caged you against the pond wall, both hands on each side of you. "Is that so..do you..dislike me as a man? Or as a person?"

"Both..", you said unsure. Kouga's not dumb, he's far from it. He can read you like a book. He leans in, his face now in front of yours. "Tell me..what you dislike about me, and I'll fix it for you."

His gorgeous face a few inches away from yours. 'H-He's gotta be doing this on purpose', you think to yourself.

"I'm sick of you, and your pretty face. Your attractive body too. It's– Annoying." You admitted embarrassed. Kouga chuckles,"Oh..You want me to fix your attraction towards me?" He said with a large smile.

You stand there flustered not knowing what to say.. but definitely enticed by his lips as he was enticed by yours. "So?..Do you want to consider loving me someday? Or keep living in denial, hm?"

A finger under your chin, making you look at him; your arranged fiancé. His blue eyes look back into your orange eyes. "...You're really pushing for this huh?" You whisper as you gaze at his lips. Have they always looked so bite-able, so kiss-able like that?

"I am, if you let me. I will give everything you want and more." Kouga looked down at you with a gentle smile, his k-9's peaking past his lips. Kouga leans in, still using his finger to keep your eyes on him.

Your dark cheeks tented a slight red, you shut your eyes closed tight. Expecting to be kissed by Kouga. Though when you felt nothing you opened one eye looking back at him confused. Both eyes opened, batting your eyelashes at him. "I thought you were.."

"Hm? Gonna kiss you?"

You nod, this making Koga smile. Maybe he was getting some progress from you. "You mean you want me to kiss you?" Feeling bashful you nod just a tiny bit, realizing what you'd just admitted to wanting to kiss him. Once again, it was obvious you were attracted to Koga. Even to him, he could see it from a mile away.

"Thats..not what I ment to say–"

Koga smirks,"Then what?~ hm..I'll kiss you, if you want me too."

You scowl,"I did but no! You're pissing me off. If you haven't realized, this is inappropriate! We've been so close together, naked in this springs and now you're trying to get me to admit I want to ki-"

You went silent, with a pair of lips pressed to yours. Your hand instinctively going to his shoulder, as Koga pulls you in close. You sighed into his lips, finally giving in to some sort of affection from him. Koga pulls away, leaving you a breathless, heart-fluttery mess.. "See what happens when we come to an agreement and talk like adults?"

"Shut up..", you rolled your eyes, tugging at his arm. He took your subtle hint.

Koga smiles, leaning close,"Yes ma'am". Once again kissing you, and you gladly kissed back. Letting him lead, you followed his fluid like motions. Your eyes closing, pulling him in close and him doing the same.

Giving into to Koga felt wonderful. Being able to melt into his touch..could I feel like this all the time Im with him? His left hand on your waist and right on your cheek. Your hands on his chest, the both of you fit together like a steamy puzzle piece. When it seemed like the two of you were about to get carried away–

"Koga! Koga! We've got some trouble with the Northern Wolf Demon tribe."

Another voice,"Hey Sis!"

You yelp as you pull away, mid kiss– hiding behind Koga. "Ginta? Hakkaku?" You peak from Kouga's shoulder. The wolf demon with a spikey white mohawk spoke,"Wow! You're finally getting along?"

You visibly flustered,"We are Not!" You scowled. Hakkaku tilts his head in confusion,"Really? Because to me it looked like the two of you were a bout to-

Koga clears his throat, interruption Hakkaku. "E-Enough...now you two can head that way..I'll be right behind you."

The boys nod then take off. Hakkaku waves,"Bye sis! Glad to see you're finally coming along!"

Your eye twitches,"Don't call me that–"

Koga smiles,"You should probably stop denying it." You stare at him blankly, and scoff. Kouga gets out of the pond, shaking off what water he can before putting his clothes back on.

He smiles brightly at you,"Its okay, I know you love me. Its only a matter of time before you accept it, and when you do. I'll be waiting."

You fold your arms, embarrassed you look away. "As if! go run off to your tribe." Kouga, fixes his last clothing needed. "I'll catch you later, okay? Next time we meet I'll be sure to do something sweet for you!" He says starting his light jog.

"Stop being so nice to me!" You shout as he gets farther and farther away.

You hear a light laughter from his direction. "Just trying to help you chose beautiful ♡!" He shouts from what now is a cyclone zipping away.

....You sit in the pond..shivering..

"Sheesh. Some fiancé...he could've helped me wash my hair before he left...", you mumble. Smiling to yourself as you place your fingers on your lips..

.."I cant stand him ♡"

Written and posted on Nov 8/23

[twentythree-yearoldlizard]

so based off the poll results, majority wanted me to write these one shots for a Marauders' Band AU. So here's the first one:

Remus Lupin does the BuzzFeed Puppy Interview:

Remus shoots the camera his shy smile that makes people’s stomach do the thing. “Hi there, I’m Remus Lupin and I’m here with Buzzfeed to answer some questions with puppies.”  

He’s wearing an all-black outfit: a black knit sweater that looks warm, paired with black trousers and sturdy black boots. His right wrist is adorned with bracelets; a plain black one with the word ‘moony’ next to a full moon, a beaded one with a star and moon on the centre and a band that reads ‘The Marauders’ with a wolf, dog, deer and rat. His left wrist is free, but he has multiple rings on those fingers.  

“I’m really excited and also a bit nervous, because I love dogs. I really do. But I want them to love me too, so,” he ends with a chuckle.

“I don’t know if they’re going to like me.”

Cuts to a clip of a puppy licking his entire face.

“I don’t know if we’ll connect.”

Cuts to a clip of Remus carrying two puppies, with another in between his legs.

“And I doubt I’m going to be able to answer your questions in any form, when I’m-Oh my god!” He’s cut off as a golden retriever runs towards him.

“Hi,” he says, letting the puppy smell his hands.

Remus coughs out a breathy laugh as the golden retriever jumps into his lap. Just then, a pair of corgis start nibbling on his shoelaces, to which Remus laughs and mutters, “You two are trouble, aren’t you?” They reminded him of James and Sirius.

Remus laughs for ten seconds as a Jack Russel walks slowly towards him and wastes no time on laying his head on Remus’ thigh and starts to fall asleep.

 “Hi loves, I’m Remus” he says, as one of the corgis joins the golden retriever on his lap.

Question 1- What’s your favourite thing about meeting fans?

“It’s just this…really nice feeling I get. Like I feel giddy, whenever a kid waves at me or some fans who’ve said that our songs helped them in tough times. It just gives this sort of nice feeling,”

“No..no,” he says as a corgi pulls on his sleeves, “this is one of my favourites, you can-okay then.” He finishes in defeat, as it manages to pull out a string.

Question 2- What’s the hardest part of being in a band?

“No privacy,” says Remus, he himself startled by how fast he answered. “I mean like...” he says, rubbing the Jack Russel’s belly, “When you live with James and Sirius, who have co-dependency issues, and Peter, whose love language is physical touch, you’ve got to throw personal space out the window.”

Question 3-Describe the way you see your bandmates.

Remus is quiet for a while, as if he’s thinking, while letting the puppies climb all over him.

“There’s James, who I connect with like a brother. He is a ray of fucking sunshine and if I am insecure or sad, he makes me listen to all the 764 reasons for why he loves me. And then there’s Peter, who is like the calmest person I know. He is the friend you need when you just want someone to listen to you. He is always there for you, even if he never says it, you’ll still know that he’s there for you.”

He smiles as the golden retriever settles on his shoulder and one of the corgis has decided to take a nap on top of Remus.

Remus starts with a smile, “And well there’s Sirius, who is one of the most beautiful souls out there. He’s one of the first people that made feel valued and always looked at my scars like they were some kind of treasure. He’s also made me realize a lot of things about myself and uh…yah, our bond is a bit more…special than the rest, and we’ve come a long way, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.”

“I am scared to move,” he whispers, as the Jack Russel snores loudly on top of his thighs, golden retriever asleep on his shoulder, a corgi on his belly and the other held within his arms.

Bonus puppy stuff:

The corgis start fighting with each other. “Am I supposed this stop this or something?” Remus asks, looking lost. Just then one of the corgi trips and falls on the sleeping Jack Russel. It opens its eyes, confused. Remus bursts out laughing, which ends up making his face as red as a tomato (and that's a win for all the video editors out there).

PS: Its my first draft btw. i guess ive done good. lmk if its bad, i need honest feedbacks. also gonna put this on ao3, which is my first time ever. and this is set in pre-wolfstar period or they are established but hiding it from public (choose whichever you want)

[belabellissima]

time won't fly (it's like i'm paralyzed by it)

Written for the @feysand-hivemind timeloop fic!!!

Pairing: Feysand

Fic Summary: Every day, Rhysand wakes up next to Amarantha in her bed Under the Mountain. A prisoner, a weapon, a High Lord on a leash. He's been down there so long, it's starting to feel like time doesn't matter.

Until one day...it doesn't.

Feyre's death sends Rhysand back in time, waking up in Amarantha's bed Under the Mountain - over and over. Rhysand must discover how to break the time loop, save his mate, and keep his sanity intact. 

Chapter Summary: Rhys wakes up and suffers a lot. He meets the girl of his dreams only to lose her. He enters a timeloop. Good luck buddy, it only gets worse from here.

Chapter Warnings: Amarantha being Amarantha, references to rape/non-con, blood and gore/violent deaths, brief canonical animal death (andras), mentions of canonical child death (the winter court children)

Read on Ao3 or chapter 1 below!

The forest was a labyrinth of snow and ice. Rhys hadn’t felt cold like that - fresh, biting, like the winters in Illyria - in decades. Since before Amarantha had come and tricked them all, trapping them beneath stone.

His body - not his, but rather the body he saw through - shivered at a gust, and though it was briefly discomforting, he relished in it. Relished the way he inhaled deeply, the cold stinging at his nose and throat, chilling his lungs.

He could smell her, the way her hair blew around her face. The little wisps that escaped the braid she’d used to tie it back, the short pieces above her eyes she’d cut shorter to help keep her forehead warm.

His painter.

Her stomach rumbled, and the feel of a bow in her hand made sense. She was hunting, hungry and desperate enough to brave the woods to change that. They looked familiar, like the woods on the slopes of the Winter Court mountains. Rhys had never gotten a glimpse of the surroundings with such detail before, never been able to guess where his painter lived. Where her small cottage resided. But given the snow, the chill in the air, the forest…

Winter Court.

