#some stupid werewolf idea i had

[m1stertusk]

something i probably wont finish

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than a full minute

Werewolves need help but everyone else trying to help them is STUPID and WRONG so I did it better. You're welcome

Also an artifact that I just had the idea for and kinda sorta supports werewolves if you squint so I gave it Innistrad flavor and threw it in the batch. So there, unique support cards that aid werewolves in their transforming endevors without defaulting to the laziest possible-

"Why not just give werewolves flash?"

FUCKING FINE

You want flash so bad you can spend 3 mana on it

[inkdrinkerworld]

same bday anon- i have a yelling req !!!

remus yelling at reader pre or post full moon and the other marauders don't say anything bc they're shocked, but reader thinks it's bc they agree? and then after a while they all make up and just cuddle<3 ofc if u don't wanna it's all good !!! ilysm baby !

I did it more along the lines of Remus having chronic pain than a werewolf thing :/ I hope that’s okay

You’re kneeling before Remus’ slouched body on the sofa, hand in his hair as you try to coax him to move.

“Remus, c’mon. You can’t lay like that, your bones will ache.”

You’re trying to get your ailing boyfriend to find a much more comfortable spot, his body sore and tired and the chill moving through the air wasn’t helping so much.

Sirius and James are in the kitchen- a bad idea but you’d wanted to try to coax Remus into some stretches and maybe a massage before they finished the potato and leek soup for supper.

“I can lay like this all I want, dove. It feels good.” There’s a snark in his tone, but you don’t let it get under your skin. You know how much pain he’s in when he has a flare up like this, so you brush his tone aside.

You run your hand down his cheeks, “Please Rem. I don’t want your knees to lock or your back to twinge.”

You’re as gentle as you can be, patient and understanding but you can see in your mind’s eye that way Remus wobbled and fell to the floor the last time his knees had locked.

“I’m a grown man damnit!” You flinch back from him as his tone shifts, your hand dropping from his face as you sit back on your heels on the floor. “If I want to fucking lay like this for the rest of the night I can.”

Remus’ outburst has gathered the attention of your other boyfriends, and you want terribly to respond to his words, but you can’t.

He sounds so upset and he’s so loud and you feel your chest constrict as you stare at him.

“I don’t need you hovering for gods sake! Go be a nuisance somewhere else.”

Remus speaks with such venom and he looks at you with just heat and anger in his eyes that it’s impossible not to believe this is how he really feed about you.

James and Sirius stay silent, shocked by Remus’ words just as you are- but their silence makes the shame burn hotter in your chest.

This is how they all feel about you.

“You don’t get to be mean just cause you’re hurting, Remus.” Is all you say as you stand, walking towards the front door when Sirius springs into action first.

“Poppet, where’re you headed?” He’s almost beaten you to the front door but your hand touches the handle first.

“I’m going for a walk. I want to stack stones by the river.” Sirius knows what it’s code for. You don’t want to say something mean back to Remus, you want to be kind even if he’s being an ass.

Sirius makes to grab your jumpers. “I’ll come with, you shouldn’t be alone.” You shake your head.

“You don’t have to pretend you care, Siri. It’s okay if you and Jamie agree with him. I just want to be alone.”

“Agree with him? Poppet we,” but you’re already out the door.

James glares at Remus who simply sinks into the sofa.

“You can be a real piece of work, Moony.” James says, hoisting his boyfriend out of the position he’d been in and stretching his legs long on the sofa instead of over its back.

Sirius moves to the living room again, “She was trying to help. Now she’s gone off to stack her stones when she should be tearing you a new one.”

Remus scrubs at his face, heat colouring his cheeks red. Sirius doesn’t let him off the hook. He can’t believe how callous Remus has been.

“Thinks me and James share your fuck off stupid sentiments when you don’t even believe what you said.”

James stops him from saying any more. “I’ll go look for her while you stay with him.”

Remus shakes his head, hissing as he stands; his knees shaky and weak. “I’ll go.” Sirius wants to stop him, but James knows if Remus doesn’t go do it now he’ll spend the entire time he’s home worrying himself sick and then won’t be able to face for days.

Sirius slaps his hands to his thighs, “Fuck off, we’ll all go. I’ll turn off the hob.”

They find you after you’ve already made four stacks of rocks, some with tiny rocks, some with huge slabs of stone.

Remus’ chest tightens as he spots you, your knees to your chest, toes wet from where you’re sat.

“Dove,” Remus starts to say as he stops right beside you. “I was an ass. I didn’t mean what I said.”

You just hum, looking at your stacks and trying to find more rocks for another pile.

“I hate when I can’t do the things I want because it’ll make me hurt and it was wrong of me to shout at you for just trying to look after me.”

You look at him when he crouched down, his knees cracking so loudly you’re worried he’ll topple over.

James steadies a hand on Remus’ back while Sirius procures a couple stones for you. His palm flat as he shows them to you, a little smile on his face when you take them.

“You said I was a nuisance.” Remus cringes as he heads the words back. He really can’t believe he’d been so mean to you.

“I didn’t mean it, dovey. The pain is no excuse.”

“Do you all think that?” You ask nervously, “You didn’t say anything when he said it.” You gnaw on your bottom lip, worrying it to all hell as you look between James and Sirius.

“You’re not a nuisance baby,” James says first, hurt that you’d even thought it was how they felt about you. “I know us not saying anything made things worse, but it was just shock; not how we feel.”

Sirius turns your face up to his, pinching your chin to keep your eyes on him. “You walked out before I could finish. None of us think you’re a nuisance, you’re the best damn thing that happened to us. Come home.”

Sirius is hard to have a stare off with, he doesn’t back down. But it isn’t that that does you in.

“Please dove. You can boss me around till the end of time, just come home and out of the cold.”

Remus sounds so chock full of remorse and when you look at him you find his eyes glassy. “Okay,” Sirius helps you stand, and you receive kisses from all three of them before you the river bed.

[hedwig221b]

You are amazing ✨✨✨

Do you have any feral Derek fic recs?? Especially if he’s stuck as a wolf?? Bonus points if Stiles thinks he’s just a big friendly dog 🥹

Hi, love! Thank uuu! I absolutely love feral wolf Derek, it always delivers. Here's a very long rec list, enjoy!

Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth. “Not too close, he bites.” Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting. “He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton. The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.” “Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek. He looked extremely displeased.

You're My Sanctuary by lilmissdaydreamer

The Argent Wolf Sanctuary. It’s been Stiles’ dream since he was five years old to work with the wolves, ever since his mother took him up there to see the magnificent creatures on one of their ‘full moon runs’ that the Sanctuary does once a month. The wolves are beautiful and much larger than Stiles would’ve thought, or at least, the newest wolf is. The owner had said he’s a special breed. Stiles just didn’t realize quite how special he is.

Stuck in This in Between by calrissian18

“You’re not getting better, Derek.” And it was the first time he’d called him that since he’d realized he wasn’t really.

The Feral Alpha by halcyon1993

Derek has lived in a half-feral state in the wilderness ever since hunters killed his family. When the hunters return years later, he gets his revenge and finds his true mate in one of the boys they were holding captive. He claims him immediately.

Safe Mind by LadyDrace

Derek goes missing for a while and comes back full wolf. Only problem is that his mind has gone wolf too, and for some reason the only one he'll allow near him… is Stiles.

Of Blood and Feral Wolves by Flicker_Ash

After Stiles is hurt in a surprise attack, Derek's wolf takes over and won't let anyone near him. Doesn't matter if it's Scott or a paramedic, when there's blood and no sarcasm, no-one's touching Stiles.

Light at the end of the tunnel by Lesatha

“Careful, Stilinski. Don’t think you can go around telling me what to do, or coddling the werewolf.” “What does it matter to you?” “If the feral alpha kills you, it will be my fault, as your supervisor.” Stiles’ head whipped towards the werewolf. He couldn’t see much of him apart from his red eyes, always following Stiles. Crazy as it might sound, it comforted him. The werewolf wasn’t the rabid animal Elis seemed to picture. He was just… hurt.

Feral by melofttroll

Scott’s yelling now as the Jeep comes to a halt, and Stiles ignores him as he clambers from the seat. The skid turned the Jeep completely around, and his headlights are pointed at something that is decidedly not dog-ish, or bear-ish, but very, very human. And by the shuddering breaths coming from the man’s chest, very much alive. Feral!Derek, Sterek AU

Lessons in Humanity by exclamation

Fleeing from werewolves, Stiles comes face to face with Derek, a werewolf human in shape but animal in his mind. Stiles is terrified of being killed, but it seems Derek has decided Stiles would make a suitable mate. Unfortunately, his idea of a romantic gift is a dead animal on the doorstep. Stiles must help Derek remember what it is to be human… and figure out how to explain his new werewolf stalker to his dad.

Throw Away the Key by mommymuffin

Stiles knew it was stupid to go to the hunters’ headquarters all by himself, so when he finds himself caught, he can really only blame himself. It shouldn't surprise Stiles when the situation quickly goes from bad to worse as the hunters throw him to a feral werewolf waiting to tear him apart. Sucks that it's Derek, though.

Thanks for Thumper, But I Prefer Cheeseburgers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The wolf’s head whipped around so fast, Stiles felt like he was watching The Exorcist. Stiles wondered if he could just stand still enough to make the wolf think he was a tree. A very bright red and jean-clad tree. He doubted it, but one could hope. He knew it was a lost cause when the wolf turned fully, lips pulled back from its sharp teeth—so very sharp, good fucking Lord!—and began walking towards Stiles. “I didn’t see anything!” Stiles shouted, both hands out in front of himself and sweat instantly breaking out across his skin. “I swear to you! I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t! I’ll keep this to myself, until the day I die! I promise! I promise!”

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life. There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Hallowed Grounds by damnfancyscotch

Everything in Beacon Hills is the same when Stiles comes home from college. Well, except for the fact that he's a published author now, Scott is halfway across the world with a travelling circus, Erica's epilepsy has been cured, her boss offers him a job too, and there's this weird black dog that seems to be following him around just to judge him. Oh, and the murders, of course. But other than that stuff… totally the same old BH.

There Are No Wolves in California (Werewolves on the Other Hand…) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella), KioFox

“I’m not calming down until you call animal control! I fucking saw it! There were fucking wolves!” “There are no wolves in California, Mr. Daehler,” the principal said, sounding exasperated, like this was the third time she’d said it to him. “Well clearly there are!” he shouted back, showing such a lack of respect for the woman, Stiles had to applaud her for her fortitude not to smack him in the face. “Perhaps you were mistaken,” she said calmly. “No I wasn’t fucking mistaken,” Matt insisted, sounding incensed. “No way these were dogs, they were massive!” For a second, Stiles felt like the world had slowed considerably as those words wormed their way into his brain. Because—he knew a dog that was massive. Honestly, he’d also brushed away the idea of the dog being a wolf because there were no wolves in California. But… what if there were? Holy shit, had Stiles literally spent his lunch break with a fucking wolf cuddled into his side while he pet it?! Good God, he was lucky to still have all his limbs!

Where the Real Beasts Are by kaistrex (weishen)

Crown Prince Stiles is gifted a direwolf on his eighteenth birthday by King Gerard I of Venatia. The only instruction? Never remove the collar. Stiles never has been one to do as he’s told.

The Soul Knows What the Heart Wants by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“Holy—shit,” Stiles breathed, Bacon stopping in what he was doing, still staring at him intently, as if begging him to understand, for someone to finally understand. Stiles felt like he’d been electrocuted and he leapt out of his chair, kneeling in front of Bacon and grabbing at his furry face. “Holy shit! Oh my God, are you—wait, holy—you’re not fucking with me, right?!” Bacon let out two quick barks, which Stiles chose to interpret as ‘no.’ "Oh my God, are you a real person in there?!” Stiles shouted in the wolf’s face, staring him right in the eye. He was still holding the wolf’s head with both hands, but Bacon dipped his muzzle in confirmation and Stiles officially lost his mind. “Oh my God!” he shouted again, releasing Bacon to clutch at his own hair. “Oh my God! Dude, for real?! You’re—holy shit! Holy shit!” He didn’t know how to react to this news. He had no fucking idea how to react. This was a person?! But how?! How was this a person?! People didn’t just turn into wolves!

Rabbit Hearted by secondstar, Tsuminoaru

Storytellers were known for their talented tongues, their ability to weave tales and enthrall the listener. Their stories held weight, taken as truth as they were passed down from generation to generation. A tale of a cursed pack of wolves was one such story that Stiles had known since he was a child. Never did he think that he would become part of that tale, or that its weight would be up upon his shoulders. A tale of curses, sacrifices, and acceptance of one's inner self.

Being Close to You by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Realization dawned and Derek cursed himself viciously. How could he be stupid enough to forget Scott was a Werewolf? He could fucking smell him! Scott knew it was him! “Stiles?” Scott asked uncertainly while Stiles started opening and closing various cabinets, looking for who knew what. “That’s not a d—” Derek snarled and let out a loud bark, eyes glowing blue in Scott’s direction since Stiles couldn’t see him from where he was standing. Scott scowled at him, moving closer to him and inhaling pointedly. “What are you doing here, Derek?” Scott asked, voice low enough that Stiles wouldn’t hear. He wasn’t listening anyway, still panicking and randomly opening things.

(You) Bring Out the Beast (In Me) by Ember

“Should I make out the wedding invitations?” Stiles swallowed his mouthful of soda.”What?” Lydia smirked. “Well, you and Derek have seemed awfully cozy lately. Just wanted to be supportive.” “Oh, yeah, because that’s exactly why I went into wildlife preservation.” He rolled his eyes. “Beastiality jokes.” +++ Aka the one where Derek is a wolf and Stiles is his trainer, and then magic and transformations and feelings happen.

A Boy’s Best Friend by KnottheWolf

Stiles was just having some ‘me time’ when things escalated with his dog, Wolf. Or at least, he thinks it’s a dog.

"good boy" by quackquackcey

Stiles doesn’t think his senior year can get any worse with his best friend turning rabid every full moon, until he finds himself stuck with a massive black wolf overnight that doesn’t even like jerky. But on the bright side, the hot guy with the half-dying sister he met at the gas station seems to be in town for a bit, so there’s still a chance that his senior year, his supposed best year of high school, isn’t a complete lost cause…right? That is, if he can manage to juggle the sassy wolf that he takes care of at night and the hot guy that asked him out on a date for some reason.~ 🐺🍕

[masterlist link]

[werecreature-addicted]

Ok, imagine this, werewolf is in love with his neighbor, a human girl, everything would be fine if it weren't for the fact that the girl is a single mother of a little boy, and I'm not saying this because it's a bad thing for a woman to be a single mother, I'm saying this because of their neighbors, the other human neighbors have the mistaken idea that werewolves are cruel to other men's children, even propagating the absurd idea that werewolves kill the children of other males when they are interested in the mother. Of course our werewolf would never do that, werewolves would never harm a woman's offspring, so he has to be very careful and almost transparent to be able to woo the girl without her thinking that he is a danger to her or his little son

he meets your child first. he's just trying to carry in groceries, all of them in one trip of course, when he hears a small "can I help?" he looks down and sees a human pup with big wide eyes and a missing front tooth. He'd known that knew people had moved in next door a little while ago but he didn't know they came with a kid.

