#to keep his fur clean and soft from not staining with blood

[radiance1]

Danny was having a good night, laying down on his side and purring contentedly while his tail swayed lazily. He was living a good life nowadays, freed from his responsibilities as the eternal prince of the Infinite Realms and taking on the mantle of the head of a Familia.

Perhaps, one of these days, he should try and find the wizard who turned him into a cat and thank them for it. What would a wizard even like anyway?

He pondered on that for a moment, perhaps a magical artifact or another could suffice? He stretched. Oh well, it didn't matter right now, he wasn't going to do it so soon anyways.

He opened his mouth, a yawn escaping him as he finished his stretch, tongue peeking out to lick his lips. He changed his position to something more comfortable, sinking into the lavishly soft pillows and reminding himself to get Catwoman something once again for giving him this high-quality cat bed.

Custom made too, multiple times bigger than him, the softest pillows he's ever felt and smelling extremely good. Even when multiple others forced themselves into his bed, even though they had their own as a gift from her as well.

Perhaps another diamond is in order?

His ears perked up as the sound a crash echoed throughout the warehouse, and he lazily peeked an eye open as the sound of paws running towards his direction made themselves known.

His nose twitched, the familiar scent of iron controlling the air as he sighed.

Kevin.

"Graaaaaaaaaaaamps!" A cat of what was once white fur, now stained with blood, skidded to a stop in front of him. Danny sighed once more, other eye opening as he looked at his first, and what others call his second-in-command. "I'm not that old, 150 is still quite young Kevin." He spoke calmly, no real heat in his voice and instead, amusement.

Kevin, predictably, ignored him. "You won't believe what happened tonight." Kevin then turned cheeky, stepping forwards towards his bed, and Danny had half a mind to try and prevent him from staining his bed, before discarding that thought just as quickly. "Guess!"

Danny's stare turned flat, and he had an urge to facepaw. Instead, he sighed, staring at the blood staining the other's fur before resting his head back on his bed. "You died again, didn't you?"

"Yep!" Kevin stepped onto the bed, both face and reply cheerful as the sun. "But that's not it!" Kevin bounced his way over to the elder cat, bloody pawprints marking his path on the previously clean bed.

Danny sniffed, a faint unknown tickling his nose before Kevin flopped on top of him, the blood stains on the smaller cat rubbing off on him, causing Danny to shift position, one that would support the younger better. "Oh, really?" He inquired, reaching out to grasp a glass shard from Kevin's side and placing it onto the bed.

"Yea! I fought spark, the spark!" Kevin purred, tail swishing behind him. "Can you believe it!?"

Danny hummed, picking another shard of glass from his first's skin.

"She was suuuuuper strong! Not stronger than you obviously, but she was really tough, I almost couldn't keep up with her!" Danny used a paw to silently request for Kevin to turn, and he did, with Danny plucking another shard from his skin. "She went all woosh, and boom! And then I went swish, and whish and she could barely touch me!"

"Mhm." Danny shifted, gently lowering the other, younger cat from off of him and instead to his side onto his stomach, reaching over to pick the shards from his back. "Then, then she used her power and then I was going fwoosh! Then I crashed into a nearby window and then we had to scatter because the human inside was mad about it." Kevin chirped, easily moving through his story despite the biggest pieces of glass being currently taken out of his back. "Then I ran all the way here because I wanted to tell you about it!"

"That's nice Kevin," Once he was done, Danny reached forward to lick the other on his head, his tail moving forward-the fur turning from black to glowing white- and flinging the shards of glass up through the air and into the rafters. "However." Danny's speech turned from that of a cat to one of a more humane-like tongue, his eyes narrowing at the form of one of those vigilantes running around the city- this one seems to be the Robin, based on his description of the hero- took the thrown shards of glass as a sign to drop down onto the ground.

"It seems you've managed to have drawn one of the humans into our territory in your excitement." Danny rubbed his chin against Kevin's head, uncaring for the blood soaking into his fur. "I don't blame you, that strain of human is known to be quite sneaky when they want to be."

Robin stood up, cape shrouding his form from ankle to shoulders. He narrowed his eyes at the scene, and Danny, in turn, narrowed his own as the rest of his fur turned glowing white, toxic green eyes staring at the lone human in a den of cats.

A silent threat.

"Care to explain, human known as Robin?"

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover #ghost prince danny #Had to put that tag in the off chance this ended up as a ghost king Danny post

[aftoonfamily]

I never do this, but I drew a little something for a little something I something I wrote. lol.

Enjoy below it might be long.

Mike had a Nickit he named Nickie. Nickie with a C and an E because he thought she was a boy at first. Nickie never cared, she thought it was a cute nickname anyway.

Nickie was very small and followed her Mike everywhere. She left soot, dirt, and dust all over the floor from her messy paws, but she always tried to sweep it up with her tail so Mike’s father wouldn’t get upset. Her trainer always got yelled at when she would make a mess. She tries to clean up any messes he makes as well. Sometimes Mike would cause a mess himself and his father would try to take care of it, making him clean it up with biting insults and possibly a hit or two.

She never liked it when that man would hit her young Mike, but he would always tell her to leave it alone.

Sometimes the man would hit her trainer hard enough to cause bruises, or sometimes bleeding. Nickie would bring him berries and try to get him to eat them. Bleeding was never good and bruises could hurt for quite a long time.

He would push her and her berries away, telling her off, yelling at her. Once he kicked her away and she yelped, but the boy was crying. He had cried for so long with blood still gushing from his nose and using tissue after tissue, staining them a horrible red.

She didn’t worry about the kick. It wasn’t that hard and he was still crying. When Nickie had pressed up behind him, nuzzling her way into his lap, he did not push her away again. Her little Mike had hugged her to his chest and sobbed into the soft fur in between her ears.

The man was mean. A real bad man.

He needed his boy to be strong. He made Mike fight. His Pokémon were very strong. Nickie had been forced to battle each one until she could barely stand on many occasions.

The first time she had battled was with the man’s Lopunny. His name was Bonnie and he had harsh scars, tearing through his skin like ragged grooves in matted brown fur. He had stared at Nickie like she was prey, beady pink eyes shining with pain and malice. Bonnie had slashed right across her eye and knocked her out before she could even get a turn in. She had woken up blind in that eye, everything foggy and white.

Her misguided Mike hadn’t helped her. He tried to keep his head down and voice harsh as he scolded her, but he was only ten and it wobbled as he told her she was weak and this was her punishment for being so weak. When she chirped at him and tilted her head to get a better look at him, he broke into tears and picked her up, holding her close as a silent apology.

Nickie had gotten stronger slowly. She hasn’t gotten any more scars as harsh and debilitating as her blind eye, but there were a few. She had scratches on her chest, too close to her stomach, bites on her scruff, and a few nicks in her ears, but those never hurt for long.

Mike had changed slowly as well. He had grown to stand up for himself more, ignoring his father’s cruel ways towards his Pokémon and healing Nickie in secret after battles. Every time they battled wild Pokémon or battled with friends, Mike would take her straight to a PokéCenter so that she could get some rest and heal up quickly.

Battles with the man were harder to heal from. Mike would have to take her back up to his room— too injured to walk herself because she never won a battle with him— and have to heal her with potions he would buy with any extra cash he had. When there weren’t potions available, he would let her rest, feeding her berries and cleaning up any blood or dirt in her fur.

She did the same with him. Her strong Mike had been getting hurt more now that he’s starting to stand up for himself. And worse.

Nickie had woken one night, resting from a hard fight, to yelling below her. She had pushed herself up on aching legs and snuck her way out of Mike’s room.

Her trainer had two young siblings. They were smaller than him, but still bigger than her. Nickie liked them well. She remembers when the little boy was so small. He used to pull at her ears curiously and she would sniff at him, purring.

Now, the little boy was watching something from the banister, pressed against it, hugging his own Pokémon close.

Nickie padded her way to the little boy and nudged him away from the stairs. He jumped, but once he saw her, he reached out to pet her small head, hands shaking. She nudged him again, gently herding him back to his room. Mike liked his siblings and took care of them, even if they got into fights a lot. He was too young to be caring for little ones.

After the little boy was safe in his room, Nickie tilted her head and pushed it through the bars of the banister, her ears popping out as she got her head through. Looking below, she saw the commotion that had woken her.

The man was yelling at her trainer. He had him pressed against a wall, hand gripping his throat tightly. Choking Mike.

Mike’s hands were gripping his father’s arms, but unable to pull him off. His eyes were bulging, bloodshot and teary. His mouth was open and gasping. He couldn’t breathe.

Nickie pulled her head out of the banister and ran down the steps, bounding her way to her hurt Mike.

She snarled at the man, snapping her teeth at his legs. He had turned cold blue eyes to her and kicked out, delivering a hard, steel-toed shoe to her healing torso. Nickie had yelped, skidding across the floor, but she had scrambled back to them in seconds. Slashing and biting at anything she could get into while the man continued to try and kick her off, cussing her out angrily.

But it worked. He had let go of Mike’s throat in order to grab her by her large ears and throw her across the room.

She remembers something shattering, but nothing else.

When Nickie had woken up, she was in the PokéCenter. Her sweet Mike had been petting her head, careful of the stitches all over her small body. Everything hurt so much, but there was a soft shuffling of her tail at the sight of her trainer. He had a thick sweater on that covered the bruises that were sure to be on his neck. She wished she could dig her nose under his collar to check for any other injuries.

The nurse suggested Nickie was not to be released from her Pokéball and should definitely not be fighting for some time while she healed from her injuries. Mike had followed every suggestion thoroughly. If Nickie ever came out of her ball, it was only to stay in Mike’s room and only to sleep and eat.

She spent quite a long time like this. She had to watch from afar as her hurting Mike was falling into line with his father’s footsteps, trying to get some love from the man by making him as happy as he could. Making him happy often included making his little siblings’ lives worse.

Nickie saw as teasing became screaming until there was nothing and how worrying became crying until there was pain.

Lots of pain.

Nickie hadn’t been there when it all happened, but she saw the signs. Mike never showed interest in catching any Pokémon. He liked his solitude and he already had to take care of his family as well as Nickie. Too many Pokémon running around would cause too much stress.

That was one of the reasons why she had started to worry for her oblivious Mike when a Litwick started to follow behind him.

When she snapped her teeth at the candle creature and snarled, Mike had pushed her back with his foot and scolded her.

“No, Nickie,” he had said, scratching behind her shredded ears. “No fighting. It’s just some stupid Pokémon.”

Nickie had snapped her teeth again when the Litwick’s flame flickered. Shining brighter.

Mike had never been interested in studying Pokémon like his father. He was content with the one he had and didn’t further his knowledge into any others. He didn’t know what a bad omen it was for a Litwick to follow you.