So close the Middle, to the Mountain and Queen trapping them all.

He heard the deer at the same time she did, saw it when her own eyes alighted on it.

Alighted on the wolf as well.

As was the way of dreams, time flowed strangely. Hours seemed to pass as she held the bow and arrow, but at the same time, Rhys felt as if the waiting, agonized and fraught with tension, lasted for the mere length of a breath.

Then she loosed the arrow, and it hit its mark with the kind of accuracy that only came from years of practice.

His painter was also a huntress, it seemed.

She drew another arrow back as she waited for it to die, her heartbeat strong enough he could feel it moving her chest with each thump; hear it in his ears, like the blood rushing through. It was a dull roar, as if he was a child again, holding a shell to his ear because his mother told him once they all held the soul of the ocean, and you could hear the waves if you listened closely.

Time moved again. The blood was sticky on her hands, hot and steaming as she skinned the beast.

Its eyes were the same color as the fae he’d had to kill for Amarantha mere hours before. Glassy, turning dull the more time passed.

Rhys tried to pull back, tried to not watch the gore. He’d seen so much of it the past forty-nine years. The past five centuries of his life. He didn’t want to watch it in his dreams too, in the respite these minutes with his painter brought him. She was supposed to be safe, be the one good thing left in this world.

Not have blood on her hands, because starving was the alternative.

But try as he might, he couldn’t pull back. Couldn’t close his eyes, turn away from the blood before him. The color was so bright against the snow, so red.

Red, like Amarantha’s hair, her nails. The color she painted her lips before sitting in her throne, the color she made him draw from her victims time and time again-

Rhys’ heart pounded in his own chest, as if to make up for the poor creature’s loss of one, faster, faster, until with a gasp, he shot up in bed, awake.

The room was dimly lit, the faelights extinguished but the fireplace still emanating heat from the steadily glowing embers. He couldn’t suck in air fast enough, couldn’t get his hands uncovered long enough to see that the sticky blood wasn’t there, that it had just been a dream-

The sheet ripped in half with his desperation, but he could finally see them. Saw that they were a sickly, greyish brown from the lack of sunlight, not red from blood. They were shaking, a fine tremor that he often couldn’t stop from appearing first thing after waking, when he still did not know whether he was still stuck in his nightmares or back in the land of horrid, waking tortures.

Past the walls of this room, beyond that door, he was the nightmare. But inside, where no one could see - not while Amarantha still slept, at least - the nightmares ruled him.

Rhys shoved his hands through the damp hair sticking to his forehead, pushing it back and calming his breathing.

He could still smell her. It was strong enough that if he closed his eyes, he might think her laying beside him in bed.

Part of him wanted to pretend.

Pretend it was her instead of Amarantha, who somehow still slept on, unbothered by his sudden movements.

He dropped his hands, slumping back down to lie flat on the bed and stare blankly at the ceiling. It was hewn from obsidian, so it wasn’t entirely smooth. There were waves and divots in it, places with the carver hadn’t been able to - or hadn’t intended to - make it look like anything other than a uniquely shaped cave.

Rhys didn’t love much about being trapped there, but the ceiling was one of the few things he managed to find beautiful. Each stroke of the chisel, each divot in the stone - they looked like the path falling stars would take. Like clouds in the sky; like the scales of a fish or any number of things he missed from the Above. Anything he hadn’t been allowed to see in decades, had taken for granted in the centuries of life preceding confinement.

Rhys let himself wallow for only a minute more. One minute to grieve, one minute to let himself be fragile, here where no one else could see. Then he rolled out of the bed, using a wisp of his magic to replace the ripped sheet with another from Amarantha’s collection, the torn one appearing in his hands. It was a good thing she’d hogged the blanket, he supposed. It would have been harder to replace the lush bedding than a simple top sheet without getting caught. Besides, there were plenty of fae trapped down here too that were freezing while he had a fireplace and access to as many blankets as he could want. Might as well drop it off in one of their cells.

Let someone benefit from his nightmare.

~

Amarantha held her goblet out to him, not even bothering to look. She was reclined in her throne, overseeing the revel below like a wicked goddess searching for her next favored one. Never an honor to be chosen, but a terror. No one enjoyed having the eye of an all-powerful entity fixed on them.

But Rhys didn’t appreciate her disregard either. He was a High Lord, Cauldron damn it all, and he’d been reduced to being her cupbearer. But it was better than being her toy that night. The other High Lords watched from the corner of their eyes as he picked up a nearby pitcher, filling her cup with wine again.

He wondered idly how easy he might poison her drink. Slip in faebane, nightshade, anything.

“Rhysand,” she drawled, still focused on the scene before her. On the lesser fae with delicate dragonfly wings that was sobbing as one of the Attors’ ilk tore at them, reveling in the screams. Rhys blinked a few times, forcing the delicate mask to stay on his face as he waited for her to speak more. “How long has it been since I last sent a gift to Tamlin?”

“A week, my Queen,” he answered immediately. It had been a puca - a vicious way to die, to be sure, but not nearly as bad as some of the other monsters she had in her arsenal. “It should be arriving in the Spring Court any day now.”

Amarantha smiled, her lips splitting like a flytrap flower, the pink of her lips enough to entice anyone foolish enough to get too close. “Wonderful,” she crooned, finally turning her head to look at him and crooking one finger his way. He let his lips curl into a returning smile, passing the jug of wine to the nearest courtier so he could slide his hands into his pockets as he obeyed, so she wouldn’t see the way they curled into fists, nails digging into palms.

“Go into the catacombs, Rhysand, and release the Bogge.”

He dipped his head in a bow to hide his apprehension.

If he had access to his full magic, to his full might and power, he’d be able to mist the damn thing the moment his acknowledgment made it real. But as he was, the best he could do would be to wound it enough to chase it out from the below.

Amarantha had to know that, but she also didn’t care. What did it matter if Rhys was injured obeying her? That’s what he was for in her eyes. To be the sword that struck down her enemies, the shield that took blow after blow in her defense.

Stolen from its rightful wielder.

None of her guards or soldiers stopped him as he descended. He sent out mental suggestions to the servants, invisible as they walked the halls, to vacate the area. Any who were still in their rooms he had drift further into sleep for the moment. Then he came to the door, wooden and fragile looking, that marked the entrance to the catacombs. The majority of Prythian fae were locked down there, not lucky - or unlucky - enough to be needed for growing and producing food, nor high enough in status to warrant being a guest in the Court Under the Mountain.

Rhys unlocked the door with a twitch of his finger, the magic costing him more than it should have. Such a thing wouldn't have even registered before, just one more unconscious act he would do daily in order to burn off the excess power. But now, he felt it. It wasn’t much, comparatively, but he shouldn’t have felt it at all.

The door swung open on its own, and Rhys felt the presence of the Bogge immediately. It guarded the door, hunted and consumed any who grew too close, too wild to control. It focused all that attention on him. Rhys stared at the ground, refusing to return the stare.

He backed up a step, turned his back to the creature, though his neck prickled with the sense of danger as he retreated back the way he came. It followed him, whispering at him to pay attention, to turn around, to look, to look, to look…

Rhys walked and walked, the door that the Bogge had once guarded snicking shut again. He kept his hands in his pockets as he walked, his shoulders relaxed. He cast his mind out again and again, turning away any who started to head in their direction, until he’d made it to the long hallway that led to an exit. He couldn’t leave, not with Amarantha’s magic keeping them trapped, but he was able to walk right up to the door and open it with her order freshly loosening his leash. Sunlight blinded him, and he sucked in a sharp breath, hissing as he threw up a hand to protect his eyes.

Then he turned his back to the glorious sight, looking straight at the Bogge. “Your lady requests you visit the Spring Court,” he said, stepping aside out of its way, ready for it to attack. It looked like it would listen to its orders, but take him along as a snack for the road.

The Bogge lunged for him. Rhys ducked, kicking out as it landed on his other side. It fell backward through the doorway, and Rhys slammed it shut in its face.

The Bogge howled its displeasure from the other side, but finally ceased after a minute, off to obey its queen.

And Rhys did the same, walking the hallways back down into the belly of the mountain, until he stood once again at the Deceiver’s side, holding her damned cup.

~

He dreamed of her again, almost every night for weeks. He’d never gotten so many flashes from her life, his painter, his huntress, never seen so clearly the dreams she constructed in the night.

But here, with the end of the curse so close, he did. He recognized it too - those were the hills of the Spring Court, so different from her normal scenery. Kallias had a secret city just like he did, somewhere hidden away where Amarantha couldn't find it, and after that glimpse of the wolf, Rhys had hoped she was safe there. Rhys would do anything to protect Velaris, and he knew Kallias would do the same, so though he watched the High Lord of Winter closely, he said nothing. Let the male plot in the shadows.

What Amarantha didn’t know, she couldn’t order him to uncover.

He thought, briefly, of trying to find his painter. Thought, perhaps, he could see her with his own eyes, rather than her world through hers.

But then he remembered the fae whose wings Amarantha had torn off. Remembered the way she’d laughed, and he’d heard that laugh even in his own dreams.

His painter was safe. That was the important thing. Safe and far, far away from Amarantha. And probably not even real; just some figment of his imagination spawned from the torment of so long compartmentalizing, from wearing a mask and doing horrible things to protect his own people. Even if she was somehow real, how could he go to her? How could he stand before her and let her see the blood on his hands?

Blood he’d put there willingly - not from a desperation to not starve, from hunting for food like her own occasionally were, but rather from the savagery being stuck Under the Mountain brought out in him. Brought out in all of them.

No. She was a dream. A beautiful dream, yes, but one time would soon fade. A dream to keep him sane down here in the dark. Better to leave her there, in the light.

Far away from him.

~

Calanmai came and went. His painter’s dreams shifted. The bonfires gone, the portraits increasing. More fae faces, masks covering their eyes.

Rhys lost track of the days, letting the hellish monotony of Under the Mountain pass him by.

Would Tamlin manage to break her curse? He hadn’t rooted for his old friend in decades, hadn’t wanted him to have happiness in the wake of his betrayal, but he begged the Mother to grant him that this one time.

The thought ran through his head over and over as he watched Amarantha torturing some poor fae. He remained in the shadows, holding the fae’s mind, while Amarantha dug her nails into his neck, pulling flesh and blood out with her nails. Rhys held back his wince at the sound of the fae choking on his own blood only from the practice he’d had doing the same for years.

