#mannerisms / one beast and only one howls in the woods by night. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

evolutionsvoid · 8 months ago

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The tales speak of a horrid village deep within the haunted wood, where blasphemous arts and dark magic flow in abundance. Some say it is a nest of witches, brewing noxious concoctions, chanting forbidden words and performing vulgar acts. Others claim a cult has set themselves up within that overgrown hovel, praying to evil gods and beckoning malformed things from Beyond. No matter who lives within this hidden village of horror, the tales have them bowing before the same entity. A horrid beast, warped by an ancient curse, shaped into something profane and sickening. To many, it is an abomination, yet these heretics look to it as a king. What vile acts do they commit in its name? What do they gain from feeding it blood and souls? What ambitions lie within its blackened heart, as its horrifying howls ring out during the full moon? No one can say, for few dare venture there, lest they are gobbled up by this terrifying monstrosity. Many monster slayer have plunged into the darkened wood to claim their trophy, or to stop the strange disappearances and horrible noises that come out at night. None of them have ever returned, no doubt devoured by this bestial abomination, or sacrificed by its maddened cult. To the people outside of these horrid place, the entity and its rabid followers will forever be a mystery, but hopefully one that will never rear its head in their little town...

But if they did really want answers, they could just, ya know, ask nicely. And no, storming into the forest with blades drawn and blood lust in your heart doesn't count as "nice." Yeah, it is a scary looking place, but that is kind of the point. Meant to keep people away! But if you did delve into the dark wood with no weapons hidden in your cloak and no malice in your bones, you may actually be welcome to the odd little village within its heart. If they see that you are no foe, than perhaps you may actually meet their bestial leader: King Chimera. If you actually put in the effort to be polite and open, you would find he is a pretty decent guy! Yes, he does eat blood, but that's kind of his thing. You'll see.

It should be known that King Chimera wasn't always a monster, or beast or whatever you call him. He used to be a human, though he doesn't talk too much about his past life. From the short and simple way he explains it, it sounds like he came from a royal and prestigious family, one that was obsessed with reputation, image and legacy. From the way he tells it, it was pretty miserable, all stuffy nonsense, manners and making sure you sit just right and pick up the right fork or someone else may see and spread besmirching gossip. It was a life of following everything to the letter and doing precisely as tradition tells it, sacrificing your own self for the sake of the family's image. The only time he could cut loose while he was a human was at parties, where he took advantage of the cheery open atmosphere to be the second most drunk person there (which was important, because the number one most drunk person was the one who absorbed all the gossip and closed doors slander). Life was....not great, but he didn't know any different, and that wasn't about to change anytime soon due to his position in the family. King Chimera was said to be next in line to inherit the family's fortune, power and reputation, to sit upon noble councils and weigh in on royal affairs. He wasn't thrilled about it, but perhaps this new found power would allow him to loosen up a bit, and find more freedom up on top.

However, other members of his family were not keen on having him be the sole inheritor. Other siblings stuck behind in line wanted the fortune and power, and other relatives did not think he was fit to carry the title. In his human days, King Chimera held certain ideas and opinions that some folk didn't want tied to their family, ones that would no doubt soil their prestigious title and possibly associate them with filthy commoners. So it was decided in secret to get rid of him, before everything was dished out and he got hold of the family's future. Murder was an option, but one that would be too messy. Having him die before his inheritance would be suspicious, and other families would forever whisper and spread rumors about it. Instead, they looked to his partying ways and came up with another idea.

One night, while their family held a raucous ball, a stranger came knocking on their door. The human who would be King Chimera was the one who answered, or at least did their best attempts to due to the copious amounts of liquor already consumed. An old woman stood outside in the cold, and asked for food and shelter. Tales dress up the following interaction into something horrid and violent, of a drunken noble hurling a poor old woman off their doorstep and showering them in mockery and hate. According to King Chimera, it was more "I was pretty tipsy and got a little mouthy with her. Was a bit rude, to be honest." Regardless, the old woman who had been snubbed by this rich noble born into decadence revealed herself to be a powerful witch. For denying one in need when showered in such riches, she struck him with a terrible curse, transforming him into a terrible beast. With his body twisting, swelling and rupturing with wretched growths, he fell into a mad panic and fled into the night. The tales speak of this noble vanishing into the wilderness, eventually mutating into a massive bloodthirsty beast, cursed forever by their avarice. It is a cautionary tale, and one the rest of the family secretly enjoys, with their newfound wealth and positions. Odd that they tend to leave out the numerous drinks they pushed on him that night, and their insistence that he be the one to answer the door...

Indeed, King Chimera became this way through an old witch's curse, forced to forever be some inhuman hybrid of monstrous beasts. He found his body a patchwork of various creatures, cobbled into something grotesque. His mind felt animal instinct growing stronger in his brain, a feral side desperate to be let loose. In his days following that fateful night, he wrestled with these bestial emotions and changing body, fighting to understand what he was becoming. But eventually, he won. And eventually, he found that this was all pretty awesome.

While others may be haunted by their new inhuman form and lost life, King Chimera was thrilled by it. The shackles of his family name and tradition had finally been shed, and for the first time in his life he was free. He could go anywhere, do anything. He ran through the woods like an excited dog, scaled trees, rolled in the dirt, chased prey and feasted upon freshly caught food in the messiest ways he could find. This new life was a primal one, but he found much joy in it. For quite a few months, he lived in this simple way. In time, though, he would stumble upon an abandoned village deep in a gnarled forest, and find a couple of runaways desperately trying to hide and survive. Their plight reminded him of his old life, and how others were trapped like he once was. Some folk are born into lives they do not want, and escape seems impossible. King Chimera vowed that he would be the one to help them break free, and find a better life of their choosing.

King Chimera would build up this overgrown village and help hunt down the materials needed to make it work. He would then seek out those who wanted an escape, and whisk them way to this hidden settlement. People stuck in miserable lives would "vanish" one night, and the family would be baffled of where they went. Little did they know that a great beast had crept to their homes and carried off this starved soul. They would find a new life in this lost village, and eventually others would learn of its open doors and accepting ways and seek it out. Indeed, witches and other despised groups made their way to the village, and all came together to create this secret community. And at the head of it all was King Chimera, serving as their leader and protector.

To this day, King Chimera keeps watch over his people, ensuring they are safe and happy. Due to his position and visage, the inhabitants of the village have taken to worshiping him like a god, bringing offerings and seeking him for wisdom. Though to outsiders, this appears very much like a cult, it is honestly way more laid back and King Chimera rarely uses his position to make demands or take from his followers. In fact, he is a rather charming, relaxed, and with a love for hedonism. Due to his stifled human life, King Chimera has shaped his new path to involve as much pleasures and indulgences as possible. Drinking, smoking, drugs, partying and anything to feel good. When he isn't out hunting or helping people, he can be found lounging in a wooden throne made of gnarled branches, guzzling down blood wine or smoking various substances from his pipe. His neck of the woods is always down for a good time, and festivities are plenty. It should be noted, though, that sometimes he goes a little too hard. Eating too many mushrooms or the latest pipe full of odd herbs causing strange effects. The result is a wild animal running around the woods with reckless abandon, clawing trees, howling at the moon, and rabidly devouring the occasional livestock. Most of the time, no one gets hurt and he wakes up the next morning with a killer hangover. However, these nights of drugged out lunacy do create some scary stories for the locals, talking about the rabid monstrosity that haunts the nights.

In appearance, King Chimera is a bunch of animal parts fused into a single being. He has traits from mammals, reptiles, birds, amphibians, fish and even insects. He has the ability to alter these parts of him, picking certain traits or powering up certain appendages for a desired effect, but doing so requires fuel. And true to the legends, King Chimera's fuel is blood. The nature of his curse and his power requires him to consume blood in order to tap into his own flesh. Like mana being burned in a spell, the blood he drinks is used to fuel his shapeshifting and body enhancements, the cost growing with the complexity of the change. He can swap out limbs for that of different animals, or beef them up to boost his movement or strength. With enough blood, he can also gain powers from other beasts, like breathing dragon flame or unleashing bursts of electricity. Due to blood being the catalyst for this, his elements tend to be crimson in color. Another ability is creating bone spurs and blades, once again fueled by blood. It should be mentioned that while King Chimera has succeeded in changing his body into a variety of things and abilities, he cannot create human body parts. His curse forever prevents him from even coming close to being human (but that's just fine with him). Also, he cannot fly, but that is less the curse's fault and more so he can't figure out how to do it. No matter how much blood he guzzles down, he can never get his wings to grow to a functional size. It really frustrates him.

Due to his need for blood for power, King Chimera's diet consist largely of the crimson fluid. Despite the legends, though, he doesn't bleed people dry or suck it from his followers. Instead, his people collect it from livestock and game, or buy blood meal from nearby dryad settlements. These are then mixed into liquor, baked into cakes and puddings, and generally made into a wide variety of dishes. Blood pudding, blood sausage, blood cakes, blodpattar and such. King Chimera is sure to keep a few "blood cubes" hidden in his fur for when he needs a quick fix or boost. Sometimes his followers will give a small offering of their own blood, as human blood is more potent for him, but they never give more than they can handle. He never demands his followers to bleed themselves, and is honored whenever they give their blood to him. The only other time he partakes is when he eats monster slayers or witch hunters who threaten his home, as he does not hesitate to kill those who would harm people simply trying to live their own lives. The taste is certainly invigorating, but he must be careful in his consumption, as there is still the locked away parts of his curse that yearn to be free. Times when he snaps to instinct when startled, times when his hunger for the hunt tugs at his mind. He is indeed still cursed, but he does his best to tamp down what would rob him of control. Just don't scare him from behind, as his serpent tail is faster at reacting than he is, and he won't be able to reign it in before it sinks its fangs into someone.

The Knights of the Wrong Table wind up encountering King Chimera when they hear tales of people going missing and terrifying abductions in the night. Homes torn open and victims dragged screaming into the darkness. Legends of a horrifying winged chimera that descends upon towns and carries its prey off, never to be seen again. And from these disappearances, slayers and knights have charged into the haunted forest to slay the beast responsible, and don't return alive. The Knights of the Wrong Table show up on the scene to see if the tales are true, and to find out who is behind these disappearances...

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"King Chimera"

Hey look, new Wrong Table character! A real party beast!

#chimera #monster #creature #king #art #drawing #beast #knights of the wrong table

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owlespresso · 1 year ago

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dream-eater. jing yuan/reader.

Tags: AU, spice beneath the cut, f!reader

A fluffy white stray has been coming up to your door these past few months, pawing at the old wood and meowing loud enough to wake the neighbors. As the sear of summer winds down into the cool, at-ease autumn temperatures you've been waiting for.

You've never seen the little beast, before, and your neighbors don't have any such animal. Not that you're aware of. Uncollared, unnamed, but its surprisingly clean and surprisingly well-mannered–howling for your attention aside.

It's polite enough for you to take it in. Get it collared and given all the appropriate shots and even give it a name—Mimi, you decided before being told that the cat is male. You kept the name. It's not like the cat has any concept of gender.

He yowls at approximately 9 pm every night until you acquiesce and climb into bed with him, where he tucks himself up against your side. You sleep easier, this way.

Though, maybe the cooling temperatures also help. You can cozy up underneath a few blankets and let the rolling of the winds soothe you to sleep.

And in the sweet velvet of sleep do you find the softest and most sanguine dreams you could possibly imagine, the kind that make you tingle with pleasure from head to toe, pressed into pillowy covers and cotton blankets which seemingly move with a will of their own. Long fingers caress your thighs and soft lips brush coo dulcet praises against the round of your hip. All this at the hands of a man whose face you can never quite make out, who only appears in those few, fleeting moments before you snap awake.

Tonight is one such night. It is you and him and everything is at the edges of your vision, blurry like watercolor. All that's concrete is the warm weight of him on top of you, the silk of his lips wand'ring the open hearth of your body.

"Who are you?" you muster the strength to ask, shaking fingers pulling through his thick, hoarfrost locks.

"You're clever. I'm sure you can figure it out, " he says, and laughs at the way your face crinkles with indignant. He shoves his cheek into your inner thigh, nuzzling up against you like a contented cat. Mirth is written across soft, handsome features. His eyes burn bright gold, low-lidded and downturned. Ash white lashes fan out against cut cheeks. Bow lips cradled by his sharp jaw. This is the first time you've ever seen his face, you realize, and he is devastatingly beautiful. "...Or maybe not. Would you like a hint?" He asks, each word murmured against your skin. Your thighs twitch around his broad shoulders, one of your calves settled against a wide back

"Forget it," you mumble, shutting your eyes to escape that prying gaze. He looks as keen as Mimi does during dinnertime, staring with a hunterly, single-minded focus.

"Come, now," he goads, long fingers drumming staccato atop your knee. "Of all the games we've played, this should be the simplest."

"The fact that you want this so bad makes me regret asking," you huff, gently pressing your ankle into his side. He shifts, moving so swift you hardly realize he's reached back until his hand has curled around your ankle. Your breath hitches as his gaze bores into your open face, roams across your splayed body. He pulls, dragging you towards him, bottom lifted from the mattress with a frankly embarrassing, high pitched yelp.

"Ah. A gesture of good will is needed, then. How about... my name?" he asks, presses a kiss to your ankle. His throbbing cock rests up against the back of your thigh, thicker and longer than you had dared imagine. Fear and arousal make a heady cocktail, making it difficult to think, let alone answer his question. "Now where did all of that fight go? Is that all it really takes to smother your fire?"

You want to reply, want to breathe your complaints at him like dragon's breath. But you cannot. You're paralyzed beneath him, lips sealed and body gone limp for reasons beyond your comprehension. The most you do is let out a reedy little sound, shaking on the sheets like a frightened kitten.

"Well. Since I seemed to have robbed you of your faculties, I think it's only right that I give you my name." He says in exaggerated contemplation. Both of his hands cook under the crook of your knees, holding you open, leaving you bare and exposed. In this moment, you feel more meal than human, more prey than paramour. And it makes you squeeze around nothing, hot rush of humiliation throbbing between your thighs.

"Something to cry, later, at the very least." He continues, ignorant of your plight—or perhaps revealing in it. He swoops down, chest pressed to heaving chest. His hot tongue rasp over your earlobe, startlingly rough—sandpapery, even. "I am Jing Yu—"

You startle awake, covered in cold sweat. Your room is colored in the bluish grey shades of pre-dawn. Your blankets are pooled around your waist, skin cool where your shirt had ridden up overnight. Most prominent of all is the awful throbbing between your legs—frustration sent to a boil. You huff, and plop back down, eyes shutting. Absentmindedly, you reach down and gently comb your fingers through Mimi's fur, the warm weight of him a comforting anchor, curled into your side.

#jing yuan #jing yuan/reader #hsr/reader #honkai star rail/reader #oz write

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the-slasher-files · 2 years ago

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SLASHER FILES' BLOOD FEST: WEEK ONE

SACRIFICIAL NIGHT [Andrei Werewolf AU]

prompts: ROPE. TEETH. SIZE. BLOOD

keywords: WICKED. RAIN

They said it would keep the beast at bay. The good for the people. A fucking village beginning to think with the views from the early 1900s filled with folklore, myths and ritual. Fear of the Wawkalak and Bodark came back in a devastating wave across the north, and with Russian traditions still strong up here it did not take much to insight the madness. People said he was just a man years ago until something happened, something that pissed off the devil making the man now a wolf for however long he lived. And he terrorized our home.

Once a month when the moon was full, the village made a vote. A mirror of the ancient times once more picking the smallest or weakest or the oldest to feed the beast's desires in hope he would not come back to slaughter.

With hands tied to the thick hardened tree trunk, the rope bound you still. As much as you fought and twisted the blue twilight seized to the dark clouds above making the full moonlight completely disappear into utter darkness. A pure black night of sacrifice you were the lamb to the wolf. Tireless minutes turned into hours and the forest fell silent and your minds played tricks on you; Moving shadows and taunting branches, the wind howling and now slowly the uneasy rain began to fall. And something was watching you.

Gazing out into the dense woods, your eyes darted from shadow to shadow and your breath became heavier with the torturous feeling of a hungry gaze upon your innocent flesh. Soft wrists yanked on the raw rope as you panted and began to cut the delicate skin letting blood draw in the unmerciful night and that was just your first mistake.

"fuck, fuck, fu- Someone?! Anyone?!... Help! Help me!" You strained in a scream, getting louder and breath hitching in your throat.

Giving out a frustrated bawl you could hear footsteps nearing and the small breaking of twigs, with a yellow glow of a lantern illuminating the twisted trees getting brighter and brighter until a man emerged. He was just an older man and your brow furrowed.

"My god. There you are," He stated in a relieved manner. You did not know him but you were not going to lie and say you wanted him to leave, anything was better than being alone right now.

Rushing up next to you, the man was probably in his early 60s. Shorter in stature, gaunt with grey slicked-back hair and warm brown eyes, but what drew your eyes most was the shining of the shotgun that was strapped around the man's this torso. He was most likely a farmer in the area, perhaps this land you were presented on was his; You didn't know but his worn face was a sight for sore eyes.

"We have to hurry," He breathed out, pulling out a small knife to cut the rope, stepping closer allowing the radiance of the lantern on his hip to coat you.

"Oh my god- Th-Thank you" You cried as his hands were so close to the top that you could feel the warmth of the older man's body, that was until he stopped completely.

"What the fuck are you-"

Your question was forced to a halt as a dangerous low growl appeared and instantly your body froze stiff and wouldn't let you release a breath. Watching the older man intently he backed up and reached for the shotgun that hung around him.

"Wait, NO. No. BACK. GET THE FUCK BAC-" He boomed in warning only for his screams to meet the end of his sentence as a thing from the shadows charged.

Black like the moonless sky it moved like a shadow and you could no longer see the older man behind the massive beast. Only the sounds of wet squelching and devastating cracking of bones met your ears. His body was being ripped apart limb from limb, and his insides met the forest floor with rivers of crimson now lit by the shattered lantern that sparked on low-lying grasses. A slow fire began to burn and you could see the true nature of this thing.

It was a wolf. 10 times the size than normal and with claws to match its size, spiky wet fur stood in a ridge up the things back and neck, heavy shoulders rolling in waves as it huffed and gorged.

It was real. Real and in front of you shredding a man apart.

Shaking against the tree, you let out the breath your body had been holding in, death was coming but from the fire or the monster, you didn't know. However, with that release of breath, it finally drew the attention of the wicked myth. It turned, hunched over with razor-sharp teeth bared in a violent maw glimmering and dripping in blood, keen blue eyes were icy but curious as you cried in terror.

"P-please" You whispered barely audible over the creature's low gravelly breathing.

It slowly began to stalk forward, nose twitching and smelling your sweet sweat. He was almost as tall as you just by standing on all four paws. The wolf bowed his head, brushing the thick muzzle up your shaking leg before he raised up on powerful hind legs, dwarfing your form as a paw thudded beside your head and you looked away. You could feel the deep wet pants on your cheek just making the rain feel that much colder and it sounded almost like a gruff laugh in the back of the creature's throat as he watched your every flinch, twitch and tear roll down your flushed skin.

Whimpering begs rolled off your tongue but no one was listening, "You're going to be so much fun" He rumbled, moving the rough drenched paw down your face to coat it in blood only to lick it all away "... Don't be scared"

#FINALLY WEEK ONE IS OUT #my writing #SFBF #horror #slasher #oc #andrei kulokova #slashers #werewolves #werewolf

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katsukikitten · 4 years ago

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WARNINGS: 18+ DUB CON/ NON CON? WEREWOLF BAKUGOU, THIS IS PURE FILTH JUST PURE SMUT

You were never the best at running, especially not through the woods. So it is no surprise your heel snaps off causing you to trip over a small log. Your pelvis bone connects with the thick trunk, brushing your hip as your dress threatens to expose your underwear.

A howl is heard in the distance paired with something moving through the brush at an ungodly speed, gaining on you much faster than you thought.

"Fuck." You hiss to yourself, panting as branches seem to reach out. Their sharp, splintered claws grabbing at you and only catching your body con dress. Tearing it piece by piece, you are unsure if your faux bunny ears are still atop your head.It was unfathomable how wrong tonight had gone and how quickly.

But then again it was Halloween and a full moon at that. They say the full moon has the power to make people act crazy and especially so on a blue moon. Which made your panicked mind wander to the rumors about this town and what happens every blue moon. There were whispers of the older families having dark secrets. Fairy tales of beasts and mating but a second full moon in a month was so rare those murmurs and scoffs were supposed to be just that, rumors, stories.

Not actual werewolves who couldn't control their urges during this magical event. The blue moon either filling them with unchecked rage or undeniable lust should they not take the necessary precautions. Although no one would say what exactly those precautions are.

Your first hint about the rumors being true should have been the local news station. You thought it a Halloween prank when they advised women ages of 20 to 30 to remain indoors for tonight, to lock their windows and doors. To adorn their throats in silver to protect them from unwanted bonding. You had rolled your eyes as you got ready for your daily college classes, jumping into your black skinny jeans and blood red sweater.

Your second hint should have been the absence of your good friend Kirishima. He always walked you to your English class since his history course was in the same building but this morning he was a no show. He didn't even respond to your texts last night asking if he wanted to go to a Halloween party with you.

Your final hint should have been when the normally aloof, irritable and "untouchable of the big three" lab partner you had for biology growled in your direction. This would be the first thing he had said all semester.

"Don't go out tonight, got it extra?" His voice is clipped and he is acting strange, his left hand gripping onto his right forearm so harshly a bruise was beginning to bloom. You chalk it up to nerves for the upcoming exams.

"Oh is someone gonna bite me like the news anchor said?" You giggle, turning your focus back on your work only for the professor to cancel class early. You pack your things as Bakugou sits rigid, still. He fixes you a harsh glare before he stands, pulling the strap of your purse causing you to become a little off balance. His eyes dance over your frame, over your exposed neck but you do not notice, barely see his canines elongate as he snarls.

"You'll wish that's all that they did."

Looking back you wish you had noticed it before, then maybe you wouldn't be in the situation you were in now.