Nickie was healing, so she started following her clueless Mike around again, just so she could drive away that cursed candle. He would always tell her off, telling her to stop being so aggressive. He was adamant on retiring Nickie from any more battles, deciding her safety was better than strength and evolution. She didn’t care about battling, she only cared about what exactly that Litwick wanted to say.

She learned soon enough when Mike’s little sister went missing. Right when she got her first Pokémon.

Her trainer had searched desperately, all over the house and all over town. He had yelled at his little brother to stay in his room, and when he fought him on that, Mike had pushed him in and locked the door. Nickie had felt conflicted on if she should comfort the little boy or her little boy, but there was no stopping Mike from fretting and getting more frustrated with every second he didn’t find the girl.

So Nickie snuck into the little boy’s room and kept him company while her scared Mike searched for a child he wouldn’t find alive.

She saw the glow of the Litwick’s flame when the little girl disappeared. It was a bright, blinding blue. Mike might now know what that meant, but Nickie did.

Nickie tried all she could to keep Mike calm after that. She pressed against him every moment she could, brought him food when he wouldn’t eat, and protected him from the rotten Litwick that continued to pester him. Mike had appreciated her comfort, but the longer his sister wasn’t found, the more he closed himself off.

Their father hadn’t been a great source of comfort. Nickie avoided him for the most part and he was never really around, but she could see the toll it held on him that his daughter was missing. The man was always violent and cruel to his family, but he now neglected them completely. Nickie felt overwhelmed trying to take care of Mike during his bouts of aggressive depression, but now she felt the need to watch over the little boy to make sure he was okay too.

The abuse never stopped. The pain turned to anger, and anger turned to violence. Nickie loved her trainer, but she couldn’t help but see the resemblance between him and his father. Her lost Mike was so cruel to the only sibling he had left.

Months went by. Nickie had started to avoid her trainer. She would give him berries when he wouldn't eat and sit with him when he was hurt, but she was disappointed in his behavior.

His little brother had gotten bruises on his arms from Mike’s harsh treatment towards him. He cried when Mike would scare him over and over again until he got to a point where the little boy hid from his brother. And Mike took pleasure in hurting his brother. He would smile and laugh, and Nickie didn’t like it.

Her sweet, misguided, poor Mike, was not an abusive person. She wanted to believe he was still hurting. She saw his pain late into the night when he would lie bedridden, sometimes whole days going by without leaving his bed. He was still hurting, but Nickie couldn’t act like the pain he put his brother through was okay.

She didn’t notice the bright blue glow following Mike around until it was too late.

The little boy was dead, killed by ignorance. Mike had taunted the boy, pushing him towards the Bewear’s awaiting arms. Nickie had frozen. She had called to Mike, crying for him to stop, drowned out from the boy’s own cries.

Bones cracked, arms bending in wrong angles, and screams suffocated under the crushing weight squeezing his chest into a bloody pulp.

Mike had screamed too. He heard the first crack and screamed for the Pokémon to let him go. He had pulled and pried at the Bewear’s arms, but they didn’t move an inch. It continued to crush the little boy until he stopped crying, until there was no movement at all.

Then the little boy was dropped into a broken, mangled heap on the ground. Mike had screamed.

Nickie had failed her dear Mike. She had tried to protect him all her life, but she had turned her back on him at such a terrible time. She should have been there for him. When he was young, she stayed a steady presence in his life, pulling him away from the footsteps he had been following, only to abandon him when he went back on his progress.

She wasn’t going to abandon him again. Even now, sitting with his years later with the building burning around them. He tried to push her away, just like he did when he was ten and had a blood nose from taking a hard punch, just like every time she had gotten hurt and he tried to tell her that she was weak. Just like when Lizzie went missing and like when Evan was killed and when his father had left him alone and when time and time again something happened and he got hurt. Nickie wasn’t going to abandon him.

She nuzzled her thin nose under his chin, breathing heavily as the smoke filled her lungs and burned the tips of her fur. Her Mike, her kit, had his arms wrapped around her shoulders, hugging her close. He told her how much he loved her and she chirped to him under the roaring flames.

Nickie was a Thievul and she had a kit named Mike. She laid her head on his lap and stayed with him till the end.

#Mike and Nickie make me emotional I’m telling you #they are my little fellas #aftoonart #aftoonwrites #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #michael afton #fnafmon au

[captain-mj]

hi! no pressure, just want to offer you an idea for non military au. ghost is former soldier, now he is a lighthouse keeper. one day he finds unconscious and maybe wounded selkie!soap on the beach and decides to take care of him, because the nearest city is very far away and he doesn't know what to do in strange situations like this.

I love this idea so much! Wrote this in a series of scenes to cover more of the story :) Also I wanted it to feel like an indie movie where you walk away feeling like you missed something.

Ghost was smoking quietly outside of the lighthouse, watching the stars. He was having one of those nights where he couldn't sleep. All of his duties were done for the night and the light would continue without him until morning. But he couldn't sleep.

Movement happened at the shoreline. His eyes quickly flicked over to it, watching for it to happen again. The water lapped over the shore and hit something, making it splash. Something that definitely was not a rock.

Occasionally, seals would wash on shore so he wanted to make sure nothing bad was happening. If they were hurt or tangled in nets, he'd try to help them. Even if the bastards liked biting him.

When he saw the soft fur lighting up in the moonlight, he resigned himself to having to help one of them. The very human foot that appeared though. That was new.

Ghost slowly walked closer, not making a sound.

The person in front of him had a seal coat on and nothing else. In this freezing cold, that wasn't a good idea. There was also blood that was slowly spreading around.

Ghost moved him gently, seeing where there was a broken spearhead in his side. Who the fuck uses spears? What the fuck happened to him that he'd be in the position to get hurt like this?

With how bad it was and how far they were from civilization, there was no way he'd make it unless Ghost did something. Good thing Ghost did all his own medical care and he could cover it.

Hopefully, mystery man wouldn't be too upset. He was sure if he explained he was ex-military and was medically trained, he'd understand. Or he wouldn't and he'd sue him.

Mystery man was heavy. And naked besides the coat. Not even underwear. He made sure to keep his... bits covered. Didn't want mystery guy waking up in a compromising position.

He'd hate to get blood all over his bed, but the couch would be hard to work with. So he laid mystery man in his bed, exposing the wound and not much else.

Ghost heated up a needle and threaded it. He started to clean the wound with vodka and pulled the spearhead out. As the needle slid in, the mystery man twitched but didn't wake up. The wound was deep and bloody, but he still got it under control. With a few bandages on top, he looked just fine.

The coat had to come off. It had blood all over it and needed to be cleaned. If it set in the fur, it might stain it. He gently took it off.

Ghost's focus on the wound shifted to focus on the man himself. His body was extremely toned like he worked out constantly. Scars littered his body, big ones that looked like they were from a shark and little ones from something. He couldn't quite figure it out.

Ghost put a blanket over him. After a moment, he tucked him in. Felt a little silly to be a grown man tucking in a grown man, but he did it for some reason. Mystery man sank a little further into the bed when he did it. His mohawk just barely stuck out from the blankets.

The coat. Ghost grabbed it and took it to his laundry room. With how it looked, he probably needed to handwash it. He soaked it first, getting all of the blood out, before he put some soap on it. It was the same he used for his balaclava so he knew it wouldn't be damaging. Then he put it up to dry.

It took a while, but he managed to fall asleep on the couch.

-

A few hours later, there was movement in his home. He tensed up when it happened and went on high alert. On instinct, he went for the knife under his pillow but it wasn't there.

Mystery man was staring at him. Giant black eyes staring deep into him. Feral.

"Where the fuck did you put it?" Mystery man moved so fast, pouncing on him, using his thighs to pin him down. His hands grabbed Ghost's wrists so he couldn't attack him.

He was still naked.

Ghost kept his eyes trained on his eyes, not wanting to look down and be a perv.

Was it technically pervy if this guy jumped on him?

"Where is my coat?" He bared his teeth.

Ghost's eyes widened, seeing the set of seal teeth. The eyes.

"What the fuck are you?"

Mystery man snapped at him, ready to sink his teeth in to him, and then winced right as Ghost felt the warm blood hit his stomach. With practiced ease, he flipped them around, pinning him down now. He then stood up and got some more bandages. "You ripped your stitches. Stay right there."

Silence followed as Ghost restitched him and put more bandages on him. Once he was sure he wouldn't bleed out again, he pressed him down on the couch. Mystery man looked up at him, something fierce and wild in his expression. He looked beautiful honestly. In a frightening way. Like an angel.

"What are you?"

He snarled at him but looked down at where Ghost's hand was pressed to his chest to keep him down. His hand dwarfed his chest. It made the situation a lot less tense. Both of them believing they could definitely kick the other's ass.

"Selkie."

"The fuck is that?"

"Sometimes I'm a seal. Sometimes I'm a person." He explained, slowly relaxing more. "Where is my coat?"

Ghost realized this person was certified insane. Though he did see the dark eyes and seal teeth, though maybe they both were. "I cleaned it."

"Cleaned it?"

Ghost nodded. "Yeah. I washed it since it was bloody. You're going to need to stay here for a bit. You'll need to heal some more or you'll rip those stitches and bleed out. No jumping around either."

He frowned but seemed more content now.

He was still fucking naked.

Ghost grimaced. "What's your name?"

"Soap."

"Soap?"

"That's what the people up the street call me."

Ghost thought about the fact that there was not another house for about twenty miles and decided to ignore that. "Just relax. I'll find you some clothes?"

"Why?"

Ghost wrinkled his nose at him and went to his bedroom. He found a few things and looked up, freezing.

his face.

He hadn't been wearing his mask last night. Why would he? It was cold, but not that cold and there was no one for miles.

This guy had seen his face. And while yes, he had seen this man's... everything, his face was an intimate affair.

If he put the mask on now, it would cause even more questions and problems. If he didn't, the man would still be looking at him.

Then the man was there.

"I ripped my stitches again."

"Fucking hell."

-

Once Soap was bandaged, dressed and back in his coat, he was more than happy to take up Ghost's entire couch, body spread out and branching. The coat hugged him perfectly. A glove made for him.

His bright blue eyes were staring at him. Ghost had to stare and try to remember if they were blue before as well. They fit his face. Bright blue eyes with tan skin and pretty features. Not delicate by any means. Strong jaw and nose. But definitely pretty.

"So, Ghost." Soap started to speak, glancing at where Ghost was cooking for them in the kitchen. "Why are you here?"

"I run the lighthouse."

"The big tower with the light on it?" Soap sat up curiously, tilting his head.

Ghost nodded. "That's the one."

Soap hummed. "Always wonder what that did." He put his head on the back of the couch, staring at Ghost with his pretty blue eyes and dark eyelashes.

"Helps boats know where the shore is."

Soap hummed in response and continued to watch.

Ghost brought him food, watching Soap start to shovel it in his mouth with his hands. "Do you not know how to use a fork?"

Soap snapped at him and Ghost let it go.