It was a truly vicious and horrible way to die, and one Amarantha delighted in. often cooing to Jurian’s eye that he should be used to such a sight. Rhys wasn’t sure how anyone could grow used to such a thing, but Amarantha was the proof, he supposed.

Finally, the poor creature succumbed to his injuries, but Amarantha didn’t stop until she’d used her sharpened nails to fully tear the male's head from his body. Blood splattered her neck and face, coated her dress and arms. A puddle surrounded them, and when Amarantha returned to her throne, the head clutched by the hair in her hands, her dress dragged the puddle into a smear across the red marble.

She sat back on the throne, tilting the head back and forth on her lap as she observed it. Her red lips puffed slightly into a pout, then she held out a hand palm up.

“Give me your ring, Rhysand.”

Rhys slid the signet ring off his left pinky, dropping into her cupped hand. Everything in him recoiled at the idea of her touching it, an heirloom passed down from High Lord to High Lord from the very first one to exist. The flat side of the signet, with the etching of Ramiel’s peaks and the three stars above, should never have graced the skin of a usurper. And yet Amarantha took delight in Rhys’ revulsion, the way she always did whenever she desecrated something sacred to Prythian or to him.

She rolled the ring between her fingers until she held it between her thumb and forefinger. “Beron,” she called, waiting for the High Lord of Autumn to approach her before ordering, “Fire.”

Rhys could do nothing but watch as she then carefully held his ring over the fire Beron held in his hand. It turned red quickly, and Amarantha pressed it to the head behind the ear. Her own fingers didn’t burn, protected by the spell she’d used to seal their magic. She could have heated it herself too, if she didn’t find pleasure in ordering the High Lords around.

The smell of burning meat filled Rhys’ nose. He fought back the gag with practiced ease, holding his breath until Amarantha pulled the ring back and tossed it through the air to him. It was still warm enough to hurt, but not enough to scar him too as Rhys tucked it into his pocket. He left his hands there too, hidden as he flexed his fingers, subtly wiping his palm off.

His hands were covered with metaphorical blood already. They didn’t need burned flesh on them too.

“Take this to Tamlin,” Amarantha ordered, holding the head by the hair again out toward Rhys. She was already looking away, looking toward the crowd for her next bit of entertainment. “Put it somewhere he can admire it.”

Rhys took it from her, dipping his head as he left.

Amarantha didn’t bother to watch him go.

~

Spring was… bright. Bright and loud, so busy after Rhys had spent so long in the dark. He couldn't even imagine how much brighter it would get as the sun continued to rise, as dawn melted into day. It was easy enough to slip into the minds of the morning gardeners and turn them to other tasks, to walk right up to the heron fountain and spike the poor fae’s head to the beak.

He stared for long enough that another servant began to come his way, and Rhys slipped into their mind on instinct. He was about to turn them away when he caught a glimpse of their thoughts.

Clean the area for the Lady. She wanted to paint here today.

Rhys froze for a heartbeat. Could it be?

He winnowed past the worker closer to the manor, hiding himself in the shadows still cast from the lingering night. He’d made it two steps before he caught the scent on the air, familiar and close and so, so real.

Cauldron, she was real.

Real, and he’d not come to Calanmai. Not come to the time he could have actually seen her, talked to her. But he could still see her now.

The scent was strongest coming from the open doors of a second floor balcony, and Rhys winnowed there before he’d even made the conscious decision. Soft curtains drifted with the morning breeze, and he approached on silent feet, slowly enough his own movements wouldn’t cause a stir.

He saw the bed first, then the two bodies tangled up in the sheets. Tamlin, eyes closed as he slept, and Rhys’ painter next to him. Her face was pressed into Tamlin’s neck, one arm thrown across his torso. Her hair was bunched up around her face, preventing him still from seeing her, but the sheets were pushed down to their waists, revealing his painter’s back to him.

She was beautiful, with freckles across her shoulders that looked like stars to him. He wondered if they coated her face as well. He wanted to trace the dip of her spine, press his face to her and hear her heartbeat, tangle his fingers in her hair.

His hands trembled at his sides from the wanting.

From the sick pit in his stomach as he watched. His painter was with Tamlin, a golden prince with a beautiful land to match. Her skin was a canvas, one he had no interest in marring with his own touch, his own stained hands.

He dreaded what would happen when Tamlin’s time ran out. Amarantha would slaughter her out of jealousy, unless Tamlin sent her away, back to Winter.

Amarantha would not suffer that a female like this could capture his attention, when she received only his scorn.

Tamlin had better send her away before then. Rhys wouldn’t survive it if she died. Wouldn’t survive seeing her beneath stone, torn apart at Amarantha’s hands. He’d rather die himself than watch this last good thing be taken from him, like everything else he’d lost in his life.

A fresh gust of wind blew then, inward toward the sleeping pair. Tamlin remained asleep, but his painter stirred, shifting slightly and stretching as she woke. Gooseflesh erupted across her back, and she blindly reached down to feel around for the sheets to pull them back up and over her chin. Rhys allowed himself the last look, then winnowed away before Tamlin could wake as well.

He landed at the tunnel entrance and stumbled, hand coming out to catch himself on the stone walls. Tearing himself away from her had felt like tearing a piece of himself away, and he had to breathe through it for a long moment before he could stand straight again. He brushed his hands off, making sure not a speck of dirt was on him as he set his face back into his Lord of Nightmare’s mask.

The Mother had been kind to give him such a gift, the chance to see his painter even once. Even if it meant seeing her with his enemy.

It had been enough. Would have to be enough.

~

Barely a few weeks later, Winter rebelled. Amarantha had grown so angry, Rhys feared she would bring the whole mountain down on them all, regardless of the fact that the rebels had already been slaughtered.

“Ungrateful,” she hissed, pacing back and forth in her room. Rhys tracked her with only his eyes, not daring to move a muscle and draw the ire onto him. “I allowed him to remain here, I host him and his nobles, bestow gifts on him, and he has the audacity to try and usurp me? Just like his father, to revolt. To ignore everything I’ve given them. See if I don’t kill him too.”

“He is the last of his line,” Rhys cautiously said. “Who would the magic go to?”

“I do not care, Rhysand. Perhaps it will go to someone who can do as they're told and obey their Queen properly.”

Rhys couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let his painter’s High Lord suffer for something he didn’t even know about. Enough had died, and if they ever made it free of Amarantha, he doubted his painter would appreciate her home being in such upheaval from losing a second High Lord in the span of fifty years.

“My Queen.” Rhys stepped closer, knowing he was inviting more pain on himself as he did so. “The rebels are dead, and Kallias could not have known of the attempt. He is as loyal as any of us. He knows he is only High Lord because of you, and I do not believe he would be so foolish as to attack you and your authority in such a way. If they had come to him, he would have gone straight to you. You know I keep an eye on them for you. Even if he hadn’t gone to you, I would have.”

Amarantha watched him approach her back through the mirror on her wall. A test. Rhys reached out to put his hands on her shoulders, gently digging his thumbs into the muscle to try and relax her. Make her a little less volatile. Slowly, her tension seeped away, until she leaned back against him, eyes closed.

Rhys’ stomach roiled at the sight, but he did not stop.

“Perhaps I can excuse his ignorance this once,” she sighed. “Enough to spare his life. But he still needs to learn to keep a better hold of his people.”

“Perhaps a trip to your dungeons, my Queen. Just long enough for the message to… sink in.”

Amarantha cracked open an eye, lips curling with pleasure at the thought. She hummed, then righted herself and stepped away from him. She strode to her desk, quickly scribbling out a message before vanishing it with a snap of magic. Orders for her soldiers to carry out.

She returned to him then, raising a hand to trail it along his cheek. “Such a good little pet,” she cooed.

Rhys smiled at that. Imagined tearing out her heart with his hands.

Amarantha took his hands in her own and led him over to the bed, and Rhys did his best to not think at all.

Hours later, a knock came from the door, then the Attor stepped in. “It is done, my Queen,” it said, grinning at Amarantha. “They were unprepared for the attack, and our forces found no resistance. The example has been made.”

Rhys’ heart dropped. He reached out with his mind, tried to find what soldiers she might have sent, somewhere nearby in the Winter Court.

He found them easily enough, but stopping them…

It was beyond him. Rhys scraped at their minds, but Amarantha’s spell held him back. They probably couldn’t even feel it. But he could feel them.

Could feel the way they relished in the pain they caused. Pain that was hours old already. The carnage was done. There was nothing he could do anymore but bear witness through memory.

Rhys watched what glimpses he could get, and was horrified.

Children. She’d sent another daemati to slaughter children.

A dozen of them, minds wiped to nothing.

In bed next to him, Amarantha nearly purred with delight as she dismissed the Attor and turned back to him, hand trailing across his skin.

He thought again of just reaching out and attacking her. Of tearing her apart, or at least trying to. Maybe she would kill him too.

Then he would never have to face Kallias.

Never have to face the knowledge of how he’d failed his painter and her people so spectacularly.

Instead, he let Amarantha crawl over him. Looked up at the carved ceiling, and pretended he didn’t care.

~

A few days later, Amarantha ordered him out again. It seemed the closer they grew to the deadline, the more freedom she granted him as her paranoia grew.

He couldn’t deny that most of him wanted to go simply to see his painter again, one last time if it were possible. If she was still there, if Tamlin hadn’t sent her away yet. Even if she hated him for failing her people. He didn’t know which he dreaded more: not seeing her, or having to be the reason she left. Having to terrify Tamlin enough that he ordered her to flee.

He’d do it, but it would hurt.

That was the price of protecting those he loved. He was well used to paying it.

It was a relief to not hide his power this time around. To stroll right down the gravel path cutting through a manicured lawn, up the marble steps of the grand entrance. It was easy to bind the sentries to their places, prevent them from stopping him as he walked inside the manor.

He cast his attention outward to find Tamlin, sense the power roiling beneath his skin, and headed toward him within moments. Lucien was there as well, and Rhys could sense their fear as walked closer, their apprehension rising with every step he took, every scuff of his boots on the black and white checkered floors.

They were trying to be casual when he walked in. Tamlin was cleaning his nails, and Lucien stood by the window, gazing out as if waiting for his lost love to return from the dead.