You burst through the trees and find yourself in a clearing. Here you would a sitting duck to whatever the hell was chasing you. Still not believing your eyes and you crossed paths with a giant wolf. Fur golden in the moon light and eyes a haunting, gut wrenching familiar red. It wasn't too long after that did it give chase.

The howl behind you is too close for comfort as you barely have time to jump into a patch of briars and thick prickly bushes that sit on the edge of a creek. By some odd instinct you grab onto the ice cold mud and smear your arms and part of your neck with it, clenching your jaw so your teeth do not chatter.

Suddenly a large beast bursts into the clearing, wet nose sniffing at the air and ground before it shifts in the clearing under the moonlight. It is a haunting sight. Bones snap and grind as features twist into grotesque angels until it finally forms into that handsome familiar face. The ash blonde fur retreats until it is only on the top of his head, faded beneath while the top looks finger brushed and wild. He is shirtless and his pants are torn from the calf down, the only beastly feature he keeps is the glow of his blood red eyes. You swallow, biting your lip to stop from shaking; this is not the Bakugou you knew. Not that you knew him that well in the first place but there was some power in having a crush. You had learned his mannerisms in the first year here at University, somehow always in a class with him, with one of the three legendary "heartthrobs" of the school. He was as hot headed as the rumors said and he was just as handsome if not more so. Itching for a fight and yet oddly quiet when in close proximity to you. An action you took to mean he either hated you or didn't even know you existed.

So it's safe to say you're unfamiliar with this manic, wolfish grin.

Feral incarnate.

He sniffs the air.

"Where are you little ooooonnne?" He calls cruelly, "I can smell you."

His body goes through the motions of tensing and relaxing, another howl breaks through the eerie silence but this time much farther away. Bakugou's ears perk, his grin twisting in such a way it screams malice, unbridled rage and yet excitement.

"You must be in your mortal heat. Guess I'm not the only one who can smell it. Didn't I tell you not to go out tonight?" His voice is dark, haunting as the wind catches down from you, carrying your scent away from him.

"I knew your dumb ass would ignore me, I took a precaution to that and yet you didn't even bring your fucking purse?!"

Your purse?

Is that how that red cloth and weird silver dollar got into the bottom of your purse?

Bakugou shifts his weight, giving his back to you as he prepares for something coming that you cannot hear. In the meantime you allow your eyes to study his physic, following his scarred back, broad shoulders all the way down to his deadly hands. One of his palms is burned in the shape of a perfect circle, you swallow thickly. The sound causes his ears to twitch and look over his shoulder, making eye contact with you through the brush.

But he does not have time to react as a black furred beast with glowing ruby eyes jumps into the clearing. Sniffing the air wildly before baring his teeth towards Bakugou. The beast huffs and growls before finally shifting into his human form, a cold sweat settles in your bones.

"Where the fuck is she?" You have never heard your friend use a tone so dark as Eijiro continues to pace, keeping his eyes glued to Bakugou.

"Fuck off Kirishima, shes mine."

"I don't see a bonding mark on her yet." Its more a feral growl than anything, "You said you didn't waste your time on mortals."

"I fucking changed my mind. And you know why, her smell is…" He inhales deeply, testing to see how much of you can be sensed. The most he can tell is that you're close by but he cannot pinpoint you, he fights to keep his eyes from falling over his shoulders to see you.

He's dying to know how you masked your scent without with an Alpha's pheromones or a silver piece. But that would have to wait, at least if he wanted to ensure it was his seed that stuffed you. He bites his lip, the thought sends a shiver down his spine. First he had to deal with Kirishima then he could take his time making you his.

"Well you know how it is don't ya? Didn't know you were such a pervert, Eiji. Is that why you walked her to class? Hoping she'd make you her boyfriend or some sappy shit?" Bakugou taunts, head tilting in mock question, "Guess you can't hold back anymore can you? Dreaming about giving her your knot?"

Kirishima bares his teeth, fighting the urge to buck at another Alpha, especially one he knows he will have to fight with full force. He opens his sharp toothed mouth to retort but yet another beast finds it's way into the clearing coming from the opposite of Kirishima but to the right of Bakugou.

The beast looks wild, heterochromatic eyes glisten beneath the full moon as white and red fur clash all the way down his spine. A collar around his throat catches the light as a broken chain drags across the ground, there are shackles around his wrists and ankles as well. Bakugou smirks, adrenaline fueling his excitement over what is about to be a damn good fight.

"You watchin little slut? Look at what your scent can do." He changes his stance into that of a fight, "You've got two normally non aggressive Aplahs ready to get their asses handed to them and for fucking what?"

The three of them shift their eyes and bodies this way and that before Bakugou licks his teeth.

"God I can't wait to bury my face in that soaked pussy." He lunges, transforming mid leap into a hauntingly powerful wolf. His teeth are exposed, lip curled up in a snarl as his targets Kirishima first. Kirishima barely shape shifts in time, pearly white teeth sink deep into his shoulder before gnashing at his throat. Deafening growls and yowling surround the clearing. Kirishima attempts to kick Bakugou off of him as they tumble closer to who you assume is Todoroki who bares his teeth. He launches himself at the other Alphas. His teeth find purchase in Bakugou's shoulder, blood staining white and blonde fur a like. There is no yelp or howl, just a stomach churning growl before Bakugou turns his attention towards the two toned wolf. Snapping his jaw as he attempts to get a grip on the chained wolf who dodges. Bakugou's teeth gleam with dripping crimson, a snarl of warning before he propels himself towards Todoroki. Sharp teeth bite at two toned fur as Shoto bares his teeth, growling, snapping his jaw at his opponent. Kirishima begins to get to his feet, limping as he avoid putting weight onto one of his front legs, crimson drips down onto the chilled dirt. He keeps his ruby red eyes on the two dancing wolves.

Bakugou strikes faster than Todoroki can dodge, and angry teeth clamp down at Todoroki's throat. The collar snaps from the force before Bakugou sinks his fangs deep into Todoroki's throat.

An ear ringing yelp is heard as blood pools into Bakugou's stained muzzle, white fur marred in crimson as Todoroki begins to sway. As the hot head's jaw is locked onto tender flesh, Kirishima attacks. Biting at the nape of Bakugou's neck and yanking him from Todoroki with force, tossing him with ease. The light colored wolf flies into trees snapping the thick oaks as if they were twigs. Buying some time for the two injured wolves, any other alpha would have seen this as a win, knowing the two from rival families would retreat to lick their wounds.

But Bakugou was no normal alpha. This gut clenching fight taught you as much. Todoroki struggles to keep consciousness, his throat dripping an insane amount of blood. He falls to his side huffing almost wheezing before he shifts back into human form, shackles shrinking to readjust to his wrists. Kirishima whines nudging at the unconscious, possibly dead man. All the while crimson red eyes peer through the unsettled dust before soaring through the air, landing on top of the black wolf. Pinning his back onto the ground as dark paws claw at bared teeth. Trying desperately to keep him at bay but with one fucked front paw it is a futile attempt. Quickly Bakugou overpowers him, sinking his teeth too deep into his friend's throat and keeping his muzzle there until the whining and yelping stops. Until he too shifts back to his human form.

You fight to keep your own whimpering in, still hidden in the brush while you hoped, prayed that he somehow got disoriented. That he forgot where you were.

His head snaps towards you, mouth dripping saliva and thick red blood. His eyes glow as his stalks closer. He stops just before the underbrush shifting back into that devilishly handsome face. He is soaked in blood, scratches line his face and chest. He wipes at his mouth but not once does his fist wipe away the cocky smile he holds.

He scares you but what scares you most is how your body is reacting to such a gruesome sight. A muscular man dripping in sticky red, droplets tracing the outline of his abs and a smile of triumph as two people lie wounded, possibly dead behind him. It made your pussy throb, the strength, the raw need and want to win and for what? For you, for your essence and the promise of a futile womb.

He can smell your fear as he yanks you from the bushes and thorns.

"Don't worry, it's not my blood." He grins, pulling you closer to him as you try to push away. Just like you're trying to push away these odd feelings that swirl in your chest, in your stomach; of a weird pride and arousal. It was of no use, like pushing dead weight up a forty five degree hill, this too was a losing battle.

"K..kirishima." Your eyes are glued to his unmoving body, causing a deep rage to form in Bakugou's chest. He grips your chin forcing you to look at him his other hand goes straight for your sex, cupping the underwear allowing his fingers to swipe over the damp fabric.

"Don't you ever say his fucking name while you're wet for me. Got it?" His fingers are causing divots in your cheeks as you whimper from his contrasting touch. Harsh grip, soft strokes. As if reading your mind he takes a deep breath, not meaning to inhale so much of you.

"They ain't dead, you're worth the trouble. But not that much trouble. Now focus on me." He let's go of you, drinking you in smirking when he sees your costume. Or what's left of it anyway.

Thick irony that you would choose to be a bunny of all nights. He fingers the fake ears with earnest.

"Fitting." He purrs before taking both of his hands to the front collar of your dress, ripping the fabric from your torso. He growls audibly mumbling to himself "Much better." As you stand with your tits exposed, your lacy underwear catching his attention beneath fishnet tights. He bites his bottom lip, pulling you to him as he buries his face into your tits. Nipping sucking and biting as he eases your buckling legs towards the ground.

"Fuuuuck." He groans, pressing his cheek harshly against yours, trying to scent you as best he can without claiming you fully. It's hard, fuck is it hard. It always has been, since his first class with you.

You weren't a beta nor an omega. Hell you were of no wolf relation and yet you reeked, oozed of pheromones that drove him and apparently the others mad. He had tried to protect you, he really had, scenting a piece of an old t-shirt and even burning himself on silver.

He wanted you, he needed you, his cock ached for you. Weeping now at your arousal making his canines ache with an even greater pain.

But you were fucking mortal and he was betrothed. Technically all three of the aplahs in that clearing were betrothed to omegas. It was evident your smell seduced them as well.

He brings himself to your shoulder, biting hard enough to draw blood, claws, stuck halfway between human and wolf, rake down your back and ass making ribbons of the flesh. Still you moan and he occasionally swallows those whole as he kisses you. Letting you taste copper as his tongue placates yours, he subconsciously secretes soothing and lustful hormones and they are strong enough to make even you high. His hand finds your nipple and when you arch into him he loses his shit. Breaking the kiss to sniff you, nosing and biting until he finds that sweet spot. He opens his mouth, salivating at the thought as his teeth and cock beg for relief. He freezes, squeezing you to him for a moment. The action causes your ribs to creak in protest and yet you feel warm, safe.

His mouth hovers over your pulse point, the salty sweet taste of you, breaths away from the exact spot he would need to sink his aching teeth into to make you his.

In a quick motion and a test of will he shoves you onto your back, ripping at the fabric between your thighs after he forces your legs open. You do nothing to stop him, not that could.

Not that you would.

He slips his tongue between your folds and licks up, swirling the wet muscle when you buck against him. He hooks his arms around your legs gaining control over your hips and eats.

See Bakugou is a glutton and he will not stop until he is satisfied. It would be a gift and a curse for you.

He works his mouth against you thoroughly as the coil in your stomach snaps over and over again. Your hand fisting his hair as you cry out in hoarse gasps, legs shaking around his head, thighs squeezing his skull as he coaxes another high from you.

Your entire body is shaking, worn out already from however long he sucked, nipped and lapped at your core. Finally he seemed to come up for air but only to watch your sex convulse. He looks up to you causing your heart to skip a beat. His hair is that much more wild, his intense gaze glowing red in the low light and his face glistens with your slick.

"Fuck!" You cry out, letting your head fall back into the ground.

"What's wrong bunny? Can't handle a little head?" He shoves two fingers deeply into you making a come here motion. You ride another body quaking high as he tries to stretch you to accommodate him. His breathing becomes frantic, as he chases a smell you're emitting. Thrusting harshly into you as his other hand abusesyour clit until that deliciously addicting smell he's chasing crescendos. Your scream echoes in the woods as clear liquid shoots over Bakugou's forearms, all the while you held fluttering eye contact, practically melting in his hands. His fangs grow and he cannot hold himself back any longer. He shoves his pants all the way down, even off of his ankles as he sinks his lengthy girth into you in a snap of his hips. A mixture of pain and pleasure shoot through you like a live wire as you begin to mewl, needing him to move.

"More, more." You whine, tears prick your eyes as he smiles a deadly smirk.

"You're such a talkative cock sleeve. You want my knot that bad? Then take it." He thrusts into you setting a deep harsh pace. Alternating between quick succession and slow deep throats. Biting at the skin of your chest and shoulders, torturing you in such a way.

Punishing you for being mortal.

"Why?" It's a guttural growl as your mind is lost on another plane, "Why do you have to be mortal?"

He emphasizes each word with a thrust of his hips earning him a lovely raspy moan from you.

"I want to...to fucking mark you. Make you mine. The thought of any other alpha or even fucking human touching you…." His thoughts have him chasing two very dangerous highs, snapping his hips so he comes closer to your throat.

"Please...please Bakugou." You whimpering encourages him.

He breathes you in, tasting you without even a flicker of his tongue. Your arousal, your damp hair sticking to the column of your throat, the faint scent of your shampoo.

Somehow he reigns himself in again. Teeth elongated enough they almost scrape your skin. His breath comes out hot and heavy as you squirm beneath him for friction, wanting nothing more than to be filled. If he does this, if he makes you his mate, it would surely complicate everything.

"You have to tell me you want it." He's panting, vulnerable as he looks at you, your heart shatters from the look. Deafening reason and logic as it screams how badly you want to be his and he yours.

"Not just because it feels fucking good right now." His voice is husky, rasped as he fights the weight of his instincts, "Not because I'm fucking hot or a novelty to you mortals. If I mark you, you'll always feel something for me and vice versa. We'll be tethered and attracted to one another even if we fucking hate each other."

Slowly you nod, again he grabs onto your chin, sliding it down to your throat as he squeezes.

"This isn't some good acid trip, this isnt some fucking dream. You'll have to meet the elders. You'll have to deal with my ruts." Again he's panting, shaking from holding himself back, having half a mind to just kill you. Still you do not move away from his touch.

"My jealousy. My rage. My need for territory control. I'll come home dripping in blood. I'll kill other Alpahs." He breathes your name in such a way you clench around him. He growls from the sensation. You struggle to speak beneath his grip, head floating but some how in the right spot.

"I...I can handle it. Mark me Bakugou Katsuki. Fucking make me yours, fill me use me. Just…" He stares into your eyes until he can no longer take it. Pounding into you in a harsh pace, finally giving in

"You'll take my knot like a good slut won't you?" His eyes watch you nod before they fall to your breasts. Watching them bounce from the force of his thrusts. His hips turn sloppy as your high builds again. You claw at his back and his smells your high as he tries to time it right. He sinks his teeth into your throat, keeping it just a hair above a marking.

You feel a growing pressure as his tip stretches you even more until he finally sinks his teeth into you with a grown. His thrusts stuttering as hot ropes paint your walls. Your cunt flutters around it as all you can do is become limp in his grip. His arms are fully around you, his mouth still to your throat as he slowly eases up. His body giving off a bonding hormone so strong that even your moral senses can pick up on. It you drown in a high scented in spice caramel and heat. He pants heavily, his arms shaking as he kisses you fiercely, teeth bumping into yours before he pulls back.

Weakly you claw at him to hold him as he whispers praises. He lifts you, pulling you towards his chest to keep you safe as you begin to drift. His mouth is pressed to your ear and you can hear the cocky smile in his voice.

"Get some rest while you still can mate." His hand snakes around to your stomach, his fingers lightly caressing the skin.

"We aren't done until you're carrying my pups."

Tags

@katsukisprincess @avellanagamer100 @bakugotrashpanda my number one fan

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha au #dub con #non con #werewolf bakugou #werewolf bakugo #alpha bakugou #bnha alpha

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latte-fairytaekwoon · 4 years ago

Text

𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒇'𝒔 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 (𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒇! 𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐) 𝑹𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟! 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨 (𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳)/ 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞)

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲/𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟 𝐀𝐔

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐚 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠.

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"How long are you going to keep this up Jongho? She has to find out eventually."

The tall red haired male looked at his friend, who was currently pacing back and forth around the room. Sighing, he looked out the window and stared into the night sky.

"The yearly mating season will start in a few days.... and you're choosing to run away and leave her alone, wondering where you are..." He continued to say.

"Will you shut up Mingi!? Don't you think I know that?! Don't you think I'm suffering because of this?!" Jongho finally snapped.

He slammed his fist into the wall, frustrated and anxious at the thought that had been haunting him since he found out she was his mate: abandoning her for a few days so she never finds out about the secret he's been hiding his entire life.

"You know you don't have to Jongho. You could tell her everything."

Jongho shook his head, once again refusing to give in to the older male's suggestion.

"For goodness sake Jongho, she's your mate! She deserves to know! Stop being a coward about this!" Mingi shouted.

"Easy for you to say! It was easy for all of you! None of you had problems with your mates, because they were all wolfs! None of you know what it's like to have a human mate! None of you get it! The complications that come along with it!" He cried out.

"You're only making it complicated for yourself. Y/N loves you, she's not aware yet of the bond you two hold, but she will one day. And when you're gone for a long time, both of you will suffer. You will miss each other's absence and go mad if you're far away for too long, and you know it's as dangerous for our kind as it is for her."

Mingi's words began to sink into his heart. It was true. He's noticed how it had changed over time. While the first months, Y/N simply got mopey and pouty about not seeing him at times, it began worsening lately. He'd sometimes come back to find out she hardly ate in days, hardly slept and when she did, she'd often cry herself to sleep as she felt an overwhelming longing for him that she couldn't even comprehend because he wouldn't take the time to explain it to her.

"I can't....." Jongho whispered.

Mingi walked up behind his younger friend, whom he cherished like a brother. He gently patted him back in a comforting manner.

"You love her Jongho, so why hesitate? Don't you want to mate with her? Mark her and make your bond permanent?"

Jongho's wolf growled, prompting him to hold himself up against the wall. God how he wanted to mate her. The impure thoughts would get more and more stronger, especially with the mating season fast approaching, and each time it was harder to resist the urge of pining her under his body and take her. His wolf was constantly fighting with him, protesting against leaving his mate, and scowling at him for not doing something about it.

"I don't want to hurt her." Jongho said.

"You won't. And honestly if you ask me, she probably wants it just as much as you do." Mingi assured him.

Jongho's mind was made up though. He'd tell her one day, but it wouldn't be anytime soon. Right now he had to focus on packing the necessary for his journey out in the woods, far away from Y/N. It was going to be torturous, that much he knew, but at least Y/N would be safe.

Right?

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Y/N let out another heart wrenching sigh as her fingers idly drew unrecognizable shapes on the window. It was currently day two and there was no sign of Jongho. Not a call, a message, nothing to ease her mind or let her know Jongho was all right.... or thinking about her.

She couldn't help but ponder on why had Jongho been distant lately? Why did he refuse to let her know where he was going? Or for how long? And....the most puzzling thing to her......Why did he not even want to get physically close to her? As if he didn't want to touch her?

Could it be that he was seeing someone else?

Y/N shook her head, trying to get out any dark thoughts that threatened to invade her mind. But it was no use. She felt an agonizing pain in her chest. She started feeling it a while ago, but at that time it was a mere tingle, but now it hurt to the point she felt palpitations and she struggled to breathe at times.

"I need air."

Quickly getting up, she slipped her shoes, jacket and her favorite red scarf that Jongho had gifted her on their 6 month anniversary. Making sure to lock the door behind her, she looked out at the outstretched path that led to the forest near the town and started making her way inside it. When she first moved in with Jongho, she was scared by the close proximity of it. She often thought about scenarios involving kidnappings or murders. However Jongho loved taking walks through it, and he often surprised her with midnight picnics. So she grew to see the beauty of the dense trees, rustling of leaves and the tiny creatures that often skimmed past her feet. And she especially learned to love observing the omnipotent moon. For some reason it was calming and soothing to see it, shining brightly in contrast to the dark indigo night sky, accompanied by the glittering stars spread here and there.

And that's what she wanted to do right now. She strolled through the all too familiar path she often took, giggling softly whenever a rabbit or fox rushed past her. She looked at the setting sun, signaling it'd almost be completely covered and would soon be replaced by its nightly counterpart. Once she reached her favorite spot, in the form of a huge rock, she dusted off a few leaves and dirt before sitting down on it. Taking out her phone, she held it up to snap a quick picture of the horizon to send to Jongho. Maybe he'd respond to her and she'd at least get a word from him.

She heard some bushes rustle behind her but she didn't pay attention to it. It was probably another animal. But when she heard a branch snap harshly, she paused to listen more carefully. Her thumb quickly pressed the flip camera switch on her phone. Tilting her phone slightly, she looked at her own image on the phone and examined what was behind her.

Fear fell over her as she noticed a large tawny colored canine bearing its fangs at her. It seemed to have noticed or sensed her apprehension since it began snarling at her and edging closer and closer. Taking a deep breath, she quickly got up and ran as fast as she could. She didn't dare look back but based on the bark-howl she heard behind her, she knew it was chasing after her. She looked around at the trees, hoping to spot one easy enough for her to climb. Shifting to the left, she hurdled over a log, slightly tripping, but managing to get up as quickly as possible. She kept running even though she could no longer hear the animal chasing after her. Perhaps she lost it?

Big no.

She felt something lunge at her from the side, knocking her to the ground. She thrusted her elbow behind her, effectively directing the wolf's face away from her as it let out a pained whine. Then she kicked its abdomen, forcing its weight off her. She hoped it did enough damage to let her get away and it briefly did. She only got a few meters away though when she let out a yelp when she felt sharp teeth dig into her leg. She held her hands out to prevent her face from hitting the ground as she toppled forward. She cried out in pain as the beast dragged her back to god knows where. Y/N tried to kick itself face with her other leg, but it was no use. Her hands aimlessly claw at the dirt beneath her, trying to desperately clutch onto something. She began tearing up and screaming her lungs out. For some reason, her mind urged to suddenly cry out:

"Jongho!"