-

Ghost watched his progress with great interest. Soap's wounds healed faster than the average person and it healed cleaner. It was still a slow process though so he had to watch carefully. He never slipped the mask back on. Maybe he should’ve. It would be smarter too.

Soap noticed the masks but he never said anything. He never passed judgement on Ghost’s quirks. His giant blue eyes peered at him all the time. Absorbing him. It was odd, being the one watched. Though, he did watch him back.

They got into long staring contests which were tons of fun for him. It was calming. Weirdly. Soap was much like the ocean he came from. Unsettling and eerie and beautiful. Especially the eyes.

Ghost did research, trying to find out if maybe selkies had an effect like this. Instead he just found dozens and dozens of things about their coats.

He didn’t touch the thing. It looked soft. But it made him nervous in a weird way. Like he’d make it dirty. Didn’t help that Soap went from civil human to snarling animal if he glanced at it. Big black eyes ready to rip him to shreds.

Soap never truly scared him. Unsettled, sure. But Ghost was pretty sure he could take him.

Pretty sure.

Soap was complaining again. Maybe horrid noises as he rolled around the floor.

“I could help if I knew what was wrong.”

“Dirty.”

“You want a bath?”

Soap paused his writhing to consider. “Yes. I would like... a bath."

Ghost nodded and fixed it for him. He made it cold. For some reason it felt right to do so.

Soap sank deep into the water and looked very happy. It made Ghost feel calmer. Big black eyes stared at him from the water.

He had seen them before. While out on the beach, he had seen those eyes staring at him.

A predator from the depths. Maybe like cats and wolves, this predator could be tamed as well.

Ghost grabbed the shampoo and started to wash Soap's hair, enjoying the softness of the strands. He used nicer shampoo for the smell so he hoped it was okay. With how Soap's was styled, he assumed he took pride in his hair.

Soap relaxed into the freezing water, humming. "A little warm for my taste."

"Should I put ice in it?"

"That sounds good."

So Ghost poured ice in the bathtub. He started to wonder what this was. If maybe he had finally killed himself and this was some weird purgatory. Or maybe it had been so long since he had a conversation that he was imagining this. What if he had a wild seal in his home?

Ghost decided this was a path he didn't want to travel. He could live with not knowing.

Soap relaxed and his eyes went back to the nice blue.

-

Ghost took his bed back after the third night. Soap stayed on the couch. He was still healing and outside of when he wanted to be dramatic, he rarely moved.

Ghost cooked for them every morning and night before going to check on the lighthouse. He did his normal duties and then came home in record time every day.

Soap was always doing… something. Usually staring out the window at the ocean or biting at his pillows or laying dramatically on the floor like a broken doll. Ghost would sit with him and they’d talk.

They sat there for a few minutes before Soap looked at him. Dark eyes staring into him again. Shredding him. Making a place inside of him that only Soap could squirm into.

"If you died, you think you'd go to Valhalla?"

"Valhalla is for people who die fighting."

"Are you not fighting now?" Soap asked him and smiled. It was impish. Like he had secret Ghost wasn't getting.

Ghost frowned. "No. I'm not fighting now."

Soap grabbed Ghost's hand, comparing their hand sizes. "So what are we eating tonight? Fish again?"

"Yeah, I can make more fish." Ghost glanced at him, watching his mouth.

"Thank you." Soap batted his eyelashes at him and smiled softly.

They fell in sync so easily. Ghost cooking and Soap by his side to watch it. If it weren't for Ghost, he'd eat the fish raw, but it was impolite to do so in the house.

Soap licked over his teeth. Giant things. Sharp.

Ghost thought of what it would be like to feel them pierce his throat.

-

Ghost wasn't sleeping. He laid down and just stared at the ceiling.

Soap had healed. He could leave now. Maybe that's what kept Ghost up. Or maybe it was the fact that Soap was clearly moving.

The door creaked open and Soap stepped in. He didn't speak, just found where the bed was in the dark. Slowly, he got on the bed next to him and then moved on top of him, straddling him.

"My name, when I played human, was Johnny."

"My name was Simon."

It felt inevitable. The way their lips brushed against each other. Pressed soft but insistent. Intent on devouring each other.

"Simon." Johnny said softly. "First human I've met than I've liked."

"Thank you." Ghost felt honored weirdly enough. He pulled him closer to kiss him more.

Johnny's mouth traveled down his jaw and to his throat. Simon relaxed, waiting for the sting. For the inevitable death. He'd welcome it like a lover. Like Johnny.

Instead it was only soft kisses. Trailing and claiming. Spiraling around. Fingertips searching each other in the dark.

Johnny moved and slowly undid the tie on Ghost's pants. "I want to give my gratitude."

"You don't have to."

"I want to. Want you to touch me."

This was Valhalla. Or maybe that purgatory he feared. Scars all over his body ached as he reached for Johnny's face, cupping him. "Johnny."

"Simon..." He breathed against him.

Their mouths stayed close, breathing in each other's air as they moved against each other. It was slow and aching and it made Ghost want to take Johnny's coat and mix them together in the sheets. To never let him leave and stay there for eternity, breathing each other in.

He'd never. Johnny finally sank his teeth into him. Into his shoulder. Ghost groaned and grabbed on to him. Johnny's hands. They dragged him under.

It had been so long since he had been touched. He felt undone by Johnny. Simon tried to reciprocate, to make Johnny feel just as good.

Until they were both wrecked and panting and sinking into the bed.

Johnny clawed at him and buried his face in his neck. He kept him pinned down so his hands could go over Simon's body.

The touch was heavenly. It felt like it was burning him.

Simon held him close.

"Are you going to disappear in the morning?"

"Do you want me to?"

Simon held him closer, fingers going through the fur of his coat. "No. God no."

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #cod #ghostsoap #soapghost

[jobean12-blog]

Fallen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Werewolf AU)

Word Count: 689

Summary: Nothing will keep you from the love of your life, not your father's blade and certaintly not a seemingly irreversible curse.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing this AU and although it's short I really enjoyed it and hope to revisit! This is for @pupandkisasaesthetics aesthetic challenge! Thank you bunches to @sgt-seabass and @rookthorne for hosting such a cool challange! 💕💕The prompt I was given is shown below. I know it gives a Viking vibe but I figured it would work as them hunting the werewolf- that's where my brain went! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰 I made a moodboard but it STINKS bc I just can't do it, I'm no good at it, but I included it at the bottom just because I wanted you to see some stuff I had in mind LOL 😆

Warnings: some angst during a chase, small mention of i-n-ju-r-y and b-lo-o-d, softness too!

Your fingers dig deep into thick fur as the powerful muscles beneath propel you forward at a pace that has the wind whipping around you and chilling you to the bone.

The forest is dark except for the ethereal glow of the moon as you race through the shadows, clinging to him and silently urging him on through every labored breath.

The flight is born out of necessity, the distant sound of clashing weapons and battle cries echoing through the trees, a constant reminder that danger is still close.

As the terrain changes and becomes more uneven you tighten your grip but your fingers slip through fur matted with blood. Darkness closes in around you, the trees growing denser and forming an almost protective barrier as you weave about the trunks.

You can feel his heart pound in rhythm with yours, his muscles strained and taut with tension. You whisper to him, a soft murmur against the backdrop of the night and with renewed strength he surges forward, carrying you closer to safety.

Just when it seems he can go no further, a clearing emerges ahead, your sanctuary. He surges forward with one last determined stride and collapses on the stone pathway.

The small cottage seems to have sprung from the very fabric of the woods, the weathered stones surrounded by overgrown moss and vegetation, blending in seamlessly within the trees.

You slide from his body, hot tears streaming down your face as you run your hands over his large body. The wound on his hind leg is deep, the dark red blood still seeping out.

“James,” you cry. “Please.”

Bright blue eyes meet yours and he whimpers before nuzzling his nose under your hand.

“Please,” you beg.

He heaves himself from the ground and limps toward the doorway. You rush forward and open it, helping him inside before he collapses again, unmoving other than the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

It’s late into the night when you finally get the bleeding to stop, his wound cleaned and covered. Your hands are stained red but your tears have dried as exhaustion takes over and you lay your head against his fur.

Sleep comes quickly but it’s fitful, plagued by the nightmares of what’s hunting you. When you awake you’re curled up between four legs, your body cocooned and warm in his soft fur.

You stretch your aching muscles and sit up to check on his leg.

“You haven’t changed back,” you say quietly.

“You were shivering in the night,” he answers as his tail settles on your lap, keeping you warm still.

You burrow closer to him and scratch behind his ears.

“Thank you.”

It’s just a whisper, barely audible to human ears.

His body starts to shift, the long back fur receding and bones realigning. Muscles ripple under skin, adjusting to their new form and sharp claws retract, leaving behind long human fingers.

With a trembling hand James reaches out, his blue eyes still holding something wild and feral, but when his skin brushes yours, tender and vulnerable, you fall into his embrace and feel him sag under your acceptance.

“We cannot stay here,” he murmurs. “Your father will never stop hunting me.”

You lift your hand, cradling his cheek, the skin underneath still lined with a shadow of hair, and brush your finger over his lips.

“Then I will never stop running,” you tell him as you lean closer.

His dark hair falls in front of his face and your fingers trace his jaw before you tuck it back behind his ear. He runs his nose along your skin with a deep inhale, down your throat and back up again until he finds your lips, a satisfied growl rumbling through his chest.

“You would leave it all behind?”

His question is gentle, a gasp against your lips as he wraps his large hand around your waist and pulls you closer.

“There is nothing for me there…not without you.”

Your name falls from his parted lips, leaving nothing but the breath between you and when his lips press to yours he consumes you, body and soul.

@book-dragon-13 @goldylions @sebstanwhore @hiddles-rose @laineyreads @beccablogsthings @justkinsey @kmc1989 @lookiamtrying @randomfandompenguin @late-to-the-party-81 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #werewolf!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #werewolf!bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #werewolf au #pup&kisasaestheticchallenge

[oftenwantedafton]

Trapped - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Detective Reader

Chapter 1

Rating - Explicit

CW - blood and violence

Summary: You’re an adult now with several years of experience as a police officer behind you and the gun at your waist is a small comfort when you patrol the area. You shiver as your eyes scan the vacant lot, imagining shapes in the shadows where perhaps there are none. You are grateful it is closed, the front entrance encased in rusting steel bars and a thick padlock. You do not know if it is enough to keep new thieves out.

You pray it is enough to keep the evil inside.

Also available on AO3

The cracked mirror divides the man’s face by a jagged line, a dark scar that partitions his features. Blood spatters freckle skin and stain the creases that bracket icy blue eyes still illuminated with an inner light from the thrill of the murder he’d just committed. The crimson liquid mixes with perspiration, tracking down stubble coated cheeks, a lover’s caress tattooing a salted blood trail across pale flesh. He can smell the metals of that crimson life force, nearly taste it, even. The knife resting on the edge of the chipped porcelain sink is still dripping, rivulets painting spidery paths like blood vessels. A pair of gold framed glasses perch nearby, temporarily abandoned as they were unnecessary with the enhanced vision of the rabbit suit he’d worn.