There was no painter.

“High Lord,” Rhys crooned, hiding his disappointment and his relief.

“What do you want, Rhysand?” Tamlin growled at him, flicking his eyes up without moving his head, the hint of fangs at his mouth.

Rhys smiled, putting a mocking hand over his heart. “Rhysand? Come now, Tamlin. I don’t see you for forty-nine years, and you start calling me Rhysand? Only my prisoners and my enemies call me that.” A lie, of course. He’d seen plenty of Tamlin not even a few days earlier. He didn’t want to think too long or hard about why Tamlin hadn’t been clothed in that bed, why his painter hadn’t either. So he looked to Lucien instead.

“A fox mask. Appropriate for you, Lucien.”

“Go to Hell, Rhys.”

Didn’t Lucien know he was already in it?

“Always a pleasure dealing with the rabble,” Rhys said, pushing that bleak thought from his mind and turning to Tamlin. He’d much rather antagonize him and cause him troubles than think about his own. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting.”

“We were in the middle of lunch,” Tamlin said.

How boring. Rhys almost frowned, but instead purred, “stimulating,” with as much derision as he could manage.

“What are you doing here, Rhys?” Tamlin demanded, still in his seat.

“I wanted to check up on you. I wanted to see how you were faring. If you got my little present.”

“Your present was unnecessary.”

He was one to talk. Tamlin didn’t have to witness the poor creature's bloody death, pick out the burned pieces of their skin from his signet ring and wash it in boiling water just to get rid of the smell. He wanted to cut at Tamlin, make him feel a sliver of that horror too.

Rhys clicked his tongue and surveyed the room. “What a pity that you must endure such… torture up here in the sunlight and fresh air. It really is such a hardship, isn’t it?”

Tamlin sighed, resigned to his fate as he rubbed his temples. “Save it for another time, Rhys. You’ll see me soon enough.”

True. Only a few more days and he’d be beneath the mountain with the rest of them. Rhys wanted to stay while he could, soak in as much sunlight as he could, but Amarantha had ordered him not to linger, so Rhys turned, preparing to leave the way he’d come.

“She’s already preparing for you,” he warned. “Given your current state, I think I can safely report that you’ve already been broken and will reconsider her offer.”

He ran a finger along the back of one of the chairs as he went, and he would’ve kept going if Lucien’s breath hadn’t hitched as he did. What was making him nervous?

“I’m looking forward to seeing your face when you—”

He cut himself off, noticing it at last. The third, half-eaten plate of food. Tamlin’s before him, Lucien’s to Tamlin’s right, abandoned when Lucien had decided to stare out the window, and a third…

Lucien went stick-straight as Rhys lifted the goblet by the plate, sniffing it once before setting it back down, the lingering traces of his painter’s scent on the rim.

She was here, she was still here. “Where’s your guest?” he asked, the sound casual when his thoughts were anything but.

“I sent them off when I sensed your arrival,” Tamlin lied coolly.

Rhys hid his snarl with a mask void of emotion, turning to face his fellow High Lord. Where could he have hidden her? Rhys would have seen her flee the room from where he’d entered the manor, and none of the windows were open-

The windows.

Lucien.

Rhys lashed out at the subtle magic surrounding Lucien, ripping away the glamour Tamlin had thrown over Rhys’ painter to keep her hidden. He couldn’t stop his rage then, couldn’t wipe it from his face as he finally saw hers for the first time, terror stricken as she met his eyes with her own.

Lucien just pressed her harder into the wall, his whole body a shield between them. As if he would ever hurt her. As if he would punish her for the glamour, when it was Tamlin that had done it.

Tamlin’s chair groaned as it was shoved back. He rose, claws at the ready, always one to react first and think things through second. Rhys ignored him, finding that his painter was a far more captivating sight.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” Rhys said, the truth ripped from him before he’d had the chance to shove it down.

He turned to Tamlin, intent on covering that little slip. “Who, pray tell, is your guest?”

“My betrothed,” Lucien answered, the one lie Rhys would never believe.

He laughed, loud and long, then said, “did you know she’s cuckolding you, then? With your own High Lord, no less. I saw her in his bed that morning I dropped off my little present.”

He stalked closer, relishing the way Lucien’s eyes flickered over to Tamlin in apology while Tamlin’s own lit with fury. Lucien pulled his sword free, intent on running Rhys through with it, but Rhys merely batted it away with some of his lingering magic. The sword went flying, smacking the far wall and slicing into the wallpaper. Rhys couldn’t be bothered to look, even as he brushed Lucien aside with his magic as well.

His anger with Tamlin was growing, even as he thanked the Mother over and over again for having a second chance to see her, to finally glimpse her face, the shine of her hair, the way her bangs were just long enough to curl right below her eyebrows, the way her rounded ears held back the rest-

Rounded.

Rhys’ stare fixated on them for a moment, then he took her in in her entirety.

She wasn’t a Winter fae. She was human.

No. No.

Even if she loved Tamlin, Amarantha would slaughter her for daring to exist. Breaking the curse didn’t mean she would be safe - not at all. It would only bring a target down on her back even more so than before.

He had to scare her away, terrify her enough that she sprinted back to her side of the wall and never even thought of looking back.

There was a knife in her hands, and Rhys gently reached out to take it from her. When her weak, human grip failed her, he sent the blade in the same direction as Lucien’s sword.

“That won’t do you any good, anyway,” Rhys said to her, hating every moment of what he was about to do. He gave himself one last look at her, then reached into her mind, holding it gently in his mental talons. Her whole body stiffened, and he felt the pulse of fear deep in his gut.

“Let her go,” Tamlin said, bristling, but didn’t advance forward, panicked that Rhys might crush his painter’s mind for the attempt. “Enough.”

“I’d forgotten that human minds are as easy to shatter as eggshells,” Rhys mused. He brought his hand up to her neck, running one gentle finger along the base of her throat, feeling the pulse of her heart fluttering like a trapped bird. His painter shuddered at the contact, and Rhys would have given anything for her to be shuddering for a different reason than fear. “Look at how delightful she is—look how she’s trying not to cry out in terror. It would be quick, I promise.”

The thought of using his gift to kill her… to melt her mind into mush in the space between breaths. Rhys was almost sick at the thought, and to distract himself - hurt himself, really, with the things he knew he would find - he pushed past her fear and drew forth her memories of Tamlin.

“She has the most delicious thoughts about you, Tamlin,” he said, finding the thoughts he’d been searching for. “She reminisced about the feeling of your fingers on her thighs—between them, too.” He chuckled. “Not just fingers, either.”

“Let. Her. Go.” Tamlin’s face twisted with such feral rage that it struck a different, deeper chord of terror in his painter, and Rhys turned that over for a moment. She cared for Tamlin, but feared his rage too.

Just not enough to outweigh her love.

“If it’s any consolation,” Rhysand confided to him, “she would have been the one for you—and you might have gotten away with it. A bit late, though. She’s more stubborn than you are.”

Rhys caressed his painter’s mind one last time, then retreated. His painter gasped as she sank to her knees, reeling, desperately trying not to scream.

“Amarantha will enjoy breaking her,” Rhys said. “Almost as much as she’ll enjoy watching you as she shatters her bit by bit.”

Tamlin was frozen, arms limp at his side. “Please,” he said.

“Please what?” Rhys coaxed.

“Don’t tell Amarantha about her.”

“And why not? As my ruler, I should tell her everything.”

“Please,” Tamlin managed, as if it were difficult to breathe. As if he had any of the same struggles that Rhys faced, as if he faced even a fraction of the pain Rhys did.

Rhys turned back to his painter. “What’s your name, love?” He hadn’t meant to let the word slip out, but Cauldron, if being perceived as sarcastic was the only way he could voice that truth, then who was he to stop himself?

He waited, nearly impatiently, as his painter held out. He was about ready to gently coax it from her mind when she said, “Clare Beddor.”

Rhys blinked once, the corner of his mouth pulling back. It was such an obvious lie. She didn’t look like a Clare, didn’t say it with any sense of honesty in her voice or demeanor.

But he supposed it was better, safer, that she lie. If only it hadn’t ripped at him to still be left unknowing.

“Are you going to tell Amarantha?” Tamlin interrupted.

Rhys smirked. “Perhaps I’ll tell her, perhaps I won’t.”

Never. He’d never tell her about his painter.

In an instant, Tamlin was on his feet, fangs bared to Rhys’ face.

“None of that,” Rhys tutted, clicking his tongue and lightly shoving Tamlin away with a single hand. “I best be off, back to her. But this was entertaining - the most fun I’ve had in ages, actually. I’m looking forward to seeing you Under the Mountain. I’ll give Amarantha your regards.”

Then Rhys winnowed away, the last thing he saw the terrified face of his lovely painter.

~

Amarantha was eager for his report, dismissing the Attor from her side the moment she saw Rhys walk back into the throne room. He slid his hands into his pockets as he climbed the steps up to her throne, dipping his head in a bow before sliding into place at her side.

“Well?” Amarantha demanded.

“He is resigned to his fate, my Queen.” Rhys lied smoothly. “I saw no evidence of his attempting to break his curse. Just him and the fox moping, drinking away the last of their wine before they come below to your court. Even his servants avoid him, disgusted with his lack of effort.”

Amarantha smiled, her red lips pulling apart like a wound, revealing bone beneath. “Good,” she mused. “Very good. Perhaps this whole thing will be easier than I expected.”

Rhys smiled, but inside, he was screaming.

Three days later, Tamlin arrived Under the Mountain.

He didn’t even bother to fight.

Rhys wondered why he’d ever expected differently of him.

~

Two weeks passed. Two weeks of horror, of Tamlin sitting at Amarantha’s side, his face as stone-like as his heart. He didn’t bother to speak, didn’t bother to give any indication that he’d almost broken the curse.

Rhys was glad for that much at least. Even if it meant he’d never see his painter again, at least Amarantha would never see her either. If she never suspected, then how would she ever know?

Rhys had grown used to hell. He could survive it.

And then the worst happened.

He’d been by a table in the throne room when the Attor had dragged some poor soul in. Rhys waited to see if Amarantha would call for him, but she never did, so he resumed browsing for something to eat. None of the items seemed particularly interesting to him, not when his stomach has been roiling with nausea for nearly an hour.

