#hallloween fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inwhichiramble · 2 years

Text

Chrysalis: Chapter 7

Start Here | Prev | Next

---------

“How could a troll get in?” Harry asked as he and Ron climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower.

“Don’t ask me, they’re supposed to be really stupid. Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke.”

They hurried through different groups of people all going different directions. As they jostled through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Ron’s arm.

“I’ve just thought -- Hermione.”

“What about her?”

“She doesn’t know about the troll.”

Ron bit his lip.

“Oh, all right,” he snapped. “But Percy’d better not see us.”

They ducked into a group of Hufflepuffs heading the other way, and after a moment Harry felt someone grab his arm. Turning, he found Hannah Abbott and two other girls looking at him with concern.

“Harry--have you seen Caelia?” Hannah asked urgently.

The boys frowned. “No,” Harry replied. “How come she isn’t with you guys?”

“She went after Hermione Granger,” said another of the girls, a redhead--Susan. “I think they went to the girls bathroom.”

Harry and Ron looked at each other, beginning to panic. Ron, however, cleared his throat and turned back to them. “Don’t worry. We’re going to find them. They’ll be okay.”

The three Hufflepuffs nodded worriedly, and Harry and Ron slipped away just before the girls were ushered towards the common room by a prefect.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Caelia had clapped a hand over Hermione’s mouth and the two of them backed into a stall, trying to avoid attracting the attention of the troll. But unfortunately, it seemed to have smelled them, and it wandered all the way into the bathroom. Just as it stepped inside, they heard the door close and click shut.

The troll roared and began to smash the toilets.

The two girls screamed at the top of their lungs.

Running out of the stall they were in, they backed up against a wall in terror, unable to move any further.

A moment later, Harry and Ron burst into the bathroom and began to throw things at the troll frantically.

“Come on, run, RUN!” Harry yelled at the girls, but the two of them remained shell-shocked and frozen against the wall. Caelia shook as he tried to pull them towards the door, and she almost came back to her senses, but in an attempt to get to Ron, the troll swung his great club around the room and over their heads, sending Caelia straight to the floor again, Hermione clutching her with fright.

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: he took a great running leap and landed on the back of the troll, shoving his wand up the troll’s nostril is his attempted to grab hold of the troll’s neck.

Then, to Hermione, Caelia, and Harry’s great surprise--Ron cried out “Wingardium Leviosa!” and levitated the troll’s club out of his hand and dropped it on its head, sending Harry and the troll to the floor.

The four of them stood stock-still in shock.

It was Hermione who spoke first.

“Is it--dead?”

“I don’t think so,” said Harry, “I think it’s just been knocked out.” He wiped the troll boogers on their owner’s trousers.

Caelia and Ron still hadn’t moved, but not five seconds later, McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrel appeared in the doorway. Caelia had never seen McGonagall’s lips so white and thin.

“What on earth were you thinking of?” said Professor McGonagall, who appeared to be holding herself back from vibrating with anger. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Why aren’t you in your dormitory?”

Caelia saw Snape glare at Harry, and she found herself at a complete loss as to how to explain what had just happened.

Then, from behind her-- “Please, Professor McGonagall -- they were looking for me.”

“Miss Granger! And--is that--Miss Carter?!”

The two girls struggled to their feet.

“I went looking for the troll,” Hermione said, “because I -- I thought I could deal with it on my own -- you know, because I’ve read all about them.”

Ron dropped his wand, and Harry and Caelia stared in shock.

“If they hadn’t found me, I’d be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn’t have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.”

Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn’t new to them.

“Well -- in that case…” said Professor McGonagall. “Wait a minute, that doesn’t explain Miss Carter’s presence. What were you doing here?”

Caelia swallowed. “I… I was just using the loo, professor.”

“And then the troll came in here.”

“Yes.”

Professor McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well then… Miss Granger, three points will be taken off of Gryffindor for this. It was very foolish of you to go looking for the troll but Miss Carter was quite lucky that you did.”

She turned to Harry and Ron. “Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go.”

The four children left the bathroom to head to their respective common rooms. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said “Thanks,” and hurried off to their dormitories.

In the end, Caelia was very happy to finally find that Harry and Ron had accepted Hermione as their friend. She supposed, really, it would be hard to go through an experience like that and not end up liking each other.

She also supposed that this would save her a lot of time, as now she’d be able to hang out with the three of them together.

And so, as she munched on her Halloween treats in the decked-out Hufflepuff common room, she smiled and whispered to herself.

“Cool. Now I have two friend groups.”