He cups his hands under the spray of water from the faucet, letting it run cold over the long digits for a few moments before he bows down and splashes his face, rubs it over the back of his neck and lets it trickle over his upper body. He can still hear the symphony of screams, the fear and terror echoing in Parts and Service. He’d nearly forgotten how sweet that melody sounded.

He pulls an undershirt and dress shirt on, slinging a tie around his neck and sighs, almost regretful at concealing them again.

Suddenly the man leans forward, squinting and frowning at a stubborn bloodstained fingerprint on his shirt collar. It seems he’d been a bit careless cleaning up the evidence of his crime. He’ll have to use peroxide on that when he returns home. Home, he thinks, sneering. Well, not really his true home, but what he calls his dwelling. It’s a front, just like his position as a career counselor, just like the false accolades framed in the walls of his office and the name placard on his desk. Lies, all of it, but they all believe him, so gullible, so trusting. Adults or children; it makes no difference now.

He smiles humorlessly, eyes flickering to the mascot head he’d carried into the employee bathroom with him, its counterpart suit already stowed away securely. It’s deteriorating further, the fur and fabric wearing away with time, exposing metal and wires, lights and circuitry. Damaged, but still very much of use to his purpose, even after all this time.

Just like this old friend here. He caresses the blade for a moment, reliving the feeling as it had sunk into soft flesh. The possessed animatronic had started the bloodletting, and he had continued, long after the trap had mauled with razor sharp blades. He’d carved until there’d been very little left that was recognizable as a human being, let alone the middle aged security guard he’d hired earlier that week.

He’ll need to replace him, of course. There was still the problem of unwelcome intruders. But he had no doubts some other desperate soul would come along, eager for work, willing to do anything. Fate always provided.

He shuts the faucet off, wiping damp hands on his trousers, then drags a rag over the knife until it gleams in the floursescent lighting. He’ll need to sharpen it again, but that can wait for the morning.

Hooking two fingers inside the rabbit’s head he’d worn earlier, it lifts easily and William Afton begins humming as he exits the restroom.

***

You’ve heard the stories. Everyone who’s ever lived in Hurricane has. Perhaps they’re whispered late at night by a campfire, or uttered as a threat to misbehaving children, no mere ghost story or tall tale but a dark history of crimes committed by a killer who’s left no trail.

This was the terrifying legacy of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza.

Never go near the abandoned pizzeria.

Everyone knew it. Back when the business had been operational, multiple children had consecutively gone missing, and even though authorities had searched thoroughly, multiple times, no trace of those kids had ever been found. It was as if they’d vanished into thin air, leaving their parents forever worrying and wondering, imagining the very worst had happened. Perhaps it had.

Perhaps the reality was even worse still.

Despite all of this, it didn’t stop occasional break-ins. Teenagers on a dare, thrill seekers, people looking for a way to earn money. There were bound to be plenty of copper pipes and wires, valuable sources of metal for construction. Arcade and change machines still loaded with cash. The animatronics themselves, with their complex inner workings, must be worth something.

Some trespassers had made it out, but they never seemed any richer. There were only more stories. The place was haunted. The animatronics moved, not in their preprogrammed state but of their own volition, wandering the halls, investigating the rooms. Sometimes people saw a yellow rabbit, taller than the other mascots, the costumed individual moving fluidly. Its eyes were silver and it laughed, low and mirthless.

You believed them, because you’d been to that restaurant, years ago as a child, to play the arcade games, to attend a classmate’s birthday party. You’d known even then something was wrong. You could never explain it. It was just a feeling. You could hear the establishment calling you, beckoning you, imploring you to explore further, to become a part of the wonder, the mystery within its depths.

Maybe it was the yellow rabbit trying to lure you in.

You’re an adult now with several years of experience as a police officer behind you and the gun at your waist is a small comfort when you patrol the area. You shiver as your eyes scan the vacant lot, imagining shapes in the shadows where perhaps there are none. You are grateful it is closed, the front entrance encased in rusting steel bars and a thick padlock. You do not know if it is enough to keep new thieves out.

You pray it is enough to keep the evil inside.

***

As it turns out, Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza has a new employee.

You see the car one morning as the sun is just rising, a rusted sedan seated in front of the main entrance. Parking nearby, you keep the engine running, watching as a young man likely in his 20’s emerges from the depths of the building, securing the heavy lock and chains before trudging to his vehicle. You can see smudges beneath his eyes. He looks exhausted, awkwardly fumbling in the pocket of his hoodie until he locates keys for the car. It’s then that he seems to notice you, his right hand frozen while inserting the key into the lock, the other hand clasping a worn looking copy of a book entitled Dream Theory.

You step out of the car, still not shutting off the engine, and introduce yourself, one hand still resting on the open door, as if you are ready to make a quick escape, to bolt from this wretched place once and for all. The other hitches in your belt, within reach of your firearm, the holster snap already unfastened.

The man nods cautiously, telling you his name is Mike Schmidt. He’s the new security guard working the night shift, he elaborates.

You ask if he’s seen or heard anything unusual, noting the hesitation before he shakes his head. Upon inquiring who hired him, you receive a name you don’t recognize, accepting the business card he digs from the pocket of his jeans. Steve Raglan, Career Counselor.

You warn him to be careful, eyeing the creased spine of the dog eared paperback one last time before you settle back inside the car, tapping the business card against the steering wheel thoughtfully. You follow the security guard out of the parking lot and then turn onto the freeway.

Perhaps you should pay this career counselor a visit.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you

[necros-writing-stuff]

SERIAL KILLER EDEN WHO KEEPS YOU ON A LEASH AND NAKED ALL THE TIME! For anyone else curious, this came from a discussion Necro and I were having on making Eden worse lol

Okay okay what about him trailing his hunting knife up your bare thigh while he looks over you, a dark glint in his eye. You can't pull back any further, pressed against the cold hard wall of the cabin, a heavy weight around your neck as you try not to panic. Even though this could be the moment where he finally gets rid of you. Where he gets bored of his plaything and buries you beneath his gardening plot.

It never comes, though. You're stuck being pulled around by him for months - or neatly chained up when he hunts alone. You used to flinch every time you heard a scream in the forest, knowing the hunter's axe had found a new target. You used to feel queasy eating any of the food, unsure of where the meat came from. You used to sob and beg when he'd pry your legs apart, eager to use you. Used to.

It was a numb feeling for a long while. Counting to 5 over and over again in your head, congratulating yourself for getting through the last 5 seconds and hoping you'd get through the next. A sense of routine has settled in, though. A sense of comfort and belonging that should never have existed.

The soles of your feet have become rough, no longer aching as you walk around the cabin or the rocks around the spring.

When Eden presses himself against your back, his hand worming its way between your thighs, you spread your legs further apart without thinking and grind against his fingers with a sigh.

When Eden pulls you into his lap and keeps your face against his chest, the tang of copper staining his clothes doesn't make you upset anymore. Instead, you snuggle in closer, feeling appreciative of the warmth he provides your nude body.

When a gunshot rings out in the forest beyond the clearing, you continue about your set tasks while paying them no regard beyond wandering if Eden will bring you a blood-soaked ring or necklace to wear.

The temperature falls as winter rears its ugly head. You're begging Eden to relax more as he ups his workload to prepare for the snowy months, desperate for the warmth he provides. You push too far sometimes, being put over his lap and spanked until you apologise good enough for him.

You've accepted that you'll have to grit your teeth and suffer the cold, doing as you're told and keeping your home clean. Keeping Eden happy.

Until he opens his closet one night, the old hinges creaking as he rifles through the bottom while you clean the dishes from dinner. Your teeth chatter as you work, determined to keep moving to stay warm until you can get in front of the fire and bask in the flames on your husband's lap.

The soft feeling of fabric draping over your shoulders halts your movement as your head whips around. A fur coat. Big on you, but small for Eden, you think.

"One of the first I ever made," he mumbles as he does up a button on the front. "I was much skinnier back then. Wasn't eating a lot. Hadn't learned to hunt properly. This was the first bear I'd ever brought down."

He kisses the top of your head as you thank him with a genuine smile, burrowing into the warmth. Your turn in his embrace, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down for a kiss. That sense of belonging feels heavy in your heart. Even when you tut after bringing your hand away, finding a drop of red on your fingertip.

"You missed a spot," you chide as you pick up the washcloth and wipe the blood from his neck. It's a miracle he gets by without you, honestly. It's a miracle that you don't find fear knowing where the blood came from.

#spill your guts #fae friend #mindbreak moment mindbreak moment #eden the hunter #cw abduction #cw implied cannibalism #cw noncon #cw mindbreak #gn reader

[bippityboppity69]

Brutus x Merlin

This is cross posted on ao3, but I figured I'd post it here too. This is the culmination of me loving Brutus, playing Afk Journey, and a lot of Manhuas. So enjoy this Brutus/Merlin +18.

Merlin gave a sigh as they stepped into the underground pool. A welcome relief from the scorching heat. The sweet coolness a balm against their dry and dust caked skin.

Walking until they were waist deep, dunking their head underwater. Working on scrubbing the dust and dirt from their hair and body. Happy to be clean and away from the sun that seemed to never set. The coolness of the cavern kept the endless heat out.

Basking in the water, not noticing the footsteps that approached. Jumping as a familiar voice spoke,

“Ah, apologies Magister Merlin. I did not realize you were here.”

“Oh! Brutus, no worries it’s fine.”

The newest member of their party. Brutus, a loin Ya from the Maulers. He had proven a fantastic ally, possessing mountain breaking strength and will. Able to take damage and deal it back just as easily.

“I shall leave.”

“Nonsense. There’s plenty of room.” Patting the water’s surface. “I don’t mind sharing.”

Respectfully keeping their back turned, dunking underwater to wet their hair again. Fingers working a rather stubborn knot loose, grimacing at the dried blood. They should have brought a comb.

“Here.”

Pausing as a brush ran over their hair, glancing back at Brutus. Broad shoulders and chest, dripping with water. Face flushing as they quickly turned their head back. Reaching up to take the brush, yet it was pulled out of their reach.

“Grooming is an important part of Ya culture.” Brutus rumbled. “It is how we show our affection and promote companionship.”

Oh. Well, if it was important then they shouldn’t stop him. Lowering their hands, the brush returned. A slow and steady motion that made them relax. This… felt nice. Eyes drifting closed as they enjoyed the sensation, not noticing as they leaned back.

“Magister?” Eyes snapping back open, “Ah, sorry! It just…felt good.”