He tried to tune out the Attor behind him, tune out the torture that was sure to come. But then he really registered what the Attor had said - Just some human thing I found downstairs. Tell Her Majesty why you were sneaking around the catacombs—why you came out of the old cave that leads to the Spring Court.

Rhys spun toward the sound and his heart lurched.

No.

No.

There she was, his painter, on her hands and knees and glaring up at Amarantha like she had a death wish.

It was a lucky thing indeed that no one was near him, because Rhys couldn’t stop the panicked sound that ripped free before he managed to strangle it down.

The Attor kicked her in the ribs, sending her back down as its claws pierced her ribs. Rhys took a few steps forward, already shaking his head as the Attor demanded, “Tell Her Majesty, you human filth.”

“I came to claim the one I love,” she said quietly, looking at Tamlin.

“Stop,” Rhys whispered, but his painter did not hear him. Did not heed his warning.

“Oh?” Amarantha said, leaning forward in her throne, her painted nails already starting to dig into the armrests.

“I’ve come to claim Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court.”

Slowly, Amarantha turned her head to look at Tamlin, seated impassively next to her. He hid it well, but Rhys could feel his terror, his dread. There was no hiding this anymore.

When she realized Tamlin wasn’t going to speak, Amarantha then looked for Rhys. People backed out of her line of sight, leaving a clear path right to him.

Amarantha was quiet as she said, “You… lied to me.”

Rhys was trembling, barely holding back from rushing for his painter, from straight out attacking Amarantha. He’d fail, but it was better than nothing, right? Better than watching as she killed his painter.

He didn’t have time to react. She raised her hand and blasted him back with a wall of white light.

He hit the far wall of the throne room hard enough to crack the stone, and landed face first on the ground after, whole head ringing and bleeding from multiple places. He couldn’t even see, was too dizzy as his ears rang, desperately trying to shake it off and get back to the fight.

Distantly, he heard screaming.

By the time he finally shoved himself back to his feet, whole body swaying and sight doubling every few moments before returning to normal, his painter was already broken on the floor.

Amarantha towered over her, kicking over and over at her ribs, snarling insults at the poor girl desperately trying to curl up to protect herself. Tamlin was thrashing on his throne, held in place by more of Amarantha’s guards.

His painter was already black and blue, blood pouring from her nose and mouth, one arm broken so far the bone stuck out.

Rhys managed one step toward her before the Attor was by his side, grabbing him and shoving him down onto the ground again, sprawling across the stone. Rhys hit his chin on the ground, biting through his tongue hard enough that blood filled his mouth. He spat it out and pushed to his knees, crawling all of two feet forward before the Attor grabbed his ankle and yanked him backward again.

In the crowds, the other High Lords watched, horrified. Terrified.

Unwilling to aid him.

Of course they were. When Amarantha was on the warpath, one learned to get out of her way, not step directly into it.

The Attor stepped on Rhys’ back, digging its claws right into his spine. Directly between where his wings sprouted when they weren’t hidden away. It leaned down over him, hot breath making Rhys cringe as it hissed, “You thought you could lie to Her Majesty and get away with it? She will deal with you soon enough.”

Cauldron, he couldn’t move.

Couldn’t get to her.

His painter screamed again, the sound so loud and sharp that Rhys flinched, before it cut off halfway as Amarantha grabbed her throat and squeezed.

Rhys flung his magic at Amarantha, scrambled to get a hold on her mind, but his mental talons simply glanced off, nothing more than an irritating bug.

Tears blurred his eyes as he lashed out again, and again, each time failing to land a hit.

Amarantha snarled at his painter, then let go of her throat to return to raking those claw-like nails down her skin. His painter screamed again, and this time, Rhys reached for her mind instead.

He seized it in his talons, wrapping them around the girl like a protective cage, bars to block out any threat.

He made her continue to scream, but inside, she no longer felt pain.

Just confusion at what had happened. How she’d gone from sneaking down the hallways to rescue the one she loved to bleeding out on the floor within minutes.

Confusion at where the pain had suddenly gone. If it would return. If she was going to die.

Rhys shuddered at that thought.

Yes. Probably.

And he was a fool for ever thinking he could have protected her.

I’m so sorry, he whispered to her.

Her mental attention latched on him. Rhysand? Is that you?

Rhys closed his eyes, letting his head fall to the ground. He didn’t want to see what Amarantha was doing anymore.

Yes, Painter. It’s me.

What’s happening?

She sounded so small asking it, even in his mind. Scared.

I took your pain away. But I… I can’t save you.

There was a pause, during which he forced her body to scream again, to beg for mercy he already knew Amarantha would not give.

You didn’t tell her about me. You lied to her.

Yes. I knew she would hurt you if I told her the truth.

You lied… to protect me? But I thought you and Tamlin were enemies.

Yes, Painter. He sighed. Tamlin is my enemy. Him. Not you. Never you. And I would rather he have won than Amarantha, anyway.

Rhys looked back up at his painter, lying there broken on the floor. Amarantha’s whole body was heaving with her furious breaths. Blood covered her whole face, and she paused her torture long enough to wipe at her face, smearing it across her mouth. Then she straightened, rolling her shoulders back as she stared down at the human at her feet.

Why do you call me Painter?

I do not know your name. You gave a false one.

Amarantha backed up a step, then kicked one last time at his painters ribs. The crack of her bones was loud enough the entire hall could hear.

You knew?

Even her mental voice was starting to weaken.

Rhys mentally nodded. Yes, Painter. I knew.

Amarantha tilted her head back and forth, cracking her neck like she was just getting started.

Rhys didn’t see where she could go from there. His painter was already standing with one foot into the land of milk and honey.

Will you tell me it? He begged.

It came through like a sigh. Feyre. My name is Feyre.

Rhys closed his eyes, the sound of the name an answer to a question he’d been asking for years.

Rhys?

Rhys’ heart jumped at that. At her calling him Rhys instead of Rhysand. Even without being asked.

Yes, Feyre?

She's not going to let either of us live, is she?

Rhys’ cheek was wet against the ground from his own tears as he said, No Feyre. She isn’t.

Rhys?

Yes, Feyre, darling?

Will you stay with me? Until the end?

Rhys sobbed. Even the fae around him looked over in shock, having never heard him utter such a sound.

“Always,” he whispered, both aloud and to her mind.

And some of the fear in Feyre’s heart seemed to melt away at that. At knowing she at least wouldn’t be alone.

And then Amarantha, apparently done observing Feyre beneath her, said, “You mortals are so fragile. So easily broken. But I’m not done having fun yet. Thesan? Heal her while I deal with Rhysand.”

Rhys’ heart stopped.

Amarantha was going to kill him, yet bring Feyre back.

Over and over, if he had to guess, until she eventually tired of torturing her. But Rhys would no longer be there to take her pain. To talk her through it. To be there with her when she eventually died.

He had promised her she wouldn’t be alone.

He would rather suffer another five hundred years Under the Mountain than ever see Feyre suffer like this again. Ever leave her alone, let her feel the pain of every excruciating minute.

Even if it damned him. Even if it broke something in him. At least he would die quickly afterward.

Feyre, darling?

Yes, Rhys?

I’m so sorry, love.

He didn’t give her the time to realize his intention. Simply dug those once-protective mental talons into her mind, and let her slide into peace without any more pain.

Amarantha didn’t even notice her precious plaything die.

Rhys felt every excruciating moment. Letting Feyre slip away, leaving only emptiness behind in her wake, was a new form of torture he didn’t think even Amarantha could have invented. His mind wanted to tug on her fading presence, hold fast to it and keep her here still, safe and coveted, and it took everything in him to relax his hold. Let her slip through his mental talons and vanish at last.

Rhys couldn’t look away from Feyre’s body as Amarantha approached him. He saw Thesan crouch over her body and pause, then look over at him, understanding what Rhys had done. Thesan shook his head and backed away, already gesturing for his court to leave if they could. Escape the coming storm. The other High Lords noticed and began to do the same.

In his throne, Tamlin stilled, staring down at Feyre as the last of his hope died.

All of them could go to hell, as far as Rhys cared.

Amarantha crouched at his head, reaching down to run her fingers through his hair and grip it tightly. The Attor finally removed the claws in Rhys’ back, stepping aside so Amarantha could pull Rhys up by the tight grip she had on him.

Rhys spat in her face, finally letting down the mask he’d had up for five decades. It was petty, perhaps, but he grinned anyway as Amarantha flinched at the sudden wetness on her face.

Then she snarled at him, the sound beastlike. Wholly animal.

She didn’t give him the chance to speak before she’d dug her nails into his neck and pulled it out, dropping him back to the ground as he choked on his own blood.

It was painful, but Rhys relished every moment. He deserved it, really, for his part in Feyre’s death. For not protecting her enough, for not killing Amarantha fifty years ago when he had the chance.

But Amarantha wouldn’t get to hurt Feyre anymore, at least. Would have to find someone else to torture. And to Rhys, that was enough.

His vision slowly began to fade as he coughed and sputtered, never able to get enough air, but he knew where her body was at least, and no one was holding him back anymore.

Rhys crawled to her, sure he was leaving a trail as he went, finally collapsing at Feyre’s side.

He barely heard it as Amarantha screamed, finally realizing that Feyre was already gone. It didn’t matter anymore.

He’d lost.

He wished it could have been different. Wished he’d heeded the fucking warnings he’d gotten through his dreams. Hadn’t he dreamt of Feyre killing Tamlin’s sentry? It had been months earlier that he’d dreamt of a wolf in the woods. Months that he could have spent preparing. Planning. But he’d been too foolish.

What he wouldn’t give for a different outcome.

I’m so sorry, he thought toward Feyre’s body, the last thing he knew he’d ever think.

And then, finally, Rhysand slipped into unconsciousness.

Into death.

~

Death was… cold.

Rhys opened his eyes to a labyrinth of trees coated in ice and snow, with harsh winds gusting through and wracking his body with shivers.

Well then. He’d suspected, of course, that he wouldn’t make it to the land of milk and honey, but to actually see it? Feel it?

At least Feyre wasn’t there. She’d make it through the gates to the immortal lands. She deserved that, deserved an eternity of sunlight and warmth. Of flowers, and birds chirping. Of never feeling hungry again.

Not like Rhys did right then, his stomach growling.

He hadn’t expected that, at the very least. Hunger wasn’t exactly something the dead felt. But then again, who was to know for sure? The dead didn’t tend to talk.