She thought she was as good as dead when she felt the wolf's mouth detach itself from her bloody leg. She heard what sounded like a struggle behind her. Using what little strength she had left, she turned herself onto her back and widened her eyes when she saw a dark amber colored wolf fight off her attacker. This one was noticeably larger and bulkier in size. It lunged at the other wolf, going for its neck and pining it underneath him. The tawny wolf bit at the other's leg, halting his assault on him enough for him to escape from his clutches. They stood in front of each other, the tawny wolf getting ready to attack when the amber wolf began howling. His howl was soon followed by what sounded like 3 or more wolves, signaling they were on their way. Knowing he'd be outnumbered, the tawny wolf let out a low grumble as he began sauntering away before the others came.

Y/N panted heavily. She gasped and began retreating when the amber wolf came closer to her. She tried to lift herself up, but her injured leg made her fall back into the ground.

"Ow!" She clutched her leg, hissing from the pain.

Y/N didn't dare move, afraid of this wolf doing something to her as it stood right in front of her. She heard it let out a tiny whimper and watched in surprise and confusion as it examined her wound, nudging its nose against her ankle. It looked right back at her and for some time she didn't feel afraid. There was some sort of familiarity and comfort in the wolf's dark brown orbs that looked at hers with intensity.

"Are.....are you...if you're going to kill me just get it over with..." She felt stupid for her words and even more stupid for even believing that creature could understand her.

But he did.

The wolf looked down before looking back at her. Y/N widened her eyes as the wolf began to morph right in front of her eyes. Its fur replaced by light tanned skin, paws replaced by strong, muscular arms, until in front of her stood an all too familiar face and familiar eyes that she had been missing for a while.

"J-Jongho?" She gasped out, her hand flying to cover her mouth at what she just saw.

"Uh....hi Y/N." He awkwardly replied, his hands trying to cover himself protectively as he was standing in front of her all nude.

Whether it was the adrenaline that was still rushing through her, her injured leg that was pouring crimson blood, the shock of seeing her lover transform in front of her, or a mix of all, Y/N's head began to get dizzy and before she knew it, she had passed out right there.

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"Will she be ok?" "She'll be fine, the bite wasn't that deep. Luckily." "Why hasn't she woken up?" "Give her time. Her kind don't heal as fast as we do." "Stop fretting. She'll wake up soon enough."

Y/N could hear hushed whispers around her. Slowly, she fluttered her eyes open, trying to adjust to the light. She looked up and saw 4 strange faces looking at her.

"Y/N? Baby? Are you ok?"

She looked to her right when she felt someone take her hand. It turned out to be none other than Jongho, who was watching her closely anticipating her reaction.

Y/N let out a high pitched scream when she remembered the events of the night before. Jongho, as well as the others covered their ears, which were extremely sensitive.

"You! Last night! At the woods! You you you....." She sputtered out incoherently, not knowing if what she saw last night was real or not. Was she going insane?

"See? If you had told her from the beginning, this whole situation could have been avoided." A tall male with red hair shook his head disappointedly in Jongho's direction.

"Now is not the time for the 'I told you so' speech." Another male, with platinum blonde hair spoke up.

"How are you feeling sweetheart?"

A girl with ebony hair directed her attention to Y/N, pressing her palm against her forehead to feel her temperature. Y/N relaxed under the girl's touch, making her feel more calm.

"I....don't know...what's going on? Who are you? Jongho-"

"Shhh." The girl rested her hands on Y/N's shoulders, keeping her from getting up when she began shifting. She continued:

"It's ok. We're not going to hurt you little one. Please relax and let us attend to your wounds."

She looked over at the tiny ginger haired girl standing next to the tall male.

"Hana, get the water and medicine ready. You three." She pointed to the males. "Shoo. You're terrifying the poor child."

"But Noona-" Jongho protested.

"I know you want to stay by her side Jongho, but she's gone through a lot. Leave her to us. I promise we'll take care of her." The girl told him.

Jongho seemed to struggle to obey her orders. He looked over to the platinum blonde male, who signaled him to follow him and the other male out of the room. Jongho sighed and looked over at Y/N. Without thinking, he leaned in and tenderly kissed her forehead, which made Y/N's heart flutter. Whispering an 'I love you' to her, he went over to the door, taking one final look at his mate before shutting it behind him.

"I'm really sorry about all this. You must have had such a scare last night." The ebony haired girl smiled softly at her, brushing some stray hairs out of Y/N's face.

"Who are all of you?" Y/N repeated her previous question.

The girl tilted her head down at Y/N.

"My name is Aurora. My friend here is Hana." She introduced herself.

"Hello." Hana spoke up for the first time, her voice matching her tiny frame.

"The two men you saw before are our mates, Hongjoong and Mingi." Aurora continued her explanation.

"Mates?" Y/N furrowed her eyebrows.

"I guess the term your kind use might be... boyfriend? Spouse? Lover? Depending on the situation?" Hana tried to help her comprehend.

"My kind...?" Y/N looked back and forth between them. "What exactly are you?"

Aurora and Hana looked at each other, with Hana urging Aurora to take the lead.

"We're.......wolves." She simply answered.

"Wolves?" Y/N asked, as if the events from last night didn't serve as a big hint.

"I'll explain as much as I can while we attend to your wound." Aurora smiled warmly at her, making Y/N feel at ease with them.

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Y/N learned so much about Jongho and the others in the days that they stayed to attend to her while she healed from her injury. She learned that Hongjoong, the platinum blonde male, was the Alpha of the pack, and Aurora was his Luna, which explained why she had such a motherly nature to her, even though she was only a few years older than Y/N herself. Mingi, who frightened her at first with his tall build and stoic face, was the pack's Beta. He was so different from his mate, Hana, who was small and on the timid side, but was extremely helpful and hard working.

Then there was Jongho, whom she found out was the lead warrior in their pack. It didn't seem that shocking to her when she found out. He was extremely strong and skilled. He kept his distance at the beginning, afraid of scaring her more than he already did. But Hana went up to him one night, urging him to go talk to Y/N, telling him that she was yearning for him.

Instantly, Jongho sped to her room, where Y/N was waiting for him. She pouted at him and made grabby hands towards him, which he couldn't refuse. He embraced her tightly, inhaling her scent that he had missed so much. His wolf inwardly howled, happy to feel his mate's touch and affection once again.

"Y/N I'm really sorry for keeping all this from you. I was afraid-"

Y/N silenced him with a kiss, unable to hold herself back. She pulled away enough to say:

"Don't apologize. I understand why you did it and I want to tell you, it's ok. I'm not afraid anymore. I'm just happy you're back here with me...."

Biting her lip, she admitted shyly:

"I missed you."

Jongho blurted and grinned.

"I missed you two love."

He pecked her lips several times, both of them letting out soft giggles every now and then when their noses would accidentally bump against each other's.

Once her leg was healed enough, the rest of the party deemed it fit for them to leave. After all, it was still mating season and no doubt it would be best to have them be alone for a while. Y/N hugged Aurora and Hana goodbye, both of them making her promise that she'd keep in touch with them, which she readily agreed to.

Everything seemed to go back to normal for Jongho and Y/N, although she did felt him to still be a little tense around her. But now she knew why. She recalled the conversation she had with Aurora when she confided in her that she believed for a moment that Jongho was seeing someone else, which Aurora promptly refuted.

"Once a wolf finds his or her mate, they are loyal for life." She told her.

That was how she explained to her that Jongho was simply fighting his urges to mate with her.

"How do wolves mate?" Y/N asked her.

"Well...you know.." Aurora made a circle with one of her hands and began inserting a finger with her other hand, making both her and Y/N burst out giggling.

"You mean it's just sex?" Y/N tried to understand.

"Technically yes...but you see. He's going to want to mark you, symbolising his ownership over you and making your bond official. And there's the case of knotting..."

When Aurora explained the knotting process to her, Y/N's eyes nearly bulged out. Hesitantly she asked:

"So...does it hurt?"

Aurora quickly shook her head. "No. Well I guess for your kind it might be a little uncomfortable, but trust me. Jongho would never allow you to be in pain. Just leave it all to him. He knows what he's doing."

Ever since then, Y/N had been very curious about mating with Jongho. More than curious. The more she thought about it, the more aroused she began to feel as she pictured his thick length inside her, which she had actually already seen. She blushed every time she recalled when she saw him naked, standing in front of her with his glorious body, her hands going in between her thighs, rubbing tentatively at them.

Jongho was suffering because of it. He could feel and smell her pheromones. It was affecting him deeply. The close proximity to her wasn't of great help either, as neither was his wolf.

"What are you waiting for? Can't you smell her? Our mates sweet and delicious scent? She wants it and so do we! Do something about it!"

"No! It's not time yet! She's not ready!" Jongho tried to protest.

"It's the perfect time you fool! The moon will be full tonight and she's more than ready. She's in prime heat. You know what that means."

Jongho decided to shut out his wolf, refusing to listen to him anymore. He was not about to lose his self control.

But Y/N wasn't making it any easier. All day she had been teasing Jongho, either by doing seemingly innocent things that had double meanings or simply by touching him out of nowhere. Jongho simply wanted to get through the night unbothered, but Y/N wasn't having any of it.

Tired of him not picking up on her hints, she straddled him when they both got into bed.

"Y/N, what are you?-"

She cut him off when she kissed him desperately, as her hips grinded down on him, making him moan into her mouth.

"Jongho.... please just mate me." She fluttered her eyes at him, her bottom lip out in a pout, causing Jongho to swallow harshly.

"What are you waiting for? You're just going to leave her there when she's yearning for us? You're even more foolish than I thought." His wolf reprimanded him.

"Y/N...please don't- oh my god."

Jongho let out a groan when Y/N's mouth attached to his neck, which was extremely sensitive. Y/N began kissing and suckling at a particular spot that sent shivers down his spine.

"You like that? Are you enjoying it Jongho?" She whispered teasingly in his ear, chuckling when she felt him let out a hiss.

"Well if you won't mark me, I'll mark you. I'll make sure to mark you very prettily. " She giggled.

Y/N squealed when Jongho harshly gripped her hips and pulled her off him. She gasped sharply when he pinned her down on the bed, his hands holding her wrists down above her head.

"Listen to me very carefully my lovely mate. You don't get to mark me. Only I get to mark you. Got it?"

Jongho's dominant tone turned her on more than she already was. She quickly nodded and let out a tiny 'yes'. Smirking he leaned down and kissed her jaw and neck, trailing sloppy kisses across it as his large hands began to roam around her body. Sliding under the silk fabric of her pajama shirt, they began fondling her breasts. He cupped and squeezed them, his fingers occasionally pinching her sensitive nipples, making Y/N squeak whenever he did.

Jongho chuckled as he tore the flimsy fabric with his bare hands, tossing the now ruined clothing on the floor. He picked up right where he left off, his mouth quickly attaching to one of her breasts. Y/N arched her back, prompting Jongho to take more of her in his mouth. Her hands clutched at his hair when his mouth began moving south. He smirked as he pulled back the elastic band of her shorts, releasing it and letting it snap against her skin, the slight sting making her clench around nothing.

"Stop playing around and get down to it man! Can't you feel she wants us inside her now?"

"You'll get your fun soon. Right now, I'm having my little fun with her."

Jongho maintained eye contact with her as his fingers hooked on each side of her shorts.

"You know.....I'd like to take this opportunity to tell you... I always hated this pajama set."

Without warning, he ripped her shorts and panties apart as if it was a mere piece of paper. The cool breeze the she felt in her wet core had Y/N clenching her thighs together, slightly rubbing against each other. Jongho tapped her ankle that wasn't bandaged.

"Open." He ordered her.

Y/N slowly slid her legs open, allowing him to peer down at her completely exposed body. Jongho suppressed a moan as his wolf howled inside him.

"God our mate is beyond beautiful."

For the first time in a while, Jongho actually agreed with him. He took the opportunity to use one of his hands to glide up her inner thighs. His fingers collected some of the slick from her folds before he brought them up to his lips, licking it off, making Y/N blush intensely and look away from such a dirty scene.

Jongho's hand gripped her chin to make her look up at him.

"Don't look away love. I want you to keep your eyes on me the entire time. Ok?"

"Y-yes..." She replied.

Y/N watched in anticipation as Jongho began to remove his clothing. Her breath hitched when she gazed once again upon his muscly and toned arms. And she could not look away when he freed his cock that she'd been fantasizing about lately. It looked bigger than what she remembered, probably because right now it was wanting to be inside her, to fill her up with his cum.

Jongho stroked himself and looked at Y/N

"Are you sure about this love? If you want to back out, I won't stop you." He reminded her, prompting his wolf to snarl grudgingly at him.

Y/N leaned up and pecked his lips.

"Mark me my mate."

With those 4 words, Jongho no longer had any doubts. He hovered his body on top of Y/N's, his hand cupping her chin as he kissed her softly. His other hand aligned his cock against her entrance. Getting the head in, his hand then moved to the back of her left thigh, to steady her body as he began pushing the rest of his length inside her. Both released a series of low moans at the newly found feeling. Jongho resisted the urge to start pounding into her, remembering she wasn't as strong as he was, letting her get adjusted to his size.

He gave an experimental roll of his hips, to test if she was ready.

"Ah Jongho!- d-do that again." Y/N asked him.

Jongho complied to her wish and began repeating the same movement from before. His hand moved between their bodies, rubbing at her clit to help stimulate her even further. Y/N threw her head back and moaned even louder. Aurora was right: Jongho definitely knew what he was doing.

She felt something start to build up on the pit of her stomach, and while Jongho was already doing an amazing job, Y/N's body was begging for more.

"Jong- Jongho?"

Jongho slowed down, thinking she was feeling uncomfortable or in pain.

"Yes love?" He asked, completely halting his movements which made Y/N start fussing.

"Don't stop! Go faster!" She whined as she rolled her hips, trying to desperately get the feeling from before back.

Jongho hesitated, silencing his wolf which was encouraging him to be a little rougher with her.

"Jongho!" Y/N's cry of anguish snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Please..... fuck me." She pleaded with tears brimming in her eyes.

Jongho widened his eyes at her use of such foul language. But the way she was practically begging him to ruin her....he could no longer resist. His hands gripped her waist as his snapped up against hers, his cock hitting back and harder on the spot that made Y/N turn into a whimpering mess.

"Yes! Right there! Oh my god!" She cried out in pleasure.

Jongho felt her walls tightening against his cock. God it felt so amazing. He internally cursed himself for having waited so long to claim her as his. He couldn't wait to mark her, to swell up inside her and fill her up with his semen.

"Jongho.. I'm close." She warned him.

"It's ok. Go ahead love." His hand stroked her cheek, assuring her it was ok.

Jongho clenched his teeth when she felt him tighten on him. The feeling was overwhelming and Y/N's body writhing underneath him, chanting his name as she came, only served to pull him closer to the edge. His hands went to grab Y/N's, intertwining their fingers as he felt himself swelling inside her. Y/N let out a tiny whimper at the foreign feeling, shutting her eyes.

"Hey baby, look at me. It's ok. I promise it won't last long." Jongho comforted her as he continued to thrust in and out of her.

Once he felt himself swell up completely, he halted his movements when his knot began releasing his cum inside of her.

"Fuck! Oh my!" Jongho grunted at the blissful feeling as his body collapsed on top of Y/N's.

They both panted heavily, trying to come down from their highs, beads of sweat dripping down both of their foreheads. Jongho stayed inside her for a few minutes, wanting to let his knot go down before pulling out of her. He knew how painful it could be for both of them, but especially Y/N if he pulled out when his knot was still swollen.

He took the opportunity to kiss at the nape of her neck. Y/N shuddered when she felt his fangs come out.

"My mate....all mine." Jongho whispered softly against her skin.

Y/N inhaled sharply when Jongho bit down on her flesh. It definitely wasn't as painful as she thought it'd be. It hurt but it was a pleasurable kind of pain. Jongho pulled back and stared at the mark he left, feeling proud and accomplished with his work. Retracting his fangs, he licked around the bruised spot to soothe it and placed a loving kiss afterwards.

"How does it look?" Y/N asked, her hand reaching to touch where he bit.

"It's beautiful." He answered, nuzzling his nose against hers.

He pulled out of her and layed next to her, realization hitting him that he had finally mated the love of his life. Jongho wouldn't keep the cheerful smile that overtook his features. Rolling over, he pulled Y/N against him so her back was pressed to his chest and kissed her shoulder. She hummed softly when he began drawing shapes on her arm.

"What are you thinking about?" She turned to look at him.

"How insanely happy I am to have you." Jongho smiled adoringly at her.

"Are you?" She giggled.

"I am. I love you." Jongho confessed, kissing her lips softly and squeezing her closer to his body.

"I love you too Jongho." Y/N returned his statement.

Jongho began to poke at the freshly made mark, making Y/N snort.

"Are you proud of yourself?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Can you tell?" Jongho giggled.

"Is everything scratched off your wolf bucket list now?" She joked.

Jongho hummed, pretending to think about it for a bit.

"Almost..."

"Almost?" Y/N tilted her head in curiosity.

Jongho snickered as he replied:

"All that's left now is to impregnate you with my pups."

Y/N's head snapped to look at him in complete shock that he said that. Jongho began laughing at her reaction, making Y/N slap his arm.

"Choi Jongho! Don't scare me like that!" She exclaimed.

"Oh come on, don't frown too much at the idea. I think you'll look absolutely adorable with your belly swollen from carrying our babies inside you." He cooed at her.

"Well there's plenty of time for that in the future." She said.

"Yeah.....plenty of time indeed." Jongho teased as he shifted his body so she could feel exactly what he meant.

Y/N looked at him incredulous when she felt him poke against her thigh.

"Jongho! What the hell?! You're up already?"

"Hey don't blame me love. It is mating season."

Wiggling his eyebrows, his hand moved to lift her leg up a little so he could easily slip his cock inside her again.

"And like you said, we have plenty of time."

Y/N giggled at his words.

"How long exactly does this mating season last?"

Jongho shrugged.

"It changes every year. Maybe a week, maybe a month. I'm not exactly sure..... one thing's for sure though..."

With one swift move, Jongho slipped himself inside Y/N once again. Smirking down at her, he continued:

"We're not sleeping anytime soon my precious mate."

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dreaming-about-fanfictions · 5 years ago

Text

The Balcony - Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Summary: Of playing games with each other and meeting in your favorite spot in the castle at midnight. 18+

A/N: So tumblr decided to delete my story the last time I posted this -.- So here I go again. Also, fyi, this is my first time writing smut :D Enjoy <3

Words: 3481 Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x female!Reader Warnings: smut smut smut. Princess!Reader (again, lol).

You see him first.

He is standing on the balcony, looking out into the night. His arms are propped up on the balustrade, a glass of wine resting next to him. His composure is relaxed and he seems to feel at ease. An unusual sight.

You know who he is. Everyone does. The Witcher, people had whispered in the corridors, the Witcher is coming. To you, he was nothing more than a myth up until three days ago. Childhood stories, the handmaiden told you, to keep you from running into the woods alone. When you grew to be a woman, you forgot about them, thinking they were a mixture of exaggeration and fear. However, when he walked into the great hall with long strides and planted a kiss on your hand, your impression changed. He is everything they say.

You observe him, wondering what brings him out here this summer night. The chamber is far away from the guest wing and hasn’t been used in years. You are the only one who still comes up occasionally to sit on the balcony, listening to the howling of the wind and the rustling of leaves from the nearby forest. It comforts you in a strange way, makes you forget your life at court with all its intrigues, politics and bloodshed.

A soft breeze wafts through the room, moving the old heavy curtains ever so slightly. You shiver as your nipple harden against the soft fabric of your nightgown. It is the only thing you wearing. After all, you didn’t expect others to see you.

In this moment, the bell from the high tower sounds. Midnight. It takes you off guard and causes you to breath in sharply. He hears you and tilts his head almost inconceivably. Almost.

You bite your lip, contemplating your next move. The well-behaved royal daughter inside you tells you to leave. Turn around and go back to your room. Fall asleep and wonder if this encounter has only been a dream. The other daughter, the one who sneaks around the castle at midnight, wonders what will happen if you approach him. You decide to listen to her.

It takes you another three seconds to muster up the courage before you start walking towards the balcony, your bare feet making no sound on the cold stone. Outside the wind blows softly and goosebumps appear on your arms – a cloak would have been a good idea. You stand next to him, nervously fidgeting with the cloth of your gown. “Witcher.”

He does not acknowledge your presence, keeping his eyes fixated on the woods. You ask yourself if he sees something out there that stays hidden from you. After a moment, he grabs his wine and takes a sip and carefully places it back on the balustrade. “Princess Y/N.”

You nearly shudder by the way your name rolls of his tongue.

“How did you find this chamber?”

Again, he takes his time to answer. “Couldn’t sleep,” he finally says.

“Doesn’t answer my question,” you respond.

“Hmm.” The Witcher takes another sip of the dark wine.

Disappointment and confusion dwells up inside of you. He irritates you, as you are not used to people talking to you like in that manner. Or not talking, in his case. Almost pouting you try a third time: “Why did you choose to come up here? There are other balconies, closer to your chambers.”

For the first time since you stepped outside, he looks at you. He’s beautiful. It is impossible to read his expression as he is eyeing you up, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on your chest. Suddenly, you become aware of the transparency of your nightgown and your cheeks flush. You clear your throat nervously and cross your arms.

The corners of his lips move upwards a little and he meets your eyes again. “You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you reply a little louder than necessary to chase away the nervousness. “More than that, I’m the princess of this kingdom so I can order you to answer me if you choose to stay silent.” In your head, this sentence had sounded strong and confident. In reality however, it has more resemblance with a spoiled, overreacting, defiant child.

The Witcher seemingly has the same impression and raises his eyebrows.

You keep staring at him. It is too late to take the statement back so you might as well go with it.

“Do it then.”

“What?” A little bewildered you uncrossed your arms.

“Order me,” Geralt demands.

“You want me to order you?”