A rolling chuckle left Brutus, the vibration running through Merlin. Mildly disappointed as the brush left, yet it was quickly replaced by a massive paw. Unable to stop the sigh as their scalp was massaged.

“Mhm~”

This had gone past nice and was now heavenly. Basking in the attention, not minding as his other hand moved down their neck. Leaning back against him, an idea popped in their head.

“Do you want me to brush your hair?”

“…If that is what you want.”

Eagerly nodding, fingers twitching at the idea of getting to brush his mane. Taking the brush as they turned around, Brutus kneeling down so they could reach.

Running the brush through his mane, carefully working through the tangles. Dirt and blood staining the water under them. Unable to resist running their hands through his, surprisingly soft, hair. A smile crept over them as a rumble left Brutus.

The massive Ya relaxing as they repeated the motions. Merlin paused for a moment as they finished brushing his hair, not wanting to stop. Running the brush down his neck and shoulders, a louder rumble leaving Brutus. Followed by another and…was he purring?! Yes, he was in fact purring.

“Alright, I th-“

Getting cut off as he stood up, towering over them. Mouth going dry as water dripped off of him. Golden eyes stared at them with satisfaction.

“Thank you. It has been far too long since another has groomed my mane.” Running a hand through said mane. “And so thoroughly as well.”

“O-oh, uh, I really enjoyed it. No worries!”

“You may continue if you wish…or I can continue grooming you.”

Was it truly alright for them to continue? Raising the brush before running it over his chest. Across his arms, unable to stop the small laugh as he leaned into the brush. It was…nice, almost soothing to do this. Running their hand along the golden fur, soft and warm.

“Your arms must be tired.”

Being picked up in his arms before finding themselves in his lap. The brush was set to the side before one hand ran over their chin. Leaning into his touch, a musky scent filled their head.

“You smell good.”

“So do you.” Brutus nuzzled at their neck. “Good enough to eat.”

Looking up at him, “I wouldn’t mind being eaten by you.”

Brutus looked down at them with a smile, “You won’t be disappointed.”

Tilting up their chin, pressing a gentle kiss to them. Merlin buried both hands into his mane, eagerly returning his affection.

Feeling as his other hand moved down to their hip before back up. Pulling back for a breath, Brutus moving down their neck. Rough tongue moving across their flesh, paired with soft nips. A trail of red and purple littered their neck and shoulders, a few on their collarbone.

Feeling as they were moved against the edge of the pool. Brutus continuing down their chest.

“Ah~”

Rough tongue moving over their nipple, causing them to jerk. One hand moving across their hip before dragging down their thigh. Brutus easily moving them higher, Merlin now sitting on the edge.

Spreading their thighs apart, taking his time to kiss each one. Lowering his head, Merlin jerked as his rough tongue dragged over their clit. Slapping a hand over their mouth, their other hand tightly gripping his mane.

“Mhm!”

“Do not quiet your voice.” Brutus rumbled as he pulled their hand away. “I wish to hear how my name sounds when you cum.”

A choked gasp left Merlin as Brutus gave another lick. Moving lower as one finger came up to roll around their clit. Pleasure rushing through them as Brutus pushed his tongue inside. Golden eyes glanced up at them, a purr leaving him. The vibration rolling through them, thighs tightening around his head.

“F-fuck Brutus~”

Rolling their hips against his mouth, panting as the pleasure slowly rose. Head tilting back as Merlin closed their eyes, savoring the sensation. Hands buried in soft hair, the heat from Brutus, how he felt between their thighs. That pressure that grew stronger with every movement. Higher and higher their pleasure climbed.

“Brutus~ Ah, close!”

Firmly holding them in place, not letting them move away. Keeping that same slow but firm licks that seem to please and torment them. If he would only go faster!

Gasping as their orgasm washed over them. Nails sinking into Brutus, who pulled back with a satisfied smile. Licking his lips as he looked up at them.

“Do you need time to recover?”

“…No, but I would like you to fuck me.”

A chuckle left Brutus as he stood up, towering over them. “I already planned to.”

A finger stroked around them before pushing inside. Coated with a slick substance, moving back and forth. Brutus nuzzled and nipped at their neck as he added another finger. Keeping his pace slow and steady, enjoying the moans that left Merlin.

“Mhm! F-faster!”

“No. I want to ensure you are prepared.”

Merlin panted as they clung to him. They were definitely prepared! Slick coating their thighs and his fingers. Looking up at him, eyes dark with lust.

“I am.”

“Very well.” He spoke, pulling his fingers out and licking them. “You taste delicious.”

Pushing them back against the ground as he moved over them. Merlin glanced down, eyes going wide as their mouth went dry. Oh. He was big. That was why he was preparing them. Watching as Brutus kneeled down, pulling them closer.

“I’m not walking tomorrow.”

“Do not worry Merlin.” Brutus spoke as he coated his cock with a clear substance. “You will greatly enjoy this.”

Taking a deep breath as they readied themselves. Brutus tipping their chin up and giving them a kiss, right as he pressed inside. Merlin’s hands shot in to his shoulders, nails sinking in. Their voice muffled by his mouth. Brain going haywire between pain and pleasure. He was big, thick, and there was something else…

“Barbs.” Brutus whispered as he slowly pressed inside. “I thought you knew of Ya anatomy?”

Maybe they did? Was it one of the things they forgot? Getting yanked out of their thoughts as Brutus slowly rolled his hips.

“Ah!”

Clinging to him as they felt the barbs drag against them. It didn’t hurt. Yet, it did feel strange…a strange but pleasurable sensation. One that they were slowly getting used to. A rumbling purr left Brutus as he slowly and gently thrusted into them. Holding their thighs apart as he did. Carefully watching them, ears twitching at their moans.

“Brutus~” Nails dragged against his fur. “Ngh! Faster. You can go fa-ster!”

Bracing himself on his forearms before thrusting into them. Devouring their cries as he rolled his hips. Nails dragged down his back, legs wrapped around his waist.

Leaning down to kiss their neck, enjoying the ragged cries. Merlin arched under him, pleasure overriding everything else. Legs trembled as they cried out, tears in their eyes. Pulling him down into a vicious kiss before burying their head into the crook of his neck. They couldn’t talk. The only sounds leaving them as moans and whimpers. Their mind and body were going haywire. It was too much yet not enough! The pleasure was at the peak and felt like any second it would tip over.

A choked gasp left Merlin as they orgasmed. Pleasure rushing over every inch of their body. Going limp under Brutus as they drew in ragged breath, trying to bring themselves back down. Opening their eyes as Brutus nuzzled their cheek.

“Satisfied?”

“O-oh yes~”

“Good, we aren’t done yet.” Golden eyes met theirs. “Ya have short refractory periods.”

…They really weren’t going to be able to walk tomorrow.

#afk arena #afk journey #Afk Brutus #Afk Merlin #If I cannot find smut then I shall make it!

[androgynousblackbox]

My dog died and all I got was sore arms

I haven't slept in at least twelve hours, people, so I better take the chance to keep this rush going until I inevitably crash all the way down. I just want to talk about today. Warning because it gets gross and graphic because fuck me, I guess. I had to live this, I get to tell it.

So the day started as normal. I went downstairs with Oscar so we could both get some breakfast. We had agreed to see the vet at 12 and it was way before that, so I thought eating something would give me a push of energy to keep awake. I haven't stopped petting him all night, only when he himself wanted to play a little or drink water. After that I kept him with me as long I could.

I go downstairs and I see Oscar trying to take a shit. This is important because it has been four days already since he wasn't abled to and the vet told us that his tumor had gotten so big that was obstructing anything from coming out, which was very bad because it could become toxic inside his body and then, boy, that is going to be some painful ass death and we don't want that.

I look at him for a bit, but soon I start to get panicked because not only nothing is coming out, he is still pressing so fucking hard. Little drops of shit go down and he is still trying, dragging his body across the floor, until I see something just about to come out. I can't see it clealy but it looks red so I, ever the optimistic, immediately think that those are his intestines and he is actually hurting himself, if I somehow don't manage to get him to stop he is going to fucking die from blood loss after shitting his organs out. When I try to clean his assholes with the paper towells I just can feel something hard and I have no fucking clue of how intestines being shit out have to feel, so that doesn't help me at all.

You see, this was around 8 in the morning. I was the only one awake in the house. The vet appointment wasn't until four hours later. I call mom to please contact the vet, please get him here so he can give him something for the pain, something, anything, and while she is dressing herself up… he manages to shit a enormous shit that looked hard as a rock. After doing that I still had to clean his asshole with my hand. After a little freak out to my mom because I honestly thought he was going to fucking bleed to death in my arms, I manage to calm down and get Oscar back into my arms. Obviously with some old raggedy ass sheet we were never going to use again anyway because the diarrhea could get on my legs.

Now, it has been weeks since his last bath so he wasn't smelling like fresh puppy already, but now there was that to account. Trying to avoid the stains on his fur I still hold him and pet him, telling him over and over again that I loved him and kissing his head. His fur, the parts that weren't stained, was still so soft and white.

When it's time to go, the entire way I am thinking of somehow running away, to delay it a week more, a day more, but I know that would have only made it worse for the both of us. We get inside the vet's place and let me tell you, on my insides I am still mad at this man because he didn't prepared me for absolute shit.

He first put a tranquilizer on Oscar, but didn't tell me that it would take ten whole fucking ass minutes into doing anything to him. So when I saw him moving his head still and looking around, imagine my fucking surprise when the vet is back after preparing the rest of the stuff and he is still moving, more than willing to bite him for doing more shit he doesn't like.

He also didn't tell me that the effect of the lethal injection would be near instant. Like actually so. One second I can feel his breathing and the next he is gone. And like, that is stupid. It's stupid to feel upset about that. Because if anything that should be a good thing, right? It was all so quick he didn't suffer at all. Like just turning a switch off. But Jesus fuck, would have killed this man to tell me ANYTHING before doing it, TO GIVE ME A WARNING? So I could give him the last belly rub, because I was concentrating on holding his head instead. I wanted to give him a belly rub. He deserved that belly rub.

So he is gone and I have a small little breakdown right there, as you fucking do, and they put him on a cardboard box. Oh, also I put a lock of my hair with his body. Last night I cut as much hair I could off him to fill a little crochet heart I made, so in my head that makes sense. I have a little something of you, you have a little something of me.

I am not religious, superstitious or anything like that. But it means something to me that a part of me remains with his body.

We drove to a place my aunt own where she had told the gardener to make a hole for us. Call me a privilege asshole, because I really must be to think that the gardener himself would be there to wait for us to put the box down and then he would bury him. You know, like in normal funerals for people. The entire way there I can't help to feel that suddenly my arms are too light. My arms that carried Oscar up and down the stairs the last weeks, that carried him to the vet all those times since his diagnosis, that hold him the entire night, were too light and that felt so alien, so wrong to me.