A branch snapped close by, and Rhys’ attention snapped to it.

When he saw the deer, he froze.

This… was so familiar.

He pulled back the arrow - when had he picked up a bow? - and aimed for its heart, and then the wolf appeared.

He loosed the arrow. Approached the beast and watched it die.

Knelt in the snow to skin it.

Sat up with a gasp, hands turning to talons as he fell from the bed, hitting the ground hard and loudly.

Where was he? Rhys’ eyes wildly scanned the room, taking in the bedding, the chiseled ceiling, the fireplace glowing with embers.

“Rhysand?” Amarantha’s voice came from above the bed. “Did you just fall out of bed like a child?” Her mocking face appeared over the edge.

Rhys snapped, lunging for her. Her eyes went wide for a moment as his hands locked around her neck, lips pulled back into a snarl as he pressed down.

She’d tortured Feyre. Forced him to kill her to spare her any more pain. Killed him, then. She deserved to die. Who was he to waste such an opportunity?

He wasn’t sure how exactly he’d gotten it, how he’d survived getting his throat torn out, why Amarantha would have healed him. Have him returned to her room, her bed, to sleep beside her as if he hadn’t made it clear where his true loyalties lay.

Amarantha gasped uselessly for air, hands scrambling first at his face, then under her pillow. Rhys squeezed harder.

Her arm came back up, dagger clutched in her fist. She drove it into his chest and shoved him off her. Rhys didn’t even feel the pain as he toppled back to the ground, landing once again on the hard stone floor.

He could feel his heart fruitlessly trying to keep beating, to keep him alive, but the dagger had been true.

Amarantha sneered above him. “Really? You actually thought that would work? What a waste.”

Rhys’ vision faded again.

And again, there was cold. Hunger.

A deer and a wolf.

He woke quietly the next time. Eyes fluttering open to stare at the chiseled ceiling. The bedding. The fireplace. The Deceiver next to him.

What was happening?

Rhys rose from the bed, pulling on his sleep pants and quietly leaving the room. He winnowed to the throne room, stumbling slightly in his haste as he landed. The room was empty due to the time, and Rhys slowly padded barefoot across the stone floor.

There was no stain where Feyre had fallen. No trail from where he had crawled to her. There was no second throne beside the first for Tamlin to sit in.

Rhys stared at the spot on the ground, losing track of time until he heard soft footsteps. His head whipped up, and the lesser fae on the other side of the room jumped in fright at having Rhys’ sudden and full attention on them.

Rhys blinked.

He knew that fae. Amarantha had torn their wings from their back and sent them to Tamlin. They had died.

Months ago.

What was it he had thought, again? Laying there in a pool of his own and Feyre’s blood?

He’d wished it could have been different. Wished that he’d heeded the dreams Feyre had been sending his way for months.

Years.

What he wouldn’t have given for a different outcome.

It seemed the Mother had heard him.

Wasn’t quite done with him yet.

Rhys turned his back to the fae he’d startled, retreating from the throne room.

Feyre was coming, and he only had a few months to plan how he was going to save her. Change things, this time around.

He wouldn’t ever let her die again.

[jsmelodies]

The Man who Cried Wolf (And the Wolf who Heard Him)

Happy Monstertober to all who celebrate! Here's my first ever monster fic (featuring Nesta as a werewolf!)

Read on ao3

Big shout out to @areyoudreaminof for beta reading this for me!

Three times Nesta rescued her human mate in the forest, and the one time he gave a helping hand back.

Cassian wasn’t the best at tracking. Azriel had always been better at it than him, in the way that he could notice small snags of fur in the tree bark and snapped branches on the ground. Cassian, unfortunately, hadn’t been similarly blessed. 

But Azriel had found himself completely distracted with some girl in the woods, and someone had to make sure their stores were full for winter. So here Cassian was, stumbling through the woods like a blind man.

He tried to follow the deer that he’d seen almost half an hour ago. He was pretty sure he was going the right way, because only a few minutes ago, he saw a footprint deep in the mud. 

Cassian cleared a fallen tree trunk, and found his way into a clearing. There weren’t any signs of the deer here at all, much to his dismay, only a large scattering of leaves that were gathered in a pile towards the center.

But then, his eyes snagged on a droplet of blood on the other side of the clearing. Bright red and fresh, likely shed within the past hour.

He didn’t think as he made a beeline towards it. Pure luck was on his side today.

However, he was halted by a low growl from somewhere in his peripheral. A wolf darted into his path, quicker than he could perceive. Its teeth were bared, surprisingly white and gleaming despite it being a wild animal.

Had he really been so unobservant that he hadn’t noticed it sneaking up on him? Even he could admit that he was better suited to holding a sword in his hand than a simple hunting knife, and he was aware that he was hulking and gave the impression of a clumsy oaf floundering through the trees. 

But to be caught off guard, this badly? He hadn’t even heard its approach.

The wolf prowled closer, stalking towards him on graceful legs. It was…strangely beautiful, with a golden brown coat and eyes that were a bright blue gray, like ice.

The wolf was almost to his chest in height, bigger than any other he’d ever seen. If it weren’t for the snarl, he’d have been tempted to reach out his hand and drag it through the wolf’s fur, to see if it was as soft as it looked.

Because it did look soft. Nothing like the mangled, matted coat he’d expect to find on a wild animal. And a strange sense of intelligence seemed to lurk behind those eyes, as if the wolf was trying to decide on something.

Perhaps it was deciding on whether or not to kill him.

If he had to die at the hands of a beast, at least it was one as beautiful as this. 

Common sense won in the end. He kept his hands at his sides, choosing not to make the situation worse by petting the wolf, and stared it down in what he suspected were his final moments.

Luckily he didn’t have to remain tempted for too long, because just a moment later, the wolf disappeared entirely.

Well, not disappeared. She transformed, becoming a woman covered in leather from head to toe. It hugged her ample curves, making her look like a goddess of the forest.

He had to fight to keep his attention on her face. Because this was a woman that he should not, under any circumstances, be attracted to.

But Cassian had never been very good at doing what he was supposed to do.

Werewolf. She was a werewolf.

He’d heard of them, as everyone from his village had. That there was a pack of them out in these woods, who thankfully kept to themselves for the most part.

He was supposed to be afraid. But looking at this woman…he couldn’t be.

Her golden hair was the same shade as her coat, thrown in a braid over her shoulder, and somehow she wore the exact same snarl that she had as a beast. She met his gaze, not faltering in the slightest when faced with his hulking frame, like he was used to some women doing in the village. 

She strode forward, stepping carefully around the leaves in her path, until she was right in front of him.

“Do you not pay attention to where you’re walking?” Cassian blinked, the words not what he was expecting to hear. “That’s a hunter’s trap. You almost walked right into it.”

She gestured to the pile of the leaves she’d stepped around, which now he supposed did look rather unnatural. 

So she hadn’t meant to kill him. Only scare him, he supposed. 

Good thing scary women were his favorite.

“I guess it was a good thing you were around to save me, then, wasn’t it?” he asked with a cocksure smirk. 

“Don’t get used to it.” She eyed him then, and looked back to the trail that he left behind. “You don’t come out here often, do you?”

“I’m not a hunter.”

She gave him a condescending smile. “I can tell.”

He let the insult roll right off of his shoulders, and instead let his voice fall into a familiar drawl. “I’m Cassian, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Do I get to know what your name is?”

He didn’t think she’d answer. She didn’t seem overly eager to share anything about herself to him, but perhaps she was enjoying the conversation a little bit more than he thought, because she responded just a few moments later.

“Nesta,” she said.

He folded his arms in front of his chest. “So. Nesta.”

“Why do I feel like telling you my name was a mistake?”

He countered, “Why do I have the feeling it wasn’t?”

That, fortunately, did earn him a small huff of laughter. “Let me give you some advice. If you want to stay alive, stay out of the damn woods.”

Cassian grinned, even though he had absolutely no intention of doing that now. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

***

She should have known that Cassian was incapable of following instructions. The idiot was standing on the edge of a cliff.

Nesta couldn’t get his scent out of her nose for days, even though she knew by tracking behind him afterwards that he’d returned to his village and hadn’t ventured into the woods since.

Until today.

Even though she’d told him not to return, he’d ventured to the outer edges of the forest for some reason, ending up past the trees to where the sea stretched on for miles.

There was a strange fascination in his expression as he stared down into the rocks and the sea beyond, and her heart skipped a beat as she heard the undeniable echoes of a melody making its way up from the water.

Damn sirens. He was entranced by them, looking like he was less than a minute from jumping down to his untimely death.

She’d made a point to stay out of the lives of humans. Everyone was better off that way. But she wouldn’t let him die, as much as he annoyed her. Something in her gut told her not to.

Huffing out a breath through her nostrils, she sprinted and wove through the trees until they cleared and she was at the rocky ledge.

She shed her wolf form, striding angrily towards him. Nesta grabbed him around his midsection and threw him over her shoulder, dragging him away from the cliff.

“What–”

“Stop talking,” she demanded, making long strides as she walked them back into the forest.

He squirmed, trying desperately to get out of her hold, but his strength was no match for hers and she carried them for a good mile before propping him against a rock.

He was out of the trance by now, and seemed a little dazed as he tried to figure out how, exactly, he got here. He looked up at her with what she had to admit were pretty hazel eyes, and he blinked a few times as he realized she was really standing in front of him.

“Hey, Nes,” he said with a grin.

Nesta scowled and handed him a pack of water. “Don’t call me that. And drink that, now.”

He unscrewed it, and once he took a few sips, Nesta snatched it back and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

“So? I’d love to hear your explanation for that one.”

He seemed sluggish still, as if he were still coming back to his body, and had to ponder her question for a few moments.

Cassian shrugged. “I wanted to see if I could withstand the sirens.”

She blinked. “Say that again?”

He grinned. “So, my brothers bet that I wouldn’t be able to resist jumping in the water for an hour. I think I might have been almost through it by the time you got to me. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“And you agreed to this?” she said, eyes widening. 

“Well, I can’t turn down a dare, can I?”

For a few moments, Nesta was stunned. She couldn’t speak. Who was this man, acting so utterly careless with his life that he gambled it over a dare? Over sirens, no less, who she’d seen lure more men to their deaths than she’d care to admit.

“Idiot. You complete and utter idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot, right?”