"Sure," he says and hands the kid one bag to carry as they trek up the driveway. it's a short walk and he can easily do it himself, but the werewolf thinks the boy is cute, so young yet already helpful and determined to prove his strength. what a good pack leader he would be one day. the kid drops the bag by his door and then runs back to his yard to play. The werewolf had never paid much attention to his next-door neighbors but he would start now.

He meets you a few days later and wow. he's never met a human so pretty. you seem nervous, a little frazzled from the recent move, but sweet. he tells you about your son helping him with the groceries and offers to help you any time you need anything, just looking for an excuse to see you again.

And you do need his help a lot around the house. it's hard trying to do everything yourself especially when you're raising a little boy. Luckily your neighbor is always there whether it's to replace some shingles on your roof or just play with your son for a little so you can get five minutes to yourself. you won't lie, you do pick specific favors to ask of him. sure you could do your own yard work, but there's just something so sexy about a sweaty hard-working werewolf.

He's so sweet he almost instantly becomes a part of your life. You can tell he's interested in you, you're not an idiot, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't like him too. It's flattering to have someone clearly so into you even knowing you have a child.

You spend of late nights confiding in him and before you know it you start to think you're falling for him. then you happen to mention your blooming romance to one of your coworkers and they inform you, horrified, that if a werewolf is interested in a woman with a child they're known to kill the child so the mother can focus on raising the werewolf pups. The story chills you, you'd heard similar things about lions in the wild, and maybe it was true for all preditors.

you can't help but spiral a little bit, you've been leaving your baby alone with a hungry wolf. but... somehow you don't believe it. He had never shown himself to be violent or even anything but loving towards your son. and you knew he was closer to human than some wild animal. he wouldn't really do something like that, would he?

When you get home you're a little jumpy around your neighbor, which he notices. you don't let your son go over to his yard to play and you don't invite him over for dinner, which is odd, to say the least. but he doesn't push. You feel stupid, avoiding him like this, why should you be scared of someone who'd been nothing but kind?

you go out onto your porch that night and see him out looking up at the stars. when he hears you he waves you over.

"it's a pretty night," you comment sitting beside him, awkwardly.

"prettier with you here," he teases, you feel your face go hot and you have to look away, he laughs at your embarrassment. you're quiet for a long time before you finally bring up what was on your mind.

you don't come out and say "Hey are you going to murder my child to get closer to me?" but instead you ask him:

"you flirt with me a lot, but does it ever bother you that I have a child? does that make you hesitate to have a real relationship?" it's still blunt but it's not quite as accusatory.

"I've always wanted kids, I love your son, I'm not going to run because of it, I want you and you having a son doesn't change that," he assures you. A few months later you'll admit exactly what your coworker said, he was horrified you ever thought he'd be capable of hurting the boy he views as his son, and he tells you in no uncertain terms that he would die to protect the both of you. no harm is coming to either of you while he's here to protect his family.

[cherrixpie]

NEMESIS

chapter two of five

↬ you were supposed to steer clear of mattheo riddle. shame that he was just so intriguing.

↬ sfw; wc: 5.8k; cw: mentions of blood; tags: enemies to lovers; gryffindor!reader, muggleborn!reader

( masterlist )

To your pleasant surprise, your detention, as you were informed the next day, would take place that evening with Hagrid. Years ago, you had befriended the gamekeeper through Harry. And though this meant that there was a good chance of going into the dark forest for the detention, you would much rather do that with Hagrid than clean some classroom under Filch’s scrutinizing stare. Only the prospect of spending the evening in the presence of Riddle and Malfoy sent your nerves ablaze as you walked out into the dark school grounds the following evening, your book bag over the shoulder and heading straight towards the little speck of light that was Hagrid’s cabin.

It was a cold November night, and even in your coat, you felt chilly. Your breathing was visible as a curling fog in the air, wandering up into a clear sky that displayed an incredible assortment of stars. As you made a point of following the rules to the tee, you were rarely outside at this our, and you didn't belong to the groups of people who headed up to the Astronomy tower for a fuck or a smoke. Laying somewhere in the Scottish countryside, the castle was far away from any city deserving of the name. The lack of artificial light made the stars shine impossibly bright. It was as if the skies opened their gates as you stilled to look up and admire, they seemed to take up even the corners of the vision as if you yourself hovered in their midst.

In a moment of silly delight at the beauty surrounding you, you blew out a long breath and it swirled above you before fading quickly. With half a mind, you realized how stupid you had to look right now, standing still and gazing upwards. The lack of movement made coldness creep up your body and you shivered, but you were still transfixed.

“Well, what's a pretty girl like you doing in a soggy old place like this?”

You shot around, startled. Riddle and Malfoy were approaching you. The former had spoken and now wore a smile of ridicule. Malfoy, on the other hand, looked like smiling was the last thing he would ever think about. His wary eyes flickered to the great black mass that was the dark forest, then to you with a glare.

Ignoring Riddle’s comment, you accelerated your steps and gripped the handle of your book bag tighter. But still, he was but a few steps behind you, evident by the sound of moist leaves ruffling under his feet. Draco, cursing under his breath, seemed to trail behind him at a short distance. Riddle caught up with you when Hagrid’s hut became clear against the blackness of the trees. You expected him to say something derogatory or mean, so his question surprised you. “Always carrying around a bag of books with ya, around ya, princess?” A teasing smile pulled at his lips, but he didn't seem outwardly aggressive.

Against your better judgement, you found yourself responding to him. “Maybe we need the school stuff for something. In detention I mean.”

“Need?” Riddle mocked your tone and chuckled. “You could always throw it at a werewolf when it jumps at you, I suppose.” Against your will, you found yourself throwing him quick glances. His hands were in his pockets, he'd ditched his cloak and his white shirt shone bright against the dark. With comical precision, you found the inevitable specks of blood at the collar. Riddle seemed fully relaxed at the idea of going into the forest, but that didn't surprise you. Slimy, dark, cold… It probably felt like home to him. You bit your lip at the thought, glad you hadn't said it out loud. Even for a guy like Riddle, it seemed harsh.

“If you want to undress me, no need to only use your eyes.” A lazy grin tugged at his lips as he blew you a kiss and reveled in your flustered reaction. Stupid fuck. Turning scarlet, you stuffed your hands in your pockets with the intent to ignore him for the rest of the night.

Hagrid awaited you in front of his cabin, a crossbow over his shoulder. When you arrived, he greeted you cheerfully but regarded Malfoy and Riddle with a resentful frown. Upon hearing your voice, Fang came running from behind the hut, wagging his tail and barking excitedly at the familiar face. You crouched down and ignored how wetness seeped through your clothes to scratch the dog behind his ear and let him lap at your face. The remaining dog slobber, you brushed away with your sleeve.

“You lot will be helping me out tonight,” Hagrid announced as you stood up, Fang still glued to your leg and wagging his tail. A soft thumping sounded through the cool night air when it hit the ground in rapid succession. “We are taking a look at the plant population of one grata insidia today, whether they've been affected by the cold weather, since this is the first season they're growing here. You should know how they look from your herbology class.” Right. You remembered the plant. A blue, phosphorescent flower with flowing leaves that could ensnare flies in an instance.

“When you found some,” Hagrid continued, “You sketch ‘em. Make sure you get the leaves in detail, they're the most important part. Don't make light with your wands, though, they might retract.” Clearing his throat, he looked around at the three of you. You noticed he looked away from Riddle quickly and were reminded of the fact that he had known his father before he had shed his mortal parts. Then, you, shaking like a leaf, and Malfoy. As you glanced at the latter, you noticed he was even paler than usual and looked a little green around the nose, as if he was about to throw up. Reminded of the last time he'd had detention in the dark forest, you hid your grin in your scarf.

Hagrid seemed to remember the encounter as well. “We're pairing up in two’s. Malfoy, you're with me,” he grumbled, “after last time. Except-” He glanced at you worriedly, as if he'd just concluded what that would entail for you. “I mean… if it's alright with you?” Smiling at the guilty look on his face, you nodded into your scarf. Though his large face was still etched with concern, Hagrid scowled as he looked at Riddle, and it seemed to cost him a lot of willpower. “Don't try anything funny, or you'll be in real trouble.” Riddle answered mit no more than a derogative glare, quite unlike the teasing grins he threw at you when Hagrid turned away.

You had noticed before how scowling, sinister Mattheo Riddle would be much more, for lack of a better term, cheerful around you. More at ease, maybe. He probably didn't even see you as a person and therefore felt relaxed enough to subject you to an endless stream of those mocking smiles that didn't deserve to be nearly as attractive as they were. Objectively, of course. Now, as you looked at him, he met your gaze and the scowl was exchanged for a smirk. “Looks like your bag'll come in handy, princess.”

“Told you,” you muttered as Hagrid told Fang to stay by his side, still throwing suspicious looks at Riddle. He announced what parts of the forest you would cover and when to return. Then, it was off into the dark.

The trees seemed to engulf you the moment you set foot in their midst, they swallowed all light, even shielded you from the stars. You couldn't even see your own hands as you carefully felt your surroundings. Behind you, Mattheo ignited his wand and you shot around. “We- we’re not supposed to do that!” you hissed at him but he only raised his brows at you. “The plant retracts when there's light,” you reminded him, knowing he was fully aware.

“If you want to stumble around the dark, be my guest,” he said dryly. “But you looked like an idiot there and also pretty tasty to all sorts of predators.” You didn't like his smile. But as much as you hated to admit it, he was right. If you trotted blindly into the most monster infested forest in Great Britain, you'd not come back in one piece. A problem such as that didn't occur to a half giant like Hagrid, of course, but you… An idea plopped into your head and you turned back to Mattheo, who seemed to have been watching your silent contemplation with mild interest.

“If it's so important to you,” you said, “cast a patronus. The light is dimmer and it can lead the way.” You thought it was a good idea that united both your interests, but Mattheo suddenly looked at you as he'd never looked before. A dark, dangerous look in his eyes that you'd only witnessed from afar. The cold glare was menacing and it had cold shivers run down your spine.

Mattheo looked into your widened eyes and enjoyed the fear on your face. Hopefully, you would be too scared to ask again. You didn't, but it was worse. Your eyes widened even further before you quickly averted them, shuffled away from him and cast your patronus yourself. A lean cat that glanced at him grumpily, then disappeared into the dark with you hot on its heels. You were just running into the dark, wand somewhere in your pocket. Did you not have a single survival instinct in your body? For a moment, he considered just letting you run off and having a laugh about iu. But alas, with a groan of annoyance, Mattheo followed suit.

Though your path was now illuminated by the soft blue light of your animagus, in your haste, you still tripped over roots and got scratches from thorny branches and bushes. You were somewhat relieved to hear footsteps behind you. Upon his arrival, your patronus slowed down a pace until Riddle had caught up with you. You walked in silence and you pulled your cloak tighter around yourself in a feeble attempt to banish the coldness that had seeped down into your bones. Next to you, Riddle sauntered on with an unreadable expression, wand lazily at his side. Other than you, who kept glancing behind bushes and into the undergrowth, he didn't seem remotely interested in finding the damn flower. Not that you felt any excitement to find some flower and sketch it, but perhaps you felt the need to show your moral superiority.

After a few awkward minutes of walking in silence, you finally spotted a faint glow against a tree. Without a word to your silent companion, you accelerated your steps and made a beeline towards the tree, your coat getting caught in a thorny bush and you ripped it away. It was the right one. You knew the second you rounded the tree. A blue hue painted its surroundings in a ghostly cold color. When Riddle joined you with an expression of all this being beneath him, you had already crouched down and pulled out parchment and pencil. Then, you hesitated and looked up at him. You were a lousy sketcher.

Riddle rolled his eyes and took the parchment from you, mumbling something under his breath. As he kneeled down onto the ground and started his sketch, he threw you a sharp look. “Since you can't even draw, would you kindly look out for giant spiders or something?” He was tense, but you weren't sure that was because you were in here or because of the patronus thing. By his aggressive reaction, you had a pretty clear suspicion that he couldn't conjure a patronus. Surely not for lack of trying, though. Before he could snap at you, you turned away and glanced into the dark, aided by your patronus, without really seeing anything.

After a few minutes of this, you noticed you'd started creeping closer to Riddle without even noticing. In the dim light of the flowers, you were able to glance over his shoulder at the parchment, and your jaw dropped. It was good. He'd managed to sketch a damn near perfect replica of the flower, including shades and careful weighting of pencil pressure. You watched his hands work as he frowned in concentration. Long, elegant strokes were interrupted by sharp, repeated patterns. Though you didn't know anything about sketching, you were pretty sure he was amazing.

A sound of surprise left your throat and Riddle’s hand you had been studying intently stilled its movement. He raised his brows at you and you bit down on your cheek. Stupid. “Uhm,” you said, suddenly nervous, but no longer afraid. Seeing him draw made him somewhat human. You'd never even considered Mattheo Riddle could have interests and skills beyond the dark arts. Like normal people. “That… looks good, I- I mean-” You felt thankful for the darkness, “it's really beautiful, I didn't know you were so good at this.” Of course you didn't. You were such an idiot.

Riddle looked somewhat taken aback, but quickly resumed his sketching. His lack of an answer made you step from one foot to the other and you fiddled at your wand. But you couldn't help yourself, you simply had to turn back around and watch his moving hands. It was a graceful motion, which was not an adjective you'd ever thought you'd apply to Mattheo Riddle.

“Thank you.”

You did a double take. Surely, you had to have misheard, or a trickster spirit had messed with your senses. Riddle gave no indication wether he'd actually thanked you, but got to his feet and threw the parchment at you. When you rolled it up and studied the drawing, you realized just how detailed it was. How he had somehow managed to translate its glow onto the parchment. With a clearing of your throat, you put it in your back and looked up at him. Riddle was already looking, studying you closely, as if he was trying to measure your reaction. Giving him an instinctive, nervous smile, you crooked your head towards the black wall of trees. “Should we…?”

With a nod, Riddle stepped into the undergrowth and you followed behind. Small animals crossed your path, and you were thankful they weren't bigger. Somehow, Riddle seemed to have much less trouble getting past bushes and overgrown trees than you, and you wondered wether he was using a spell on himself or on you. Just when you violently ripped at your sleeve, stuck in a thorn bush, he spoke up and you froze. His tone was conversational, but there was a teasing edge to it, like he wanted to test you. “So, what would your parents say when they found out you were alone in the dark forest with Mattheo Riddle?”

You shrugged, even though he couldn't see that. “Nothing, probably.” With a few long strides, you managed to catch up with him and now, the spell that he had cast around himself seemed to apply to you as well. At least you got through the undergrowth way more smoothly. Mattheo didn't know if you were joking, but when you cast him a side glance, he didn't need legilimancy to know you were telling the truth.