But he wasn't a person, he was a dog. And the gardener probably had better things to do than stay there and pay respects for a dog he never even met. So the hole was there, the pile of dirt was there and against a tree there was what I can only describe as the absolute shittiest shovel that has ever existed on earth. That thing offended me the very moment I laid eyes on it.

Like, most shovels have a proper handle at the end and curve into a triangle on the side that actually goes into the dirt. But this bullshit, this shitty ass thing, was nothing but a metal squared tube ending on a small metallic plate that was only slighty curved. If the gardener actually used that to make the hole, that was rather well made and sufficiently deep, I am going to be fucking impressed.

There wasn't anything else to use, though, so I shoveled that dirt myself until my hands were red, my arms hurt and even my legs were pained. I am an artist, and also a lazy fuck, so you can only imagine my noodle ass arm not being used at all to that physical labor. Mom kept offering for us to do it together, but no fucking way, man. Oscar deserved this, Oscar was in so much pain and suffered so much for so long, so the least I could do is to suffer a little more for him. He was mine. I owe it to him. It was only fair.

That burial was a labor of love. I am proud of doing that for him. I still hope the gardener has his own shovel that is better than that bullshit. But I am glad I did it.

Once I have a proper nap and my brain is back again to it's usual speed I will have a bad time and start missing him and think all sorts of awful things because he isn't here anymore. I will miss him. I miss him now. I don't regret one second I spend with that dog.

On the way back home the soreness in my arms was all I could ask for. Oscar wasn't there anymore, but I said goodbye the best way I could and he is not in pain anymore.

Que Descanses En Paz, Oscar.

#pets death #terminally ill dog #terminal cancer dog #andro is talking #i just woke up from a nap and nope still kinda in space right now #partner said i am still in shock and trying to process #you would hope or i hope i would process something on these weeks #but alas i was wrong #i can't stop thinking about holding him #oscar posting

[were-jer]

THINGS YOUR MUSE WILL NOTICE ABOUT MINE

WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE

Human

Jeremy is 6' but often slouches, his energy tends to be quiet and inward, he seems smaller than he actually is most of the time. He's lanky and thin, strong but with a wiry runners body. His skin is pale as shit in the winter, but a ruddy tan when the sun's out in the summer. He's got dark brown hair and warm dark brown eyes.

He's in athleisure wear almost exclusively - hoodies, sweats, comfortable T-shirts or tanks if he's out running. Most of his clothes are stained with paint or charcoal, though not almost obvious.

Wolf

Jeremy is about 9' standing on his hind legs and is about eye level to a very short person @baby-royalty standing on all fours. He has a dark brown coat, it's mostly monotoned, with a few lighter brown highlights around his neck and brows.

WHAT THEY SMELL LIKE

Human

Jeremy stays clean and well groomed, he's not fond of strong scents since he Turned (it was clouds of axe body spray when he was younger, the wolf nose can't handle that anymore). Elena helped him find scentless products after weeks of complaints and stinky boy in the struggle following his first transition.

That leaves his natural scent, which is earthy and woodsy. He smells like fallen leaves and fresh grass, with a musky undertone of animal. It's not noticeable enough to the average human, but if he's back from a run Elena will definitely get on him to shower.

Wolf

He smells like... A wolf probably. A really big dog. But if he hunted his last meal..? It's not pleasant. And he probably rolled in it.

WHAT THEY TASTE LIKE

Human

His blood is earthy, a little gamey, most vampires probably don't enjoy it. But it heavily depends on personal taste. Otherwise nothing of note. Probably salty.

Wolf

I do not recommend tasting him.

WHAT THEY SOUND LIKE

Human

Jeremy often struggles to keep his wolf and human expressions of emotions separate. If he's anxious, he'll emit a high pitch whine. If he's scared or angry he'll growl, low in his chest. If he's excited he might yip or yelp. Yawning husky whines. If he's content and loved? A low purring rumble will vibrate through his chest.

All of its involuntary - mostly. He can do it on purpose of course to bother Elena or Jenna, but he can't stop any of it either.

Wolf

Honestly very similar to the above, but much louder.

WHAT THEY FEEL LIKE

Human

A furnace. Jeremy burns so hot all the time, but it never stops him from cuddling up to someone. His touches are soft, he's usually hyper aware of his strength, knowing to be careful.

Wolf

His fur is so soft, but he absolutely doesn't understand how big he is. Be careful around him in this form, very easy to be accidentally crushed, bruised, or eviscerated.

Tagged by: @malka-lisitsa

Tagging: @baby-royalty @sarcasticsnackpack @unsettledspirits (Bonnie) @little-elena @abandonededen (Nox)

#dash games #headcanon #hc

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Here Again (short story)

The shrieking halted abruptly as he realized that, although his neck strained with all kinds of pain from stinging to stabbing imaginable, there were clear indicators that he no longer was where he.. just was.

The growling had stopped, as had the agonizing feeling of having his head yanked from his shoulders. He blinked, taking in what was around him, moving his neck as he did, taking in the freedom of movement, and stifled a gasp of surprise when it felt weird. His neck felt cold, light, and he could feel what was most likely blood oozing from his throat. 

As his eyes adjusted, he saw the darkness. In it, trees curling around each other as though trying to suffocate their competition, littered with claw marks, clumps of fur, and old and new splatters of blood. The leaves that appeared were yellow at brightest, crumply dry or wet and saggy. 

Myrtlewing knew where he was. It didn’t take a genius. He felt a chuckle rise in his throat. The shadows stretched toward him. Branches like sharp talons reached to grab him. Anyone else, the weak-hearted, would have thought of it like a predator ready to sink its fangs into its prey–he thought of the dog–and smiled again. It wasn’t a warning, it was welcoming.

Of course the dark shadows of the damned would be most thrilled to have someone so vile join their forest. 

“Myrtle?”

Myrtlewing jolted upright, but not from shock or fear. He whirled around, looking in every direction, but the form for the oh-so-familiar voice was nowhere to be seen.

“Alder?” he called out curiously. He wondered if this was another thing about this place, false voices. But he knew if anyone else was going to be here, it was going to be his partner in crime.

A soft giggle sounded. “Up here, you idiot,” the voice said again. 

Myrtlewing tilted his head back, too excited to notice the crackling as he did. He squinted his eyes, seeing only darkness at first. Then something shifted. A tail! A grin plastered his face and his heart beat happily. Two glowing eyes looked back at him, two eyes that he had longed to see for so long, that had plagued his nightmares and dreams and tugged at the strings on his heart as he grieved their loss.

He leaped onto the tree, scrambling with such eagerness that he was up and on the same branch as Alderstar before he could take two breaths. 

Then he saw him– him! Perfect golden coat on the muscular body, sharp and vicious teeth showing in his smile of delight. Alderstar twisted so that he faced him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

After he finally settled his racing heart a bit, Myrtlewing lifted a brow. “You the welcoming committee?”

Alderstar snorted. “Something so decent for this place?”

His voice. His voice was here again, swirling around and into his ears like birdsong.

“It would be horrible,” Myrtlewing agreed. “Then again, seeing your face first-thing would be worse.”

He half-expected, kind of wanted, for Alderstar to smack him around the head as he usually did when he made a joke at his expense, but instead Alderstar only blinked warmly at him. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Myrtlewing looked around. “Was Starclan looking for me? Perhaps I’ll head over–” this time, Alderstar did smack him. “You know what I meant!” 

Myrtlrwing grinned more. He did. “That tends to happen when you die.”

Alderstar frowned. He leaned in close, sniffing at Myrtlewing’s wound. “Stars, it looks horrible!” Myrtlewing noticed Alder’s own stain of red. He shifted back again, concern in his blue eyes as he looked at Myrtlewing. Then his features shifted to a mischievous grin. “But compared to the rest of you….”

Myrtlewing scoffed. “Speak for yourself! I count five leaves on you with three mud stains for each.”

“Yes, well, it’s hard to keep yourself clean when no one is grooming your fur.”

Myrtlewing rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to groom your own fur!” he said sarcastically.

“I do!” Alderstar cut in. “I just figured you would miss doing the honour of keeping your leader clean so much that I should make the next time as exhilarating as possible.”

“Right.” Myrtlewing dipped his head. “It’s not because you simply can’t go two seconds without causing a mess?”

“Oh, you want to talk about messes?” Alderstar said in pointed humour. Myrtlewing recalled the first time Alderstar had seen who he truly was– a murderer, muzzle still drenched with the blood of their Clanmate, his lifeless body at Myrtlewing’s paws. Alderstar could have run off, could have told the Clan. He could have killed Myrtlewing right there. Instead, he turned his fangs on the other witness, and instantly helped Myrtlewing to dispose of the bodies. He may have been strange around Myrtlewing for a while after that, but he was happy enough to join in the next adventures, excited to.

They settled into content silence as Myrtlewing picked away the clumps of leaves, then moved onto untangling tied fur.

======================

--Yes, the ‘officially becoming mates’ thing is very close after this, but I’m not gonna reveal which one said it, so you’ll just have to wonder that for yourself!

#myrtlewing #alderstar #dark forest #starclan #place of no stars #dark tales #dark forest tales #alderstar story #myrtlrwing story #wcoc #wc #warriors #warriorcats #warrior cats #warriorsoc #warriorcatsoc #warrior cats oc #dark forest resident #wc story #warriors story #wc short story #warriors short story #short story

[itsafuntimeparty]

“  I'm not very strong but

I'll fuck you up if you're mean to bugs “

Unicorn!! ooooh my gosh ive been so excited to post this ref remake!  he is very soft and i,,, hold him.  also i just really like how this ref turned out so!! ALSO!!! you may realize him and crystalline/crystal have similar markings, that is COMPLETELY intentional! feel free to take that information with how you please.

#unicorn bear #unicorn #uni #uni bear #bear roblox #bear alpha #bear alpha roblox #Kats art #he is so fluffy and soft HOW #HOW!?!?! #instead of directly killing survivors #to keep his fur clean and soft from not staining with blood #he instead leads survivors into death traps!! #also he likes dressing up and thats valid

[wkemeup]

The Offer

summary: Zemo offers to sell the Winter Soldier in exchange for information. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 3k warnings: vaguely implied unwanted sexual contact a/n: this is based around the Madripoor scene in TFATWS ep 3, particularly Zemo’s suggestion of “he will do anything you want.”

“You must maintain your cover,” Zemo’s voice rang in your ear, drowning out the heavy bass of loudspeakers from the club down the hall. “If you break character, they will know... and they will kill us.”

You held your breath; arms folded tight across your chest, nails digging into the exposed skin on your biceps. It did little to ease the strain within your muscle as you watched Bucky standing guard at the edge of the room, his eyes overcast in a cold, emotionless haze. Ready for command. Empty of the needs and desire that made him human. Portraying the shadow from his past he was so desperate to escape.