She made a show of looking him over, passing her judgment on him in a single glance. “No. You’re just an idiot.”

***

As the leader of the wolf pack leapt in front of him, Cassian knew he’d fucked up.

In his defense, he was trying to find her. That had to earn him some credit, right? 

He’d been too embarrassed to admit the last time he saw her how dangerously close he’d been to jumping off that cliff. He’d been doing great, the music strong but not unbearable, but then one of them took the form of Nesta. Sirens were supposed to be wicked temptresses, but it was only then that he even considered leaping.

He didn’t know how he would explain this one away, if he even made it that far. Not as his last line of defense was a tree branch that he’d picked up from the ground. He held it out proudly in front of him, as if it might discourage the wolves in any meaningful way.

It didn’t.

The wolves descended on him. Normal wolves from what he could tell, ones that weren’t about to shift back into people. Ones that didn’t have that human look in their eyes, a look he had come to recognize.

Their eyes were instead glazed and hungry. Perhaps this hadn’t been a good idea. Perhaps he should have stayed home, and not gone trying to track down her wolf pack. They were going to kill him. 

But just when he thought the wolf would pounce and wrap its jaws around his neck, she appeared.

Nesta.

In a flash of golden fur, she leaped into the clearing until she stood proudly in front of him, growling at the wolves who’d approached him.

He didn’t know if he’d seen her this…feral before. Her muscles were bunched tight beneath her, like a spring ready to release. The fur on her neck bristled, a stark warning that she was not to be fucked with.

It was a standoff between her and the pack, to which she was surprisingly holding her own. She let out a low, guttural noise, and he saw the moment the other wolves hesitated, crouching back in postures of deference.

He was struck then by how utterly large she was. The others were barely half her height, and the dull gray of their coats couldn’t even compare to the gleaming gold of hers.

It didn’t take much convincing for most of the wolves to peel out of formation and flee into the trees. The leader of the pack, however, wasn’t as easily swayed. He let out a low growl, his lip curling above his teeth in an attempt to still get to his dinner.

Nesta snapped her teeth at him. For a second he doubled down, until he realized how utterly unmatched he was. The wolf slinked off, trembling and following the others.

She turned slowly, sniffing at him as she pressed her nose to his chest. After a huff of breath, she nuzzled her head against him. 

He ran his hand through her fur this time, taking her touch as permission to do so. She didn’t stop him. It was soft beneath his palm, just as he imagined it would be. Then she walked past him, brushing her body against him as she did, and she shifted back immediately after.

She didn’t look angry, but the lines of her face were set in a firm expression.

“What are you doing out here again?”

He shrugged. “I was tracking down some wolf packs.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

Shamefully he admitted, “I wanted to see if I could find you.”

He watched her breath catch in her throat. He couldn’t think of a moment where he’d seen her off guard. Normally she was dangerous. Lethal. But in the way her eyes widened, it was impossible to miss that sliver of vulnerability, for once becoming something that was slightly less predator.

Then, she let out that breath. “Can’t even tell the difference between wolves and werewolves.”

Just like that, it was gone. But that didn’t deter Cassian, as he continued his shameless pursuit.

“I can now. None of them are nearly as gorgeous as you are.” Her cheeks turned a bright shade of red, and after a pause, he asked, “What did you do earlier? When you brushed against me?”

“I put my scent on you, so the others will stay away.”

“Isn’t that normally a form of endearment?”

“Don’t look that much into it,” she said, with a slight lift of her eyebrows.

Oh, but he was. He was looking far too much into it. Cassian made to take a step towards her, but the movement caused a flare of pain on the side of his abdomen. He winced, and she caught it, instantly going on guard.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Nes.”

She didn’t seem convinced. Genuine concern flashed on her face for just a moment, and worried eyes bore into his bruised side.

She took a step closer, and her nostrils flared. Nesta stopped in her tracks, stepping back almost as quickly as she had approached. Which was odd. It was like she’d been struck with something, some truth that she didn’t want to acknowledge, and suddenly she was standing ramrod straight.

She sniffed at the air again, and her lips parted slightly in shock.

“What? Do I smell bad?” he asked.

Interestingly enough, she stumbled over her next words. “All of you human men do.”

He had a feeling that wasn’t the truth at all. He wanted to take a step forward, to test his theory, but Nesta backed away almost instantly, making to disappear into the woods for a third time.

“Don’t come back here again. It’s too dangerous for you.”

“Maybe I like a little bit of danger.”

Despite how hard she tried to hide it, a faint smile pulled at her lips anyways. She said, shaking her head, “You foolish, stupid man.”

***

He came back. Somehow she could sense it, even as she slept. She tried her best to ignore it, curling her blankets around her in her tent with the pack.

But he was here, somewhere, and she couldn’t force the thought away from her mind.

She tossed and turned, and at some point she kicked the blankets off of her in a fit of rage. They were too hot on her flushed skin, and she forced her eyes closed in an attempt to get even a modicum of sleep.

That was how she spent the night: in a perpetual state of being half asleep and half feverish. She woke to a cramp rolling through her stomach, the feeling all too familiar. Her forehead was slick with sweat, warmer than what she should be, and with a sickening dread she realized exactly what was going on.

The sun had already risen when Feyre pushed open her tent, pausing when she saw her huddled on the ground. “Nesta?” she asked, stepping forward to wipe some of the sweat off of her forehead. “You’re in heat.”

“No, I’m not,” she snapped.

Feyre just raised a confused eyebrow at her instant refusal. “It’s no big deal, Nesta. Just pick one of the males outside to get you through it.”

“I can’t, I–” She winced as another wave of heat barrelled through her. The idea of any of the pack males coming near her left a pit in her stomach. Their scents were all wrong, and imagining them fucking her almost made her sick.

No. She couldn’t do it. Even though she had allowed them to do so before, she couldn’t do it now.

At the thought of him, though, instinct took over. Suddenly she wanted him to touch her, to be under her command. 

But it was wrong. Wasn’t it? She wasn’t going into heat over a human. She wasn’t. It was practically unheard of.

“You can’t stay in here like this. You need to pick someone.”

Nesta nearly growled, “Get out.”

Feyre sighed, resigned, and offered one last hesitant touch to her forehead before she made her way back to the flaps of the tent. 

“I’ll bring you some cool towels,” her sister offered in farewell.

Groaning, Nesta fell back against her pillow. She’d get through this, she resigned herself. It would be miserable, but she could do it.

That lasted all of eight hours. By the time it was evening, the cramping was intolerable. It wouldn’t go away for another week at least, and Cassian was the only one who seemed appealing to her at the moment.

Finally she left her tent, growling at the males whose ears perked when she walked by. Some of them had been pacing outside anxiously, knowing exactly what was going on inside. 

But she wanted none of them.

They all backed away at her growl. She trotted through the woods, following the scent of him on her nose, praying that he was indulging in a bout of his stupidity that so often had him coming into her territory. She went nearly blind, ignoring almost everything around her, relying only on her nose and the feeling she had in her gut.

He was lounging by a fire when she found him, deep in the heart of the forest. A slow, devilish smile spread across his mouth as soon as he registered her soft footsteps.

“Nes?” he asked.

She shifted back to her human form, curling up on the floor as another cramp ran through her.

“Nes, what’s wrong?” he asked, sitting upright while the smirk fell from his face. “You’re flushed.”

“Please,” she gasped.

He moved forward, still confused, and his scent invaded all of her senses. It reminded her of oak and spice, and of falling asleep in the forest underneath the stars. It left a gnawing, insatiable hunger deep inside of her.

“What do you need?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

“My…my heat.”

Understanding dawned on his face, and the tips of his ears turned red. “Isn’t another wolf supposed to help you with that?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t want anyone else.”

His mouth opened, then closed. She saw the moment it settled over him, the moment that grin returned as he came to a decision.

“I guess I could help you, then. You know, if it’s a last resort.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Nesta dragged him forward, clashing their lips together as she raked her hands through his hair.

For all of his previous idiocy, he made quick work of divulging her of her clothes, carelessly tossing them to the ground with each layer he removed. Then he laid his jacket on the ground for them before doing a double take at her naked body.

She snarled when he stopped moving, desperate to get him into her already, and she tore at the seams of his clothing until she saw what she wanted.

Her mouth went dry at the sight of his naked body, lit only by the light of the fire and the moon above. His cock was already half hard and quickly growing, and she took a second to admire the large, defined muscles on his chest and stomach. It was a sight that she didn’t think she could ever tire of.

“Seriously?” he asked, looking down at his ruined clothes. 

“Quiet.”

She was on him again, pulling on his hair and nipping at him with her teeth, savoring the feeling of the soft skin as he let out quiet gasps.

“Good thing I like a woman who bites,” he said, kissing her back with equal fervor, and he pulled her flush against his body.

He was warm. And he didn’t back down, even when she hit him with everything she had. Exactly what she needed, she thought, drawing him even closer to her. All she could think about was quelling that heat, that need that she’d tried to ignore. 

Cassian made to roll on top of her, but she just smiled slightly and pushed him onto his back. Then she straddled him, settling herself right below his cock on his legs.

She grinded into him, coating him with her slick. “Fuck, you feel good,” she said, as his cock dragged over her clit. 

He had a similar reaction, because his hands immediately reached out to grab at her, to explore.

She snarled, grabbing his wrists and forcing his arms on the ground with her strength. “Ask before you touch,” she snapped.

“My gods,” he whispered. And when her hands tightened on his wrists, a strangled “Please?” fell from his lips.

She rolled her eyes slightly. Nesta released his hands, and they ran up her thighs before settling on her waist, waiting to see what she would do.

She took his cock in her hand, giving it a few good strokes and smearing the precome on his tip, and she raised herself above him.

They both groaned when she lowered herself onto him, taking inch after inch in one single stroke.

Cassian dared to touch her breasts, kneading them as she angled herself forward, the rough calluses of his hand feeling perfect against her skin.

And as she rocked her hips for the first time, it snapped. That feeling in her chest electrified, and suddenly there was a cord where there wasn’t one before, tying her to this man.

Her head fell back in undiluted pleasure, and she claimed all of it. He might be a stupid, stumbling human, but he was hers.

“Mate,” she gasped. “You’re my mate. You’re mine.”

He should have shrunk back in horror. He should have claimed that there was no way he could be her mate, because he was a human and werewolves didn’t have human mates.