“Huh?” he said and you frowned, as if he was supposed to know. You didn't answer at first, taking the lead as if you wanted to escape his eyes. Curious that you chose to do that by turning your back on him. Then, you spoke into the impenetrable darkness before you. “They're muggles. If I told them I was going into a dark forest with a Mattheo Riddle, well…” you seemed to smile, he could hear it in your voice, “My mum would tell me to use protection and my dad would get his club.”

So you were a muggleborn. He didn't know why that surprised him so much. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure Draco had mentioned it once, but he hadn't cared enough to remember. When he didn't say anything, you seemed to feel obligated to break the silence. “Funny, huh? If I told them your name, it wouldn't mean anything to them.” That thought was funny. Mattheo was a little shocked at how much he liked it. It just now occurred to him that there was a giant mass of people that had no idea of his parentage, his legacy. That would just see him as a normal guy, nothing special there. If he'd known anyone who knew anything about muggles, he'd considered asking what kind of jobs they had available.

“Yeah,” he said after a short silence and you tried to grasp his reaction to the news. Though you'd never heard Riddle say something hateful at muggleborns since second grade, you gripped your wand a little tighter. You'd thought he knew, and that was why he loved to annoy you. Would the news change how he saw you? And, more importantly, why did you care? “Your friends weren't stoked though, were they?” he asked and pulled you out of your thoughts.

Biting down on your lip, the truth just sort of slipped past them. “I … didn't tell them.” In your peripheral vision, you caught him raise his head subtly but you stared straight ahead. “They're protective,” you explained, as if you had to justify yourself before him.

“Yeah, I saw that yesterday,” Riddle snorted and rummaged in his pockets for something. “Weasley went mental, just his bad luck that he doesn't have anything to back the attitude up."

“What?” Your head shot around so fast you thought you heard something crack in your neck. That was not in alignment with the story you'd heard. Then again, you didn't put it past your friends to lie to you to protect your feelings.

“They didn't tell you, did they?” asked Riddle mockingly and you could practically hear his smirk seeping through his poisonous tone.

“Tell me what?” you inquired, frowning at him. Riddle had found what he was looking for and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his robes. He took his time with the answer as he twirled it between his fingers and lighted it with a bit of wandless magic. After a long drag out of the cigarette, he blew out a cloud of smoke and looked back at you. “Potter and Weasley overheard Nott talking about you."

“Heavens, that whole brawl was my fault?” you entreated anxiously, fisting your robes in one hand as you remembered the bruises on Harry’s face and Ron’s broken bag that he spent the whole evening trying to repair. Guilt gnawed at you at the thought that they'd gotten hurt defending your honor. If you had just been there, you could have stopped them, told them that it was no big deal.

“Your fault?” echoed Riddle incredulously and you shrugged and avoided his gaze. "Well... I mean... I never meant for anyone to get hurt because of me."

“Apology accepted,” he grinned and the audacity made you splutter out an indecipherable response. Riddle chuckled, the cigarette dangling dangerously loosely out of his pink lips. To your surprise, his amusement did have something contagious, because you found yourself grinning against your will. You could only hope the light of your patronus would be dim enough to allow your smile to go unnoticed.

“So,” you asked as your eyes swept the area for other flowers. “What did Nott say to make Ron freak out?” It wasn't so much that you wanted to know, more so that you wanted to keep the conversation going. Riddle was less terrifying when he didn't just stare menacingly. He took his time to answer and twirled the cigarette through his fingers. Then, a teasing smile tugged at his lips, though his voice was free of malice. “Don't know if you can take it, princess.”

Defiance welled up in you and you shoved your hands into your pockets. “Believe me, I can. There is nothing you could say that I didn't already think of myself." It came out a little more bitter than you'd planned, so you concealed the hard undertone with a little laugh. Riddle didn't react, so you walked on in silence for a few minutes. When he hadn't said anything in a while, you considered changing the topic, but that was when he finally spoke up. “He called you a walking encyclopedia nobody asked for and, that you probably get up early to polish prefect patches."

You had expected way worse and chuckled to yourself. “That's pretty creative.”

“You don't seem offended,” Riddle said. It was not a question, it was a statement.

“I do polish my prefect patch sometimes,” you shrugged with an embarrassed grin. You were astounded how easy it was to talk to him all of the sudden. "I just don't get why Ron got so worked up on that."

Riddle’s lip curled slightly. “Nott may have said some other things, didn't really listen." After another few seconds of silence, he discarded his cigarette and changed the topic to light hearted teasing. “So, tell me, do Gryffindors practice being so annoyingly righteous, or is it just instinct?” If it hadn't been Riddle, you'd have almost mistaken his tone for a flirting one.

“Oh, we practice,” you replied. “Right after the lesson on how to tolerate Slytherins.” In the dark, you somehow felt more confident. Riddle seemed more human, more approachable, so far away from the castle, from your friends, from anyone. You realized you had been burning to finally engage with his little games instead of attempting to ignore them and letting him have all the fun. At the same time, his teasing seemed more conversational than mean tonight. “Why are you being so nice?” you asked into the silence without looking at him. “It's weird.”

“Would you rather I be mean?” asked Riddle. “Because I can go back to that if it makes you feel better.” Maybe it would. You felt almost guilty at the prospect of going back to Gryffindor tower and telling your friends, who probably had found out about the detention through Ginny by now, that it hadn't been that bad spending the evening with you-know-who’s son. But still, you answered: “No. it's okay.”

“Tell me something, will you?” He'd stopped walking and you hesitated, turning back around to face him. The dim light of your patronus left part of his face shrouded in darkness, but his eyes glinted and they were locked on you. His dark locks were moved in the wind like sea grass, but even still, the cold didn't seem to affect him one bit. His voice was soft, unnaturally smooth, perfectly balanced to slip past your walls and your lies. Not for the first time, you felt as if he could read your mind. Helplessly, you nodded, and a shiver ran through you when a gush of wind caused the dead leaves to dance around you.

“Are you scared of me?”

The question caught you off guard and you had to take your time to think about the answer. Up at the castle, you were scared of him, at least intimidated, and preferred to keep your distance. In here, alone with him, however, you felt no fear, only intrigue. To say you weren't afraid of him would be a lie, but its counterpart as well. Your eyes flickered down to his hands, his wand. No doubt he'd detected it, Riddle was awfully good at picking up on the slightest movements. As if he was trying to test your reaction, daring you to flinch back, he took a step closer to you.

“A bit,” you confessed truthfully, but you didn't step back. In fact, you dared to shuffle a bit towards him, so that only few inches separated the two of you. “You have to admit you're pretty intimidating, Riddle.”

“Am I?” A predatory grin adorned his face and he inched closer in an effort to find it. The barrier you wouldn't dare to cross. The point when you'd turn away or avert your eyes. Somehow, you managed to work up the courage to do neither. You lifted your chin and stared into his dark brown eyes defiantly. His grin widened and pleasant surprise and he hummed under his breath. “Are you intimidated right now, princess?” Somehow, you couldn't lie. Maybe because you guessed he would know, or could hear your thundering heartbeat.

“A little.”

When he’d first spotted you at the sorting ceremony, he'd thought you looked pathetic, trembling and glancing around nervously. When you had snapped at him in fourth grade, he'd noted you down as an annoying up-tight brat with more bark than bite. In fifth grade, he'd started to see you as a stupid little fangirl of Potter’s. Then, when you were sixteen, you were just some easy to rile up teacher's pet. Seventh grade had only worsened that condition. But Mattheo had never noticed that you looked… pretty. Too busy hating you, he'd never looked twice. But now, he found himself drinking you in.

Your patronus illuminated half of your face, slightly quivering lips, adorably furrowed brows. But your eyes were the most mesmerizing part, which was something he never expected to think about anyone. You looked him straight in the eye when admitting your weakness, as if it were a strength, as if your weaknesses and fears didn't need to be hidden. It was infuriating, he realized. Immediately, he regretted noticing these things about you. This had gone too far, and he'd been too intrigued by you to stop the situation from escalating.

Mattheo had meant for you to be his plaything for the evening. It was him who was supposed to be holding the cards and play you, but now, it felt like you were an active player yourself. For some reason, he even felt slightly disarmed, as if you'd gotten one over at him. But by doing what? Admitting defeat? Abruptly, he stepped back and turned away. “Let's find that stupid half-giant, I've got enough of walking around this fucking forest aimlessly.”

You were a little shocked by his sudden change of mood and didn't speak up again until you emerged from the trees and spotted Hagrid and Malfoy. Both looked disgruntled and the latter had leaves and twigs all over his robes and in his hair. You realized you probably didn't look any better. Riddle, on the other hand, was free of any forest remnants somehow. With a sinister glare, he stepped over to Hagrid with long strides, so you had to hurry after him.

“Oh, there she is!” greeted Ron’s voice when you slipped through the portrait hole twenty minutes later, exhausted and out of breath and not very excited at the prospect of finishing your homework for the day. Your friends were huddled around the fire, looking both worried, amused and angry. You had been right, they had been informed of your detention- and the nature of it. Without a reply, you plopped into the seat next to Hermoine’s with a groan and pulled your legs up to your chest to rest your chin upon your knees. Finally, you were warmed up by the common room fire and the chilling cold of the grounds seeped out of your bones.

“Didn't think we would get you back in one leave,” Harry muttered darkly and scanned you up and down. “You look like you were just chased by an acromantula straight through the forest.” Leaning over in his seat, he plucked a few twigs and leafs out of your hair to throw them into the fire. You let him and sighed. “Ginny told you, huh?”

“Neville did, actually,” Hermoine said, somewhat accusatory. “What were you thinking, attacking Malfoy in the hallway?” You looked at her. Neville seemed to have left out the part about her, and you weren't keen on telling her what Malfoy had said either, so you only shrugged.

“I think it's cool,” grinned Ron, who seemed the most relaxed out of all of them. “And look, she's back. Told you guys Hagrid wouldn't let her go off into the dark forest alone with Riddle.”

“Actually, I did,” you corrected him and immediately came to regret it. Hermoine's eyes widened, Harry asked “what?” sharply and Ron shot up from his seat. “Blimey, is he mental? Imagine what he could have done to you in there. Honestly, I figure you're lucky you made it out of there.” Their concern was touching, and it was so genuine you felt the need to reassure them. “It wasn't all that bad,” you attempted to calm Ron who was running his hands through his ginger hair in silent outrage. “He didn't do anything, didn't even know I was a muggleborn apparently.”

“You told him you were a muggleborn when you were alone in the dark forest with him?” Hermoine asked incredulously and you shrugged. For some reason, you were staring to feel bad, as if you'd wronged them somehow. Their reaction was sweet, but also overbearing. Harry fist-fought Riddle every other week, why couldn't you have a talk with him in the dark forest?

Hermoine soon announced she was going to bed and the two boys soon followed, bidding you goodnight. When they'd gone, you threw another piece of wood into the fire place to illuminate the room some more and got out your transfiguration books. After yesterday's disgraceful fiasco with McGonnagall, you were determined to get back in her good grades. The thought of stepping into her classroom tomorrow with nothing but her disappointment looming over you was awful, so you decided to work on some extra class work to submit and hopefully appease her. But you just could not concentrate.

No matter how hard you tried, your head was filled to the brim with memories of the hours in the forest. Riddle's voice echoed through your tired mind, his strange mood shift. The way he'd sketched that flower and worked with such concentration, but also the way he'd closed off when you mention patroni. When you started writing about flowers instead of rabbits in your essay, you finally gave up. But you knew you weren't about to get any sleep this way. Your thoughts were too loud for your brain, so you needed to drown them out.

A good ten minutes later, you hurried along a corridor and down the stairs to the dungeons. Your footsteps echoed louder the deeper you got, and the walls you sought out for balance became moister and colder. Only the faint glow of the lamps on the walls provided you with enough illumination to avoid tripping and breaking your neck. At the same time, you were glancing around in a constant anxiety that Filch or Mrs Norris would turn up at the next level. You had sneaked down to the kitchens before to bake something and relieve some stress, especially when exams rolled around, but you'd never done it after curfew. It seemed like today was a day for first times.

You tried to make as little noise as possible and not let yourself be scared off by the ghostly shadows on the walls, flickering like the flames that cast them. Finally, you had reached the second lowest level and scurried up another corridor. Being this far under the earth was never a pleasant experience, you shivered at the thought that the Slytherins had to sleep down here. Finally, you reached the painting of the laughing pineapple, your heart racing in your chest. Expertly, you tickled the fruit and it giggled and opened to reveal the kitchens.

It was strange to be here at night, but the quiet was welcome. You found some candles in a cupboard, ignited them and cast a spell on them to make them float above you as you got out all the necessary ingredients and equipment to make chocolate chip muffins. As you mixed the flour and sugar in a bowl, you finally felt some of the tension leave your body. The quiet, the working with your own hands and the solitude managed to do what homework hadn't: finally draw your thoughts away from Mattheo Riddle. Humming to yourself, you kneaded the batter and filled muffin cups with it. When you'd finished with the last touches, you put them in the oven, cleaned your working area and sat down on one of the desks.

Now that your head was pleasantly silent, you felt tired. It had been a nerve-wracking day. You watched the candles float, glanced at the oven from time to time and waited, occupied with nothing. Your fingers drew small circles on the desk as your eyelids started to drop. But you shot up at once when there was a loud bang and the entrance sprung open with such force the painting’s handles creaked dangerously- and there he stood.

Mattheo Riddle stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling in uneven, ragged breaths, knuckles still stained with the dark red of drying blood. His brown hair was a chaotic mess, wild curls fell into his stormy eyes, which burned with some unspoken rage- or perhaps mere adrenaline. The candlelight of the room flickered across him, illuminating the sharp contrast of the crimson streaks marring his jawline and collar. His shirt was rumpled and torn at the hem, blood smudged along the fabric as though he'd wiped his hands there in a haste. He looked slightly feral, yet oddly composed, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips when his eyes landed on you.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice low and edged with amusement as he stepped into the room, boots heavy on the flagstone floor. His gaze roamed over your sitting figure, taking in your startled expression, the nightdress you'd thrown on prematurely and now regretted even owning as it made you feel utterly exposed and vulnerable under his heated stare.

“Didn't think I'd have company tonight.” He swiped a hand through his hair, smearing the blood further, the act almost calculated in its casualness. His lips quirked into a crooked grin, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What’s wrong, princess? Can't deal with a little blood?” There was a teasing lilt to his words, but his eyes lingered on you a moment too long, as though he were trying to decide what to make of you- or what you might make of him. Your alarm rang, but neither of you averted your eyes from one another. Finally, you raised your voice, but it was but a timid mumbling. The strange sense of security of the forest had left you.