“That is what I said, yes,” he shrugs.

He’s playing with me, the thought shoots through your mind. “Alright then,” you straighten your composure and he mimics it. Now, Geralt of Rivia towers over you. You have to look up to him and the same feeling of irritation that you felt just moments before resurfaces. “I demand to know how you found this place and why you’re here.”

His lips twitch again and you realize, he’s suppressing another smile. “I’m here because I had a hard time falling asleep. In moments like this, I enjoy taking a walk. Instead of going outside, I decided to come here.”

You ponder shortly about the reason for his restlessness. Is it the full moon, shining too brightly, or simply nightmares? Does the Witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken, even experience such a mundane thing as nightmares? Do the monsters and people he kills on his way through the continent haunt him sometimes?

He continues to talk and pulls you out of your thoughts. “As to why I’m here, it’s a more … delicate story,” for a reason unknown, his voice becomes even lower.

You are intrigued. “Try me.”

“I saw this balcony while walking through the forest two nights ago.” A smirk appears on his face.

It clicks right away with you. Oh. Your cheeks flush, embarrassment taking over. You know what he is hinting at and close your eyes to gather your thoughts. Oh no. When you open them again, the smirk was still plastered on his face.

“You don’t know what you saw, Witcher.”

He chuckles. “Oh, I think I do, Y/N.”

There it is again – the shiver running down your spine as he pronounces your name with his sharp rivian accent. Absent-minded, you lick over your lips.

“How dare you watch –“

“I didn’t. Not for long anyways.”

You are doubtful whether to believe him. “You can hang for this.” Factually true. What he did was worthy of the death sentence.

“Princess,” Geralt takes a step towards you. Firewood and leather, you smell and it makes you feel dizzy. He lowers his head, mere inches separating you. “If you want to see me hang, you have to give reason to the king.” Factually true as well. “Please allow me to witness that particular conversation.”

“Fucking jerk,” you blurt out. How does he do it? How does he make you feel like a sixteen-year-old girl who has never talked to a boy before? You are a princess, damn beautiful and even more powerful. No man has the right to take your control away like this and leave you breathless, desperately looking for words. Especially not a Witcher.

He smiles and lowers his head a little further. “I know.”

His lips are now so close to yours they would probably touch when you said another word. You can sense the warmth radiating from his body and his eyes watching you intensly, observing every movement of your face. You are blissfully aware of what he wants in this moment, what he craves. Quickly you become aware that there might be certain things he still has in common with other men and now you are the one with the smirk on your lips. The Witcher notices it, yet reads your reaction wrong and faintly brushes his fingers against the side of your body. It’s all your body needs. A tingling sensation and your breath hitches. He takes it as a another sign and parts his lips and …

… you take a step backwards. As if someone woke him up from a daydream, he regains his composure, a hint of bewilderment running over his face.

“Careful, Witcher,” you reprimand him. “Don’t forget who’s standing in front of you.”

Having the control of the situation was what you wanted – now you have it. Not without shooting him a last mocking smile, you turn around and walk away with your head held high. Left on the balcony in a chilly summer night is a dumbfounded Witcher, watching you exit the room and disappear into the dark corridor.

***

Over the next day, Geralt of Rivia leaves the castle with his bard. He is looking for the reason he traveled to the kingdom in the first time – a beast that already slaughtered half a dozen villagers.

He leaves early in the morning and as you pass him in the hall, you do not look at him. The back of your hand brushes against his, quickly, teasingly, as if you accidentally walked by too close. You feel his eyes on you and smile when he is out of sight.

When he returns in the evening, he announces his success. The monster is dead and the king and queen want to celebrate, so they order the staff to cook the finest dishes and bring out the best wine. He declines but four hours pass and the festivities start. People are dancing, drinking, and his companion sings of the Witchers latest victory.

At one point, Geralt is leaning against a pillar, drink in hand. He watches the crowd, seemingly bored, when his eyes trail in your direction and meet yours. This time, you don’t look away. The music and chatter around you start to blur as the two of you keep watching each other. Your fingers play with the heavy necklace resting against your bosom and he follows them as though he is captivated by the sight.

A glass falling, shattering and spilling its content all over the ground ultimately brings you back to reality. You break the eye contact and abruptly stand up.

“I’m tired, please excuse me,” you mumble, unsure if someone hears you.

***

One hour later, you are standing on the balcony again.

When you had left the party you were honest in wanting to go to sleep. So back in your chambers, you changed out of your dress into your nightgown, undid your hair and laid down. However, something keeps you awake and it is not possible to fall asleep. You toss and turn and for whatever reason finally decide to come back up here.

It is not as quiet tonight as you are used to. People from the party keep coming out for a breath of fresh air and guards are patrolling the gardens. You watch them silently.

“Figured I’d find you here.”

You don’t flinch or wince at the low voice sounding from the dark room behind you, having expected him to come here.

The door falls shut and a sense of excitement flows through you. His steps come closer until you feel him standing directly behind you. His hot breath touches the skin of your neck and a shiver runs down your spine.

“Why did you choose to come up here? There are other balconies closer to your chamber,” Geralts voice is nothing more than a whisper.

You smile softly. “Couldn’t sleep,” you murmur, repeating his words from last night.

“Hmm…”

His hand is resting on your hip now, only the thin fabric of your gown separating him from your skin. The touch makes your heart pound faster and the same tingling sensation, you had felt before, appears.

“Y/N,” he whispers in your ear. “Tell me, I’m not reading this wrong …”

“This?”

With a swift movement he spins you around and presses you up against the balustrade. You draw a sharp breath of air in surprise and are not sure if it’s the cold metal from his belt that causes your nipples to get hard or the way his hands hug your hips.

“This,” he repeated himself, his voice hoarse and his eyes as dark as the night sky.

Maybe it was the way your lips parted or that you tilted your head or how you moved your hips forward slightly – either way, Geralt realizes that he is not reading anything wrong at all and kisses you.

Finally.

The kiss is rough and demanding and you feel the need to grab him by his jacket to hold on to him. One of his hands cups your face and his tongue slips in your mouth. He is possessive and you feel as if he tries to claim you, tries to make him his. Suddenly Geralt lifts you up onto the balustrade and you immediately wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him even closer. The ground is thirty feet beneath you and you do not care for dying this way.

“I got you,” he whispers and groans when you grind your hips against his. “I won’t let you fall.”

He begins kissing down your neck, sucking on the soft skin. It will leave marks, you are sure of it, yet it doesn’t matter. One of his hand reaches your breasts, his thumb flicking over your hard nipples, and you sigh heavily as he plays with them.

“This gown,” he is out of breath when he speaks, “… it drives me crazy.”

You chuckle. “I know…”

A gasp leaves your lips when you hear the loud sound of fabric tearing and feel the wind on your bare skin. He kisses your collarbone and travels down further, his tongue reaching the delicate skin of your breasts, caressing your nipple playfully before closing his mouth around it.

You moan and your head falls back, eyes closed, and then you start pushing his jacket from his shoulders. You want to feel his skin too, touch it, kiss it. When it falls to the ground, you tug at his shirt, your hands sliding underneath it. It’s not enough, you think or maybe you say it out lout because you feel Geralt smiling against your skin.

You grab his belt, opening it, breathing heavily and letting out soft whimpers as he bites and sucks on your skin. When the pants finally spring open, they free his impressive length and the sight of him, hard and dripping for you, makes you shudder. You reach for it, enclosing it, slowly moving your hand up and down. Geralt groans deeply and pulls away to meet your lips. He holds you tightly as the kiss hastens together with the movements of your hands. Your insides twirl at the sounds he makes.

“I need you…” The expression on his face is pure bliss. Eyes closed, mouth opened slightly.

He is a sight for the gods.

“Then take me, Witcher.”

He doesn’t ask a second time and positions himself in front of your wet and throbbing cunt. His hot shaft against your skin, he curses when he feels how wet you are, and every fiber of your body wants him – wants him deep inside of you, filling you completely, fucking you until you forget your own name.

When he finally does, he is not gentle. He enters you with one hard trust and a loud moan escapes your lips. He stretches you far, so far, it almost pains you – and yet it is the most delicious pain you ever felt. You pull him in for another kiss, swallowing another curse from his lips. The moment he starts moving, pleasure overcomes you like a wave and you bite down on his lips so hard you are scared it draws blood. Geralt slides in and out of you, pressing your leg, forcing it to spread open even wider. You gasp at the new angle and your muscle clench around him. The two of you are panting heavily, groaning and curses fill the silence of the night.

It doesn’t take long and you feel a familiar heat start arousing in your body. Spots appear in front of your eyes and you scratch his back in an attempt to feel him closer to you.

“Oh, fuck – you fill me so good!” You are so close, so damn close –

The Witcher stops moving abruptly and you whimper, demanding to know what he think he’s doing. He doesn’t give you an answer and instead places a hand over your mouth.

“Quiet,” he murmurs into your ear between heavy breathing. “There are people outside.”

Only now you hear them talking, merely a few feet beneath. Guests from the festivities, you figure. Frustrated, you try to bite his calloused fingers covering your lips.

“Ah, Princess,” his hoarse voice in your ear makes you twitch and as you roll your hips against him, his breath hitches. “You don’t want them to see you like this, do you? Hot, sweaty, filled by my thick cock –“

You moan against his fingers.

He looks at you in surprise, a teasing smile on his lips. “Or maybe you do?” Slowly, he begins to move again. The pace is pure torture and your hips rock up, begging him to take you. He moans in your ear. “Does it turn you on, Princess? Letting me fuck you like this, making you beg and quiver underneath me and for the whole world to see?” Every other word is punctuated by hard thrusts and your whimpers.

“Is this why I saw you touching yourself three nights ago?” Geralt fucks you harder and faster, the sound of naked bodies smacking against each other filling the air. You don’t think it’s possible but his words make you even wetter, your slick juices running down your leg.

“Who was the man you thought about when I saw you, Y/N?” Now it’s not a simple question anymore, it’s a demand. “Who made you cum like that?” He is ordering you to answer him and it turns you on beyond imagination.

He removes his hand to steady himself on the balustrade and you moan so loudly that if anyone is still standing underneath the balcony, they definitely heard you now. However, your mind isn’t occupied with that particular concern.

“You,” you admit breathlessly. “I thought about you … touching me … taking me …” It’s the truth. It was the day you met him for the first time and the handsome Witcher wouldn’t leave your mind. So you came up here, unaware someone was watching you. When you touched yourself that night, you thought about what he would do to you. How he would take you, where he would kiss you. Yet, your imagination did not even come close to the way he feels inside you right now.

“Gods,” he groans, losing all control, fucking you violently, taking you as he pleases. You repeat his name over and over again, begging him not to stop, to never ever stop. Then your legs start shaking and you hear him calling out your name before you come all over his cock, muscles clenching around him. A wave of heat and pleasure hits you, taking over your body and mind and you cling onto him desperately, his name still on your lips. He follows shortly after, cursing and releasing himself inside of you.

Your breath trembles as you ride out the last waves of your orgasm and he keeps holding you close and safe in his arms.

After a few seconds or minutes, you truly are not sure, you plant a soft kiss on his shoulder. Geralt looks up, his breathing slowing down, and he pushes a strand of hair out of your face. A smile appears on his face. “I must say, I’ve come to understand what you like about this balcony.”

You snort. “It’s still my balcony,” you claim cheekily.

“Maybe the princess is kind enough to let me visit some times.”

“Maybe,” you lean in for a last kiss. It is sweet this time. Sweet and – in a way – loving. “If you behave yourself.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promises. Then he carefully pulls out of you and you sigh softly before you slide down the balustrade.

Geralt dresses himself, picking his jacket up from the ground, but when you attempt to do the same you see what is left of your dress. It isn’t much. “How am I supposed to get to my chambers now? Naked?”, you propose sarcastically.

His eyes travel up and down your bare skin at the question as he buttons up his pants and he licks his lips. “Maybe not at all,” he suggests seductively, a teasing smirk on his lips and you both laugh when he lifts you up and carries you inside the chamber.

Nearby, the old bell in the high tower sounds. Midnight.

***

For the sake of the story, imagine the balustrade of the balcony to be rather wide :D

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shroomcult · 4 years ago

Link

@soulxmakaweek

Got a little carried away with this one, so I’m posting it a bit later in the day. If people enjoy it, I’ll likely write a part two for this. I got some ideas rattling around in my head for some fluff to soothe the angst - just want to focus on trying to finish the rest of the prompts first. Anyways, hope yall enjoy!

Day 3: Protect

It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out mission. The Kishin egg that had been terrorizing a small mountain town in Kazakhstan was at a relatively low threat level due to the small number of souls it had consumed.

It was once known by friends and family by the name of Erasyl when it was a human - a large, mild-mannered and hard-working man who often kept to himself. No one could understand what had caused him to go down the path that he did, but after consuming the souls of six innocent people over the course of a few months, Erasyl no longer resembled anything close to a human.

One of the creature’s massive arms came swinging at Maka’s unprotected side, flinging her body several feet in the air and smashing through what was left of a window and out into the blustery night air.

She was somewhat relieved to take the battle outside of the cramped quarters of the dilapidated sawmill building they had been fighting in. The lumber yard was something of an obstacle course strewn with old, rusted equipment she’d have to be careful to avoid tripping over, but at least she had more room to move about.

She wasn’t too enthused about the way she had landed jarringly on her left shoulder, though. That was sure to hurt in the morning.

“Dammit, Maka! Don’t stay in swingin’ range of that thing for too long. Strike, and move back!” Soul’s tinny voice vibrated in her hands.

Maybe she had lingered in close quarters of her opponent for a little too long, but she was becoming worn-out from the unexpected length of the battle and a little tired of her partner’s unsolicited coaching.

“It has four arms for death’s sake! It’s hard to dodge every time, okay?!”

“Just be careful, that’s all I’m sayin’. Your frustration is makin’ you reckless,'' he growled. “Head’s up, Big Ugly is comin’ our way,” he added before she had a chance to continue their banter.

She was back on her feet right as it smashed out the remaining bits of glass from the gaping opening of the window and swiftly climbed over the sill. The hand that had been gripping the side of the building had spread a thick layer of ice across the surface, vapor rising from its fingertips. She took quite a few steps back, bringing herself closer to the tree-line of the woods and putting strategic distance between herself and her enemy.

“Hey, you saw that, right? Didn’t think your average Kishin egg would have elemental manipulation powers. Stinks of magic intervention, I’d say.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she replied between breaths.

A Kishin egg with such a low kill-count shouldn’t have been this difficult to defeat. It was uncharacteristically cautious and surprisingly nimble for its imposing size. Now with the discovery of its freezing abilities, she was fearing the possibility of witch involvement. They didn’t have the necessary back-up to be in a situation like that.

She startled at realization that she had no idea what ice powers could do to Soul’s weapon form. It had even attempted to grab him from her multiple times. She would have to be more careful to avoid letting it touch her weapon.

The troll-like monster only took a few ground-tremoring steps before it halted, still quite a bit of feet away from her. Its eyes were pure white making it impossible to truly identify where its gaze was held, but it craned its neck to the side, ears twitching, searching for something. She got the distinct feeling that it was staring at something out in the dense forest that surrounded them. It was deathly still. What the hell is it doing?

For some inexplicable reason, the temperature sharply dropped and a chill that had nothing to do with the sudden cold ran through her entire body. It was so quiet, even the harsh winds around them had stilled completely.

“Maka, something is in the woods-”

In the blink of an eye, the beast in front of them lunged forward, dropping to the ground to sprint at her with the use of all of its arms. The air around them began to whip about violently.

She dashed to the left with every ounce of strength she could push into her legs, desperately trying to find some kind of cover - anything to become an obstacle between her and that thing if only for a couple moments. She needed to buy time, think up some kind of advantage that could bring her close enough to it without putting Soul in danger as well.

The sooner they took this bastard down, the sooner they could confront whatever the hell it was that was out there waiting for them.

She dove behind a rusted old flatbed full of lumber, but her enemy was quick on its feet as well and practically materialized in front of her. She swung her scythe in a smooth arc towards its abdomen, causing it to leap to the side reflexively, but not before throwing two of its arms forward.

She ducked down, but soon felt her stomach sink at the realization that it hadn’t been aiming for her at all.

A chain snapped loudly behind her and all of the thick logs that had been held in place on the truck lurched forward from the force of the strike and began tumbling towards her.

She was agile enough to roll to her side, keeping Soul’s handle tucked against her stomach - but the Kishin egg didn’t allow her the opportunity to properly evade.

It smacked one of the falling logs with two of its arms, launching it towards the direction she had flung herself in. While she was able to avoid having her head and torso crushed, it had landed on one of her legs that had outstretched in an attempt to give her an extra push away from hazard.

Searing pain immediately shocked her system and a raw shriek ripped from her throat as she was pinned between the log and the front wheel of the truck.

The beast lurched forward, and she could only watch with wide and teary eyes as she saw a flash of light and the telltale sound of Soul shifting from steel to flesh and bone.

“Soul, don’t!” she cried despite knowing it would fall on deaf ears.

He met the fearsome creature no more than a foot in front of her, blades sprouting forth from all over his body. He had successfully impaled and immobilized the creature’s bottom two arms with the blades poking out of his shoulders, another larger blade sticking from his chest was embedded fatally in its abdomen. His arms were outstretched and grappling with the beast’s two remaining arms, keeping its broad wrists in a vice grip.

Maka took this time to brace herself with elbows digging into the ground as she used a free arm and leg to attempt to roll the log off of her. Thankfully, the log’s state of decay made it somewhat lighter and easier to move, but the blinding pain of it rolling over her already broken shin and off her foot was almost unbearable, causing her to bite down on a scream. She grabbed onto the wheel of the truck for support and made to stand, but the moment her punished leg made slight contact with the ground, she was down on one knee and holding back a sob.

She couldn’t even stand and walk, what could she even do to help him?

He was visibly shaking with the tremendous effort it took to hold the giant brute at bay, and one of its hands was getting dangerously close to his throat. Smokey frost was budding from it’s open palm.

His heels were dug firmly in the dirt, but it pushed him back until he was nearly bumping up against the log she had just pushed herself out from.

It took a considerable amount of energy for him to even maintain this many external blades at a time, but somehow he pushed himself to manifest two more scythes from his trembling arms that sliced through the Kishin egg’s remaining appendages.

The large hand that had been desperately grasping for his throat had icicles hanging off of it, and the blood that had been leaking from its wounds had begun to freeze in place.

Its left arm was dematerializing, breaking down into ribbons of black matter that shortly vanished into air. It was dying, but so slowly.

At this realization, the beast seemed to gain a final burst of energy from its rage. Its jaw unhinged and it let loose a bellowing roar, saliva flinging in all directions. Soul responded with a rasping animalistic shout that likely scraped his throat raw as he bared fangs of his own.

It suddenly jolted against him, sending him backwards in surprise. He bent his knees slightly to avoid tripping over the log behind him and his back slammed into the front cabin of the truck, denting it with the sheer force.

Only the one arm fully remained, but it strained against him, outstretched razor-sharp claws finally making contact with the vulnerable skin of his throat, digging in.

Soul howled in pain, planting both of his hands against its chest and shoving with all the strength he could muster to send the beast stumbling backwards.

Its jaws were gaping open, eyes bulging out of its swollen head, but no sound came out. It dissolved into fleeting inky blackness and vanished before it even had the chance to hit the ground. The glowing red, scaly orb of its soul remained suspended in the air.

Soul only stood there swaying slightly, gulping in breath after shuddering breath before falling to his knees with a thud that brought a cloud of dust from the ground.

“Soul!” she screeched, ignoring the agony that lit up every nerve in her leg as she dragged herself towards his limp body. She caught the back of his head with her hands the moment he collapsed onto his back. The gashes in his throat were brutally deep and blood was welling up, trickling down his neck and soaking his shirt at an alarming speed.

His breathing sounded wet and labored, and his mouth opened and closed a few times before he weakly croaked out her name.

She was removing both of her gloves, placing them against the wound and pressing down in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. One hand held the quickly reddening cloth against his neck while the other stroked his face.

“Don’t say anything else, Soul. Please , please stay with me - you’re going to be okay. W-we’re going to get help, just don’t leave me,” she pleaded, choking on a sob.

He kept his mouth shut, jaw trembling from involuntarily clenching it too hard. His pale brows knit together and his eyes were shining with an emotion that he didn’t have the ability to vocalize. He brought a shaking hand towards her face, so gentle as he tried to brush the tears from hers eyes to no avail as new ones only took their place.

He offered her a tight, apologetic smile. He was blinking sluggishly, the erratic puffs of breath coming from his nose were slowing down, evening out. His hand fell from her face to rest at his side. His eyes finally closed.

Maka’s breathing became frantic and a low wail squeezed out of her tightly clenched throat. The blood had already soaked through both of her gloves and she hastily ripped her coat off to help press against the wounds.

She hadn’t even registered that the winds had stopped again. The air was frigid and her breath formed in thick white puffs in front of her.

She hadn’t dared remove her hands from Soul’s wound, refusing to give up on providing him medical aid. She kept her body close to her weapon, but she looked up when she sensed the presence of another soul emerging from the darkness of the forest. A powerful soul - a witch.

She’d obviously been using soul protect; playing spectator to their battle - but she was done hiding now.

In short time, the witch stepped out from the cover of shadows that the trees once provided her. Barefoot and clad only in a simple white gown, she took silent steps closer and closer to Maka. Frost covered the ground wherever her feet met it.

Her eyes, much like the beast, were entirely white and she had no eyelids to cover them. She was a tall, gaunt woman with a wild mane of black hair that seemed to float eerily behind her. Despite the freezing temperatures surrounding her, fireflies flew around her head like a glowing crown.

“Get the fuck away from him,” Maka snarled like a cornered animal, clutching Soul close to her chest.

The strange witch stopped short only a foot away from her. Something was so unsettling, so otherworldly about her presence.

When she spoke, her voice was ethereal like it was no more than a wisp of wind, so soft yet carrying itself in all directions. She spoke a language that Maka couldn’t understand.