#chrysalis #fanfiction #harry potter #Harry Potter fanfiction #TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!!#hallloween #hogwarts #hufflepuff #golden trio #writer #fanfic writer

1 note · View note

leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 4 years

Text

BTS DRABBLE-Min Yoongi 🎃

Halloween Series: Incubus Min Yoongi

It all starts with a dream, the most beautiful man you have ever seen, and the faint hint of a name upon the tip of your tongue when you wake-Yoongi. And soon-though you may be crazy-he’s not just appearing to you when you sleep. You see him everywhere on the streets of Greece-hints, flashes, hopeful glances in the crowd-a slight taste to bide you over until you can be with him once more in slumber. And then, one day, he appears to you in broad daylight-altogether too real-and tells you he’s come for what is his.

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, Halloween, Spooky Season, BTS Drabble, Min Yoongi, Yoongi, Suga, Yoongi x you, Yoongi x reader, Incubus Yoongi

Genre: Fluff, Suggestive

Title: Mine

(Image Credit: @gehenna1986 )

You blink open your eyes, and you instantly know-you are dreaming.

It is apparent in the way the edges of your chamber haze in and out of focus, apparent in the way the darkness of the night seems muted and slightly softer, as if barely hiding the light from twinkling stars

And it is altogether too apparent, when you meet the gaze of the man hovering above you.

He is the most beautiful man you have ever seen-ebony hair falling over his brow and into amber colored eyes, warm and swirling with caramel color, fine, porcelain features, and full pink lips. And from his back, sprouts a pair of magnificent, leathery, onyx colored wings.

And though you know you should be frightened to see a strange man above you, his closeness incredibly intimate with you, in the safety and space of your own bed, you are not, because after all-it is only a dream.

As you consider this, the man speaks, and his voice-low and husky and smooth-makes your stomach clench in a pleasant manner, and fills your head with thoughts not becoming of a Greek lady. “(Y/N). You have my word, I will not take you unwillingly.”

Curious, that he knows your name.

You cock your head to the side, studying the way the foggy atmosphere of the dream slides across his sharp features, softening and dulling the curves of his jaw and nose, and without thinking-it is only a dream after all-you reach up, and cup the side of his face with your palm, letting your fingertips slide across the stretch of his cheekbone. “I am not unwilling.”

His pupils darken at your murmured consent-blowing wide and black as he leans down toward you-and your breath catches in your throat, as his hands slide up the bare skin of your arms, making you shiver-before his lips slant to fit with your own.

The kiss-unlike the man-is rough and sloppy and fiery, your teeth knocking together and tongues fighting to find space in each other’s mouths.

His fingers find the straps of your night gown, pulling it down expertly and easily in the dark, even while keeping his mouth on yours, and as his fingers dance their way across your newly revealed skin, making you gasp, you cannot help but tangle your fingers into the dark hair at the base of his neck.

It is just a dream after all.

There is nothing, in the next few minutes, besides skin flush with skin and ravaging heat and mumbled words under panting, harsh breaths, and the moan of your name from between his lips and clenched teeth.

And then, there is quiet, and the sound of the ocean waves from the open balcony and crickets chirping loudly from beneath the window that looks out over the garden, and you turn your head on your pillow to look at him beside you-eyes closed and chest still heaving as he fights to regain breath you stole from him-and you reach out, carefully, gently, and push back dark, damp hair from his forehead, admiring the flawlessness of his bare skin in the warm, comfortable feeling of the dream.

He turns his head, and his honeyed eyes, still slightly out of focus, meet your own, and the corner of his lip curls into a half smile, revealing sharp, pointed front teeth in contrast to pink gums, and then he says hoarsely, “See you tomorrow, little dove.”

And before you can respond to him, the room fades to black, and when you blink next, you are awake.

********

“Two please.” You flash your fingers with the desired number to the old woman before you, and she nods, reaching out to brush aside the palm leaves covering her butcher table, as she grabs two haunches of venison for you and begins to bag them.

You glance around the open air market-bustling with activity in the early morning-and the hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stand on end, making you feel uneasy, although you brush off the feeling, attributing it to the group of men three stalls down that are sniggering and talking about you behind their hands.

Thanking the woman as she hands you the wrapped cuts of meat, you turn from the stall, just as a group of young boys-kicking a leather ball-stampede past you, almost stepping on your sandaled feet.

Gasping, you stumble backward, catching yourself on the stall, and as they pass you in a cloud of dust and yells-through the residue they leave behind-your startled eyes connect with those of a stranger.

Or almost stranger, because the sight of him-something oddly familiar and intimate swirling in his golden eyes as he watches you-is enough to freeze your breath in your throat.

And then, as the woman at the stall asks if you are all right, you blink, and he is gone-taking the air of intimacy with him-and you are left trying to place where you know him for the rest of the day.