Slowly, you shifted your weight on heels sharp enough to pierce skin. The clothes Zemo had dressed you in were unforgiving, exposing every dip and curve on your body, though you supposed that was his intention. You were meant assume the role of a wealthy arms dealer known only as Lilith, a woman whose reputation for the bedrooms of Madripoor outweighed even that of the weapons at her disposal. An affinity for the finer things in life, Zemo had snickered to himself. Sex, drugs, and power.

Bucky’s eyes shifted to the floor near your feet. You could tell he was watching you from his peripherals though his expression remained vacant. It was shocking to see him like this again, worse that he seemed to fall back into the role of the Winter Soldier so easily – like he’d never truly believed he could put his past to rest at all.

Zemo paced at the center of the room, discussing terms while Selby lounged on the couch. Her brazen comfort in a room of powerful agents on the dark market told you she had more leverage than any of you anticipated. You felt for the slight weight of the gun strapped at your thigh, keeping careful watch of the guards stationed just outside the door. The four of you were easily outnumbered and outgunned, even with Bucky throwing himself back to the Winter Soldier.

Sam caught your eye across the room, his face stern enough to communicate his uncertainty. He didn’t trust Zemo anymore than you did. The man was responsible for dozens of deaths, including the King of Wakanda, and he’d done the Avengers no favors by planting a seed of war between the most powerful people on the planet. You tried not to follow Sam's gaze when his eyes flickered to Bucky, a softening in his brow to see months of progress virtually erased within seconds.

“What’s the offer?” Selby’s voice broke through the haze. You hadn’t realized how focused you’d been on Bucky until you began to notice the music thumping through the walls and the scent of stale beer lining the floors – a disorienting state amongst precious stole artifacts and original paintings.

Zemo stood from his chair, crossing the room. He picked up a relic from the center table, admiring the shiny copper edges as he tossed it in the air. It nearly slipped from his grip and he shuttered out an apologetic wince at Selby before placing it back on the table. You rolled your eyes.

Adjusting the fur lined collar of his jacket, Zemo circled the edges of the room. He came to a pause over Bucky’s shoulder, gaze slowly trailing down his frame, tracing over the lines on Bucky's face as if he were studying for imperfections. A sinister smirk curled at his lips before he turned back to Selby.

“Tell us what you know about the super soldier serum,” Zemo bargained, waiting for her interest to peak before he continued. She shifted in her seat; a brow raised. His lips curved in a devious grin enough to make your stomach twist. “And we’ll give you him. Along with the code words to control him, of course.”

Bucky didn’t so much as flinch, his stare maintaining the same emptiness you saw the day on the bridge when he’d been muzzled by his captors and made to be a weapon. Nothing in his expression gave way to whatever was going through his mind and part of you wondered if he’d allowed himself so far into this role again, that he’d embraced the cold arms of the numbness it carried. It was easier than allowing himself to feel any of the rage that was rapidly boiling under your skin, you supposed.

But then, Zemo’s knuckles grazed at Bucky’s cheek. Lingering over unshaven stubble, a shadow along his jaw. A delicate touch though it seemed to burn as if steam could rise from the contact alone.

Zemo turned, grinning at Selby. “He will do anything you want.”

It was so impossibly subtle, you weren’t sure anyone else had noticed, but Bucky’s jaw clenched. The muscle shifted the shadows on his face, his breathing coming to a stop as his chest no longer carried the steady rise and fall under layers of leather and Kevlar. Zemo’s hand moved along Bucky’s jaw, fingers dangerously close to his lips, and you felt for the outline of the gun strapped to your thigh.

"Anything?" Selby inquired. Her tone was even though her eyes widened just enough, the dark of her pupils expanding as she glanced over Bucky's frame.

"When he is properly activated, the Soldier is incredibly–" Zemo paused, tapping the edge of Bucky's chin, "–eager to please. There's nothing else inside that brain of his except his mission. What that mission is, is entirely up to whoever recites the triggers."

“Fascinating,” Selby grinned as she slowly stood from her perch.

You followed her stride with every agonizing step towards Bucky. Just as she crossed in front of The Smiling Tiger, Sam’s gaze met yours. He narrowed his eyes, the slight shake in his head barely noticeable. He must have seen you reach for your gun – an instinct to protect Bucky from the demons of his past, a tangible weapon you hadn't been able to use against the monsters in his sleep. It took every ounce of your strength to relax away from the comforting metal.

You watched as Selby’s eyes roamed over Bucky – hungry, and like a vulture, she licked her lips. As she began to circle his frame, gaze trailing down from his shoulders, to his thighs, down to his feet, never once daring to meet his eyes, you found yourself inching closer. Bucky’s hand curled into a fist so tight his nails broke skin in his right hand, blood prickling at his palm. And still—his expression remained stoic, unfeeling. A paralyzing thought crossed your mind and you questioned if this dance was a familiar one – the art of being sold to another human being.

Selby paused as she faced him; examining the features on his face as if he were something other than human – a prize to be won, a possession to own, a trophy to show off.

“And he’s still in working condition? After all these years?” she inquired toward Zemo, standing so dangerously close to Bucky. His stare focused straight ahead, far beyond the wall across the room as if he could burn holes into the plaster.

"He's quite impressive," Selby murmured. Slowly, her hand reached towards his face.

Your grip was around her wrist before anyone realized you’d crossed the room. She flinched, startled by the vice-like hold wrapped around her wrist and a pained sort of whine escaped. She flexed her fingers and still, you held your ground.

“Is there a problem, Lilith?” Selby smirked, curiosity glaring as her eyes flickered between you and Bucky. You said nothing and yet, her lips parted in understanding. “Oh, I see. You control him. Don’t you, dear? He belongs to you.”

You tasted bile on your tongue – the very thought of owning Bucky as if his agency was not even in question made you sick to your stomach. Your grip tightened on Selby’s wrist and you would have broken it clean in two if you had the strength for it. But one look at Zemo and the cautious gaze upon his face, and you forced yourself to swallow back the venom in your mouth. You didn’t allow the disgust to touch your features or the shame to burn hot into your neck. Lilith would not be fazed by the selling of a weapon—even if that weapon were a man with heart so heavy, so full and so kind, he could hardly carry its burden on his own.

“Make your deal, Selby,” you hissed in an accident belonging to the weapons dealer you portrayed, ���then, you can play with your toy. Until we have our intel, hands off the product.”

You released Selby’s wrist and she stepped back a few paces. She slid her left hand over the red marks forming over her skim, gingerly massaging at the area and still – the grin did not falter from her cheeks. Impressed, intrigued. She seemed inclined to ask you more about your bond to the Winter Soldier when you stepped in front of Bucky, blocking her view as she unabashedly stared down her hopeful new possession. Sam and Zemo exchanged a glance, though their expressions did not carry the weight their eyes did.

Behind you, you could hear Bucky exhale a heavy a breath, could practically feel as his fists released to be out of the woman’s eye line. It was short lived, of course, as all things in Madripoor were. A gunshot pierced through the window and lodged itself into Selby’s head.

***

You woke with a sudden start, the sticky smell of stale beer still on your skin as you jolted up on an unfamiliar bed. The room was vaguely a blur thanks to the pounding ache in the back of your head, but you could see enough to know it was not a place you recognized. To your left, the bed was untouched; sheets perfectly pressed as if they’d never been laid in at all. Glancing down, you saw you were still wearing the dress from the club, makeup smeared over your face and onto the pillows. You brushed at your cheeks to remove the mascara stains.

At the end of the bed, laid a fresh pair of clothes. Blue jeans and a black pullover. You sighed, pressing a hand over the soft fabric and bringing it to your face. It smelled of lavender and vanilla – fresh and inviting compared to the sweaty stale air of the night club.

The night before was mostly a blur. You didn’t remember much after Selby was killed; only Bucky’s hands on your waist, pulling you back towards the door as you tried to locate the shooter. You’d kicked off your heels and sprinted next to him in your bare feet – a man who could challenge the speed of moving vehicles and he was running in line with you and Sam while gunshots reined from every direction. Self-preservation was not a concept in Bucky’s vocabulary.

Your feet were bloodied by the time you caught your breath again and within the impossibly small moment you took to pause, an assailant had knocked you out from behind. Cold darkness. Instantaneously. After that, you could only catch vague memories of Bucky lifting you into his arms and Sharon Carter’s voice. But you hadn’t seen Sharon in years. Not since the aftermath of Vienna. The theory didn’t make much sense.

You felt along the dresser for your gun, only to find it empty. With a tired groan, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, hoping you could find Bucky or Sam before you found trouble. Your feet were wrapped in bandages carrying a slight pink color on the soles – courteous of Zemo’s ridiculous heels you’d left behind the chaos and the mile worth of pavement you’d run barefoot on.

The chill of the hardwood floors was a relief on the undersides of your feet, but you hadn’t accounted for the dizziness from your concussion to take over once you stood. The room went dark and you began to sway, trying to feel for the bed behind you, when suddenly you hard footsteps rushing into the room.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing out of bed?” Bucky’s arms wrapped at your waist, holding you steady. He guided you back to the bed, helping you to sit on the edge as you regained your vision. He sat down beside you, keeping a hand on your arm to help ground you as you focused on the permanence of the room, the sturdiness of solid ground.

“What happened?” you sighed, pressing your palms to your eyes. Your head was still ringing from the blow you took the night before. When you finally allowed yourself to adjust to the sunlight in the room, you turned to face Bucky. He was dressed in a plan black t-shirt and jeans; his Winter Soldier attire hung in the corner of the room.

“Sharon happened,” Bucky chuckled with a short shake of his head. You thought you might be surprised at his answer, and somehow, you weren’t at all. Bucky softened, his fingers brushing at the hem of your dress. “You should change into something more comfortable. Sharon left some clothes for you but um... you were pretty out of it last night and I didn’t want to... um...”

“Thank you, Bucky.” You smiled at him as you placed your hand on top of his. You squeezed at his fingers, curling under his palm against your thigh. For a moment, you nearly lost yourself in the sunlit reflection of blue within his eyes – the delicate intricacies of a complex man. So impossibly sweet and kind in the daylight; cold as stone in the night under the guise of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky helped you to stand, giving you time to adjust to the sting of healing wounds on the soles of your feet. He turned his back to give you privacy, though he kept close enough that you could grab hold of his shoulder for support. He pushed the clothes down the bed for you to reach easily.

Slowly, ignoring the ache in your body, you slid the zipper down your spine, letting the dress fall to a heap at your feet. You tried not to notice how Bucky’s shoulders tightened at the sound, his stance a little less balanced at the fallen fabric. Gingerly, you dressed yourself in the jeans and pullover Sharon had provided for you, trying to stifle a wince as you shifted on your feet. Bucky’s head tilted at your whimper, his instinct fighting to turn to you, to help you, but he held himself still.

When you were done, you reached for the necklace at your bedside, one you hadn’t worn on the mission but you carried it with you wherever you went – the last token you had of a distant life before the Avengers. Sam had kept it in his pocket in Madripoor.