“Please,” Maka whimpered, “Please, do whatever you want with me. Just, let me get him help. Let my Soul live - take me and let him live, I’m begging you.”

The witch regarded her with that same unreadable expression. There was no malice that could be found in her face, but she hadn’t felt kindness present either.

She crouched down to level herself with Maka, and spoke again, but this time in words that she could understand. “You have taken my protector from me. Now, your protector is being taken from you. If the universe wills it, you shall be alone - as I am now alone. We are sisters in this same loss.”

The witch’s gentle words chilled her to her core. She looked up pleadingly into the milky voids of her eyes.

“No - he doesn’t have to be taken from me. He could still live, he’s still breathing. Please.”

The witch nodded once, “Perhaps so. If he does not die today, he shall die another. As it is your nature to seek out battles, it is his nature to protect you from them. His death will not be a peaceful one - this I can promise you. It is not in my hands.”

His pulse was weak, and she could barely feel any air coming from his nose anymore. Time was being wasted on this conversation.

Maka shakily pulled out their portable mirror from Soul’s front pocket, breathing against the glass and smudging the proper number to contact Kid. A trauma team could still be sent in time. She didn’t have to lose Soul despite any cryptic bullshit this woman was espousing.

“Maka? Is your mission completed?” Kid’s voice rang out from the mirror, but she didn’t bother looking at him - or the witch. She kept her eyes on Soul’s face, fingers buried in his hair and stroking his cheek with her thumb.

“I need a trauma team sent out to my location immediately. Soul’s been wounded, and he’s lost a lot of blood. Please hurry,” she mumbled numbly, still refusing to look away from her weapon.

“What?! What’s happened-” he was cut off when she snapped the portable mirror shut.

She leaned down to kiss his forehead, letting her lips linger there.

“You hear that, Soul? We’re getting out of here. I’m not losing you tonight, so don’t you dare let go before they get here,” she whispered against his skin, fresh tears beginning to roll down her cheek.

When she finally looked up, the witch was gone along with the corrupted soul.

The wind was blowing again.

#SoMaWeek2021 #SoulxMakaweek #soul evans #maka albarn #soul eater

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handlewcaare · 4 years ago

Text

It was a rarity in on itself.

Often was it reserved for those who had either: a) lost their wealthy homes, b) lost members who were patrons of the Association’s funds or, c) both, so was the lines he read implied.

He being S-Class, Rank-8 Zombieman. A name he wouldn’t have personally chose, but with the hero almanac constantly updating, he supposed he couldn’t blame them for their hasty decision. What he could was their refutation to see past how fat their wallets would get.

On one hand, his agency attracted more than he anticipated. Civilians from the majority of most populated cities frequented his office when they could. Many of them were average people living average lives, none who could really afford being protected by the H.A. On the other, the cases were relatively the same:

“Could you please kill the monster that ruined my Kabu garden?”

“I-I’ve been feeling like someone’s been stalking me, think you can swing that heavy axe of yours and kill them?”

“I need you to handle my ex-boyfriend. Since the breakup, he turned into this... thing and now he keeps destroying the city.”

From humble private investigative work to monster hunting, if someone told him that was where his life had lead to twenty years ago, he would have scoffed and called them crazy.

While his clothes would often be shredded, stained with copper-scented rose petals or mucus, bile—just about whatever the body secreted really—he couldn’t complain that it was good money he made. It certainly extended his arsenal and sharpened his skills. Though, the concept of empathy was often what made his shadow heavy at his heels.

He wasn’t human, in truth he didn’t know what he was, but the monsters he slaughtered—both in his cases and whatever Sitch had in the roster—were once upon a time. Whether they had a bad breakup, they were forced to surrender their dreams, even if they were on the brink of suicide: they all were once.

It was a wonder that left him awake at night. Was the fault their own or was it his for being the guillotine of their inhumane accomplishments? Could there have been a prevention?

Such a question was answered for when he was tasked to partner with another hero to handle a Demon Level Threat in C-City.

“Just lemme fuckin’ handle it!”

Quite the type for first impressions.

“Metal Bat, it’s really not that simple,” Sitch attempted to hastily state past the adolescent’s obstinate declaration, “we don’t know what kind of monster we’re dealing with—“

“Ya just said it’s a demon threat, yeah?” He barked as he tossed his signature instrument atop of his broad shoulder: a declaration of war, “if it’s got a threat level, I’ll bash its head wide fuckin’ open!”

Hasty planning, eager footsteps out the door, and no dedication for patience; the immortal detective raised a brow as he hastily caught up with the vain delinquent, “what are you in a rush for?”

Whether or not it was the absence of Sitch, there was a distinct growl that weighed the teen’s baritone, “my little sister gotta piano recital an’ I feel like ‘m gonna be late for it.”

“Does Sitch know about this?”

That much evoked a dirty look, “of course, he fuckin’ knows. Why do ya think I mention her every time I’m pulled outta school to attend his bullshit meetin’s?”

The private investigator couldn’t help suppress his own distaste in the form of a stiff upper lip. It was one thing to employ a kid genius who essentially taught his own classes, it was another to employ one who wasn’t. To envision how his grades were would have made just about any parent worried.

“How long do you have?”

“Three hours.”

“Let’s make a bet,” if there was one thing that made quick work, it was heavy hands. Given how silent Metal Bat was, it only egged the detective to resume, “whoever delivers the fatal blow in an hour and thirty minutes wins.”

It certainly piqued the disgruntled brother’s interest, what with his lack of hasty intervention; no dismissive ‘yeah, yeah’ or his steps to punctuate his ignorance. “Wins what?”

“Dunno,” at least the detective was honest, “udon?”

“How about I get yer real name?”

That was a new one. Usually with the gamble came a promise of paid ice cream (usually with Dr. Hajime or Pig God), to share a bottle of sake with (Kamikaze) or have their drink paid for at the nearest pub (One-Shotter came into mind). The inquiry of his name managed to certainly stun the detective.

“I didn’t think you’d want to get to know me.”

“Well, considerin’ we’re gonna be workin’ together, it’s the least I can ask for,” Metal Bat quipped, “ ‘sides, I don’t think ya like bein’ called ‘Zombieman’ .”

“How’d you wager that?” For a moment, he assumed he was dealing with a quick study. It wasn’t uncommon for the hardy, brash types to have some light upstairs.

“Iunno anyone who wants to be called a corpse.”

“...Yeah, okay,” he certainly was on the nose about that one.

it was a reasonable price for a hefty, time-constraint mission. It certainly made his wallet breathe a sigh of relief and they might even make it to the piano recital on time. There was a bit of a lilt in the undead detective’s tone, “would you like to know my dog’s name too?”

The delinquent rolled his eyes, “now yer pushin’ it.”

————————————————————

On the transit to C-City, Metal Bat was as restless as the White Rabbit in Wonderland. In the span of twenty minutes, his knee shook and he frantically glanced at whatever face had numbers on it. More importantly, he held a mannerism that was awfully polite in his strange definition.

Anyone who recognized him would never be met with the snarling dog the detective would see during the meetings. Rather, the delinquent would scrawl his signature along baseballs and sheepishly raise a hand in a small wave when someone took a photo of him. Not once did he bark at any of them, though his brow did twitch with each stop that was not for them.

Once they finally stepped off, the detective practically had to keep in tandem to the storm Metal Bat brewed. “You seem to be popular,” calling him a celebrity would have been an insult.

“Nah,” it was a guttural remark, “just friendly.”

It wasn’t exactly the word Zombieman would have used, but it was close enough to bonafide. He wasn’t overtly friendly nor was he chatting up with his fans. It was brisk and it was momentary; as friendly as strangers could get.

Once they reached past the tournament was it completely barren. It wasn’t the same as the alley the private eye peered through with Dr. Hajime, as it felt vacant; the phantoms could only whisper as loud as the billowing wind.

What was beyond the horizon was an oxen-like creature, his maw gaped into a hellish cry as his eight tails swayed and lashed out tirelessly at the tree trunks in the park. The playground beside it was but a debris of twisted metal and splintered wood.

It was strange to say the least. As short as Zombieman’s presence in the H.A. Was, no monster was without bloodshed. Too often would he be welcomed with the pungent odor of sanguine, be it his own or (worst case) another. There was not a semblance of casualties, no grotesque visage that would prompt him to make Metal Bat look away from.

“I think we—!”

Moments before he could provide his analysis, Metal Bat already charged headfirst after the oxen.

“Ay, Nesquick!”

Nesquick was a good name, given how laconic the beast seemed ready to lash its heavy appendage at the delinquent. Though, it wasn’t without reciprocation when his muscles visibly strained to bat the tendril aside.

Seeking opportunity for the opening, both the detective and the delinquent lunged with both bat and axe in hand. While the oxen had little to no trouble catching both instruments, the howl it emitted wrought a singeing sense of combating emotions: dedication to his work and empathy.

Within that same beat of revelation, the oxen hastily tossed the two heroes aside. Lavender sanguine dribbled heavily from its palms. Had he not landed back first into a gazebo’s rooftop, he probably would have noted the dewdrops of tears budding along the monster’s wrathful gaze.

It wasn’t long for Metal Bat to shoot him a whistle from where he landed in the bush. As coordinated as they were, they both seemed to have a mutual understanding that this wasn’t just another monster for the slaughter. That lingering, dreadful sense of empathy weighed heavy at his shadow.

“Cover me.”

The instant that Metal Bat sprung to his feet was where he used the tendril as a launching pad. The oxen could barely muster a decent swing before a bullet ripped through its hand. What grueling ache of a cry had been interjected by the silver bite of a bat down onto it’s maw. The earth nearly caved into the beast’s weight.

It would have been a victory, had the beast not blindly swatted at Metal Bat. Claws easily ripped through the maroon shirt and part of the overcoat he kept draped over his shoulders. However, not once did the delinquent ceased his relentless blows into the beast’s countenance. Not even as sanguine petals stained his uniform.

The hero almanac declared this as a victory, but there was no valor in it. Not if the delinquent would practically kill himself. Once the detective leapt down from the gazebo’s rooftop, he made the mistake in trying to block another thrashing blow. Under the sheer brevity did his tibia and radius shatter to knock his entire forearm out of joint. However, it was enough to alarm the delinquent out of his barrage.

“The hell are ya doin’ ??”

“He’s down,” that was more than enough for Metal Bat’s reluctance to turn into compliance. Just as when the adolescent readied for an diatribe, the detective grunted when he felt a tendril puncture through the entirety of his torso. His ribs were splayed and the flora of intestines managed to inch their way out from the intrusive appendage.

Oh.

He barely could manage to reach for the machete he had tucked under the collar of his shirt before he sliced the tendril. The howl now caressed a painful chirp under the brevity of his swing.

What hampered him, he couldn’t say. However, as the beast writhed in agony, there was a spiteful strike against its horn by his coorespondent.

“Why the hell did ya stop me?!”

As Zombieman’s fatal wound deliberately regenerated by tissue to organ, he was swift enough to keep the tendrils from penetrating the adolescent. Be it that he was subjected to the stabbings himself or he managed to utilize his dual machetes simultaneously. “Thought you were going too far.”

“Too far?!” The delinquent’s incredulity was presented with a harsh swing that evoked the detective to duck under it. Once the tendril was swatted, he was hasty to fire his desert eagle, “it’s a fuckin’ monster! There ain’t nothing that’s ‘too far’ when handlin’ it!”

Not true, would say a poet. As he was going too far for himself.

With their simultaneous efforts, it wasn’t long until the oxen crumpled up into a little ball. What stubs of its appendages attempted to thrash wildly to pry the two of them off.

“Bat!”

The instant the delinquent turned, he fired his final bullet along the edifice of indestructible metal. The chirp of the richochete struck through the detective’s skull and punctured the beast’s last horn.

Just as his limp body collapsed, as did the oxen’s. It was only a matter of time before either of them would come to, though he was surprised to find that the oxen’s physique gradually dispersed into a thick penumbra. Most monsters would have been but a thick trophy for the hero to stand victoriously upon. The crowds of the city would have cried their names and they would have made it to Zenko’s piano recital on time.

Once the detective came to, the uttered curse from his partner evoked a sense of dread. As the monster’s physique was entirely replaced with a sobbing child who kept her bruised knees close to her chest. Her lithe physique quivered, as if recoiling from the suffering she had just regained. She couldn’t have been much older than six.

Empathy was a heavy shadow.

Just as the detective stood to his full height, he huffed, “Why don’t you go to your sister’s—?” It would have been easy to assume that the monster had been vanquished in that moment. A hearty slam of a bat to put the beast out of her misery.

Rather, the detective’s russet gaze only watched when Metal Bat hunkered down to his heels and draped his partially tarnished jacket over her quivering shoulders. His bat and his concept of time neglected to keep the sniveling little girl company. He even opted to scoop her up in his arms and implore where her father was.

At times, the concept of being a hero made the detective ponder. He wondered if the association truly did just hire desperate folks like him or if there truly were genuinely good people affiliated with such a corporation. Everyone, himself included, had their strange definition of good. Even if that meant being a few minutes late for a piano recital.

Once the two of them reunited the girl with her mother, the transit to Zenko’s Elementary school was a long and quiet one. The detective might have even lit up a cigarette, had there not been any signs to prohibit it. Instead, he suggested to help treat the kid’s wound, only for Metal Bat to remark that his ‘fighting spirit’ will keep him conscious.

It was a weird religious remark, but the detective complied.

A few minutes afterward, Metal Bat thumbed the sparse bills of yen in his wallet, though he could barely contain his grimace, “how much is this udon place ya wanna go to anyway?”

“Daichi.”

One could hear a pin drop when the delinquent’s fiery glare flickered in astonishment. His brows raised as he stared owlishly, “ ‘scuse me?”

“I don’t remember my real name,” the detective drawled, “but I remember being called Daichi by some people.”

The delinquent could only offer a little simper, it was a lopsided grin, but it was better than a curled lip of a snarl. “Badd.”

The detective couldn’t help but sigh, “yeah, I guess it is.”

“No, I mean, that’s my name.”

When there was a hint of intrigue, there was a punctual snap of Bad’s wallet when he slumped, “yeah- ya could say my parents hated my fuckin’ guts. Tossed my ass out when I was fourteen and told me to take Zenko with me.”

The detective’s hands drowned within his pockets as he listened to the rest.

“I mean, shit- she’s already doin’ so much better than I could ever do, y’know? I mean, yeah- her piano tutor is expensive, but it makes her happy. Plus, I wanna be there to make sure she grows up right and not a complete fuck-up.”

It was hard to imagine Badd as a bleeding heart, but there was no denying the thick droplets of sanguine that stained the tips of their shoes. Though, he might have gotten a bit sentimental from the scrapes and cuts he sustained prior. It was within that beat that the detective tilted his head back, “want my honest opinion?”

For a moment, Badd sounded like he was prepared for an insult. “Yeah.”

“I don’t think Zenko could ask for a better brother.”

There was a silence that befell them. Whether or not it was Badd actively suppressing the urge to laugh or cry, Daichi couldn’t tell. However, there was a little “thanks” that managed to squeeze out from his throat.

——————————————————

Once the two of them made it to the recital, Zenko had just begun her playing her piano. Her older brother practically destroyed the back of the seat to suppress the urge to openly weep. Had it not been for the quivering, the tucked lip and the profuse reluctance of weeping, Daichi would have been rather intimidated.

“You...uh..—“

“SHH!!” Bat hissed in a whisper, “Zenko’s playin’ !”

In truth, the girl was a formidable pianist. However, unlike her brother, she was not the whole reason as to why Daichi was there. It didn’t take long for him to figure out who her tutor was, considering how she practically meandered toward him and asked if he was their uncle shortly after the recital.

“...yeah,” a good lie wouldn’t have hurt, especially since Badd was too busy gushing about how fantastic Zenko was. Though, her concern of him being a mess seemed to interject. “Say, how much is the tutoring lessons?”

“About ten thousand yen,” she elucidated, “do you have a son or daughter who’d want to perform?”

No wonder Badd couldn’t afford it.

After the moment he spent with the piano tutor, Daichi turned on his heel, “I’ve gotta go do some sleuthing,” the detective proclaimed, “I’ll see you around, Badd.”

“Oh- yeah! See ya.” For the strangest of reasons, Zenko evoked this harmony Badd would never demonstrate in the presence of his co-workers. Even his little simper held a semblance of juvenile naivety at the contours.

After a brief pause, the detective nodded toward the little lady, “keep an eye out on your brother. He’s one of the good ones.”

“I promise!!” Zenko piped up, they were siblings alright.

Even now, Badd could never did figure out who paid for Zenko’s piano lessons. Even after he would manage to scrape up the money, her tutor would always refute the offer.

While a heavy burden, empathy was the most humane thing to carry.

#one punch man #opm #ken.txt #origin headcanon #zombieman #zombieman opm #metal bat #metal bat opm #Zenko #Goth Dad adopts son and daughter #more at eleven #what kendall writes.#character study

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stxrmapper · 3 years ago

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Nemo hopped over to Scout, making her way over his front paws, stretched lazily on the ground. She booped his nose with her, far smaller one and scrambled on top of his head, only to settle in the longer fur around his neck.

Though, the settling process took some time, maybe a little longer than it normally would. Nemo was in the mood to mark her presence, pawing at the fur and making circles. Finally, she curled up and lied her ears flat.

With a flick of his ear and a huff as Nemo's paw booped her nose, Scout didn't show much other reaction at first, deliberately ignoring her seemingly. Though he lifted his head when she settled - that might not have been the right word. He gave a little groan noise, a short whoop that might have sounded like a threat to a stranger, but it was more so a joking threat.

"You do realise I take time to sort my mane each day. Now you've just gone 'n' ruined it. If you wanted to leave a mark, then you could've done it some other way. Doubt you'd be as effective as a rabbit." There was a little giggling noise, even if Scout was well aware that those teeth could do fair damage if Nemo were to bite. At least in his human form, as a beast his fur and hide were thick.

Scout gave a yawn, before standing up, ears held in a relaxed manner, far more focused on Nemo and making sure she didn't fall. "You could've at least picked a better place for us to lay down. Wanna go back home? Or to one of the dens?"

He'd always enjoyed having a house slightly further out from most, given he could come and go as he pleased in beast form. It was always fun to hear stories of the creatures that lived in the woods: especially the one that lurked near his house, its wily howls and laughter sounding off in the night. Scout had many different places to nestle down out in the forest, and though they weren't as comfortable as a warm bed or a comfy couch, they were still nice; secluded. Aside from when other beasts came across him, which he didn't mind most of the time.

#the sounds of tricksters in the night | scout au #nemo | unlikelyandco #ic #ask answered

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deathbyvalentine · 3 years ago

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Regency Werewolves Chapter 2

The grounds were suitable. The social season could commence.

Of course, there were preparations to be made that had little to do with tooth or claw. There were dresses to be made, ribbon to be pinned and plaited, pocket watches to be wound and shoes to be polished. Not to mention the small stack of calling cards that was beginning to lean a little in the stack. Everyone was curious and the family had been particularly elusive. But now, glimpses could be caught. The women were glimpsed moving from a haberdashery, servant laden with fabrics. The men had waved a greeting to some passing gentleman from some local land known for its good hunting. They had managed to escape the title of 'snobs', instead becoming 'mysterious'.

The first ball of the season, was of course, themed. Lady Robin in all her finery and extensive powder had announced it with a hint of smugness, the type that was unfortunately entirely backed up with ability. Her parties were lavish while still being respectable, decadent without being wasted. Wine would be drank but not quaffed, food served but not scoffed. This was a line many struggled to toe (poor Earl Sussex) but she did to with aplomb.

Obviously, the Williamson house was in uproar, even as Lady Williamson sought to contain it. Elise was of no help whatsoever, stirring the girls up with tales from her youth and recollections of flirting. Even Alice, usually resentful at being squashed into dresses and her hair being brushed within an inch of her life, showed little complaint at her dress and chattered excitedly about the dark woods on the ground, despite her lady mother reminding her there would be no chance for her to explore. Sybil had managed to contain her own excitement but there was a certain tremble in her hands when she spoke of ribbons. Kingsley suffered in stoic silence, his dread of social occasions easy enough to read on his face. His father's face mirrored his own.

Kingsley was often a rather put upon creature. He had not the wild bravery of Alice nor the social graces of Sybil. He found social situations not merely a chore, but much more of a minefield. He was at ease in precisely two situations - looking over his father's accounts and when he shrugged off his human skin and ran under the full moon. He found himself wishing for the moon to come more often - the rules of being a wolf were so much clearer than the rules of being a human.

Meanwhile, Sybil would happily give up her teeth and claws for the gift of a normal life. She fretted over how she would handle her little 'condition' when the time came for a husband, seemingly unaware of the fact her mother had managed it.

Alice was much more a wolf than her a girl - her shape had little to do with it all in her view. She was a wolf when she was in dresses and she was a wolf when she was in fur. Civilisation was a cruel joke.

And what was more civilised than a soiree? From the drinks in clear glass flutes to the steps of a dance, all of it was manufactured. Therefore the children must be manufactured too. They had to blend in, had to look like this was their first or second nature. Tears in dresses had to be prepared, quick tempers soothed before they turned violent, the correct amount of food to eat imparted. Lady Williamson made it look natural and her three progeny strived to imitate that ease.

The day came and the evening followed. The evening was summer tones of pink, fading to purple, becoming blue. The drive to Lady Robin's house was packed full of carriages, warm young ladies hanging out of windows and fanning themselves furiously. The only reason why Alice was not among them was because Sybil had hooked her by the back of the dress and pulled her back into her seat with one fluid moment. Alice responded by panting behind her fan.

Even the sisters petty bickering fell silent once the turn on the drive slipped past. The entrance was flung open wide, revealing the light of what must have been hundreds of candles, some lining the meticulously swept stone steps. Garlands of white flowers hung in long strips, attracting the attention of a few lazy bees. Kingsley couldn't help sniffing the air, the smell of perfume, lillies and food almost too much to resist. The entire family took a moment to look and to see and to scent. Alice fidgeted, eager to explore. Her mother shot her a warning look - each of the older women were taking one of the girls to be chaperoned and Alice had drawn the short straw. Selene might have let her have a little fun (Sybil, ironically, was equally as unhappy at her chaperone's identity).