And why he looked at you with such raw and unhidden desire.

*******

The man visits you again that night-in the world of slumber and unhindered dreams.

It is once again the same-flushed skin and slow, unhurried explorations of each other’s bodies, and kisses that bump teeth and intertwine tongues and leave you both wanting for more.

Although, tonight, there is something different.

“Yoongi.” You whimper out, as the sharp points of his teeth graze the hollow at the base of your throat, sending the pulse beneath the skin there into a frenzy.

He pulls back from you-his eyes suddenly guarded-and his features are now stern and hard as he stares down at you, and you are caught off guard, wondering why he switched attitudes so quickly, until he says seriously, “Where did you hear my name?”

“I didn’t.” You say, words stuttered, because you are worried suddenly, that you have upset him, even though he is merely a specter of your dreaming imagination. You continue. “It just came to the front of my mind and left the tip of my tongue naturally.”

He visibly relaxes at your answer, his shoulders slouching, and reaches up with one of his hands to push a tendril of damp hair back from your skin, as he says softly, “Oh. That’s good, then.”

“Good?” You question, tilting your head slightly, as you look up at him, curious what he means.

“Yes.” He nods, and his lips pull back, just briefly, to reveal white teeth and the customary flash of his pink gums, as his longer fingers, still playing with your hair, swirl a strand around his finger as he studies you thoughtfully. “Not only are our bodies becoming one, our thoughts are as well.”

You digest his words for a moment, mulling them over, and then you smile in return, reaching up with one of your own hands to trace over the sharp line of his cheekbone and then down to his jaw, admiring the way his bronze skin gleams in the light from the moon. “You know,” You say, as he closes his eyes and leans into your touch, and you move your admiring gaze to the strong pair of dark wings that sprout from his back. “You’re very beautiful, Yoongi.”

He opens his eyes once more and meets your gaze, and his irises have darkened, as he reaches up to cover your hand with his own-palm warm and soft. “Not as beautiful as you, little dove.”

His words and tone send a shiver down your spine-you’re not sure if it’s pleasant-but you can’t think too much into it, before his lips are back on yours and all other thoughts are gone from your head.

********

“I think you’re crazy.” Nefeli scoffs, taking a sip of her drink as you sit-gathered at a table-in your garden a few days later. The brunette crosses her bare ankles, the long tunic she wears-edged in gold-brushing the cobblestones beneath where you sit as she raises a brow at you skeptically, watching you over the edge of her cup.

“I could be.” You shrug, not really looking at her, as you aimlessly stir your drink around your own glass, watching how the red wine swirls and swirls like a crimson whirlpool-or like the warm, amber swirling of Yoongi’s irises when he looks at you. The thought makes your stomach clench, and you finally look back at your friend across the table. “Maybe I am crazy.”

“You’re not crazy!” The other girl sitting across from you at the table leans toward you suddenly, looking at you seriously as she says, voice raised with irritation, “Don’t listen to her. Haven’t you heard the stories?”

Nefeli rolls her eyes, but Zoe ignores her blatant mockery, as you glance over at your other friend, before asking curiously, “Stories?”

“Yeah.” Zoe nods eagerly, her glass clutched tightly in her hands, as she leans toward you even more, if possible. “The stories about the Incubi.”

“Zoe, you know those are just an old myth-just like the stories of the Gods and Goddesses coming down to earth to visit men.” Nefeli interjects heatedly, and Zoe shoots her a glare.

“Not so!” She exclaims, waving her finger between the two of you, as she continues firmly, looking toward you once more, “Incubi are real, (Y/N). They’re nightmare demons-they enter your room while you sleep and take advantage of you-hopeful to spread their supernatural spawn among humans.” Zoe’s eyes are large, as she shivers, suddenly nervous. “My aunt experienced one. She said it was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to her-she was paralyzed, she couldn’t move-and the demon just had his way with her while she watched, mouth open in a silent scream.”

“Hmmm.” You hum under your breath, already back to stirring the wine around in your glass once more. “But I don’t feel afraid. Yoon-” You start to say his name, but think better of it, since they already thought you were insane. “The man has never hurt me, and the entire experience is actually really enjoyable.”

“He’s definitely tricking you.” Zoe goes on, as Nefeli rolls her eyes once more at your friend’s antics.

“You don’t know that.” Nefeli interrupts Zoe, who turns to her, as they start to bicker heatedly between themselves over what is real and to believed, and what is all a farce.

You glance up from your glass, the sounds of your friends’ fight fading, and suddenly, your heart thumps in your chest, as you catch a glance of a very familair-and very well known-male figure among the orchard trees at the back of the garden.