“Would you like a muffin?”

taglist: @aespaslut @kricketwritesstories @catching-fire-in-the-wind @a-little-funny @thejediprincess56 @polireader @voidangxls @artsyle @nkvgt @ashrocker123

[stagtorccio]

in case you write for shauna……i have a thought hmm

okok so basically she actually ends up going to brown and meets reader there - who’s practically jackie taylor reincarnated!! like very outgoing, similar style, kinda snarky but also very nice, you get the drift

they end up dating and sharing an apartment and living their cute life but our girl shauna is STRUGGLING

maybe maybe she even has r meet tai or smth and tai calls her the fuck out for it

i just wonder what thoughts you have about it

OH THIS IS WILDDDD i love shauna being crazy as hell... shauna getting out and having to go to boring-ass college because what the fuck else is she gonna do, and meeting alternate universe jackie taylor... fuck

HELP ALSO MY BAD MINORS DNI I SAID SOME FREAKY SHIT IN THIS

shauna hates college. really hates college. it's funny how the one thing she wanted more than anything before the plane crash almost feels like a punishment now. she was a queen, and now she has to write essays? what a bunch of bullshit

she meets you in ENGL 100D. matters of romance. go figure

well, she doesn't meet you, exactly. not until she's over her period of staring at you like she wants you to explode

because you're just. like. her. down to the mannerisms. the laugh. the stupid bunny rabbit twitch of your nose. the snark. even the slightest gesture of your hand reminds her of jackie and it makes her want to crawl out of her own skin

you're convinced she hates you, because what the fuck?? why is this scary brunette death glaring me in our poetry seminar??? send help?? but she's just half yearning half resenting and fullyyyyy unchecked and mentally ill

you get paired for a reading. the lais of marie de france, bisclavret. story about a werewolf and his lover. doesn't matter to shauna- because firstly she thinks you're typical popular girl ditzy and secondly she doesn't want to talk to you

but then fuck, you bounce up to her with a notebook and bunch of glittery gel pens, talking about how excited you are to work with her, and she can't keep holding a grudge against you for just sort of being her dead best friend come back from the grave to haunt her

so she works with you. and okay maybe she stares at you sort of awestruck as you read bisclavret like you're genuinely invested... waxing on in a dramatic voice trying to make her laugh

until you get to That Part

"It's true, more than all the world I love you. You should hide nothing from me, nor ever doubt I'm loyal in any affair. That would not seem like true friendship."

and fuck you remind her so much of jackie it makes her SICK ethel cain style

but also she's shauna. she can't help herself. girl's got zero impulse control. so she asks if you'd like to start hanging out more than just for school because that's such a great idea

and apparently, the one difference you and jackie have? you can actually admit you're gay

because "hanging out" turns to making out turns to you and shauna getting an apartment together a short drive away from uni so you can still make it to your morning classes

shauna feels actually deranged for it. doesn't stop obviously. just writes in her fuckass journal. countless entries about how you look just like her. talk just like her. are just like her.

it always comes back to that first assignment you got paired for— because bisclavret is a tragedy. the lady swore she would love the werewolf but when she found out what he really was, she ran away in fright and wouldn't see him anymore

which, fucking mood for shauna. so things start to spiral

she's obsessive. always trying to protect you, never letting you leave by yourself, and AB SO FUCKING LUTELY never letting you be cold. if you even slightly shiver she whips off her jacket and every other layer and bundles you up until you look like a penguin

she sees you as a second chance, but also as a bitter reminder

you call her "shipman" once and it sparks the only real fight you've ever had— like screaming yelling lashing out fight

you cry obviously because what the fuck shauna???

shauna also cries. apologizes and kisses it all better (doesn't admit that she kinda likes kissing it better.. that's freak for thought)

doesn't usually slip up— but just once she mumbles 'jax' during sex

you don't hear it and thank fucking god for that because imagine trying to explain it

she takes you to meet tai eventually because tai is the only one who's consistently kept contact with her and is still one of her best friends

and boy does tai clock that shit IMMEDIATELY. the first word out of your mouth is "hiya" and she just looks at shauna like 'what the actual fuck.'

"You can't be serious." Shauna's jaw ticks. She crosses her arms, looks anywhere but Tai's face— which is currently stone-set like the world's most disappointed, judgemental statue. She opens her mouth. Closes it. Tai practically balks. "Shauna," she says. Then, with the continued silent treatment from the typically ever-mouthy, ever-opinionated Shipman— "Shauna!" "Fuck, just— it's not like that, Tai," Shauna hisses, trying to be quiet, lest you hear their spat from where you've gone to the bathroom. "Then what's it like?" Tai prods, poking more holes in an already sinking, flimsy defense. "Because it looks like pretty fucked up to me." "I love her," Shauna replies, like it's that easy. It isn't. Tai's lips pull taut as a bowstring. "No, you're obsessed with her because she's practically a carbon fucking copy, Shauna—" She doesn't get to finish her argument, because the flush of the toilet and the door creaking, signaling your return, silence her. Good. Shauna figures she'll need the bathroom soon anyways. She doesn't think her lunch will stay down for much longer.

it's safe to say shauna doesn't take you around tai much after that. tai is always silently judging though

my bad i yapped a whole lot for this one BUT THIS IDEA IS SO INTERESTING... I LOVE IT

[for-those-who-wait]

Werewolf Hunter is so little, just a lil wet guy. Is there a reason for his size?

I love that he just looks like a lil dog, I feel others would be a bit surprised (Luz and Camila mainly) since this isn’t how werewolves typically look in media.

He is absolutely sopping wet. The wettest of tiny cat-dogs

Hunter's wolf form is pretty small due to malnourishment throughout childhood (and to a lesser extent, being in a cage for essentially all of the time spent in that form). His diet should consist of a lot of protein via meat, but Belos restricted his access to it since allowing Hunter to eat a proper and healthy diet was, in his opinion, facilitating beastly behaviors and tendencies. I also HC that Hunter has a pretty sensitive stomach anyway since he's the Grimwalker of a human, so he just doesn't eat well for a lot of his life (until Camila gets a hold of him and is like oh no baby your coat is so thin and dull and your nails are breaking you need some protein)

Hunter doesn't actually know what he looks like until TTT. He hears stories from Belos about how dangerous werewolves are and he does notice what few features of himself that he dares to look at (but for the most part he avoids looking at himself). He and Luz see a couple portraits of shifted Golden Guards while in Belos' mindscape, so they absolutely expect Hunter to look like the monsters they see in the portraits (which aren't accurate to how they actually appeared; they're what Belos' interpretations are of those occurrences). Hunter sees the portraits as assurance that he's a monster. Luz sees them as another "So what? You're still Hunter and also Belos is lame and stupid, you're not a monster no matter what he says"

Luz does expect him to be full-size like the portraits and has to do a doubletake when she sees a tiny dog curled up behind the toilet. I think Luz is the type of person to scour mythical creatures' Wikipedia pages, so I think she'd be familiar with the idea that werewolves could either be just wolf or more anthropomorphic, so I don't think she'd be as surprised on that front. Camila probably would be confused at first haha. I also had the idea that werewolves went extinct so long ago that most Boiling Isles residents assume they're just creatures of legend, similar to Grimwalkers. So the others would also be surprised haha

Thank you for the ask, sorry for the ramble!

Werewolf AU Masterpost

[demonic0angel]

Jason meet Jazz and, due to her highly liminal nature and some ghostly shenanigans, he gets the idea that she's secretly a vampire. He's kinda into the idea.

(They’re stupid, your honor 😭)

“So… what’s your opinion on Twilight?” Jason asked, leaning over the desk to look at Wolf.

She paused from reading her papers. Then she said, “Twilight by Stephanie Meyers?”

“Yeah. That one. Like with all of the werewolf and vampire stuff.”

“Well. In a way, I think it’s interesting how much of an impact it’s made, but I mostly think her writing is a reflection of her Mormon views, and the impact that it’s created on people isn’t so great when you realize that she’s discriminatory and judgemental.”

Damn, he agreed with her on everything. She was so perfect. It was almost a little sad how she was a vampire, which was probably why she covered herself so thoroughly in leather and fabric.

“I agree. I was asking more about the creatures inside though. It’s pretty fascinating that vampires sparkle in the daylight. It’s sad, of course, that they are dependent on blood and have to hide their immortality, but the plot point where Bella wanted to be immortal was quite interesting, even if a little tasteless. Not that it’s bad to be inhuman, y’know?”

She turned to him slowly. He couldn’t read her expression through her helmet, but he felt like her gaze was extremely confused. After a moment, she nodded quickly and said, “Uhm. Yes. Being inhuman is not a thing to be hated, but instead, respected like any other race. After all, we’re just trying to survive. I’m glad that you’re making your anti-discrimination policies even more clear, Hood.”

Jason blinked.

Why did he feel like they weren’t just on separate pages, but also on separate books?

He pulled down his jacket a little, revealing his neck. His armor loosened and Jason had the inkling of looking like a whore before he stomped down on the feeling. Not that it was wrong anyways. He was absolutely a whore for Wolf.

“Y’know, Princess,” he said in a very casual voice, “If you were a vampire or a demon, I’d let you feed on me.” He paused and added, “Only for research purposes, of course.”

She paused again, taking even longer to stare at him.

Jason also stared back at her, though he wasn’t really sure because both of them had helmets.

Eventually, she just awkwardly said, “Okay.”

“Okay?” He asked, hinting at her.

She nodded slowly. “… okay. I’ll feed on you if I need to.”

That was basically confirmation! Jason beamed and returned her nod. “That’s good. Feel free to do it whenever you need. I’m here for you, Wolf.”

“…….. thanks.”

[studiogrimm810]

Full Moon

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x gn!you

summary: after a cramming for finals, a late night walk back to your dorm leads you to discover what sam really left behind before coming to stanford

warnings: werewolf attack, description of creature and it being killed, kinda bloody but not too graphic

word count: 1,971

A/N: quick one shot with minimal editing becuase i LOVE this idea :,)

———————

Finals week. God, you could just scream. You had just logged in another 10 hours at the campus library and despite the lack of knowledge you still felt you had, you had to go back to your dorm and at least try and get some rest.

All week you’ve been taking any time you could find to study- in between classes, on your walks to and from destinations on campus, and even sneaking in some note cards during the particularly boring classes. And after all of that hard work, you still felt it wouldn’t have been enough if Sam hadn’t been helping you out. You always considered yourself a smart student- prepared and logical- but Sam was a kind of smart that made you question him sometimes. It just came to him so naturally and if he wasn’t so damn sweet and helpful, you’d almost hate him. He’s one cocky attitude away from being a rival that you don’t have the time for like you did in high school.

Walking back to your dorm, the sky is dark, freckled with stars and dotted with a vibrant full moon. It had rained earlier today so you side-step a worm or two on the sidewalk and avoid the puddles. The air smells nice, clean, and refreshing. You savor this moment because you know once the rush of finals is over, you're stuck in your dorm for the holidays. You weren’t close with your family and that often left you alone during school breaks. That was something you and Sam had in common, you two never discussed it in detail much but you both understood the isolation of the lack of family in your lives.

This is your third year at Stanford and you couldn’t believe how long you had gone without knowing Sam Winchester because now you couldn’t imagine life without him. You missed him tonight for a study sesh but he said he had other matters to attend to and you were too wrapped up in a study-fried frenzy that you didn’t think to ask if everything was okay. It was too late to call him now, but you made a mental note to check with him between classes tomorrow.

Halfway to your dorm now, your exhaustion is really getting to you. The walk is peaceful, but almost too peaceful, and it only makes you more sleepy.

Until it’s not.

A loud crash echoes from up an alley between two lecture halls and you jump. Life on campus was almost boringly bland and uneventful, so you're more startled by the loud noise than afraid. You duck your head down the path and call out.

“Hello? You okay?” You ask, worried that maybe a night shift staff member was hurt. When only complete silence returns your beckon, you decide that it must be fine given the alley looks empty. Also because your prior sense of blissful ignorance is now frozen into a jagged unease of anxiety that gives you goosebumps.

You take a few steps back and bump into someone, letting out a small yelp at the contact. You spin to face Sam.

“Sam? What’re you doing out this late?” You ask, clutching your chest and laughing off your spook to try and seem calm and collected. His eyes scan over your frame and his face is serious- more serious than you’ve ever seen it. His hands reach out to hold your shoulders and he looks behind you, into the alley.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asks, bringing his attention back to you. Your brows crunch in confusion.

“I-I’m fine. It’s stupid,” you chuckle nervously, catching your breath. “Just thought I heard something.” You swallow with a confident nod.

“Get back to your dorm- lock the doors,” he says, leading you away but you shake your head, working against his steady, but firm, shove.

“No- what? What’s wrong?” You ask, taking a step back so he isn’t holding you anymore. You miss it already.

“Please, just trust me and go back,” he practically begs. There’s something you’ve never seen in his eyes before- fear. He’s afraid.

“Sam, are you okay?” You search his face for any hint at his immense distress.

A low growl from the alleyway makes you look behind Sam, trying to see what’s going on. Sam goes stiff, turning back to the alley and tucking you behind him.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered over his shoulder, his hand on your arm to hold you in place.

Scraping footsteps echo from the alley and out emerges this creature. You gasp, gripping the back of Sam’s jacket and you feel just how tense he is. The creature looked human, a large row of dog-like teeth lined its lips and its eyes were a sickening mix of neon yellow and green. God, and its mouth was smeared with crimson red that made you gag.

Sam reaches behind him, pulling a shiny, silver blade from a sheath on his belt loop. Your eyes widen at the size of it and he readies it in his dominant hand. The creature growls and pounces but Sam is quick and meets it in the middle, fighting the creature with a skill you’d see in some action movie a dad would boast over.

You stumble back a few steps, watching in horror. The creature is winning, throwing Sam across the walkway and he skids in the damp grass, landing with a grunt. You call out for him, keeping your eyes on Sam and wanting to go and help him but your feet are planted in place. You still can’t comprehend what this creature is or how it’s even real.

But it is, and it snaps its head to you, snarling as it slowly progresses to you. Its chin slick in bloody slobber, growling as it gets close enough to close the distance with a leap. The creature grabs you, slamming you into the brick wall of the alley.

The impact makes you go dizzy and you try to catch your breath.

You struggle, doing your best to hold it back but the creature is unnaturally strong. You cry out, putting all of your weight into trying to keep the creature back but its snapping jaw gets closer and closer. Suddenly, the creature is ripped off of you and a burst of pain erupts in your elbow as you land into the cement.

Sam is wielding the blade again, this time having the upper hand, yet covered in mud that dampens his clothes. You wish you looked away before Sam sinks the blade deep into the creature's chest with a scowling grunt. He yanks the blade back out and stands to his feet, huffing and staring down at the creature for a moment before turning to you. Your eyes are locked on the creature, barely even registering Sam’s presence, that is until he starts towards you and you instinctively flinch back.

He stops in his tracks and holds up his hands in a steady manner. There’s blood splattered on his face and his lip is bleeding. He’s hurt. There’s something else though, his face is twisted- pained. He looks like someone just kicked his damn puppy and is now mocking him for it.

You didn’t mean to flinch, it’s just that with what you saw and how you were attacked, you were scared. But not of Sam.

Never of Sam.