They entered as a procession, with Lord and Lady at the front, the children and their aunt tidily following behind them like ducklings. Curtseys were liberally distributed, as were bows and handshakes. The girls were complimented, the boys were given approving nods. A few of the prouder invitees attempted to be above the buzz of the throng eager to meet the new family, but even they couldn't resist side-long glances their way, measuring up the cut of their dresses and smoothness of their manner.

The dancefloor was currently clear, the band only just beginning to settled down in their chairs, taking up positions and instruments. Alice couldn't help but wince as the tuning up began, the sharp notes of a violin particularly harsh to her sensitive ears. Sybil, though she didn't show it, was having similar trouble with an overpowering perfume an old duchess was wearing. These events were often overwhelming to humans, with werewolves it was a hundred times more stimulating, for better or worse. There was another scent on the air, that made the Lady turn her head. It was there and gone in a quick breath, but the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. It was surely nothing.

Kingsley made a beeline for the refreshments, as teenage boys usually do. It also carried the dual purpose of delaying the need to ask young ladies for their hands to dance. Kingsley rather despised dancing. Though naturally graceful, he never seemed to know the correct steps for the popular dances of the day and tread on toes with impunity. Later Lord Gordon would gently prod him to do his social duty, but for the moment he took pity on the lad and let him dodge the dance cards thrust towards him.

Lord Gordon took a moment to take in the room. It had been a hot summer night much like this one where he had met his darling wife. Fairytale like he had seen her, diamonds looking like starshine in her hair, both dimmed by the force of her smile and strength of her scent. He recognised in her what he had in himself, the howling beast that resided in their chest, making them just a little bit wild. It was love at first sight and the love blossomed between them over the years, making infatuation into the kind of deep fondness on which empires could be built. He wrapped an arm around her waist and she leant into it, thinking of the same memory. Alice pulled a face at the romance, since when were parents allowed such luxuries as romance?

Her grimace didn't last long. As her mother was brushing off her dress and making noises about finding some wine, a young man approached. He was tall and slender, with a bright spray of freckles across an elegant nose. His hair had the unmistakable bearing of curls squashed and soothed into submission, but nothing could dim the brightness of the orange it was. This distracted Alice so thoroughly it was only after a moment she remembered to curtsey. He was introduced and she too was, albeit via her mother.

His name was Leopold, though his friends called him Leo. He was a cousin of the family who owned this place, although slightly distantly. He was studying at Oxford and had came up especially for the season as his younger sister was coming out and he wanted to support her. He liked history and art. All of this Alice found out very rapidly. He spoke like a train rattling down a track and in trying to take it all in, she offered little about herself. He was nervous, she realised, trying to cover up his unease with words. Eventually, he got to the point.

"Miss Williamson. Would you do me the honour of a dance?" His eyes flickered towards the empty dance card at her wrist. At first, she thought it was out of pity. But then, she became aware of all the young men in the room and how many were hovering close by, waiting. It was not pity, rather, eagerness. This shocked her so very much she gave her consent.

A moment later after Leopold had departed, Sybil appeared at her elbow like a horrid specter. "You must attend to me at once Alice. You must not tread on his toes or turn too soon. Don't laugh without covering your mouth and smile like you have a secret. Don't fiddle with your gloves - " "It is only a dance Sybil." "To begin with, yes. But Leopold is one of the most eligible men in this room and it won't be a bad thing to impress him." "He asked me to dance, shouldn't he be impressing me?" Sybil gave her a long look which informed her exactly how foolish an opinion that was to have. Alice flushed, finished her glass of champagne and braced herself.

Across the room, Kingsley had watched the exchange with an academic interest. He was about to go and join his sisters, to gossip and discuss the already rather interesting turn of events, when he realised someone was beside him, also gazing out into the room.

It was a man a little older than himself. He had dark eyes and dark hair that was teased into dreadlocks. He had sharp cheekbones but a soft mouth. Kingsley looked away quickly, but not quite quickly enough.

"I prefer to stay on the sidelines too, don't worry." A small chuckle passed between them and Kingsley relaxed his shoulders a little, recognising a kindred spirit. "Are you here alone?" "No, my entire family are here." He nodded towards Alice and Sybil. "They're my sisters." "I'm here with a niece, though where exactly she has gotten to is a mystery." He held out a hand. "Michael." "Kingsley." His hand was warm and gentle. He turned back to the room and in companionable silence they observed.

Alice had made her way onto the dance floor, trying desperately to remember every tip that Sybil had forced into her mind two minutes prior. It was hopeless, as was she. Ladyship didn't come easily to her. Selene squeezed her arm in passing, hoping to pass on a little of her courage.

Leopold stood opposite her and gave a most ungentlemanly grin, like he was not in a room full of rules and looks, but somewhere else, perhaps a park or school. Inevitably, she found herself grinning back before she remembered the rule and covered her mouth with her hand. The music started, a light tune with much work on the fiddle and violin. It reminded her somehow of spring, of waking up to flowers and birdsong. Much better than the droll solemnity often trotted out in these occasions.

The dance begun. Kingsley, watching from slightly above, thought not for the first time of how much it looked like certain creatures from the animal kingdom, bees in the summer tracing their endless ritual paths. The formality was stifling. All of them would be feeling it, the moment of feeling trapped within stays and lacing, rules and regulations. But he chose to cling to them, using them to retain his humanity. What was more human than this party?

Alice kept her eyes on Leopold, and he kept her gaze evenly. The grins slipped away, giving way to an expression that she could not name. She was acutely aware of every touch between them, despite the layers of gloves and the swapping of partners. She began to be able to differentiate his scent from those around him - there was something earthy there, like standing in a woodland after rain or digging. It felt familiar and welcoming in this place full of artificial perfume.

Lady Williamson and Selene watched from the sidelines, their dancing days mostly done. A respite from the work of courting. Selene lamented it but Elise felt a sense of relief. She had found and kept her husband, and even loved him. No more performing, pretending or showing off. She could be as she was. Well, almost. Some things were not for public consumption. Selene, scandalous as always, made no secret of the fact she was looking for a second husband, much to Elise's dismay and amusement. The two women stood side by side and watched their girls dancing.

#regency werewolves #regency #prose #commissions

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thecleverdame · 5 years ago

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The Oath - 2

Parings: Dark!Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

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Summary: After an unsuccessful escape attempt, the reader finds herself taken as a spoil of war. She ends up in the bed of a ruthless Alpha, the son of John Winchester, leader of the kingdom of Gilead. She struggles to conceal her true identity and navigate a society where being an Omega means nothing more than serving at the pleasure of powerful men.

Warnings: non-con, sexual assault, rape, attempted suicide, sexual slavery, branding, torture, ownership, voyeurism, anal play, smut, violence, and murder.

Sam is dark in this story. If any of the warnings are triggers for you, I would suggest skipping this one. Please read and heed all the warnings.

Beta: ilikaicalie

Chapters 1-9 are currently available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

TWO

“What’s this?” Sam asks.

He could smell you from the moment his brother dragged you into their tent. Your Omega is masked by something but it’s there and it’s unmistakable.

“An Omega the men were about to ruin.” Your captor lets you go and you stand there, eyes finding a rock on the dirt floor and staring at it.

Two Alphas. This is not what you hoped. But maybe you can still make it out alive.

You’re a squirmy little thing, and it’s hard to get a good look at you. At first glance, it would be easy to dismiss you as just another desperate Omega trying to get away. In Sam’s experience, your kind rarely embraces your place in the natural order of things. Yes, it would be easy to overlook you, but Sam pays attention to details. He can see past your stringy hair and tear-stained face, your bloodied knees, and dirty breasts. He’s willing to bet you’re really something to see when you’re not a snot covered mess.

The scent coming from between your legs is thick like honeysuckles in the summer, you’re still sweet. On the verge of being broken but holding yourself together.

Dean looks unhappy and Sam waits for what’s to follow.

“As much as I’d love to stay and play with her, I have to ride the outer camps. If one of us doesn’t do the rounds the men start thinking they’re above the rules. We need to do something. They can’t be trusted, they didn’t even check before they started on her.” Dean pushes you forward and you nearly fall over. “She’s yours, for now at least. Unless you want to take a ride...”

“It’s your turn to go.” Sam looks to Dean for the first time.

Dean shrugs, snorting as he shakes his head. “Better you than me. She’s a fucking mess.”

“Leave her to me.” Sam watches you with interest, your eyes bulging wide with uncertainty. Dean grabs his saddlebags and heads out.

Moments later you’re alone with this new Alpha who’s circling you slowly, examining every inch of your battered skin. He moves as a predator, a wolf stalking its prey with slow, deliberate steps.

“Did they fuck you?” he asks.

“N-no,” you stammer, awash with both shame and paralyzing fear.

“But they did touch you?” He stops directly in front of you, looking at your breasts, then to the patch of hair between your legs.

“Yes. They touched me.” You don't know if you should look at him. Everything is a calculated choice. These sorts of men are volatile, he may not think you’re worthy to make eye contact. Further punishment is the last thing you can withstand, so you keep your eyes on the floor.

“I’ll deal with them in the morning.” He tilts his head, wiping off his hands with a cloth before tossing it on the table. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” you whisper, a tear rolling down your cheek. You don’t want to know.

“Samuel. The son of John Winchester,” he explains. You think you may vomit. Samuel Winchester. Of all the cruel twists of fate, this has to be one of the most merciless. You’ve heard of him, you can’t recall the specifics but you know his general reputation; brutal and sadistic. “The man who brought you here was my brother, Dean.” He pauses and you say nothing. “You lived in Hayward Village?”

“Yes,” you nod, sneaking a peek. He’s a beast of a man. All you can do now is pray he doesn’t kill you, or do irreparable damage.

“I need you to understand you’re never going back there,” he explains calmly.

Hayward never felt like your home. It was a place to hide, to fade into the background. But hearing him say that makes this all too real. You will never be the same again.

“I understand,” you confirm.

“The rest of your life will be very different. You’re the property of Gilead now. You belong to me. Do you understand?”

It’s clear you don’t like that declaration of ownership. Your eyes snap up to his, swallowing hard. It’s always difficult for Omegas to truly understand this new world order. It’s best to be up front. False hope only creates desperation. He doesn’t need you trying to run in the middle of the night.

He looks on with interest, the way you swallow your emotions, holding them back at all costs. In his experience not many women would be able to express such self control under these circumstances. You’re strong, whether you know it or not.

“I understand,” you agree quietly, unsuccessfully covering the tremor in your voice. “M-may I ask what I should call you?”

“Alpha,” Sam explains. “In Lebanon Omegas don’t use the names of their Alphas. It breeds familiarity and that can be a dangerous thing.”

You shift and squeal in pain, cradling your arm. Fresh tears fall. You’re in agony and he can’t have that. He needs you in working order.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Inching closer he tries to get a better look.

“I-I think i-it’s broken,” you sputter.

“One of the men did this?” His eyes narrow, displeased by the news. “Intentionally?”

The fucking men have been on his last nerve for weeks and now this. They think themselves equal. Deserving of such riches that they would cross this of all lines. It makes his blood boil.

“He threw me down from the horse. I don’t think he meant to hurt me.” You’re shaking, entire body rattling in cold and in pain.

“He should have been more careful. An Omega requires special handling. Come here, let me see it.” He sits down in a chair, his expression unflinching as he waits for you to move closer. “Move your hand so I can see the damage.”

You let go of your arm and howl as the bones shift, but he takes your elbow and wrist, holding them in a manner that offers the first relief you’ve felt in hours. It makes sense, he’s a soldier. He knows how to treat wounds on the battlefield. He’s seen a thousand broken bones worse than this.

“Here.” He carefully tightens his grip on your elbow, sliding his hand along your forearm until he’s holding it in place. He changes the position and you think you might vomit, the pain is so great. It’s making you sweat and squirm as he feels where the bone has snapped. “This is going to hurt.”

Before his words register, he pulls on your wrist and elbow at the same time, realigning the bone as the two pieces snap back into place with a sickening crack.

You scream, trying to pull back but he grabs you by the hair to keep you from retreating.

“You’ll be fine, calm down,” he orders. He doesn’t exactly care, but seeing a woman in pain doesn’t bring him pleasure like many of his men. In fact, it’s always made him uncomfortable.“I’ll find something to hold your arm in place. Sit down and don’t move.”

He points to the chair and you lower yourself into it, cradling your newly set arm, watching as he looks in trunks and sacks. Finding long, flat pieces of wood he kneels in front of you, and using a thin rope and cloth he secures the wood around your arm until it’s completely immobile.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

Your mind races. You need to give him something, anything but your real name. The hours in the forest come back to you. The wild things all around you, as you search for any name to give him. You blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Sparrow,” you sniffle, wiping tears from your cheek.

“Sparrow,” he repeats, looking up at you. “A fitting name given your broken wing.” One massive hand grips your knee and you jerk in surprise, looking him in the eyes. You almost forgot you were naked. “Do you know what’s expected of Omegas in my country?”

“I’ve heard stories but...no,” you answer honestly, looking at him as your heart breaks. You’ll never see your family again. Not that your father would ever take you back after this. There’s no coming back from being with a Winchester. If he did nothing more than talk to you, it would be a permanent black mark.

And if Sam knew who you were he’d kill you on the spot. You’re damned any way you look at it.

“You belong to us. The sooner you accept this, the easier things will be. You’re lucky, most of your village was killed. A half dozen were taken as servants. And you are the lone prize. The only thing worth the effort of that Godforsaken place.” Lucky. It’s a strange way to describe being driven from your home and nearly raped by a group of disgusting men. “Depending on how well you perform, you’ll be offered as a prize to a high ranking Alpha. Or perhaps you’re bound for greater things.”

Sam’s words are unmistakable. There’s a hunger in his eyes as he looks from your breasts down to the patch of hair between your thighs. One could find him handsome in other circumstances, but right now he’s simply terrifying. He’s large enough that he could easily take anything he wanted from you. His eyes burning with an intensity you can practically feel.

“I understand,” you whisper. “I’ll do my best.”

“You stink. I’ll have someone clean you up.” He stands, arms folded across his chest. “Then we’ll have a good look at you.”

The tent doesn’t feel like a temporary shelter set in the middle of a makeshift camp. There are clothes and weapons everywhere as if the two brothers have been here for months. Carefully marked maps are spread across a long wooden table. There are markers in the form of little metal horses across it. It’s a miniature version of the war raging on around them. There’s a treasure trove of valuable information here if you could get it to someone, but it’s a fool's errand. This is where your journey ends, you can feel it in your bones.

The only available woman in the camp is a gray-haired cook who bathes you while Sam watches from the corner of the room. The light of the fire licks across his face, his eyes never faltering as the old woman washes your hair and helps you scrub until the mud and grime are gone.

The cook helps you bathe and leaves in a rush, never looking up. She’s more terrified of him than you are, a fact that doesn’t escape you.

Sam was right, you’re beautiful underneath it all. Healthy Omegas have a glow about them, not that he’s seen a healthy one in years, but he remembers. Yours is faint but there’s a glimmer to you, like an aura emanating from your body. You’re holding your arm, with eyes trained on the floor but your head is held high, back straight despite the oppression of the situation. It’s that inner strength that fascinates him. You may be compliant or you might try to stab him in the middle of the night. There’s only one way to know for sure.

“May I have something to drink?” you ask, naked and dripping in front of the fire.

“Yes. What would you like?” He’s on his feet again, slinking closer with the stealth of cat “Wine? Water?”

“Tea. I’m very cold. Something to warm me up would be appreciated.”

He takes herbs from a pouch, grinding them into the bottom of a mug before adding hot water. Then he sits across the table watching you sip.

“You’re beautiful,” he asserts and your breath catches, fear churning. “And unclaimed. How is it that an Omega like you hasn’t been claimed already?”

The truth is that your father kept you under lock and key. And when he was forced to send you away, he picked the one place you’d be the least likely to cross paths with an Alpha.

“There were no Alphas in my village.” You explain the question away praying that's the end of it. A tingling sensation is blooming to life in your belly, dulling your senses. “What is in this tea?”

“Herbs to help with the pain. I broke a rib last year, it’s the only thing that brought relief.” His eyes drop to your tits, licking his lower lip. “We’re lucky my brother had to leave. You wouldn’t have lasted an hour. He would have knotted you the moment he realized how pristine you are.”

Your cheeks flush hot as you fight off tears. While you overheard crude talk in the village, it’s rare that any man has ever spoken so frankly to, or about you in such a way.

“Have you been with a man before?” You hesitate and he rolls his eyes. “I expect honest answers.”

“Yes,” you admit, feeling shame wash over you. At least he doesn’t know who you are, it would only serve to exacerbate your sins. A woman of your standing should be a chaste virgin, untouched by any man until her husband. But as a country girl from a small village its less of a transgression. Either way you think about it, the admission makes you feel like a whore.

“How many?” he asks.

Jesus, you’re not sure you can stand much more of this intimate questioning.

“Two.”

“Interesting.” A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, entertained by the confession. “Have you taken a knot?”

Your whole body goes tense, a fact that doesn’t escape him. You’re scared but with fear comes compliance. He’s good at reading people, maybe he won’t have to worry about you trying to slit his throat.

“No,” you whisper, barely audible. “I’ve never been with an Alpha.”

“Good.” His fingers strum the table. “I’ll be your first then.”

There, now it’s a sure thing. No more guessing. He plans to have you for himself, at least tonight. While he’s nowhere near the nightmare of men that had you envisioned earlier, there’s a darkness in him that’s simmering right there for anyone to see and it scares the daylights out of you.

“Will you open your legs for me?” he asks evenly. “Or will I have to have to show you who’s in charge?”

“Please don’t,” you beseech, looking to him in desperation.

“You don’t get that choice,” he counters, unhappy with any pushback.

“I’m just in so much pain.” Your voice is shaking, hand curled into a fist at your side. “I haven’t slept in days. If you would wait until morning, I’ll do anything you want. I’ll give myself to you freely. I just...I’m not sure how much more I can take tonight. I’m so exhausted I can barely stay upright.”

He’s silent, contemplating your request. The men found you in the forest. You probably are exhausted. You could also be exaggerating, trying to buy yourself a little time before he fucks you. And yet he’s inclined to believe you. He can read the exhaustion on your face like the war maps on the table.

“How long were you in the forest?” he asks.

“Two days.”

“With no shoes and no cloak?”

“There was no time. When the men attacked my home I ran with what I had on, nothing more.”

“I see.” He sits back, rubbing over the pads of his fingers as he decides what to do. “You should sleep. You’re no good to me broken and delirious. You’ve already been mishandled enough.”

If you were any other Omega he’d have you gag on his cock and make you sleep on the floor next to his bed, but you have this smell about you. That sweet lingering scent he’s never encountered before. He wants to fuck you, see what it feels like to be inside you, to give you his knot.

“Thank you.” You close your eyes, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the tears that fall. “Thank you.”

“Are you still cold?” he asks gesturing at your bare tits.

“Yes,” you admit, embarrassed to the point of giving up as your nipples stand out like little pebbles. “I’ve been cold for days.”

“Then come to bed and I’ll warm you.” He gets up, pulling his shirt over his head as he walks to the bed farthest from the fire. He toes off his boots and drops his trousers to the floor, stepping out of them.

He’s a sight to behold. Long, lean muscle, just as powerful as you suspected. His cock is thick, bobbing just below his stomach. He fists himself, looking to you as you dutifully walk over to the bed, careful of your arm.

Has he changed his mind?

“Lay down,” he instructs, waiting as you shimmy under a heavy fur pelt. He pulls a small pillow from somewhere under the bed and places it beside you. “Turn on your side and rest your arm here.”

You do as he instructs, watching him with a wary eye as you settle into the bed.

Sam climbs in behind you, pressing hot, naked skin against your back, letting his erection poke at your buttocks.

“How is your arm?” he inquires as his mouth connects with your shoulder, open lips dragging over skin. Can this be happening? You jump as his teeth scrape over the back of your neck, praying that he’ll be true to his word and allow you time to recuperate.

“It’s not as painful as it was,” you admit, feeling your eyes fall heavy. Exhaustion trumps all. “The tea helped.”

“Good. Go to sleep, little bird. The next few weeks will be difficult ones for many reasons. You should rest when you can.”

His warning sends a thousand thoughts spiraling. A thick arm lays over your hip and you close your eyes as sleep overtakes you. For the first time in nearly three days, you’re allowed to rest.

#alpha!sam x omega!reader #alpha!sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester au #sam winchester smut

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demonprosecutor · 4 years ago

Text

REMEMBER THE MANTRA: EVERYTHING SUCKS RIGHT NOW!

god-blood lingered on your tongue, fingers stained with red, as you wiped your blade on your chiton. you have heard medicine men slicing open skin to suck the venom out from wounds inflicted by venomous snakes - how effective it was is another story. he does not move, but with a gentle hand, told you that he still breathed. how long he lived; however, was a story you could not discern for yourself.

that thought frightens you. in the time you have known prince zagreus, you have grown to... care for him. in a way that you have never cared for anyone before. and to lose something so fragile and precious as this due to the hands of a beast was horrific. it made you feel cursed, like all good things in your life was meant to die.

you shut your eyes, clutching the ineffectual shawl tighter around your shoulders, as myroclus snuffled at the side of your head. he whinnied piteously, frightened by the night’s events and just as tired. “i know.” you scratch the underside of his chin, the only cover from the falling snow being a tree that arced overhead. “but what could we do?” helpless are the words and no answer arrives, the winter swallowing all manner of noise.

it was strange being out of the perpetual summer of lady persephone’s lands, the feeling being akin to a prey. exposed, fearful, in danger. white blanketed the ground, over barren trees and bushes. in your haste to escape, you knew that you did not have the means to survive

but i could help. you scream loudly, myroclus tossing his head so violently that zagreus nearly rolls off of his back. oh! tame your beast, little one. i am just a lone helper, a benevolent samaritan in these wild woods. the voice speaks in beguiling rasps, rumbling deep within your mind.

you leap to your feet, arms straining with the effort to heft the prince’s blade, the edges gleaming wickedly - hungering for the blood you cannot muster to give.