Instead he rose to meet her, sitting as he grabbed her thigh in his hand. His eyes settled in understanding, thankfully no fear to be found, and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“My mate,” he said back, kissing her roughly until she pushed him back down on his back, and she laid down flat on his stomach as grinded on him.

“That’s it,” he said quietly. “Take what you need.”

She kissed along his neck, felt where his pulse thrummed through his veins, and her instincts had her teeth scraping against the soft, delicate skin.

She needed it, to take his skin between her teeth. Her instincts demanded it.

“I need to bite you,” she said.

She felt his muscles tense. But then he skated a hand down her spine, baring his throat to her further, as he said again, “Take what you need.”

Nesta didn’t hesitate. He groaned as her teeth sank into his neck, marking him with her bite. No one else would dare to go close, now that it was clear he was hers. She licked the hurt away with her tongue, and kissed it almost gently, before backing away to admire her handiwork.

“Look at you,” she said, watching his flustered body beneath her. He was breathing heavily, looking at her with a wild, uncontrolled gaze.

“Nesta, please–”

“You take what I give you.” Her reprimand was quick and firm, and she rolled her hips on top of him, reveling in each glorious glide of his cock against her clit.

She reached down to grab his hand and slid it between her legs to get that extra push. “You know what to do, I hope?” she asked, as his fingers started to touch her. “Be a good boy and make me come.”

He lifted a single eyebrow. “I know how to please a woman.”

“I can’t assume anything.” She nodded to where his hands moved through her folds. “Prove it.”

His eyes gleamed in challenge, and he ran his thumb over her clit with a rough drag. It was enough to have her release a shuddering breath, to feel the hairs rise on her arm as a chill ran through her.

She was loath to admit that he was right. His fingers did know what they were doing, and he worked her up expertly, not stopping until she reached her climax with a desperate sound.

He caught her as she slumped down afterwards, not letting her fall completely. Cassian kept her upright, and only a few seconds later, hot, unrelenting heat rushed through her yet again.

Her heat wasn’t satisfied with just her release, not that she expected it to be. He needed to reach completion, too. She needed to feel it, needed him to finish inside of her if there was any hope of her finding relief.

“It’s not enough. You need to…” she said, but Cassian caught her meaning, grabbing the outside of her thighs and pulling down while he thrust upwards into her. How he had the strength for it she didn’t know, but he did it again and again, letting her stay on top of him instead of flipping them over.

“What, Nes? You need me to fill you up, is that it?” he asked, his husky voice going lower than she’d ever heard it. “Need me to fuck you through your heat until you’re nice and bred, yeah?”

“Cassian,” she said with a moan, letting him take pleasure in her as he continued moving his hips.

His muscles strained beneath her, and she could tell he was getting close as his strokes became more rapid. 

Her eyes fluttered shut. As she leaned back, she tensed when her hair touched the too sensitive skin on her back. She took her breast in her hand without a thought, rolling her thumb over her nipple as Cassian fucked into her.

“That’s it. Keep doing that, sweetheart,” he said softly. 

She did, and she met him for each of his thrusts into her. He came quickly, filling her with warm seed that pulsed from his cock in steady bursts. Feeling it made her quiver around him again, starting a second orgasm that she hadn’t expected.

She panted as it rolled through her, unrelenting and spreading through every vein in her body. The pleasure traveled all the way to her fingertips, and after what felt like forever involuntarily clenching around him, she finally came back down.

They were both sweaty and covered in dirt when the lingering effects of their release faded. A soft breeze went by, causing her to shiver as it made contact with her glistening skin. 

Then Cassian pulled her down onto his chest, and wrapped a strong arm around the small of her waist, tethering her to him. He ran his hand down her hair as they both settled, placing a kiss to the top of her head.

“So,” he said. “How much help do you need, exactly?”

[badlydrawnmanic]

baldur’s gate 3 has once again taken over my life and i low key wanna draw the playable characters as mobians because i have crossover / furry brain disease + edits

to no one’s surprise astarion is a bat because, well. vampires, and his secret isn’t exactly hard to figure out before the reveal cutscene. he himself may not be associated with bats but you get it

gale is kinda tough for me to pin down because he’s both plain but not at all at the same time. his personality doesn’t fit cat despite his light association with them through tara, but hedgehog is seemingly considered a default even to the sonic series itself much like human is in dnd, so that might work. his hair is also kinda makes me think of a lion and that has a bit more character to it

karlach is undoubtedly my favorite. outside of fire one of her bigger unique design bits is her broken horn which i’d wanna keep fairly the same. sheep would fit the curled shape but she doesn’t really have a soft vibe that comes along with sheep. maybe some sort of cow-like animal. big and powerful. friend suggested she be a boar instead of minsc which i could roll with. confused for a hellsboar by wyll

lae’zel is supposed to be markedly different from the other characters, so i’m thinking either some kind of reptile / amphibian or something entirely alien in that it’s a beast from the dnd universe. while they aren’t associated with the githyanki there’s gremishka in the creche and that might be just interesting enough to work. big ears. friend also suggested a skink specifically and people seem to think she's very frog even if i don't see it lol

shadowheart is also relatively normal. was thinking wolf for a time but honestly she had cat vibes + that would sort of play into her and lae’zel being kinda similar despite being from fundamentally different places / backgrounds. friend suggested a squirrel? will consider

wyll feels like he’d be some kind of dog given the general good boy-ness of him, loyalty, etc, plus it kinda plays into how mizora talks about him. naturally his “you didn’t kill karlach” form would be a hellhound. friend mentioned fox but i think dog is more fitting

halsin is a bear and there is nothing difficult about this whatsoever

i haven’t done an evil run yet where i recruit minthara but i know she’s a lolth sworn drow and they’re associated with spiders and that would be kinda cool. friend suggested wolf for her also

minsc would probably also be a dog. even though repeats are a bit lame, he was a protagonist in another group of characters from another baldur’s gate so it’s fine. one of those stupidly huge breeds that look more like lions than dogs. if not a dog than maybe a boar. friend suggested a ferret but i think he needs beef to him. wolverine maybe?

jaheira also being from the other baldur’s gate game could probably be a repeat too. slightly cranky old cat but she loves you in her own way. would also contrast with minsc. if not a cat then i could see her as a deer i think. i somehow forgot that the game's ai defaults her wildshape to a panther when you're battling alongside her in moonrise towers so panther it is

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Daryl was out on a hunt,

He had been tracking a deer for most of the day as a trail of large canine prints caught his attention. They seemed to also follow the deer's tracks so he begged the animal hadn't gotten to his prey yet.

Following the sets of tracks he eventually finds the source chowing down on his deer.

'Fuck' he thought as he lined up his crossbow and held the animal inhis sight, shooting and hitting it in the leg.

It let out a howl as it looked around in panic, fear clear it its eyes as Daryl stalked closer.

Upon closer inspection this animal wasn't something he had seen before. Certainly canine, but in no way or shape a feral wolf. Its fur resembled that of a golden retriever and german shepard mix but the way its body was shaped was just off. As well as the cloth around its leg. It looked like one of those retro puffy hair ties.

He raised his crossbow again and the animal ducked away but never tried to run. As he didn't shoot its arm lowered away from its head to look at the attacker.

Why did this thing's reactions feel so ..human? And why was he being stupid and letting go of his crossbow?

He kneeled at its legs and reached for the arrow, making the animal pull back and whine out in pain.

"Lemme get tha' out, yeah? Imma let ya go." He tried again, with more success this time as he grabbed the arrow with one hand and held the flesh around the wound with the other and yanked it out, muttering sorries the whole time.

The wound seemed to disappear beneath his fingers before the animal moved its leg and hopping up and running off into the overgrown woods.

Daryl took another look at the deer, took his knife and salvaged whatever he could to take back home.

On his next run he managed to track a family of boars that, albeit a bit bloody, ended up dead right after their tracks turned around a group of large rocks. He scanned the area bit found nothing but the freshly killed animals for him to take home.

Yet another run after that one was cut short when a deer with its neck snapped was sssmingly left for him near his home.

This time he decided against his sceduled run and would sit it out at the edge of the woods, wondering if the one leaving the food for him would make an appearance. And yes it did, but as soon as it spotted him it dropped the smaller game from its mouth and ran off too fast to catch. But at least he had some meat again.

So one day before his next run was supposed to be he headed into the woods again. Straying far off the path and almost getting attacked by the animal he saved. It caught him off guard and managed to knock him on his ass before hiding away again. But he wasn't gonna give up and went on, camping out during the night and continuing the next day only to stumble on a hollowed out part in a large rock wall.

There were remnants of mostly eaten wildlife and fish too, but also what looked like ashes from a campfire at the edge of the hollow.

Taking his two knives in hand he slowly moved forward to take a look, only to be grabbed by something and shoved forward to stumble over his own feet. He turned to see what shoved him and found a woman standing over him. Dressed in a wrapped skirt, torn old sweater and a deer pelt draped over her shoulders.

The woman growled at him as he held up his a knife. A huff left her lips as she turned around and walked off to grab a fish off the fire and toss it at him. He managed to catch it only to let go not a second later. "Ah, hot. Damn." He shook his hand and licked at his scorched fingers which had the woman let out a laugh that barely sounded human.

"Yer the one tha's been huntin' mah food." It wasn't even a question as her eyes were the same ones he had looked into when he helped the wounded animal that first day.

"Ya talk?" He watched as she opened her mouth but only produce a garbled noise, not being able to find her voice.

"So ya live here." A nod confirmed his question. "And yer a ..skinwalker?" He had no idea what he was asking but he had heard that word somewhere one day. But he was wrong as she shook her head.

She crouched down and swiped at the floor to make a patch of clear sand, putting her finger out and writing. 'Wolf'

"Yer a shapeshifter?" A thinking expression with a sideways nod, giving him an okay for that guess as she doodled what looked like a cresent moon next to the word.

"Werewolf?" Another nod, but this one was more excited which made him chuckle.

"Ya haven't been human in a while, huh? Or a'least talked." Fhe conversation stayed very one-sided as Daryl asked simple yes or no questions and they shared some fishes for lunch.

It didn't matter to him that she didn't speak. He enjoyed her company in this strange forest cave.

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: Plot twist! It's a she-wolf this time!! Sometimes drabble idea hit you in the middle of writing another fic, so you're all getting something extra!

Part two HERE