“You're bleeding,” he says, looking down at your arm and sure enough there’s a scratch that has ripped your favorite jacket. The blood is steadily flowing though, more than you’ve ever seen seep out of your own body. You close your eyes and turn away, trying to settle the dizziness.

“What w-was that?” You keep your eyes screwed shut.

“Werewolf.”

You scoff.

“Jesus,” you groan, sitting up fully and leaning against the wall, your arm really hurts now. You finally reopen your eyes and Sam is taking cautious steps towards you.

“Can I take a look at that?” He asks, pointing to the wound, his hands still braced. You nod because of course he can.

“Please,” your voice cracks. You’re bad with blood and he knows it too. He’s quick to crouch down next to you, grabbing your arm to inspect the gash. You swallow down a whimper, trying to steady yourself against the cold brick behind you.

“You’ll be okay, shouldn’t even need stitches,” his words exhaled with his previously bated breath. “Look at me,” his hand cups your cheek to pull you towards him, holding gently to allow you to dictate when you want to move your head.

As you face him, your eyes crack back open and you catch a glimpse of the creature's lifeless form on the pavement.

“No, no,” he uses his hand to guide you fully to him, “don’t look.” His eyes are softer than usual, like melted pools of hazel. He’s worried about you, that’s obvious, but he looks so torn too.

“How did you know?” You ask and his thumb brushes away a stream of tears you didn’t realize were flowing. His gaze dips down like he’s ashamed but he seems to settle on something as he returns his eyes to yours.

“Family business,” he echoes the simple explanation of when you asked why he ran from home. Your shock and fear morph into confusion and a little annoyance.

“Wait- this is what your dad and brother do? The same ‘family business’ your dad ‘trained’ you for? What the fuck is wrong with him? How the fuck is that- thing even real,” your eyes catch a glimpse of the corpse again and your fear starts to return. “Why is that real,” you whisper, your heart racing. It starts to drizzle.

“We should go,” he urges gently, looking around to make sure no one new is nearby. Your eyes close again and you shake your head.

“God,” you groan, the pain in your arm really taking over your train of thought.

“C’mon, I’ll get you fixed up,” he says, standing and raising you with him. His arm snakes around your waist and you can almost guess that the reasoning isn’t just to help you walk but to keep you close to him out of whatever protective instinct took over during the fight. “You’re okay, you’ll be okay,” he says and you can also deduce it’s for his benefit.

Your legs are shaky as Sam leads you away from the scene, keeping you secure and going slow enough for you to not get too disoriented.

“So,” you start, “you’re telling me that you ditched me to hunt a werewolf? If you’re sick of explaining appellate advocacy you coulda’ just said so,” you chuckle awkwardly. He scoffs and meets your laugh, the sound rattling through his chest and you can feel the rumble into your side.

“Shut up,” you can almost hear his eyes roll. His hold on you lightens up and you can feel some of the tension melt away. But the dead look in the eyes of that thing burns back into your eyes and you feel sick.

“Thank you- for being there,” you say seriously.

“Thank you for hearing me out,” Sam’s thumb absentmindedly caresses your hip.

“Still debating that,” you shove lightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he smirks, flashing a canine that you get a glimpse of as you look up at him. “I’ll explain as much or as little as you want to hear.”

Yeah, you’ll have to mull that over a bit too. But right now, as Sam leads you by your hips and the throb of your arm makes you bite your lip so hard that now you're bleeding in two separate places, all you can even fathom is each next step your feet take.

Rationality will be your friend tomorrow. Tonight, you plead plausible deniability.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @checkedoutghost

[nyoomfruits]

osctober day six

prompt: autumn pairing: carlos/oscar word count: 1,5k

It’s stupid really. Just an old tradition from ancient times. Oscar hasn’t participated in the ritual in years. And he was fully planning on not going this year, but he’d forgotten he’s now teammates with Lando and Lando is very persistent.

“But what if you find your soulmate,” Lando says, staring at Oscar with big eyes, like he can’t imagine anything better in the world than finding your soulmate.

“I don’t think I will,” Oscar says. Mainly because he doesn’t believe in soulmates. Mainly because he doesn’t want to.

“Come on, no, you have to go. It’s tradition!” Lando is pulling at his arm now, like he can physically drag Oscar outside and force him to switch into his wolf form. Or, well. He probably could. Oscar has always had a bit of soft spot for Lando. He can already feel his resolve crumbling now.

In an easier world, Lando is his soulmate, he thinks. But they’ve spend time together in their wolf forms, curled up for little afternoon naps, and Oscar had felt nothing aside from the usual fondness. Even outside of the ritual, the tradition, he would know.

The ritual is not much a ritual as it is a yearly returning werewolf tradition. For the first full moon of Autumn, werewolves will go out and search for their soulmates. Something about how the scents are stronger during that particular moon. Oscar’s grandmother had explained it once, how the veil between their world and the afterworld thinned during the fall months, how it was really just your ancestors nudging you in the right direction.

Or something.

Oscar’s never cared for it much. He used to go, with his sister, but mostly because he loved going out for a run on full moon. He never felt the pull of his soulmate. When he got to Europe, he stopped.

But Lando is insisting and Oscar can’t say no to Lando, so here they are. In a forest, in the middle of a goddamn race weekend, out to find their soulmates.

Oscar does spare a fleeting thought to the idea that other drivers might be out there, in their wolf forms, that one of them could be his possible soulmate. But then he shakes that thought and simply enjoys the feeling of the fresh dirt under his paws, the wind whistling through his fur.

He doesn’t get to do this much anymore. Just run for the sake of it. There’s always a race to train for or no one to go with. But now he’s here, Lando’s slightly smaller form by his side, zigzagging between trees, howling into the sky without any abandon.

Occasionally Lando playfully bites at him, and Oscar bites back, and they go rolling through the dense green foliage, their laughs coming out as whuffs and yips.

It’s then, in one of those unguarded moments, that Oscar is hit with the most gorgeous smell he’s ever smelt in his entire life. It’s rich, deep, warm. It reminds him of the Australian sun, of the English countryside, of the gentle breeze in Monte Carlo Harbor. It’s a warm blanket thrown over your shoulders after a long day, it’s a cup of hot chocolate, is a kiss on your temple when you feel like the world is weighing you down.

It's home.

Oscar runs for it without thinking. Leaves Lando behind in a pile of leaves, ignores the disgruntled yip he gets for that, runs as fast as his legs will take him. He needs, he needs, he needs.

The scent is coming closer, engulfing him, like the wolf it belongs to is running towards him, too, and he howls, calls for them. Find me, come find me.

The collide in the middle of a clearing, a big, black wolf, bigger than Lando, bigger than him, slamming into him, sending him tumbling to the ground. They roll together for a while, both desperately trying to get as close as possible, the other wolf scenting his neck, making excited little huffing noises.

Fuck. His soulmate. He’s going to owe Lando the biggest apology known to man. Maybe some flowers. Maybe a lot of flowers.

He always thought this wasn’t something he wanted. But now, here, engulfed in that scent, snout pressed against the soft fur of his soulmate, it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

They calm down eventually, circle each other carefully, observe. The wolf is indeed much bigger than him, and Oscar can see the flash in his eyes now. Not an Alpha, not yet, but powerful nonetheless. Next in line. It sends a thrill down Oscar’s spine.

The wolf cocks his head, towards the tree line, and takes off for a sprint. Oscar, delighted, follows behind.

They run for miles, howling at the moon, until the sun starts peaking over the horizon again and it’s time to make their way back.

There’s one thing Oscar hadn’t considered about the whole finding your soulmate in wolf form thing. One – looking back on it – very crucial thing.

You don’t know who they are until they change back.

And when they do, when he does, it’s like a bucket of cold water gets plunged over Oscar’s head, and he’s taking a step back before he even realizes what he’s doing. “No, no, absolutely not,” he says, holding up his hands, defensively.

The grin he’d been previously sporting slides off of Carlos’s – because it’s fucking Carlos – face. “What is wrong my love?”

My love. Jesus fucking fuck. Fucking hell. How could Oscar get all of this so wrong? This is. It must be a mistake. He hasn’t been out with an Autumn full moon for so long, his nose must’ve gotten confused. There is no way in hell Carlos Sainz is his soulmate.

“Do not ‘my love’ me, oh my god,” Oscar says, taking another step back.

“But-“ Carlos is frowning now. He really is unfairly pretty. He’s only in his boxers after the shift, and so Oscar is confronted with endless planes of naked skin, a truly ridiculous sixpack, and thighs that. Well. Alright. Not thinking about any of that right now.

“No. No this is a mistake. We’re not-“ Soulmates. He can’t even say the word. God. He was right to not want this. He’s no longer sending Lando any flowers. He’s sending him fish. Oscar’s going to be eating salmon on toast during strategy meetings for the next five races minimum.

Except he won’t. Because he loves Lando. Just like the universe apparently seems to think he loves Carlos. Fucking hell. Suddenly he feels like he can’t breathe.

“Hey,” Carlos’s voice, closer than before. Oscar’s vision is swimming. His parents had been soulmates. Happily married for 25 years now, four kids and a house with white picket fence. Oscar tries to picture himself and Carlos, four kids running around, a house with a swing in the backyard. His vision becomes blurrier.

“Come on, breathe,” Carlos says, and suddenly his hands are on Oscar’s arms, and he wants to pull away, but they’re warm, and they’re strong, and Carlos still smells so so fucking good, and so instead he finds himself pitching forward, into that heat, that scent, that warmth. Into the arms of his soulmate.

“There you go,” Carlos says. His hand is on Oscar’s back, slowly drawing patterns. “You’re okay, my love.”

Oscar jerks away again, rips himself out of the bubble of soft and warm and comfortable and glares at Carlos. “Do not,” he warns. “Fucking patronize me. I’m not your pretty little omega who will roll over and show their belly whenever you want them to.”

Carlos blinks. “I don’t expect you to be.”

“Good,” Oscar says, still glaring. Carlos is no longer touching him, and Oscar can’t decide if this is a good or a bad thing. “Why are you. You’re being very calm about this.”

Carlos shrugs, a little wistfully. “I have been looking forward to this day a very long time,” he says.

“Oh,” Oscar says, throat tight. He pictures Carlos going out every year on the Autumn full moon, searching searching searching, never finding anything, until. “You must be disappointed,” he says, smiles a little tightly. All these years, and all Carlos gets is… well. This.

“No,” Carlos says, clear and simple, doesn’t elaborate. Oscar nods, doesn’t really know what to do with that. He isn’t disappointed either, but mostly because he didn’t have any expectations. But still, Carlos can’t be. This can’t be like. What he had been hoping for. Oscar can’t be what he had been hoping for.

He wraps his arms around himself, shivers. The morning air is cold, and now most of the adrenaline has worn off, it’s seeping into his mostly naked frame.

“Here,” Carlos says, holds out a hoodie. Non-descript, no Ferrari logo’s anywhere. But absolutely drenched in Carlos’s scent. It’s not a declaration of love, or a marriage proposal, but it will mean something, accepting this. Wearing it.

Oscar stares at it, long and hard. Thinks about his parents. About Lando, wistfully dreaming about his soulmate. About Carlos, who has been looking forward to this day.

About himself, and all those full moons he didn’t go out because he was alone. Maybe that’s on him. Maybe he just needs to take the plunge, just this once.

He takes the hoodie.

[darkdemeter]

MY SUMMONING

⚤ College student!Wanda Maximoff x GN/Female/Male demon Werewolf!Reader 18+ SMUT, MDNI — (gn/f/m) reader with a dick — monster fucking — female oral receiving — long demon monster tongue can do many things — unprotected p in v sex — some profanity — *cough* laundry mutt!reader — I think that's it? ✎ 4.5k Reincarnated love can be a bitch when you're stuffed into an ancient pocket dimension for thousands of years because the peasants reviled and scorned you. How you've yearned to return to her, promising that one day you shall join her side again as her faithful, shadowed acolyte. Now awoken to reunite with your master on the night where her magic is most potent to release you from your prison, you're summoned by her... but not her. No matter. A lover is a lover, and your love is eternally devoted to her. Now to consummate it at long last.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

No. There was no way this is happening. No way! This was all meant to be some stupid little joke… 

Alright, maybe dabbling in the assortments of witchcraft and old leather-bound tomes written in an ancient language wasn’t the best of pranks to pull, but it was Halloween and Wanda wanted to have her own fun tonight. 

She doesn’t have to read the room hard to know she was practically fifth wheeling through her Halloween night. Steve and Peggy, the all-dream couple on campus, while Bucky and Nat were in the beginning prime of their relationship. Yes, both were pretty popular and many people thought their couplings adorable — if not envious of the partner — but Wanda couldn’t help but feel like an outcast all night long. She’s been following them around, attending a party or two, getting up to crazy shenanigans that ought to land them all a night behind bars until bail.

No. Wanda Maximoff, one of the brightest students in her major’s class, likes to dabble in… odd things. Peggy and Nat both knew of this certain attraction of hers, but it had been a rather closely guarded secret until now.

Breaking into the old burnt down chapel off the corner of Main Street, surrounded by the old, white picket fence, hadn’t seemed like a half-bad idea. 

All fun and games until Wanda approached the podium where a dusty casing of leather sat, singed but untouched by the long forgotten fire. The yellowed, toughened skin of parchment paper crackled and rumpled with each turn over, her green eyes almost glowing with renewed fascination. She stopped at the book’s center when something caught her attention. Her eyes slip to widen a little at the sketching of a large, looming form of a wolf creature whose entire head bears only its skull, standing on its hind legs behind the regal figure of a loosely-clad robed woman. The image itself was intimately intoxicating to look upon. Something about it was pulling her to silently read over the daggered calligraphy. The woman’s illustrated body conveys what her drawn features lack; a postured body of contentment. Security. Lustful wanting. 

And the tall creature before her stood proudly. Protectively. Equally wanting and willing. 

The soft pad of her finger runs over the drawing, stroking the blackened detailing of the fur and skull face. Blooming deep in her abandoned, she feels that awakened need that begins to throb between her thighs and forces them to push together quickly, embarrassed with a warm glow in her cheeks. 

While Peggy had urged that she leave the book and its ominous being there alone, she had been outranked by the other three who egged her on.

How could she say no? What harm could come from an obvious prop of the occult? As if a place so holy could harbour anything dangerous. With a cheeky grin, eyes slowly moving back and forth between her friends and the page she read from, she began to read aloud the incantation. 

Before the very collective eyes of four witnesses, the surrounding candles sizzled with rekindled life, a singular flame dancing on each blackened wick before it would throb dimly in their warm arousement. A copied sensation Wanda felt herself able to relate to. 

“Wanda…” Peggy whimpers, unsure. Steve only pulled her closer to him but made no intent in stopping Wanda as she continued to recite the chant. 

The old chapel is awakened with a deadly, hollow breath, howling ominously in a deep and thunderous wind that travels through the marrow of bones and tenses the muscles. The air eagerly lapped and ravished at them, as if tasting them on its non-existent tongue. 