“oh, put that away.” in the space between a blink and the next, a hunched, shawled figure stood at the end of the natural path, a gnarled cane held in weathered. “i mean you no harm.”

in hesitation, the blade lowers slightly, but you hold fast. “who are you?” you demand aggressively, eyes narrowed in slits, features arranged in the harshest expression you could muster. “speak your name before I... before I use this blade.”

the figure does not move, does not speak. And it is long moments that leave you and myroclus uneasy enough to tense when they laugh loudly. lifting a hand, they pull the hood back and spools of white, shimmering hair falls onto the snow. but the thing that grabbed your attention the most was the milky-whiteness of their eyes, unblinking and unseeing. your grip on the hilt of the whispering blade tightens slightly. “fear not, young one. i bring you and your god prince no harm. i can help. he is... poisoned is he not?”

“how do you know---?!” the query clamps itself behind your teeth, hard enough that your jaw aches. but if they could help zagreus... your arm lowers, the tip of the blade embedding itself in the snow, red metal stark against white. “--- please. please help him. i’ll give you anything.”

the figure seems to smile benevolently at you; however, there was a sense of danger that instantly makes you wary. feeling as though you had made a promise for something you did not understand. “i see. come, to my home.” they turn, a shuffling movement made more apparent in the stillness of the air. you look up at myroclus who whinnies softly in unease.

yeah, strangers in the woods rarely was a good thing.

but one look at zagreus, pale and fire-feet flickering weakly, was enough for you to steel your nerves.

the path to the stranger’s house was not a long one; however, it does make you wary. a wooden house, constructed crudely with all matter of material ranging from branches to furs or pieces of trash carelessly left behind by travellers. it stunk of magic. not quite like the gods, but you have been around magic enough to have a sense of it, tugging at your soul, whispering coyly in the back of your mind (let us in, play with us, know us).

they opened the door and gestured for you to come in, prompting you to slide zagreus from myroclus’ back and toss his arm over your shoulder. gods, he was far heavier than you anticipated, nearly buckling under the weight of his bulk. you take a moment to study the small living space. jars filed with herbs lined the shelves, animal skins serving to be rugs on the floor and a fireplace with a cauldron bubbling at the back.

you deposit him into the cot that they had directed you. gently, as though he were a slumbering child. fingers brush over midnight black hair, fingers like branches, and it’s instinct that your own hand darts out to curl around the stranger’s wrist - eyes glinting with caution. “what will you do?”

to their credit, the stranger does not balk at the look you give them. “take his temperature, figure out which biles to use and construct an antidote.” they pull their hand away from your grasp, laying a hand over zagreus’ sweating forehead, ho-humming long enough to make you antsy. “ah, i know what this is.” their voice was dark, “satyr poison. you had a run-in with them. i thought they lingered in the underworld?”

the question was innocent enough, but as someone who was well-aware that association with gods was dangerous enough, you shrug slightly. “i do not know. i... i was attacked by them and he came to rescue me.” that was the only information you were willing to give, without damning the both of you. and besides, it wasn’t lying - zagreus did rescue you and you were attacked by them.

semantics, really.

“what is your name?” you ask, swiftly to change the subject, but out of curiousity as well.

the figure hums once more before producing a knife. “he is running hot. this suggests an imbalance of too much bad blood. and you may call me anura.” you watch like a hawk as anura slices zagreus’ skin open, holding a bowl underneath to catch the blood.

anura. what a strange name. something that you haven’t heard before and something that rolls off of your tongue weirdly. however, you do not make a fuss about their origins, they can keep their secrets if they wished (gods know that they most likely had many...)

even if you had seen his blood, it was disconcerting to see such a human red. didn’t gods bleed ichor? did gods bleed at all?

anura takes the bowl away and wraps it around the cut tightly, sealing the exit wound. they place wet clothes on exposed skin, staving off the fever and soaking up all the sweat that had accumulated, soaking the cot below. “is he going to be ok?” you ask desperately, too left in the dark to know anything, and holding his hand gently.

they shuffle towards the cauldron and dump the blood within whatever contents was already inside, muttering to themself in a low, rasping croon. the hairs on the back of your neck raise in abject alarm, air stilling, the scent of metal in the air, and oh gods ----- was this... was this witchcraft?

anura chanted, raising their arms and dumping herbs into the strange mixture, stirring with a long spoon, the flames flickering green (unnatural!). the wind outside roared and howled, snow battering the small hut, shrieking louder and louder until it falls silent.

still. quiet. enough that she could hear the panicked huffing of myroclus outside, waiting faithfully.

“here. let him drink this.” suddenly, a bowl of a foul-smelling concoction was thrust under your nose, causing you to lurch back.

“what’s inside?!”

anura stares at you - milky eyes holding an intensity that makes you balk. “do you wish for him to heal?”

without question, without any doubt. you take the bowl, looking away. if you were going to doom zagreus, at least let it be done by your own hands - you suspect that lord thanatos would be at your doorstep then. zagreus’ head is lifted slightly, the bowl placed at his lips where you tip the contents carefully into his mouth, watching as his throat bobs with every swallow. it’s not long before the bowl is empty and the pain on his features ease into something more pleasant.

like he was having pleasant sleep.

anura takes the bowl, placing it onto the nearby table, turning to you with an unreadable look. “payment.”

you gently place zagreus’ head back onto the cot and wipe your hands on your chiton. “ah, yes. how much? i have drachmas in my pouch---” as you pass anura, their hand shoots out as fast as a striking viper, curling around your wrist with a strength that surprises you.

“i have no use for money,” they spit out, derisive, nails digging into the tender meat of your wrist. “i want something more. something that you cannot part without. a piece of your heart.” their voice shudders, deepening, lifting, and you realize - oh gods, they’re not human, they’re not human, they’re not human.

your body trembles like a leaf in the throes of a windstorm, heart hammering in your chest. “-- i don’t... i don’t u-understand.”

“something precious, something fond.” blood wells up from where you are held onto. not letting go even as you cry out.

“i have something!” and it makes your heart ache, tears springing to your eyes at the enormity of what you were going to do. anura lets go of your hand, just so that you can fish out the box that held the seed to sapeio’s tree, tears streaming down your face - offering it to anura.

greed overcame anura’s features, tongue licking over lips, as they snatched the box from your hands. “oh, oh. this is. this is wonderful. all i’ve ever wanted. memory, love, grief.” their eyes roll wildly around in their sockets. “debt repaid, your debt is repaid.”

they hobble over to the table, opening the box and unfurled the white clothe that held the seed; you look away, sobs leaving your mouth as you curl zagreus’ arm over your shoulders, dragging him outside, ignoring the witch muttering to themself.

it was for him. (unfortunately). for him.

-----

zagreus wakes up, feeling both hot and cold, stifled underneath the sheets that he was swaddled in. but his only solace was the cool cloth that mopped up the sweat that beaded on his forehead. he shifts in place, sighing slightly before cracking his eyes open to see your face hovering over his. “... urgh, what happened?” he sits up, aided by you, and promptly propped against pillows.

“you were poisoned by one of those satyrs.” you say, wringing the cloth over a bowl, stained pink from blood. “we’re in a nearby town, safe. i got us an inn for two nights.”

his body ached. as though he had battled through the underworld once more. zagreus felt delirious, only remembering bits and pieces after he was poisoned. you crying, you wielding his blade, some strange figure cutting him. before he started feeling better. zagreus grasped his head, “i.. don’t remember much. how did you heal me?”

you don’t look at him, careful to avoid his gaze. the thought of giving up a piece of sapeio made you inconsolable enough to cry yourself hoarse until you passed out for the night. “i asked for help.” you hear yourself say. “they healed you.”

“oh. oh. sweet... ” you don’t realize you’re crying until zagreus, kind, sweet, zagreus reaches out and pulls you into a hug. “darling, what happened?” you press your face against his shoulder, sobbing and clutching him tightly. he pets your hair, almost-helpless in the way he does it, protective in the way he does it.

you explain anura, how terrified you felt seeing him fall, and most of all, how you had to give up sapeio’s seed as payment. you wrap your arms around him, as tight as you could - attempting to mold your shape against his.

“i’m sorry...” he murmurs softly, guilt saturating his tone. “i know how much sapeio meant to you.”

nonetheless, even in your grief, you can tell that he was regretting on being saved. you lift yourself up on shaky arms, glaring down at him with a splotchy face. “n-no! it’s not your fault! i--- i’ll miss... having it. but i don’t regret saving you.” you point at him fiercely, attempting to cement the fact that even if it was hard to not have the comfort of knowing that something of sapeio was still there, you wouldn’t change your decision “i would’ve saved you. in any lifetime. i would’ve chosen you.”

he stares back at you with mismatched eyes, stunned at your admission. and you flush, extracting yourself from his arms. or at least, attempting to. “wh---”

“please. stay with me.” zagreus sounded weak, face flushed slightly. he shuffles on the cot, turning on his side to allow for you to have enough space to lay in. “i... i don’t think i can sleep alone tonight.”

considering that you were planning to sleep on the floor, this wasn’t too bad of a tradeoff. you nod slightly, settling in the place that he indicated, holding back your flinches at the way he made sure the sheet went over you and the arm curled around your waist gently.

the night was already arriving and sleep lingered at the back of your eyes. “we have to warn the town of the satyrs tomorrow.” you yawn loudly.

zagreus laughs slightly, breath brushing the back of your neck. “of course. not lets sleep.”

it takes a long time before you do.

#hades supergiant #hades the game #zagreus #zagreus hades #my writing #aku writing

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doingthingsthewriteway · 5 years ago

Text

Thorns

Summary: A tale as old as time. Dom stumbled upon a castle and perhaps something more. (will be a series)

Warning: some language, it’s a slow ass burn y’all

The legend was a juicy one, so juicy many an author had taken time to transcribe their own version of the tale. Some were incredibly far-fetched, others took a strict moral approach. Those who know the in parties involved agree the events occurred in a similar manner.

Long ago in the English country side, a small kingdom sprang up. The castle was idyllic, with sweeping rose gardens and stables, ivy crawling up the towers, and a lavish ballroom for parties. Known for a variety of goods that grew just a bit too magically, the kingdom prospered. Magic was not unreasonable in the kingdom and served as a comfort, especially as protection from the restless wolves that lurked beyond the castle walls.

Still, life was pleasant and just until the princess came of age. Perhaps it was the philosophy she took to reading, or the endless days bemoaning to the kitchen staff, but Y/N simply could not believe she was expected to get married at the tender age of 16. It was disgusting. Damn near revolting and illegal.

So when the royal ball brought conquests from around the world to try and whoo her, they all failed. One by one she rejected every prince (and the occasional princess) in their hand in marriage. Most took the rejection with stride or at the very least were so royally cold it did not matter that is until one rather evil prince (speculation was his name was Loki and remained second in line to the throne) was rejected.

“You pathetic quim. Any girl would consider it an honor to marry me in Asgard.” He hissed like a snake, moving around her as she tried to cross the floor.

“Then leave.” She stepped onto the throne, overlooking all of the hall. “Anyone who shares his sentiment may leave as well.”

“If you so desperately want to be alone, alone with the wolves for eternity you shall be.”

All at once, Loki brandished a staff, twirling it around his head as a beam of green light struck the fair princess in her chest. Amidst the chaos the crowd fled, leaving a collapsed Y/N in the arms of the king and queen and the staff.

“Send for the witch!” The queen shrieked, a notable lack of concern for her daughter present. A curse one was a curse on all.

Ashley arrived wearing a cloak that disguised the beauty beneath. For hours she tended to the young princess, doing her best to reverse the spell. In the end, she managed to alter things just enough that hopefully the young princess would have some time. In good faith and service, she remained in the castle which would come to be a blessing as the young beauty would soon become a beast.

----

Many years later, a musician woke from his slumber with a stretch. He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn as he rushed to get dressed for the day. Today, Dominic Harrison was going to make it big. The village could just suck it. If he didn’t, he supposed he could return to the small minded village and marry a simple small minded girl, but that was hardly Plan B.

Kissing his mother and father, he loaded the cart and hitched his horse. His younger sisters rushed out to hug him farewell, housecoats billowing behind them. “You were going to leave without saying goodbye!” They accused.

“Me? Never. I was just letting my girls rest.” He pinched a cheek and nose for good measure. “Now, what do my darlings want me to bring back for them?Crepes? Biscuits? A puppy?”

“A rose!”

He smiled his crooked smile. “Those are my favorite, why don’t you pick something else?”

“Biscuits then, but get a rose for you.”

Dom couldn’t believe he was so blessed with such a loving family and such darling sisters. He did intend on expanding his family one day, he just hoped it would be with someone as loving as he.

With his final goodbyes, he mounted his horse and headed off. He had made the journey plenty of times in 22 years, no doubt this time would be any different. This thought would soon prove naive as a storm swept in, his horse tossing him off and running straight toward the castle gates.

Running to catch up with his beloved pet, Dom heard the howls began to echo through the woods. With a strangled cry of frustration, he met up at the gates with his horse, holding the reign in his hands.

“Please!” He wasn’t sure what he was begging for. The royal family weren’t exactly the most helpful or kind bunch from what he had heard in his lifetime. Dom shook the rusting gates, the thought hitting him he didn’t know when the last time the gates had been opened.

A low creak pushed the rusting gates open just enough for him and his horse to squeeze on through. Kissing the Saint Christopher that hung from his neck, Dom led his horse inside the gates. The rusted metal clanged shut trapping him in.

“Don’t worry, bubba, we’ll be alright.” He assured, stroking his horses mane as they ventured up the drive to the castle. “Look, there’s a stable for ya.”

Leading bubba into the stable, the horse whinnied happily entering a stall with plenty of hay and water. “You stay here, I’m going to see if I can get some shelter.”

Soaked to his core, he trudged on to the castle, stopping only briefly to smell the roses that grew in twisted knots on a trellis. How beautiful they were, he was certain his sisters would love one.

He plucked a red one off the vine. “How delightful.”

“Who goes there?”

Dom jumped in fright, turning quickly to find a short young woman, arms crossed. A cloak covered her head which paired with long tendrils of hair covered her face. “Please, I mean no harm. I just got lost, the storm spooked my horse and I-”

“So you steal a rose?” How cold Dom felt in her presence. “Guards!”

A small army dressed in faded tunics baring the royal arms surrounded him and ceased his arms, struggling he was carried down into the depths of the castle.

----

“Princess? Perhaps it might be wise to offer our guest a room of his own?”

The question was posed by Harry, one of the most faithful members of the staff. Once upon a time he sang for the crown at parties and balls, now he kept the castle a foot and kept Y/N company in her chamber. He was not usually so bold in his distaste of her actions, though he was always quite kind.

“Harry, I said no.” Y/N turned her back to him and focused her attention once more on the wilting rose that remained encased in glass on her balcony.

“But what if-”

“But nothing!” She had turned cold in her isolation, her view of the world tainted by such loneliness, her view of men tainted with the oppression they caused (except for Harry it wasn’t his fault, nothing ever was). “Besides, who could ever love me?” The list of reasons to not were ever growing.

Harry crossed the room in two brief strides, his professional guard dropping as he scooped her into his arms. “Y/N, don’t think like that. We all love you and if I could break it, you know I would.”

Tears fell onto the glass dome encasing the rose as the two fell into silence. Once Y/N curled up into a ball and fell into fitful sleep, Harry grabbed a candle stick and rushed into the prisons.

The chill made his teeth chatter as he tsked under his breath. “Princess’ll learn one of these days, only way somebody’s gonna love her is if she’s fucking nice.” He continued his grumbling as he reached the cells.

Drawing out his keys, he unlocked the cell revealing a strapping young lad that reminded him of himself when he first arrived at the castle. “Hello mate, I’d like to offer my most sincere apologies for the treatment you have received up until now.”

“Pop your clogs.” Dom spat, squinting his eyes at the stranger. Under any other circumstance, literally any other one, he would be jumping the tall man’s bones because damn he was pretty.

“Well that’s not very nice at all.” Harry quipped unlocking the cell door and holding it open.

“You arrest people for picking a bloody rose around here?”

A harsh look clouded the servants face, eyes turning sharp. “Some suffer eternal damnation for one.” Um, what the fuck? Dom thought. “Unless you would like to spend the night freezing down here, I suggest you follow me.”

Sucking in a bated breath he decided he had one option and that was to follow the stranger. Harry flashed a dimpled grin, “Name’s Harry. The delightful princess you met earlier is her royal highness Y/N.”

“She’s a peach.” Dom scoffed keeping his stride in time with Harry’s, a frown lacing the other man’s face.

“Things were not always like this.”

“What happened?”

Harry shook his head, leading him into one of the many unused guest chambers. “Nothing you need to worry your little head about right now. For now, dry off and rest we cannot have our guest getting ill.”

Now, Dom wasn’t entirely sure he was a guest, or at the very least a willing guest, but he desperately wanted warmth and to sleep so he complied. He found robes of the finest silk and immediately thought of how much his mum and sisters would love the extravagance of it all.

It was the first time he cried to go home.

#Dominic Harrison imagine #Dominic Harrison imagines #Dominic Harrison x reader #yungblud imagine #yungblud imagines #yungblud x reader #Dominic Harrison au!#dom Harrison imagine #yungblud au #Dom Harrison au #beauty and the beast au

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ruinousrealms · 4 years ago

Text

Flayer

It was half past nightfall when we crossed the Rio Nuevo into Las Verdantes. Our outfit was fifteen men strong, pushing half a thousand cattle for Erlen Baymer, one of the state's lesser cattlemen. In truth he was a hard boss, a hard man who had captained a company of border raiders during the war and never tired of bragging about his service.

A favorite story of his was the time he and his men came across a family of free black farmers in southern Kansas. Baymer had approached on horseback, riding through the fields with the self-confident swagger of a plantation overlord surveying his property. He asked the father whose plantation he had run away from, and for response the black said he had been born free.

Now, Erlen Baymer was a devout Christian, and he knew the black race were descendants of Ham, son of Noah, and that for his transgression against God, he and his descendants were evermore cursed to servitude, to hew wood and draw water and be servants unto servants. He did of course explain this position to the black, as he ordered his men to strip him naked to find the truth of his claims. No man is born into slavery but he feels the whip, and so if he were born free, his back should be free from blemish.

Indeed, the man's back was smooth, free from the lumpy scars of the lash. A novelty, many of his company had come up to gawk and ask questions. How did the negro know what to plant and when without any white man to tell him? How did he work the fields without a lash to urge his lazy, indolent soul?

At length Captain Baymer ended this game and pronounced the sentence. The man was to be hung for his crimes against the Confederate States of America, those crimes being largely related to the color of his skin and the manner of his livelihood. It was understood that, if he were truly a born freeman, then surely his father and mother were somebody’s escaped property. Thus his very existence constituted the crime of theft. The children were brought back to Tennessee and dispersed among the slave markets.

The freeman’s remarkable back, Erlen Baymer had a leathersmith tan it and stitch it into a saddle. He rode that very saddle, decked out in silver dollar conchos and a rebel flag tied round the post, when we crossed the river that night in 1868.

Now, the facts of that night - I’m going to relate them to you here, plain and simple and just as they happened, like I’m some fancy New York journalist-reporter type. I grant you some of what I’m about to say may seem unbelievable. Well, there’s nothing I can do about that. I don’t got any proof, any evidence beyond what I saw that night with my own two eyes. The way Erlen Baymer died, and the things that happened to us in his trail crew before and after… I tell you boy, it’s a curse, the things I seen with these eyes. It’s what drives a man to whiskey.

The country there was flat as flapjacks, and the only place we could find to camp out of the wind was in a dried up riverbank. There we laid out our beds, cocooning ourselves in canvas sheets and wool blankets and shivering in the chill night air. The southwestern desert is hotter than a griddle all day long, but come nightfall and it’s as cold as the north pole.

Well, it was cold that night, like I said, and the wind was howling and kicking up a whole storm of dust. Me and some of the boys, those being Joe Merwin and Caul Bretton and Micah Sanchez, we took turns digging a hole in the side of the riverbank. It wasn’t like a cave, just a dirt overhang a few feet deep, with the excavated dirt piled up to protect our side from the wind.

I wouldn’t say it was the hole we dug that saved us. It sure didn’t save poor Caul, and from what I hear Micah’s still out of his mind up at one of those New England asylums. I’d say it kept us from getting noticed long enough to save our lives, for whatever that's worth.

Now we’d been seeing the makings of a dust storm in the distance for most of the afternoon. They’re common enough out here and we didn’t make much of it beyond what we’d have to do to keep the cattle from scattering. A herd of dumb heifers can scatter to the four winds during a dust-up if you’re not careful with where you lay them down.

The cows stretched out for more than a mile down the riverbed, but they wouldn’t bed down quietly. Whips of dust kept kicking up and no sooner had they sat down than they were on their hooves again, bellowing out loud.

Erlen Baymer kept riding up and down the line cursing to high heaven, kicking the sentries when he came upon them and telling them to get off their lazy god damned bean-eating asses and put the god damned cows to god damned sleep. The only effect that had was making it impossible for any of us to get sleep - But that probably saved us.

It was so dusty at that point that when dark fell there wasn’t a moon nor a star to be seen. A man could just see the dots of cattle guards’ lanterns like the windows of distant farmsteads. Weren’t no use keeping your eyes open, the wind kept kicking the stinging dust up and there weren’t anything to see anyways. I pulled my bandana up over my nose and pushed the brim of my hat down over my eyes and tried to get some shuteye.

I might even have caught a wink of sleep. The cattle down at the far end of the line were getting riled up, bellowing and braying into the night, and that got the whole herd nervous. A nervous longhorner is a dangerous longhorner, and a whole herd of nervous longhorners is a stampede waiting to happen. Joe Merwin went out to see what was the matter and lend a hand if need be. That left just the three of us.