Could it be....?

And then the figure is gone, and the black wings you thought you saw upon his back are no more than a memory, as you shake your head and try to pull yourself back to the present.

It was probably just a gardener, you reason with yourself, but you can’t help yourself from glancing once more to the trees, hoping to catch one last glimpse.

******

Yoongi is like clockwork-appearing in your dreams every night for the next week-and though you are usually exhausted when you wake in the morning after one of his visits, you cannot help but hope to see him again.

The way his long, slender fingers know your body now-inside and out-the way his mouth slots perfectly with your own-hot and insistent and pleasurable-and the way he looks so beautiful in the moonlight-ethereal and unreal-it’s all worth giving up sleep for.

And so, when you sit in the cafe of the open street market that morning-exactly a week from the day you had been there last, when you felt the unnerving, somehow intimate gaze on you from across the street-you stifle a yawn, and take a sip of your drink, lazily watching the flow of people pass you.

The merchants are loudly hawking their wares-meat and vegetables and animals and clothing-and the air is filled with a thin layer of dust, kicked up from dozens of sandals and the clopping hooves of horse drawn carts.

You have always loved the lively atmosphere of the open air market-it is in direct contrast to the quiet, loneliness you feel pervades the air of your estate and garden.

“May I sit down?”

The deep, low voice-quiet and reserved-startles you, and you glance up at the man standing in front of the other empty seat at the table, and instantly, you get that feeling again-the same one from the market last week and the same one you experienced days earlier in you garden.

A feeling of familiarity. Of home.

“Sure.” You manage to say, although your heart is in your throat and your fingers are suddenly shaking, as the man-who you still do not know, even though he feels so intimate-offers you a polite smile and sits in the empty chair.

“Do you know who I am?” The man asks, leaning toward you, fists propped under his chin, dark eyes scanning your face intently.

What an odd way to start a conversation.

“I don’t....” You begin to say, but your voice dies in your throat, because why, why does he seem so familiar? You swallow hard, and try again. “I’m not sure.” You answer honestly, fingers trembling against the handle of your cup.

“Ah.” He sits back, a slight look of disappointment on his face, and then he cocks his head, like a curious bird. “It’s probably this disguise.”

“What?” You ask, shocked into speaking by his odd choice of wording. “What’re you talking about?”

You feel nervous, as you wait for his answer, glancing around you in case you suddenly need help, saving, from the strange man sitting across from you.

The man smiles-and there is another pang of knowing in your chest-evident by the way your heart thumps painfully against your rib cage. “Shall I show you something, little dove?”

That nickname.

It can’t be.

Before you can wrap your mind around what the man has just said, he sits back, and a slight shimmer of dark mist ghosts over his features and body, and then, as it clears, he is leaning toward you, and suddenly, you cannot breathe.

It is him.

Yoongi.

The amber, swirling eyes, the dark, endless pupils, the slight curve of full lips up into a smirk-sharp teeth and pink gums peeking through with the expression-the ebony hair hanging over his forehead, perfect, elven features still as he watches you, and on his back-the pair of leathery, beautiful black wings.

“Recognize me now?” Yoongi asks softly, lips still pulled into the hint of a smile, as he takes in your obvious astonishment.

“How....”You stutter out, but change your tactic halfway through your sentence. “You’re real? I wasn’t dreaming?”

He shakes his head, rustling the black bangs that fall into his eyes. “You weren’t dreaming. I’m real.” He reaches out a hand-palm up-across the table, but makes no move to touch you, letting you come to him.

And you do so, resting your fingers gently in his outstretched hand, as you struggle to comprehend what’s happening, feeling his very warm, and very real skin, beneath the touch of your fingertips.

“What are you doing here?” You breathe out, suddenly very aware that he sitting across from you-wings on full display-in the middle of the daylight.

He tilts his head to look at you curiously, and then, eyes darkening as he stares at you, he says seriously, “I’ve come to claim what’s mine.” Your eyes widen, and his fingers curl around your own in a tight, unyielding grip, as he murmurs darkly, “I’ve come for you, little dove. Because you are mine.”

And though his possessive words-and the way his features darken just slightly-should scare you, they don’t. Because this is Yoongi-the man who has visited you in your dreams for the past few weeks, the man-no the demon-who, though it went against his kind, would not take you unwillingly, who let you come to him.

And so, following the pattern, you willingly come to him once more, one more time.

You offer him a gentle smile from across the table, your fingers still clenched within his own, and once more, admire the way the sun reflects off the large pair of ebony wings that adorn his back, before you nod, and say, “That’s right. I’m yours-now and forever.”

62 notes · View notes