The rattle of the ancient, relic urns chattered on their shelves beneath a baritone of a rumble that became suspiciously familiar to a growl, that of a predatory beast. Wanda’s hair whipped around to almost blinding her vision but she feels like she’s incapable to stop, that whatever force pulled her in the first place has full control over her, that even if she wanted to — and she doesn’t — she couldn’t stop. 

Not until her words and voice enunciate the final lyric of whatever summoning spell she reads. 

“Come hither, loyal acolyte, silhouette and blackened, come back to your vengeful pedestal upon the earth — I beckon you from your voided prison, answer my summoning!”

Behind the knowledge of Wanda’s awareness, the visage of an animal skull formed in a smoky apparition finally pushed her friends to flee.

“Fuck this!” Bucky shouts, pulling Natasha with him until his grip is white knuckled around her wrist. Steve mimics the action and sentiment with Peggy. Each of their screams joined the territorial growls and roars as they ran to the cellar’s exit. 

“Wait—!” Wanda’s hand stretches out, gripping for her friends pleadingly only for the cellar door to boom loudly as the doors slam to a close. 

The air feels cold around her yet so thickly laced, it shrouded her in darkness despite the many candles lit around her. Behind her, tendrils of grappling mist form into spiraling columns that wrap and weave together into a crafting tower, silent with a voice she hears as a mere whisper. Your fur manifests in this realm with a bristled motion and your ears immediately twitch, perking up at each minute breath she utters in her shell-shocked state. 

Your master.

Oh, how long it has been since you last graced her beauty, her powerful aura and taken her into your enveloping hold. For too long she has been away from you. A tiny, coiled rasp akin to a curious, predatory purr emits from the chasm of your large chest. 

Wanda’s voice feels raw, stretched thinly by the grimoire’s spell and her hand delicately moves to pet and stroke it but a figment of lithe, cold clawed fingers beat her to it. 

A gasp hiccups in her throat as her head is tilted back slowly. Her eyes meet glowing balls of flame within the hollow frame of shallow eye sockets. A chiseled and grizzly face of a skull decorated with small cracks and a gaping maw revealing the serrated blades of teeth, moistened with an oily slick from a long, black limb of a tongue. 

No way…

You make the sound of that grinding, off-note purr again, louder to reach her ears. “Milenec…”

Odd as it was to feel an inkling of acknowledgement to the term. It sounds so… endearing. Like she’s heard it before but not in this lifetime. The aspect of a time before her existence here and now is brought into question immediately. 

“Y-you can talk…” she chokes out through a whispered breath, “What are you?”

“Milenec…  it  is  me.” You let her slip from your grasp where she stumbles back, the rise of her heels clobbering against the cellar flooring like loud cracks of thunder. Your body moves unlike any natural thing on this earth. It contorts, twisting and bending in places that shouldn’t. 

You body arcs and crosses over the podium with slinking ease, the wispy nature of your fur bellows in airy streams akin to the warp of fire and your long tail follows you as a trail of smoke; your body pushed and pulled like a magnetic charge between this realm and the next, there are forces at work that attempt to banish you and hold you grounded here. 

“Don’t  you  remember  me?” 

“I don’t understand,” Wanda mutters. With a tilt of your large head that furls your ears with a flop, you speak with a guttural enunciation. “You  freed  me,  Master. For  so  long  I’ve  waited,  trapped  in  the  void. But  you  kept  your  word. You  summoned  me.”

“I-I… that was… that was just a joke, I d-didn’t mean to—”

“But  you  did.” Low and unwavering is your tone, musing to and fro within the fabrication of vocalisation. 

You stalk closer until the bony bridge of your skull bows down to meet her at eye level. “And  now  we  can  finally  be  together…”

“Properly…  consummate  our  love.” 

What?

Wanda stumbles back, nearly caving in on her heel in her blind stun but the shadowy appendage of your tail wraps her and draws her in closer so that her breasts meet the glistening grotesque of your tongue. 

Long and expressive, it explores the exposure of her cleavage, tasting the warm dew of her skin and a thrumming growl rattles in your ribcage like bones being shaken in a hollow encasement. 

With a quivering breath, Wanda sighs, caught in the midst of this awakened desire and her need to get away. “I’m not—Ah… who you think I am…”

Pulling away and bumping the skinless mouth of your face against her cheek, you huff. The tattered, darkened rings hidden deep within the sockets of the skull move like muscled skin. A cursed deformity? 

An indication that you were once something more? 

The visceral shade of glowing amber shines ominously bright like a flame tempered angrily.

“A  reincarn…” The words speak as an echoing drawl that overlaps together. “But  my  Milenec  all  the  same…  my  mate.”

“M-mate?” Wanda stutters and you nod with a low purr. 

Had her dabbling in magic really cost her this time? For all her friend’s pleading to reconsider her less than tame rituals and practices, she truly opened the genie bottle on this one. And that genie happened to be a mystical entity hellbent on her being someone someone it knows. A reincarnate. 

Wanda cannot exactly place it within herself, but there is a certain cadence of allure in your words. Your profession that you and her are meant to be together. She’s felt so lonely as of late after her messy breakup with her ex. Feeling unwanted and pathetically isolated, believing that nobody else wanted her because of her taboo hobbies. 

But to think that this… creature wants her. She feels like it’s a sort of lust yearning to break free of herself. That this is right. That you’re meant to be. 

Your hands move to cradle her jaw, her visage cutely small compared to your hands. Her breath comes in light pants. “May  I…  kiss  you,  Milenec?” 

When Wanda had arrived back at her dorm room, she mostly expected it to be barren of her roommate after what occurred tonight. No doubt staying with Bucky. Her plump lips still reside with this vibrating tension after the kiss you shared. It was exotically powerful, submissively contained despite the ravenous hunger she could all but feel course through your materialised body. 

The grimoire sat on her dresser, a foreboding piece of occult just laid out in the open. You advised her to take it with her.

“It  was  yours.  Take  it.”

From the vessel of her sleeping form, you emerge as the figment moving through the shadows, a tainted mass like water in oil. The native, lesser darkness submits beneath your imposing will, threatened by you. As a wayward spirit now marking your haunting claim to this new territory, you drift around your surroundings under an inquisitive note to investigate. 

Your master is… different. She must be that of a reincarn. The loss of her memories — the loss of you — and in the matter that the world has changed so much since you were last summoned to this realm. Only the telltale sign of your presence leaves your shadow out in the open view, under the protruding light of the moon painted over the wall. 

Before you, your hand muses between the phases of existence, taking care to be gentle when your claw pokes and plucks at a button eye of a stuffed toy of a bear. You recall young village girls who made their comforting friends from old straw, ragged scraps of hemp and linen thread. Witches of the craft also used similar ingredients to create dolls, giving them onto you to then find and slaughter them. Ah, those were the days you were admired as a god. A deity of the dark and the shadows, where your name was uttered on the faint whisper of fear and gasped aloud in seek of repentance. 

Then your beloved summoned you, bound you in the sustained chains of her servanthood, and despite your nature to feel angered because of your entrapment; you admired the raw power she held. Together, you both would be unstoppable. In pledge of your divine protection and loyalty, she would bed you and settle your every carnal desire. She announced her soul yours to take in exchange that you would in turn serve as her faithful acolyte, the fonted source behind her increasing magic. 

A woman after your own heart. No other witch of her time had made such an offering so appealing. Usually they slew a few mortals as a sacrifice or the odd bassinet that cradled a babe surrounded by small, dead birds; all to ask your favour and to surrender a portion of your power to make them powerful.

You’re not sure why these women thought you’d have such need for innocent, infant souls. But you made their treachery pay for their disgusting insinuation. Nor did you ever condone the contracts over the young. A foul entity of the void but one with a consciousness. That was what your true followers came to understand. 

Brought back to the present you stand before the mirror of Wanda’s vanity. Small framed adornments hang by an invisible force that you decree is faulty magic, based on how easily it wanes upon touching it with the graze of a single clawed finger. Your mistress smiles in each one, some with the company of who you presume to be her followers, and others she is alone; in wait for your shadow to loom hazily in the next frame. 

This modern age still confounds you but you will learn it. And with it, you will have all knees bend before your master. You will finally sate one another as you both promised for an eternity. Beside the vanity sits a woven basket. You come completely from the cloak of your phantomhood when the smell hits you. A strong odor exudes from it and you curiously click the lid open. The scent wafts higher, more intense and your core awakens with arousement. You can smell the intensity of her on the used clothes. The nose hole of your skulled face inhales  deeply, sharply with a wheezing crackle. Your tongue laps at the soaking patch of her recent loins, groaning at the way hunger consumes you. 

Your ears rattle with a perked flicker at the piercing chord of Wanda’s softened whine. Your head swerves to peer over your shoulder, a penetrative gaze of two smoldering fires set upon her. How beautiful she looks, the blanket pooled to her stomach, revealing the sculpt of her form, a less than orderly top clinging to her loosely and barely concealing the spill of her breasts. 

As a misted cluster of wavering smoke, you saunter towards her until you stand over her at the side of the bed. Your head cranes on a tilted axis as you examine her closely. Her brows scrunched together, troubled and her body struggles and writhes pathetically, more so as she whines and moans breathlessly under the stir of her slumber. A low rumble vibrates in the chasm of your chest that it echoes deeply. 

Her hips jerk and she lets out another pitiful sound. She’s needy…

She  yearns  for  us…

She’s  ready…

It’s  now  our  time…

With one hand you cup her at the apex between her thighs and she shivers, hips jumping forward into your palming embrace. You growl with a low-edged timbre, desire taking hold of you. You feel the cool dampness soak her panties much like the ones in the basket and her smell… it takes every single sin of yours to remember not to ravish her outright lest you tear her open. 

She continues to move against the wide spread of your hand, rubbing herself on you. Her muscles go rigged with each needy roll of her hips and her throat constricts around her mumbled phrases and wanting sounds. 

She  needs  us…

You intrude two long fingers beneath the thin fabric of her panties, your thumb having sought out her clit. You run along her folds with tantilising motion, teasing. Your master gives a low, sulky moan in turn. Her legs spread further apart to welcome you, accommodate your invading advancements and her breath quickens that her breasts become strained against her top. How you’ll tear it off her in due time. Nothing will keep you apart an longer, nothing else shall hinder you from bearing witness to her naked body pinned beneath you or when she takes her place above you; to spear herself on the throne that is your cock. She will come to remember her manners, her power and then… nothing will remain in your path. You two shall be unstoppable. 

You push the two fingering appendages past her moist folds and she gasps curtly, her spine arching beautifully from the mattress. Finally, she’s embracing that which is long overdue. Your thumb rolls her cli in slowly drawn circles, pressing with a touch of firmness to let her know your toying is an act to please. 

Her name parts through her agape lips and her dark lashes beat with a sleepy flutter, unaware completely to what transpires. 

“Milenec…” you purr. The darkened dart of your tongue slides over the maw of your bony teeth, wishful to savour her taste. You lower yourself at her side, your other hand moves up, caressing the temple of her body until it reaches the nape of her neck. Your jaw cracks and pops, a wiry whisper of breath lashes through the hollow of your throat and your tongue extends further from your mouth. Still fingering her velvety insides until she’s coating you with her arousal, her clit thrumming with a lively pulse, your tongue becomes integrated into the pleasurable mix. 

You grunt and moan with a thousand resounding echoes bouncing back and forth between the walls. You taste the sweetened dew of her skin, its slight tang of salty residue. It slides over the slim plane of her stomach, caressing the creased threshold of her legs right near her navel and then upwards. The damned fabric offends you in your aroused exploration. Your tongue slips beneath its material hem and travels between her breasts, rippling for a moment before tearing the top down its middle. Her nipples become stiff, erected by the sudden chill that riddles her skin with goosebumps. 

Her chorus of moans spurs you on. The inky tendril of your tongue glides over each breast, playful with both nipples until you leave a shiny gloss behind. It has her mewing in a way that makes your cock throb and stand between your legs. The thicker portion of your tongue slides and fondles over the curve of her breasts, its extension moving back down her body following the natural weight of her belly until your tongue prods at her clit. It’s cold to her, she lets out a shivered sigh and a softened mewl of your name. 

Along with your fingers, your tongue divides the lips of her slickened pussy apart, becoming a third instrument that strokes her from within. Her walls are hot around you and it clouds your mind with a clouded lust, her snug walls that are flushed with a velvety feel that’s moistened; a precious cove where she beckons your entreating defilement. You groan with a slurping lap in indulgence to her taste finally on your tongue. Sweetened like a honeyed wine, the taste of a feverish delight. Greedily, you sink your tongue further inside of her. 

She arches her back further and your hand supports her at the backend of her skull as she cries out your name, her breath panting and concealing that of a blissful scream. Her eyes open to the dimly lit world around her, the lamplight having flickered in warning that its lighting will expire soon the moment you laid your hands on her. Terrorised by a series of gasps and hiccuping moans, her hands fist and clench at the chilly spires of your misty fur, just thick enough to grab onto but the fainter portions slip through her hold. 

“Y–Y/n… ah—ahh! My acolyte…”

You give a mused whine at the teetering edge of her voice, a bended inflection as she now balances horribly on the verge of her own orgasm; a heavenly relief. “Right there… please, r–right there!”

Your thumb becomes aggressive on her clit and you pull her to sit up slightly. The widened base of your head forces her legs to remain open no matter how much she clenches them against you, she pulls at the mane of fur around your neck as she begs you. 

With a few more strokes of your fingers and tongue, she cums. Her body trembles violently as she’s taken by the white, hot flush that blinds her for a moment and her juices reward you; allowing you to devour it with gulping eagerness. As a last effort, your fingers work to stretch her walls out and she winces before you withdraw both appendages. 

Her chest extends with each large breath and her eyes drown with a deepened pool of lust, the sparkle of scarlet dancing within them. Her power grows with digesting effort through each powerful exchange of your sexual endeavors. Your tongue retracts slightly back down into the unknown and pitless depths of your gullet and you growl deeply. 

Wanda’s hands become fixed at your shoulders and pull at you, inviting you. With a serpentine movement, your tongue moves slowly over the mound of her clit, eliciting a sharpened gasp from Wanda. Further, it moves up her body again, wrapping as a band around her breasts and squeezing her; a mouse caught in your trap. The thinner flare of your tongue is a wonderful muscle all its own when it balances merely of its own accord before her lips, like a snake risen up for the strike. 

Just from the burning amber of your eyes she understands you want her to taste herself. Her plump lips open weakly and you push the inky, slick covered tip into her mouth. Her tongue moves forward and flicks at the slitted divide of your forked muscle; and your body ripples with an unworldly, loud hum. She will come to understand such an area is akin to the sensitive tip to your weeping cockhead.

Your cock twitches and you move until your widened gate sits between her legs. Her soft, delicate thighs are forced to rest against the strong, muscled limbs of your own, just barely meeting at level with your hips and where her awaiting cunt lines up with your cock. 

You move your tongue as a secondary thrusting muscle. Wnda moans a muffled song around it, her own tongue stroking the underbelly of the blackened length and your hips pitch forward with an eager roll. Your tip notches between the capture of her swollen pissy lips and you push forward.