The screaming started soon after. I think it was Tadd Murfree, but from the sound it was hard to tell whose voice it was. There are sounds and intonations particular to men and sounds and intonations particular to animals, and only in the extremity of fear, agony or ecstasy can one make the sounds of another. I don’t think poor Tadd was in ecstasy that night.

More screams started up, and the horses neighing, and the braying and bellowing filled the night air with a mad cacophony. I wager nobody’s ever heard a sound like that before, that of half a thousand screaming and panicking cattle. The hoofbeats were like thunder, like cannonfire, like a thousand drummers pounding madly out of time.

The three of us huddled at the back of our shallow hole in the edge of the riverbank, wishing we’d dug in even deeper and almost thankful Joe Merwin wasn’t here, because he was a big man and there wouldn’t have been room to hide.

I had a small trail lantern whose flickering light we used to play cards. It took five tries to get a match lit, my hands were shaking so much. It lit up our little hole just fine; I saw Micah had his revolver out, and his knuckles were white around the oakwood grip.

“Put that thing away, Micah, do you mean to shoot something?”

“I intend to be ready,” He said, which was reasonable enough.

I crawled to the entrance of the hole. As we were digging we piled the dirt up at the entrance to serve as a wind-break while we slept. I crawled up to it like a trench’s parapet and peered over with my little lamp. It didn’t illuminate much, but in its glow I could see a rush of cattle, a torrent of bovinity running full-tilt down the length of the riverbed. A lot of the animals had raw bloody wounds, some so flayed they appeared to be covered in red patches like a hellishly perverse Holstein.

These animals were panicking for a reason, fleeing some unknown predator, but what on God’s earth it could be I had no idea. Suddenly a cow fell headlong into the side of the embankment near us, sending a shower of dirt down from the roof of our little dugout. It kept trying to get up, but couldn’t; And when it rolled over I could see one whole side of its hip had been laid open and the bloody pink bone was visible. Well, I put the poor bellowing beast out of its misery and hurled my dinner over the side of the dirt heap.

And you see, that’s when Erlen Baymer rode past us. God, if the sight don’t haunt me. I once seen a drawing of the Third Horseman, Famine, a rotting man riding atop a rotting stallion. That’s what I saw. That’s the scene I’ve got to describe to you, to make you understand why I can’t sleep at night no more.

The horse looked like it had been dead and rotting for a week. It had hardly a hair of fur left on its body, and the skin… It looked like somebody had taken a cheese grater to the poor beast. Through flapping bits of flesh I saw muscles moving like an accursed anatomical flipbook. The horse’s jaw was hanging on by a thread of tendon and it was screaming, just screaming with that stump of a tongue hanging out.

The poor girl had been beautiful, just absolutely beautiful, with a black coat that shone like oil in the sunlight. Thinking back on it now I wish I’d have drawn my pistol and put an end to the poor thing, but at the time I was too shocked to do anything but watch as it thundered past, carrying its shrieking, flailing load.

Erlen Baymer was naked as Adam in Eden, and it was plain whatever was happening to the horse was occurring to him as well. He was flailing like a man possessed, slapping at himself as if desperately beating out flames; There were no flames, just raw red meat that spurted every time he touched it. He raised his arm and I caught a glimpse of the frayed ends of muscles poking through a bicep.

Something fell with a wet thud near our little hollow, and leaning over just slightly with the lantern, I saw a withered human leg severed at the knee, as if the joint had been so weakened it simply fell off. It seemed to be writhing as if covered by a hundred thousand ravenous little insects, methodically stripping it down to the bone before my very eyes. It was wearing one of Erlen Baymer’s fancy gatorskin ropers. Once the flesh was gone, the carnivorous beasties went to work eating the leather of the boot, anything fleshy enough to be consumed, till all that remained were bones and a silver spur.

I crawled back in the hole, barely able to process what I had just seen. “Alright, boys, what in the hell do we do?” I asked, and Micah Sanchez said what we three all were thinking - Make a run for the horses.

Well, you didn’t have to tell us twice. We three all crawled up to the opening, and Micah and Caul took off at a full tilt. I stayed behind a second - I’d just glanced at the body of the cow beside our dugout. It had been picked to the bone.

Just as I scrambled to my feet, Caul fell and started screaming.

“No! God, no!” Caul frantically started beating at the lower hem of his pant-legs. We didn’t know what in the hell was happening; Micah rushed over with the lamp and pulled up his trouser leg. Micah screamed and dropped the lantern, bringing the infernal night down around us once more. Caul let out a kind of a long drawn-out moan, with notes of fear, sadness and resignation. At the time what it reminded me of, more than anything, was a deer that’s gotten itself trapped in some crevasse it can’t get out, and the more it struggles the more stuck it gets, till it’s exhausted itself and all it can do is bray and wait to die.

A gunshot lit up the darkness for a moment, and the afterimage stayed in my eyes for a long time, like looking too long into a fire. Caul’s body slumped down almost casually, but the upper part of his head sprayed across the sand. I heard Micah’s running footsteps and his heavy gasping breath, and he thudded down next to me and skittered like a rat into our little safe haven.

“Flies!” Micah’s fingertips dug into my shoulders like blades, his dirty breath blowing in my face, “It’s flies! Must be millions of them! They were eating him right up! Cleaned his ankles down to the bone, I’m telling you!”

I told him to shut up.

“That’s why he fell, there weren’t nothing holding his foot bones to his leg!”

Maybe the reader will judge me for what I did next. I hope you’ll take into account the things I’d seen, and the stress I was under at the time. Micah was raving mad, clenching me for dear life like a survivor of a shipwreck clinging to a broken mast. I’d just seen him blow a man’s brains out - Though thinking back to it, he may have been right. It would have been cruel to leave him to be eaten alive, and if Micah had tried dragging him back, he’d have brought the carnivorous flies with him. He put him out of his misery as you would an old cow. But at that time I was still in shock, and the only thought that came to mind was of Caul Bretten, whom I hardly knew, but with whom I’d shared campfires and kettles of coffee, and whose brains were steaming in the cool desert night.

Thinking only of justice, I reached for my lantern and brought it down on Micah’s head, extinguishing the light and silencing his ramblings. I didn’t know whether or not I’d killed him. He was quiet. We lay there together a long time. I must have nodded off and woken several times. At one point, I woke to see Abraham Lincoln delivering the Gettysburg Address in the corner of our cave. Again I woke, this time to see a skinless and eyeless cow wandering blind in the dim pre-dawn light. It walked past absolutely silently.

When morning came, the desert was still and not a thing moved. The sun was well up in the sky before I dared move. I was caked in dust from head to toe, cracking and falling as I stirred.

Micah’s face was red and my first thought, as the events of the night came rushing back to me, was that he too was being consumed alive by those unstoppably ravenous insects. But no; My lantern blow had split his scalp and dry blood painted his face red as an Apache warrior. He was still breathing softly, so I left him there and took a gander outside.

The dry riverbed at first seemed to be decorated with a vast elaborate network of ice sculptures, gleaming a blinding white in the sun. These were the bones of cattle and cattlemen, five hundred dead heifers stripped of skin and meat and life. A lot of them had broken and ran, and their bones shone white in the distant desert sand. Clambering up the slope, the impression one got was of an overflowing river turned to ice in the blink of an eye, as if by magic.

Here and there the bones of the sentries. I recognized Eustace Bagge from his cigarette case. The leather had been eaten away, but the copper badge bearing the name of the regiment he served in the war was still perfect.

Two or three miles down, laying near some scrub was the skeleton of a horse surrounded by silver dollar conchos. I picked one up, turned it over; It could only be Erlen Baymer’s horse and saddle. The saddle, however, was gone but for the metal pegs that held it together. The freedman’s dark skin, that nightmarish piece of leatherwork, had been completely eaten away by the swarm.

The man himself had crawled away from his dead horse and left a trail of bones. He lost a lot more than the one leg; Toe and finger bones poked from the sand like pebbles, and the larger ones, a femur, most of a hand and the arm up to the elbow. I found gold teeth, and his revolver with the tacks that had held together the holster.

A bit further on I found Erlen Baymer. I turned and went back down the riverbank.

Micah had woken up and I found him wandering dazed and confused amongst the skeletons. I spoke to him but he didn’t reply; He never said a word to me again, and from what I’ve heard those New England brain-doctors haven’t gotten him talking. There was something wrong with his eyes. I couldn’t tell you what. He just kept staring past me.

He followed me without resistance. We followed the riverbed. We must have walked ten miles the first day and ten miles the next. The whole time we were stepping around skeletons. A herd can go surprisingly far in panic; The only reason they hadn’t gotten farther was, well, they were being eaten alive at the time.

The sun was our enemy. We had our canteens; I kept pouring little slips down Micah’s mouth, worried he’d choke but even more worried he’d die of thirst. At some point the brim started falling off my hat and letting sunlight hit my forehead, searing the skin red and raw.

Round noon of the third day, we came to an old covered bridge where we took shelter from the sun for a while, then started out along the road. After two and a half days walking, we were near dead. I had to pull Micah along, but he’d only move at a snail’s pace. I was terrified that he’d eventually fall down and just refuse to get back up; It’d be the end for him, and my own couldn’t be far away.

And then, as if by magic, a carriage appeared. One moment we were walking and then, the sound and smell of horses and a voice crying out in Spanish, “Quitate de en medio, idiotas!”

Well, I spoke a peck of Spanish, just enough for him to understand that we were in trouble, and the kind old man stepped down and helped me load Micah into the back, building a little bed for him out of bags of corn, and setting up a tarp to keep him out of the sun.

We rode to a hacienda named Soledad El Aquelarre, and the women bathed us and fed us and fussed over poor Micah. There was a nunnery not far away and the old man sent for the holy sisters to tend his needs, but beyond keeping him fed and cleaning up after him, there was little they could do.

I never told him a word of what happened. My lack of Spanish helped in that respect; Whenever he asked, I could pretend not to understand. He was kind, too kind for the likes of us, and I do feel guilty about lying to him, but I didn’t think he could comprehend what we’d been through, let alone understand. I barely could, and as I lay there day after day I got to wondering if the whole thing hadn’t been some sort of insane dream. I could see the workers in the fields through my window and beyond them the bone white desert stretched out gleaming, a thousand miles of dust to the gulf of Mexico.

One night, however, I was visited in my room by one of the sisters. She spoke good English and introduced herself as Sister Clarita. She was one of the sisters tending to Micah. She didn’t ask me what had happened, because she already knew. There were stories in this region going back centuries, of caravans going missing in the desert night, and by light of day all that are found are the polished white bones. The monastery library held many such reports going back to the days of the conquistadors. Sister Clarita thought it must have been going on a lot longer; The native tribes shunned this entire area, considering it an unclean place to visit and avoiding the entire hundred-mile stretch of desert as we Americans avoid the cesspit or the slums.

There were other books, too. Books on biology and entomology, and the evolution and adaptation of species. Sister Clarita suggested that a species of small insect, like the tiny mites and fleas that live among grains of sand and are so small as to be almost indistinguishable, may have become adapted, over many centuries, to the consumption of flesh. That such a diet would cause changes in the bodies of the insects making them more adept at catching their prey; Perhaps their mandibles had developed a razor’s edge for slicing off bits of flesh. Or maybe they coated their victims in digestive acid and slurped up the liquified flesh. Sister Clarita knew of several insects that consumed their prey in just such a manner, though none that she knew had ever gone after so large a prey as a man or a cow.

“But Sister, if these really are man-eating insects, why do they stay out here in the desert? Every animal migrates toward its food source; These things could strip a town clean of flesh overnight! Why aren’t they swarming through the cities, just… Everywhere?”

“Perhaps they just like the weather here,” Sister Clarita said and kissed her rosary.

After a week of recovery, I felt well enough to travel. I collected Micah from the sisters, who protested, but I thought if anyone could help him it would be at one of those new asylums up in New England. The old man took us as far as the train station in Las Friolero del Resol, and there he bade us goodbye.

Two days later we were back in Texas. First thing I went to the barber to shave off the wild beard I’d grown. Then I walked into the nearest sheriff’s office to report the fate of the Erlen Baymer Cattle Drive.

Well, they didn’t believe a word of what I told them and locked me and Micah up for murder. To hear them tell it, the two of us got up one night and slit everybody’s throats. Didn’t matter to them what I said, nor the state Micah was in; They left us to rot six weeks before the circuit judge came ‘round to pronounce the sentence.

He had expected an open-and-shut murder case; When we were brought to stand before him, he saw my sleepless eyes and the empty shell of a man that was Micah. He listened to my story silently, nodding occasionally for me to continue, and when it was done he pronounced the sentence.

“I, Judge Howard Lorbbock of the Great State of Texas, do hereby declare these two men to be mentally insane. No doubt they were driven mad by the ordeal they suffered, of crossing the desert after their cattle drive was destroyed by Apaches.”

There weren’t any damn Apaches in that part of Mexico, but I kept my mouth shut. The sheriff was making enough noise as it was, imploring the judge that “What the people of this town need to see is a good old fashioned hanging!”

Well, we were sent to Houston for treatment. Micah was considered such a specialty case that he was sent up north to New England, to the asylum in some town called Arkham.

I stayed behind at the Houston madhouse. The medicine they gave me made me sleep, but nothing can stop the dreams. When I close my eyes, all I can see are Erlen Baymer’s lidless eyeballs rolling round and round in his red skull-face.

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hiddendreamer67 · 5 years ago

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I love the witch brother au so much? I think my favorite part is logan being a wolf and also Virgil's familiar, i love those two so much. But also patton baby i hope roman's hypoallergenic. Anyways, if you're still taking prompts would you consider showing us how virgil came to find his logan and/or how their relationship developed and their dynamic?

(I love this too and I will always take prompts for my witchy bois omg I got so into this again I just speed wrote this all this morning)

Read more of my writing at @hiddendreamerwriting!

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It had happened one late afternoon in mid December. Virgil had just become of age, but it was hard to think of himself as any sort of capable witch when he couldn’t even cast a simple location spell.

Virgil grit his teeth, pressing his mittened hands together to try and form a flame to keep the cold at bay. It felt as though the spell did nothing, and Virgil’s feet still got soaked as he trudged through the snow that was knee high.

“Great.” Virgil muttered, shoving his hands into his armpits instead, hunching over against the howling wind. “Just great.”

He was going to die out here, wasn’t he? Virgil was such an idiot. Don’t worry Patton, it’s just a bit of juniper. I’ll be back by sundown. And now Patton was going to be worried out of his mind. Virgil was such a terrible brother, he couldn’t even keep them safe through the winter.

It was Virgil’s fault that they even had to come out into the woods in the first place; the village had not exactly been welcoming of a family of witches when Virgil accidentally spooked off the neighboring farm’s herd of horses. It seemed with every task Virgil took on, his magic always found a way to screw it up. He couldn’t even complete normal mortal tasks, like finding a simple sprig of juniper. Now Virgil was forced to cower home empty handed, if he even managed to make it home at all.

A howling different from the wind made Virgil come to a stuttered hault. He looked up, finding himself standing at the edge of a clearing. Standing in the center was a large wolf, fur grey to the point of being almost blue in the reflection of the snow.

The creature had already spotted him, looking over Virgil consideringly as if deciding if the witch was a threat. The rest of the world faded away, the wind quieting down as if watching with hushed tones, curious which predator would make the first move.

Virgil internally cursed, eyes darting around the tree line but never leaving the threat in front of him. Wolves always hunted in packs. How many were watching through the shadows? A good witch would have no trouble with creatures of the forest, and maybe even bend the pack to his whims. Frankly, Virgil wouldn’t be surprised if one wolf alone would be enough to overtake him and make an easy meal.

“I mean no trouble.” Virgil spoke up, hoping the magic edge to his voice would be enough to deter an attack. Yes, fear me, i’m definitely a capable witch who knows what he’s doing.

The wolf seemed unswayed with Virgil’s attempt at intimidation, giving Virgil an unimpressed look as it tilted its head to the side.

“Please, just-” Virgil cursed himself for showing weakness, shivering as his meager warmth spell continued to fade. “I just want to go home.”

Now, the wolf took a few steps away, turning its head to send Virgil a look. The wolf took another few steps in the opposite direction, looking back at Virgil again.

Virgil paused, his mind trying to process what was going on. From the body language alone, it was clear that the wolf wanted Virgil to follow, which despite the fact the wolf hadn’t shown any signs of aggression seemed like a terrible idea.

“I- no, I can’t play games.” Virgil huffed, wondering if this wolf was really just a large village dog that had also gotten lost. “I have to go home.”

The wolf gave a low growl, annoyed, and Virgil jumped. Perhaps it wasn’t a great idea to ignore the wants of what could be a magic and almost-sentient creature that wanted him to follow. Especially when said creature could easily tear out his throat.

So, hesitantly, Virgil stepped forward. He felt exposed in the clearing, and the eerie silence that had befallen the woods was no help. The wolf sat, patient, until Virgil could almost reach out and pet it (provided he wanted to lose his hand). Only then did it stand to lead the way once more, staying just a few paces ahead of Virgil despite the fact it could have easily outrun him through this snow.

Their progress was slow, and Virgil was keenly aware of the sun setting in the distance. Still the wolf made no motion to stop. It led Virgil in a straight line for the most part, every so often raising its nose and sniffing the air to ensure they were still headed towards the wolf’s destination.

“…you’re not a normal wolf, are you?” Virgil commented, beginning to put the pieces together. A shape-shifting fae, perhaps? Or an enchanted creature? Both would explain the apparent sentience, but neither would explain the wolf’s peculiar interest in Virgil.

The wolf glanced back at Virgil, and Virgil swore he saw an eyebrow raise as if mocking him.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Virgil nodded, still trying to figure out the wolf’s exact origins. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, the early night air colder than before. “A-are we almost there?”

At the sound of Virgil’s teeth chattering, the wolf’s gaze seemed to turn pitying. He gestured with his nose, a bit forward to the right. Virgil started to follow the wolf in that direction, but this time the animal stayed at his side, seeming very intent on the way Virgil swayed with each step.

Virgil grimaced, his eyes shut tight as he fumbled to keep moving forwards. His feet felt as though they were made of solid ice. What he wouldn’t give to be back home, safely tucked in front of the fireplace with Patton curled at his side…

As if reading his thoughts, the trees suddenly parted, revealing the hut Virgil now called home. The witch let out a surprised gasp, which manifested itself as a small cloud in the chill atmosphere.

“How…?” Virgil turned to ask the wolf how it had known, but suddenly the creature was dashing back into the dark cover of the forest. “H-hey! Wait!”

“Virgil?!” Virgil’s attention was once again torn back to the hut, where a worried Patton was silhouetted in the warm door frame. The younger witch came rushing out, hurrying to help Virgil inside. “Virgil, what happened? You’re freezing.”

Virgil allowed himself to be guided inside, but his mind wandered back to the wolf. Would it be alright, alone in the woods? Of course it would, it was a wolf, if a peculiar one at that. Who ever heard of a lone wolf? A cruel irony, really, reminding Virgil how he himself had been exiled from his ‘pack’- er, village. Was that what happened? Had the wolf taken pity on him simply because Virgil was alone? He hadn’t gotten a chance to thank the creature for its assistance-

Virgil stiffened in the chair by the fire, his muscles tensing as all at once he realized what had happened. He had heard tales of gaining a familiar after he came of age, but Virgil had never considered himself enough of a witch for that to be true. Or when he did indulge that fantasy, Virgil always expected to be paired with a mouse or a toad. Something small and unassuming to prove he wasn’t a threat.

Instead, out of nowhere, Virgil seemed to have been gifted a magnificent beast. Not gifted, no, that implied that Virgil owned the wolf. He could never own something so powerful, and so tied to nature just like himself. But why a wolf? Virgil was more often a healer than anything else, despite his magic quirks. He was protective, defensive, but not aggressive. At least…he tried not to be, because he didn’t want to be feared. So what did having a wolf familiar say about him?

And more importantly, why did the wolf leave?

“Virgil?” Patton asked hesitantly, watching the elder witch rise.

“I think I need to find someone.” Virgil said cryptically, knowing Patton was still watching him as he headed to the door.

“Virgil, it- it can wait until morning-” Patton attempted to argue.

“I’ll only be a second.” Virgil pulled on his cloak once more. “I promise.” He had also promised to be home by sunset. He ignored the fact he was unsuccessful that time.

“But-!” Patton’s cry of protest was ignored, Virgil opening the door and immediately regretting his decision to go back in the cold. Still he stepped out, shutting the door. A few lazy flakes of snow began to fall down onto his head.

“Okay, Mr. wolf, where are you?” Virgil asked to himself, stepping forwards a few paces.

He didn’t need to go far. Out of the shadows the wolf emerged again, first its glowing blue eyes that looked ready to scold Virgil for coming back out. As it got closer, Virgil could see something was clutched in its mouth.

“So…” Virgil glanced down, suddenly hesitant. What if he was wrong about this? What if he just offended the most powerful wolf in the woods by claiming it was somehow Virgil’s servant?

But then Virgil knelt down, and the wolf nudged its offering in Virgil’s direction. A juniper sprig, just as Virgil had gone searching for in the first place. Virgil took it delicately between his fingers, reaching out a cautious hand to test his claim. The wolf did not recoil, in fact it leaned its head into Virgil’s touch.

Immediately Virgil felt a new warmth tingling up his arm, and he gasped at the feeling of the bond being formed. For a person with trust issues, the idea of breaking down his mental walls so quickly was almost startling.

The wolf seemed to react in a similar manner, giving a surprised sniff of its nose and a small shake of its head. Logan. Something in the back of Virgil’s mind told him. This is your familiar, Logan.

“Thank you, Logan.” Virgil smiled gratefully, scratching Logan behind the ear.

#sanders sides #witch au #platonic analogical #platonic moxiety #witch!virgil #witch!patton #familiar!logan #wolf!logan #wolf #wolves #woof #i love themmmmmm #i need more prompts of them plz

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