Her body immediately tenses up and your hands hold tight to her wrists, ensuring her grip that claws at your remains there. You’ve never been opposed to pain mixing with pleasure. 

The pronunciation of your name vibrates through your tongue and you growl. Her walls constrict around you with that hot flushness, fluttering as she eases her body to relax. Your size is one she hasn’t experienced before, not even her ex could compare. You pick up your thrust promptly, shoving your cock in and out, in and out. When you withdraw your tongue, the coiled muscle tightening around her ribcage with each thrust you force to penetrate her deeper, she lets out a sighing moan. Her lashes beat fast and her eyes roll back, lulled by the backward crane of her head that falls back against the pillow. 

“Y-yeah, there, right there…”

“Mmm—mhph, so deep!”

How you’ve waited so long to hear her pleasure all to yourself. It’s intoxicating to be praised by your master and your pace quickens. Your hips snap faster and harder with a harshened force that rocks the bed back and forth with a grinding squeak, the headboard splintering a straight line into the wall from the pounding brunt. 

“Shit, shit— I’m gonna—ah!”

You can hear her deep within the recess of her soul. Her reincarn a physical vessel that harbours your first and only love. Your beloved mate. She sings out to you; summoning you. 

You see her within the blind of a memory, seeing the woman beneath you as you do your master. 

You see two different branches of her soul. 

And the thought that your master in this life has faced so much judgment, that her previous lover left her — not that he would have been around much longer if he’d been in the picture still. 

A new quarry to hunt once your consummation was complete. A prize to bring back to your mate. Her first sacrificial offering you’d present to appease her.

Her legs lock around your sturdy hips to drag you further inside of her, kissing the delicate plush of her cervix that has her keening, her lips parted with deep and loud moans that would disturb the neighbouring dorms for sure. 

“Milenec…,” you rattle with a purring growl, “My  Milenec…  release,  let  go.”

For a second time, Wanda bends to the bliss of her euphoria. Cumming around your cock, her walls hug you tightly and her body trembles again with a feverish tingle. It feels like her insides are boiling but her skin is plagued by the wave of coldness. 

Your ears and back with a sharp howl as your knot swells before erupting with the spurting ropes of your release, listening to the rhythmic and moistened glide of where your bodies lock together now. It’s a sound you want to hear for eternity. 

Your tongue loosens around her bust and slinks back down into your gullet, concealing its impressive length for another time. 

“I feel…” Her words come out as a faded exhale. She’s unable to find the words as she stares up at you, a hand caressing the bony curve of your jaw that pops back into place after hanging so low. 

“Whole.”

No longer will your darling master feel the shaded cloak of neglect and disregard. She will feel what it means to truly be loved. Desired. Worshipped. As your mate she falls under your protection and you will guard her fiercely. You will protect the witch who summoned you all those years ago and you shall forever pledge your service to the witch before you now.

She is one and the same. A lover is a lover even through ages past. Nothing will change the bargain you forged long ago. Not the eyes that spear her to the pyre that burned her in ages old, nor the imprisonment of the void, or even the grades she appears desperate to achieve — though you believe she should turn her studies to that of the grimoire: her true potential.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ no note from the author

[ltadoriyuujl]

blood on your jeans, blisters on our feet, a huge grin full of teeth

☆ twin holes in your body lead to twin holes in his neck and a tender moment in an unconventional location (AKA: trust hunters to fuck up a perfectly good moonlight date)

☆ werewolf!bakugou katsuki x vampire!reader, 2.6k words

☆ established relationship, hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, gn!reader, a touch of religious imagery, they don't fuck but they get very close

☆ a/n: my contribution for katsuki's birthday that i totally got done on time. happy birthday to my favorite guy. crossposted on ao3

Each step felt like a struggle between his momentum and the mud, but his urgency won out every time. The ground was eager to soak up the first rain it had seen in weeks, making the earth beneath his feet warm and wet.

Meanwhile, you were indistinguishable from an ice sculpture in his arms.

You'd been cold to the touch for as long as he'd known you. A natural side effect of being a born member of the living dead. But this was different, more dire. Your skin was sallow at the best of times but you were growing waxier by the second, and the hands he knew could crush boulders without much effort grasped weakly at his shirt. The hem of his shirt and most of his pants were dark and stained, not from the rain or the muck, but from the precious little lifeblood you had to spare, the viscous liquid dribbling out of the two neat holes blown clear through your midsection.

He couldn't hear or smell the hunter anymore, though whether that was because he had genuinely lost them or simply due to the fact that his heart was thundering in his ears and his nose was full of you, he couldn't tell. It wasn't like it mattered either way. If the bastard caught up to him, you'd both be dead. If he didn't get you somewhere safe and put some blood back in your system soon, you'd tap out on him, and that was somehow the worse option.

You coughed, the sound rattling out of you, and it made the knots in his stomach tighten. The bleeding had slowed considerably from when you'd been shot, but it wasn't enough. Your supernatural healing factor could only work with what you had, and you weren't nearly old or strong enough to heal up point-blank shots from enchanted weapons on your own. He'd be damned if you died on him, because of him.

"Katsuki," you mumbled, the word quiet and half-garbled. He grunted in acknowledgment but didn't break his stride, eyes peeled for anything even remotely resembling a shelter. Then, like a beacon of divine providence, Katsuki spotted a spire jutting out in the distance. He immediately switched course, headed in that direction. A spire meant a house or a church, or at the very least something with half a goddamn roof.

"Katsuki," you tried again, voice firmer this time, "you should leave me. 'S not safe out here, go home."

You felt his growl in your bones before you heard it, the rough sound setting an ancient set of instincts on edge. "You've had a lot of stupid ideas," you could hear the snarl in his voice, "but that has to be your dumbest one yet. I'll chalk it up to delirium."

You opened your mouth to argue, but you couldn't choke any more words past the dryness in your throat. Pain and hunger danced an awful duet inside you, and it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. The only part of your brain not submerged in the fog of negative sensation was screaming at you to stop wasting energy, so you grit your teeth and closed your eyes, focusing instead on the frantic thrumming of Katsuki’s heart under your cheek.

The trees thinned and Katsuki could clearly discern the building as an old church. The walls and doors were so faded it was impossible to tell what the original colors could have been, even with his enhanced sight. But all the walls seemed intact and the roof had no glaring holes, so he couldn't give less of a shit about whether or not it was pretty.

He tore through the attached graveyard with little concern for the slumber of the dead, only determined to ensure you didn't join their ranks. Using a single broad shoulder as a battering ram, he burst through the door, barely managing to keep you both from crashing to the floor in his haste.

He kept his senses peeled for any hidden surprises and stumbled towards the pews closest to the door before dropping to his knees between them, trusting the ancient wood to keep the two of you hidden and cradling your body so you weren't jarred by the impact. For the first time since you'd gone down, Katsuki allowed himself to properly look at your face, and the sight that greeted him turned his stomach. It wasn't like you'd ever been the picture of health or vitality, but the blood loss had turned you into a wax figure of yourself, a cheap, fake imitation. It was wrong, deeply wrong, and for a terrifying moment, Katsuki thought this would be the last version of you he ever saw.

It hardly took a thought to extend the nails on his hands into claws, the neckline of his shirt shredding like paper under the wicked points. With as much care as his trembling hands could muster, he made a shallow cut in the skin of his neck and raised your head to it, grateful for the way your body twitched at the smell of blood.

Your eyes fluttered open, and then fixed themselves on the droplets rolling down onto his shoulder and collarbone. On instinct your fangs lengthened, and it took every last ounce of your dwindling self-restraint to stop yourself from lunging forward.

"'Suki," your voice was more rasp than anything, vocal cords parched and tongue heavy as lead. Still, even on death's doorstep you had stubbornness in spades. "I can't- I can't make it good. It'll hurt. I don't know if I'll be able to stop."

Katsuki snarled and forced your head closer, placing your lips directly against the wound. "I don't give a shit. Drink."

The command reverberated through you and your body reacted before your mind could, unhinging your jaw fully and driving fangs into flesh. Your teeth tore through skin and muscle, and the blood that flowed into your mouth was sweeter than any wine, purer than any spring water.

You weren't kidding. It hurt like a bitch. You were too weak and frenzied to employ the weird vampire magic that made being fed on feel like a body high. Every one of Katsuki's instincts was urging him to pry you off, to get away, but he dug his claws into the cracked wooden floor and endured.

Just as his vision began to blur at the edges, you ripped your mouth from his neck, throwing yourself backwards to put some distance between the two of you. Katsuki watched in morbid fascination and mounting relief as layers of fat, muscle and skin knit themselves together over the gunshot wounds until the only indication you'd been hurt at all was the holes in your top. He could feel the gashes on his neck mending as well, sped up by the combination of vampire magic and his own healing abilities. His eyes flicked up to meet your wild ones and for a moment, you just stared at each other, chests heaving and the air thick with the scent of blood.

The wave of relief abated, taking his adrenaline with it. He all but deflated, scrubbing his still-clawed hand over his face as the gauntlet of emotions he'd been suppressing, the terror, anger and despair, all came crashing down on him at once.

For all the years spent nipping at each other's heels and trading eye rolls and increasingly creative middle fingers from different sides of a grand hall, you had never seriously put your hands on him until tonight. The glade in the middle of the forest between vampire territory and wolf country had been your go-to spot since you both were children. The area was synonymous with safety in Katsuki's mind, considering only the most suicidal hunters would even risk venturing so deep in search of targets. He'd been at ease, distracted, and you'd sensed the threat before he could. The force with which you shoved him out of the way was enough to send him tumbling head over ass halfway across the clearing. After a few moments of belligerent cursing and spitting grass out of his mouth, his bearings returned in time to see you go down, the smoking barrel of a gun glinting in the moonlight from the treeline.

What happened immediately after was fuzzy at best, distorted by shock and fear. He might've howled, let out a sound deep and full of rage, or he might have simply bolted over and scooped you up before making a break for it.

"That was a stupid ass thing to do." His accusation echoed through the church, and you winced as though the reflected words physically struck you.

"You're one to talk. Letting a dying vampire feed on you was way more dangerous than my stunt." Using the back of your hand, you attempted to wipe some half-dried blood off your cheek but only really succeeded in smudging it. "Hunters must have deep pockets these days if they can afford to have expendable bullets made of blessed silver-"

"Don't joke about this! You could've-"

"Better me than you." You weren't yelling, but your voice drowned out his regardless. The glint in your eyes was steely, your lips set in a firm line. "You just proved it. Two direct shots of holy silver and all I needed was a drink. If they had hit you-" your voice wavered, and your fangs dug into your bottom lip as you tried to regain your composure. "You would've died of blood loss and silver poisoning and even ripping every hunter in the world apart limb from limb wouldn't bring you back. I wouldn't have been fast enough to get you back to your home in time for them to help you, so I did the next best thing."

You shuffled forwards, eating up the floor space between you and him until your knees were almost touching. Tentatively, you reached a hand out to cup his cheek, a soft smile gracing your lips when he didn't recoil. "You're not as invincible as you think you are, Katsuki." Your voice had lost its previous hardness, the edges of it blunted into something far more tender. "I don't want to face a world where you don't exist. Not yet, at least."

Only a few weak moonbeams managed to filter through the grimy window behind you, but they were enough to drape you in a halo of soft silver light. The whirlpool of conflicting emotions churning in Katsuki's stomach quieted as he took you in. Your wild hair and bloodstained mouth did nothing to distract him from the color and fullness returning to your face, the blood—his blood—coursing through your veins and warming you from the inside out.

You were the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

He caved to his urges at last, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to him. His embrace was ironclad, like if he squeezed hard enough you would sink into his chest and let him carry you in the safety of his ribcage forever, right next to his beating heart. Your surprised gasp melted into a soft laugh but you held him back just as tight, as though you'd slip away to somewhere he couldn't reach you if you let go.

After a few more minutes of holding you, Katsuki's hind brain was sufficiently disappointed with the fact that you weren't going to crawl under his skin and stay there. He pulled away slightly, just enough to study your face up close, and you tried your best not to squirm under his heated gaze.

"What?" you teased, "Do I have something on my face?"

"Can I kiss you?" His voice was steady, but the pleading undertone was impossible to miss. One of your hands made its way to his hair, toying with the soft strands while you pretended to think.

"I have blood all over my mouth."

Katsuki scoffed. "Yeah, my blood. I don't give a shit."

Your nose scrunched in distaste but you couldn't keep the laugh out of your voice. "You're gross."

"Look, are you gonna let me kiss you or-"

Your lips pressed softly to his, stealing the rest of his sentence away. It wasn't your first kiss together, or even your 50th, but kissing Katsuki was a novel experience no matter how many times you did it. He was so…alive, real and firm and full of a warmth you couldn't mimic even with a hundred liters of blood. The hand not in his hair came up to cup his jaw, his pulse thundering under your pinky finger. A groan rumbled out of his chest and into yours, large hands finding your hips to pull you impossibly closer. His tongue slipped past your parted lips and prodded at your fangs, wrenching a full body shudder from you. You could've spent eternity there, mouth molded against his and greedily basking in the heat of his body. His thumbs hooked themselves under the waistband of your pants and your stolen blood rushed south so fast you almost gasped. Only decades of honing your self-control granted you the presence of mind and sheer willpower it took to break the kiss and tilt your head away from him.

"Katsuki." You were shooting for playful but only managed to land on strained and slightly nervous. "I'm not fucking you in an abandoned church." You refused to look directly at him, knowing from experience that his flushed cheeks and blown pupils would shatter your already tenuous grasp on your resolve.

His chest heaved against yours, his breath grazed your neck, and his damned thumbs were still grazing your hipbones. "Why?" The slight rasp in his voice was deadly. "Too cliché?"

"Oh absolutely. Can you imagine? 'Two creatures of the night, locked in passionate embrace in a former house of God's light.' The universe might smite us for the audacity alone." Easier to joke and deflect than admit you were so drunk on him that if you let him lay you down you might eat him whole.

Thankfully, Katsuki seemed to recognize your turmoil and finally moved his hands, bringing them down to rest on your thighs (which, admittedly, wasn't much of an improvement, but at least he wasn't touching bare skin any longer). "I should get you home," he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. "Sun's gonna start coming up in about an hour and half." You had no idea if that was true considering your phone was long gone and you'd never gotten into the habit of wearing a watch, but Katsuki had a freaky sense for when dawn was approaching so you'd learned to trust his judgment on that front.

Still, neither of you moved, content to soak in the other's presence just a little longer. You ghosted your fingers over the spot where your bite mark had been, the smooth skin betraying nothing about what had transpired not even thirty minutes prior. A squeeze to your leg drew your gaze from his neck to the vermilion eyes you adored so much.

"I'll find them." At your quizzical eyebrow, Katsuki huffed and continued. "Bastard that shot you. I'll find them, even if it takes the rest of my damn life."

You hummed and tilted your head to press your smiling lips to his cheek. "You're so hot when you plan brutal revenge."

"I thought you said you weren't tryin' to fuck me here?"

"Are those 'fuck me' words?"

"Half the shit you say is."

You snort. "You really are a dog," you reply, and you hope he knows you mean it with all the affection of a thousand lifetimes.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Any Stefek fic that is based off the movie Dirty Dancing? A friend of mine said she read a few but I can not find any! Thank you!!!

Nobody puts Sterek in a corner!

Awkward Dancing by StaciNadia

(1/1 I 1,193 I Teen)

Love and dancing come together at Argent's Resort.

I Can't Live Without Your Love by Val_Brown

(1/1 I 4,898 I Not Rated)

Derek stared out the car window as the green trees of the Oregon Coast highway rolled past. Every summer since he could remember they would head to a resort just outside of Bandon, Oregon. This was the last summer before he began college. The last summer before he had to start his future. He was going to make the most of it.

I Carried a Watermelon for Werewolf Equal Rights by alphasnark

(1/6 I 5,359 I Teen)

A Dirty Dancing AU.

feel the magic between you and I by stilinskisparkles

(1/1 I 11,432 I Mature)

“See?” Derek holds his arms out, “Everything’s working out great for you, and I still have no dance partner,” he turns to Erica, “Face it, no one is as good as you.”

“We still have one more,” she sing songs.

Derek peers over to the list, flinches when he sees Stiles’ name, “No.”

“You haven’t even seen me dance, and you’re already dismissing me?” Stiles sails into the room, tossing his bag in the corner as he does so and doing a dramatic spin to face them. “I got moves.”

Hot, sweet and wild by kishmet

(2/? I 14,665 I Mature)

When his father had announced the trip to the Argents' resort, Stiles had envisioned long days spent lounging on the beach with his laptop. He'd never imagined rigorous training sessions with the world's hottest, strictest dance coach.

Nobody puts Stiles in a corner by Stephaninnie

(7/7 I 39,565 I Mature)

Dirty Dancing AU where Stiles is Baby and Derek is Johnny and some things have changed but most things have stayed the same.

Certain Kind of Fool by saraubs

(1/1 I 36,530 I Mature)

Derek, who has been dragged against his will to the same resort his family visits every summer, is determined to spend the next two and a half months sequestered in his room. His only friend, his sister Laura, is preoccupied with her newly-bonded mate, and doesn't seem to care about anything but making him happy.

When Derek meets Stiles Stilinski, a sharp-tongued waiter, he thinks that this summer might not be a complete waste of time. There are only two problems: First, Stiles is human. Second, he doesn't believe in mates.

Dirty Dealing by lookslikenico, winglesswarrior

(13/? I 47,100 I Teen)

Stiles had a plan for his final summer before college. He was going to intern at the Sheriff's station, get ahead on the plans for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, his dad had some hazy idea of him having 'one last summer' as a lazy teenager. Now, he's stuck cooling his heels and feeling very out of place at some stuck up country club, where he feel he has more in common with the staff than the other members. Of course, that could be because the staff include his new 'how have we never met before' best friend Scott and the 'it should be physically impossible for someone to be that perfect' new crush, Derek. Who apparently hates him - but not enough that he won't swallow his pride and put up with Stiles' presence when he's needed to help get Erica out of trouble...

I May Be Naive But I'm Not Stupid by FelOllie

(18/? I 73,472 I Explicit)

Stiles Stilinski is the young, naïve high school graduate who's headed off to Columbia University (with every intention of going on to Columbia Law) because that's what his parents expect of him. Even though, really, all he wants to do is take after his father and become a cop.

Derek Hale is the sexy, mysterious, just-this-side-of-standoffish-and-rude dance instructor. He and his partner, Lydia Martin, work the summers at the playing-at-posh mountain resort teaching the over-privileged adults and their spoiled kids how to do the merengue.

The summer proves to be exactly what Stiles needs to finally learn how to take control of his life.

But, what happens when it's over?

[kittenshift-17]

Omg I feel like any teen wolf fic (sterek fic) you write would be amazing, on that topic ur an amazing writer and I’m glad that one day I stumbled upon one of your fics. And also speaking of sterek fics (or any teen wolf fic) do u have and recommendations on what to read for that fandom???

Okay, so I took my time with this one because I had read some, but not a lot... but oh boy, did I deep dive into the research to bring you some top tier Sterek Fic Recs.

TOP 20 STEREK RECS

Play It Again by metisket ***I LOVED THIS ONE***

In which Stiles goes along with one of Derek’s plans and ends up in an alternate universe as a result. He should’ve known better. He did know better, actually, and that means he has no one to blame but himself.

“Laura wants to lure the kid in with food and kindness and make a pet of him, like a feral cat. Derek wants to have him arrested for stalking. They’re at an impasse. (And the rest of the family is staying emphatically out of it in a way that suggests bets have been placed.)”

So Shed Your Skin and Lets Get Started by halfhardtorock

He's sixteen and in the woods on the wrong side of the town-line and he's so fucking fucked.

He knows he's not supposed to run, they teach that to you in preschool (don't run from a Were, back away slowly and walk with care), but they never told you how it would feel, standing alone in the dark with your heart beating in your throat as those glowing eyes tracked you from the shadows.

Don't Feed the Wolves by Amazonia_8

Stiles took the dare, because what else was he supposed to do when the whole lacrosse team was chanting his name? Even though the werewolf pack had left Beacon Hills years ago, nobody was stupid enough to set foot on the Hale property.

Except, apparently, Stiles.

Now he's got a feral werewolf following him around town with the sole purpose of claiming Stiles as his own.

so now you've got the best of me (come on and take the rest of me) by mangotangos

"It doesn't matter how hot Derek is, how Stiles barely comes up to his shoulders or how Derek's hands could probably fit really snugly around his waist. None of it matters, because he's basically a glorified babysitter for the foreseeable future and Stiles wants him out. Operation annoy Deputy Derek Hale into leaving begins now."

~or, the one where Stiles' dad hires Deputy Derek to be Stiles' bodyguard, Stiles hates him on principle and then 2 seconds later falls in lust (and love) and tries to seduce him into bed with his sexual prowess.

There Are No Wolves In California by kitsunequeen

Hunter!Stiles accidentally hits a wolf with his car and can't bear to leave him in the road to die. It's not till he gets the wolf home that he sees its eyes glow red... ------- Even everyday roadkill is upsetting, but this thing… Moments ago it was probably a majestic beast, and now it’s a mangled pile of soon-to-be rotting flesh. He presses a shaking hand to the only part of its chest left intact, not even thinking about whether it'll give him rabies or some other awful disease.

He’s about to pull back when something even crazier happens.

He realizes the wolf is breathing.

(not so) Pure Imagination by theroguesgambit

"There is a world where whenever someone fantasizes about you, you can physically feel it, but you have no idea who is thinking it about you."

Stiles knows it's wrong, but he's been Fantasizing about Derek and he can't bring himself to stop. Derek doesn't know who's taken an interest in him, but he's enjoying it way more than he probably should.

Little Wild Animal by DiscontentedWinter

Derek Hale finds a feral human on his pack's property. Humans are supposed to be extinct. But then, Stiles is full of surprises.

The Darkness Inside by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The sheriff watched him for a moment, then he sighed and turned slightly. He reached out to open a cabinet door beside him, and pulled out a shelf. It was on a track, so it rolled out of the cabinet fairly easily, and held a small CCTV. Derek frowned and inched his chair to the side a little bit so he could get a better angle.

He was looking at a teenager, or someone at least young enough to be the same age as Scott. He was sitting on a bed in what looked to be a larger room, the area he was in surrounded by four glass walls, with his legs crossed and head tilted.

He was also staring directly into the camera, as if he knew someone was watching. A creepy smile slowly slid onto the teen’s face, and he held up one hand, wiggling his fingers in a slow, eery wave.

Derek felt his mouth run dry. He didn’t know who this kid was, but he didn’t like him.

“Who is that?” he asked quietly.

“That,” said the sheriff, “is my son.”

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm for missingsun

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life.

There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Patterns of Intention by drunktuesdays

Derek looked like the stuff of his deepest fantasies. His shirt was rumpled where Stiles had his hands in it, and he was breathing hard as well, chest heaving. His eyes—his eyes were glazed over and he looked stunned, like he’d been—like Stiles had—

“No,” Stiles said, blood draining from his face. The word was croaky and felt like it had to be wrenched out of his chest. “God, no.”

Wants & Needs by MadcapRomantic

Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time.

Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels.

Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles.

But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.

I don't know why, but I guess it has something to do with you by LunaCanisLupus_22 for xXxClassifiedxXx 

“You smell like me,” the guy says, scowling as he crowds in and Stiles staggers back between the coats and finally hits the wall. “Why do you smell like me?”

He barely lets out a garbled sound as the blood rushes to his cheeks. “No reason,” Stiles yelps, struggling to get his footing and grasping at a whirlwind of puffy fur.

Or the one where Stiles goes thrift shopping and steals an alpha's shirt. And gets a lot more than he bargains for.

Sleeping Dogs by starsystems

Let sleeping dogs lie. Prov. Do not instigate trouble.;Leave something alone if it might cause trouble.

Derek Hale is asleep in Stiles's bed. And it just escalates from there.

Because of course it does.

We've Written Volumes (in Blood and Scars and Ink) by notthequiettype

Stiles is on his back on hard-packed dirt. He's cold and there are leaves stuck to his neck and there's a four inch gash in his side that he thinks he can feel his ribs through. There's so much blood around him he feels like he's floating on a pond and everything is so much dimmer above him than it was a minute ago, which is saying something because he's in the dark center of the forest in the middle of the night. And the worst of it is that he's alone, totally alone with the smell of his own blood drowning him and the soft side of him run through by a tree.

As his eyes slip shut, the last thing he thinks is, "This is going to kill my dad."

In Case You Didn't Know by Blu_Crowe

Stiles moves into the lofts, and he and Derek start to get closer. Unfortunately Stiles is a moron, and Derek is bad at feelings. They figure it out... Eventually.

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.” 



“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly. 



Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding: 



DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

Lock All The Doors Behind You by entanglednow

He has no idea what you're supposed to say when you find one of your...werewolf acquaintances, completely out of their mind, growling like they're about to see what your insides taste like. There's no handbook for this. Stiles is thinking that if he survives he might write one.

Feral Formalities by Aleandri

"There was silence as no one seemed to breath at the table.

Derek had just gifted Stiles, an unmated Omega, with food.

Right in front of another Alpha.

Who he was on a date with.

To discuss being heat partners...."

*In which, Stiles presents as Omega, and everyone wants a piece of the alpha-baby-making ass!*

for a good time, call... by EvanesDust for kalika_999

Stiles unlocks his phone to send out a quick text asking his father what he wants to eat, even though he’ll get salad regardless, and notices a strange number on his recent call log.

His face scrunches in confusion before realization dawns on him.

Oh shit.

Events from the night before peek through the hazy fog of his mind. Stiles thought, or he was hoping, that the phone call was a dream. But there it is, staring at him in the face—a one minute and 57-second call to an unfamiliar number.

Oh God.

Did he seriously call someone—possibly an alpha werewolf!—for phone sex?

...Or the one where Stiles drunk dials a very grumpy alpha werewolf and propositions him for phone sex. Hilarity, misunderstandings, and feelings ensue.

Golden Boy by trilliath 

Apparently it still amuses his uncle to buy sex slaves for him, no matter how steadfastly he refuses to use them. Derek ducks into his tent with a resigned sigh, prepared to dress and reassign whatever new beauty Peter has bought him. They do make for loyal servants, so he can't really complain about Peter's 'gifts'. But it is annoying to deal with, to have to spend his evening sorting out a slave instead of being able to go right to bed. It's just something he has to learn to accept as a byproduct of serving alongside his uncle.

But when he lays eyes on the boy laying amid his furs, he finds his breath catching in his throat. His skin is golden with the candle-light glimmering against the sheen of oil that has been slathered on his bared body. His lips are parted, and they work over inaudible words or sounds. His skin is flushed, nipples peaked and pierced with simple but unexpected golden rings. He's spectacularly beautiful in the candlelight. The many glowing candles that have been added to his usual lighting cast glittering edges and shadows, imbuing an almost unearthly golden color to his skin.

It's enough that Derek hesitates.

[darkromanceenthusiast]

Hi, small request since I saw you have them open still-

I just had an idea of werewolf boyfriend with a girlfriend, who is insecure about how her vagina looks like like for example she has asymetrical labia lips and one sticks out slightly, so she doesn't let him eat her out, but of course he doesn't care and doesn't see anything wrong with it, he just wants to fuck his mate

I just thought of it because actually more and more women are sadly insecure or even seek surgeries, when they look perfectly normal it's just that in porn usually you have this perfect type with small outer lips that nothing sticks out, which obviously exist but apparently is the least common type, sorry for the long ask ;-;

M!Werewolf x F!reader

Contains: talk of insecurity, body worship, oral (f receiving), fluff, pretty short

“Why not?” He asked, you tensed at the question. You knew that he would ask eventually, after you turned him down so many times, you sighed,

“I..I just…” the words when dry in your throat. A heavy feeling in your stomach, you thought he’d think it was stupid,

“You just what, love?” He asked, his eyes finding yours almost as fast as his calloused hand took yours, you studied his handsome face, admiring his blown out green eyes against his sun kissed skin, dark hair framing it perfectly. You gave a shrug, the words and reasons dying in your throat. You’re pulled from these thoughts when he crouches down infront of you, heart rate increasing as his large hands come to rest on your knees, his thumb caressing the inside of one.

“You’re nervous, doll.” His voice comes out husky and you feel yourself nodding, you know there’s no sense in lying to his sensitive senses so you don’t bother.

“Tell me.” He repeats, tone firm and your face flushes you can feel the insecurity and embarrassment bubbling just under the surface.

“I-I just… well… I don’t like.. how I look”- “Well, I do. Let me eat you out.” You started but he cut you off, he adjusted his grip, tugging you down so your hips were better in line with his face as he pushed your legs to your chest.

“You can’t tell me you dont want this when I can smell how much you do.” *he practically growls as he pulls your pants and panties off, you tried in vain to cover youself as he sank between your legs, pushing your hand away as he wasted no time licking his long, rough tongue through your sensitive folds, earning him a small gasp. He worked on your clit for a while sucking and nibbling and licking the small nub until you were dripping into his hands.

Once he felt you were wet enough he carefully pushed one of his large fingers into you, pumping in and out gently as he licked your clit.

“Can’t believe you were gonna hide this because you were worried about not having some pornstar pussy..” he grumbles, tongue swiping through your folds again to gather your arousal to taste.

“But this..” he gives a gentle but firm slap just over your clit. “is so much fuckin’ better.” He groans, burying hims head back in between your legs, adding another finger in the process.

“I’m gonna eat you out every night until you think you have the most beautiful pussy in the world.” he mumbles against your folds, his tongue teasing your entrance. You knew this was only the start and judging by how he was content currently to just taste you and grind against the couch meant it could be hours before you're released from this.