“Would you mind?” you called softly, tapping a hand against Bucky’s shoulder. He turned cautiously, almost timid in his movements, and you smiled at him as he held his hand out. The delicate gold chain dropped into his palm – a beautiful contrast to the black metal, in mirror to the detailing work along his shoulder.

Before you could turn your back to him, Bucky stepped closer. He held each side of the necklace in his hands and brought them around the back of your neck. This close, you could smell the bar soap he’d used that morning, you could see the lines of scruff along his jaw he hadn’t been able to shave.

When he clasped the chain, he stepped back slowly, but only enough to admire his work. He brushed your hair away from your collar, a ghosted smile on his lips at he touched the pendent at the center. This wonderful, beautiful man who learned to find comfort in touch again, who sought you out when it felt impossible to reclaim that part of him. Memory of the night before etched into your mind and you swallowed back the lump in your throat.

“Bucky?”

He smiled a little wider, focused on tracing his fingers along your jaw, brushing away your hair. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to talk about last night?”

Bucky paused, his touch upon you skin turning near to stone before he pulled away. The smile he’d worn slowly faded from his lips, the cold rush of reality piercing through the tender moment, and you hated yourself for being the cause of such pain. Bucky sighed, sinking down onto the bed, his hands gripped tight to the edge of the mattress.

“Not sure there’s much to say, doll,” Bucky exhaled.

You sat beside him, close enough for your thigh to brush in line with his. He looked down at the little space between you, his eyes fluttered closed at the contact – the grounding sensation of welcomed touch.

“You're not him anymore, Bucky,” you said softly, setting your hand over his own. “No one is ever going to control you or... or own you again, okay? They can’t make you do anything you don’t want to... not anymore. You’re free. You know that, don’t you?”

Bucky nodded, though it was slow, almost aching. He squeezed at your hand, pushing out a pained smile as he looked at you. “I do.”

You reached towards him with your free hand, cupping the side of his cheek where Zemo had touched him the night before. You traced your thumb over his jaw line, tingling over the short hairs on his skin. So beautiful and lovely after decades suffering under the hands of cruel men.

“You know I’d kill anyone who tried, right?”

Bucky chuckled at that and you were grateful to see the lines by his eyes again, the smile pushing bright into his cheeks. “Yeah, sweetheart. I know that, too.”

He leaned forward a pressed a kiss to your temple. Short and lingering and not nearly long enough. But it was welcomed and warm and enough.

—

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #tfatws #tfatws spoilers

[feralthoughtdump]

The Harder The Rain, The Sweeter The Sun

CW: smut, this is just smut and no plot, sub!Loki, bondage with ropes, spanking, aftercare?.. I think that’s all?

Word Count: 1.6k

I hope you enjoy my heatwave induced delirium writing. 

...

He’s adorable, she thinks, on his knees, hands clasped in his lap, looking up at her with wide doe eyes and slightly parted lips. The glow of the fireplace bathes him in gold.

“Look at you.” She whispers, the dark green silk of her nightgown swishes around her ankles.  “So pretty on your knees.”

Loki doesn’t usually find himself in this position. Usually, it’s her on her knees. But once in a while, when he’s feeling extra greedy for attention, when he feels ignored, she’s there to put him back in his place.

“Are you going to be good?” She reaches out to caress his cheek and he happily nuzzles into her palm.

He hums.

Her gentle demeanor shifts as she forcefully grabs his chin.

“Words, puppy. Use your words.” She hisses.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll be good.” He whines.

She kneels, and hooks a finger under his collar, pulling him close.

The collar was a pretty little number. Green leather circled delicately around his neck with a small gold plate brandishing his name. 

Perfect for a prince. 

“Are you sure?” She tilts her head. “You weren’t being so good earlier.”

“I’m sorry.” He whimpers. “I’ll be good now, I promise!”

She gives him a condescending laugh.

“What are you sorry for?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a breathy whine.

“I- I’m sorry for teasing.”

She lets go of his collar and stands up.

“You were acting like a little brat.” She turns around and shuffles through the ornate chest that stood at the end of his bed. “Just because you're a prince doesn’t mean that you can do whatever you want.”

He bites at the inside of his cheek at the sight of her holding a bundle of green rope. 

“And since you couldn’t seem to get your hands off of me all night, maybe this will fix that.” She steps behind him and pushes his chest to the ground. “Think of it as… a little behavior adjustment.”

Loki whines and presses his cheek into the soft fur rug. She gently takes his arms and places them behind his back.

“What’s the safe word?” She gently asks

“Red.” He answers, knowing that he is safe in her arms, no matter how rough she gets. 

Her fingers expertly wrap the rope around his arms, forming binds around his wrists, above his elbows, and his biceps. 

The emerald green rope contrasts nicely with his pale skin. 

“Alright.” She taps the skin between his shoulder blades. “Chest up, puppy.”

He struggles to lift his chest up so she gently tugs him backward.

The ropes run across his chest and she finally knots them behind his back.

It comforts him, feeling her gentle hands bind him with such elegance. Each knot tied with purpose, to immobilize him, and to ground him. 

“Is it too tight?” 

Loki shakes his head. She runs her fingers through his hair. 

“I need a verbal answer.”

“Not too tight. It’s perfect.”

She smiles and places a soft kiss on his forehead. 

“Good.”

He gasps when he feels her abruptly push his chest back into the rug, squirming at the feeling of her fingers running down his back.

“Am I being punished?” 

A yelp escapes his lips when her palm strikes his ass.

“What do you think?” Her hand lands another slap to his skin. “Count.”

He takes a shaky breath.

“One.” 

The next smack is right on the inside of his thigh. 

“Two.”

She lands blow after blow until he grits out a whiny “twenty-five”. 

His eyes are screwed shut, the stinging pain only added to his desperation. He was getting what he asked for, but he wasn’t sure if he was getting what he wanted. 

Her nails rake over the reddened skin, causing him to whimper. 

“Aww, does my sweet prince dislike his punishment?” Her tone is syrupy sweet, yet filled with condescension. “Well, that’s a shame.” Her grasp on the ropes pulls him upward. “This could have all been avoided if you just behaved.” 

She runs her thumb across his parted lips and slowly, she dips two of her fingers into his eager mouth. The pads of her fingers run across his tongue and he tried hard not to gag. 

“But of course, what more could I expect from the god of mischief?” Her last words are punctuated by shoving her fingers deeper into his mouth. He chokes, saliva coating her digits. 

Loki feels tears prick at his lashes, threatening to spill over. The desperation in his abdomen burns harder and harder.  He hears her click her tongue. 

“You seem to like this. Maybe next time I’ll give you something bigger to choke on.” 

Her wet fingers trail down his chin, lightly ghosting over the lines of his abdomen and settle right above where he needs her. 

“Please.” He begs, wanting, no, needing, for her to wrap her hands around his cock. 

“Please, what?” Though his eyes are closed, he just knows that there’s a sadistic grin on her face. “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.” 

“Touch me.” He pants, eyes slowly blinking open. “Please?” 

“But I am touching you.” She faux pouts. “Is that not what you want.”

He squirms, feeling the ropes dig into his skin. 

“You know what I want!” 

“No, Loki.” She shook her head. “I don’t.”

He throws his head back and sobs, tears finally spilling over. 

“Touch- please touch my cock!” 

His quiet sobs turn into loud moans of pleasure when she finally runs her finger down the length of his cock. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” She says nonchalantly, gently just running her finger up and down his length. 

Her thumb smears precum around the tip. He bucks his hips forward, needing more. 

“No, no, darling.” She purrs. “Stay still.”

“Sorry.” He whimpers. 

She takes her free hand and cradles his heated face. 

“It’s okay, my love.” Her thumb rubs back and forth across his cheek. “Just be a good boy and I’ll make you feel good.”

That was a lie. And he really should have seen it coming. 

She wraps her fingers around his cock and squeezes, moving her hand up and down. 

Fat tears drip down his face and his neck. His pleading moans are music to her ears. 

She brings him right to the edge just to release her hold on him, making him sob with desperation. Each stroke of her hand is slow, allowing the pleasure inside of him to grow stronger and stronger. Right before it boils over, she rips the pleasure away. And she does it over and over again until he’s left thrashing in his bindings. 

This was far from making him feel good. This was torture. 

Loki tastes blood and realizes that he’s bitten his lip far too hard. His eyes are watery and clouded over in submission. He’s using the last bit of his strength to stay in his head, toeing the line of falling over into full submission. 

She thumbs his tears away, smiling at his little whimpers and sobs. 

“Oh, puppy.” She coos. “You want to cum so bad. Is that right?”

He sobs and nods his head. 

“Are you sorry for being bad?” Her question is demanding. 

“Y-yes.” He whimpers. 

“Are you going to keep misbehaving?”

“No!” He cries. 

“Are you sorry for being a bad boy? Are you sorry for being a tease?” 

“Yes!” He sobs. “I’m sorry for being bad. I’m sorry for teasing! I’ll never do it again.”

She hums in consideration. 

“I’ll let you cum. Be good and thank me.”

He cries a continuous “thank you” as she quickens her movements, riding him through his orgasm. 

Spurts of his cum splatter across his abdomen and drip down her hand. 

When she’s finished, he collapses, nearly hitting the ground if it weren’t for her gentle hands catching his head. 

He slowly lays down on his side, head cradled in her lap. 

She uses one hand to comb through his sweaty hair and another to undo the knots. 

“Darling, are you okay?” Her voice is gentle and compassionate.

He hums and nods his head. 

“I need you to use your words, okay?” She shifts his body so he’s looking up at her. “It’s important that you tell me.”

“I’m okay.” 

His pupils are blown wide blood stains his lips. 

Her brows twist in concern and she gently touches his tip. 

“I want you to stay still, love. I’ll be back very soon.” 

He lies there, sighing at the feeling of the soft rug on his skin. Exhaustion creeps upon him and he barely feels her presence until there’s a stinging in his lip. 

“Shh, shh,” She continues to run her fingers through his hair. “I know it hurts, but I have to clean you up.” 

She wipes the blood away with the warm washcloth and moves to clean up the drying cum on his abdomen. 

He blinks up at her, light reflecting on his lashes and eyes slowly clearing back up. 

She smiles down at him, and soft and sweet. 

“Are you coming back to me, darling?” 

He nuzzles his face in her tummy and gives her a quiet “mhm”, reveling in the feeling of her playing with his hair. 

“I’m tired.” He mumbles, rubbing his cheek against the silk. “I want to sleep.”

She sighs and rubs at the red marks on his arms. 

“Let’s get you to bed, then.” 

As she prepares to stand, he whines and pulls her back down. 

Even in his boneless state, her strength is nothing compared to that of the god. 

So she gently lies on the rug and pulls his head between her breasts and lets the quiet crackling of the fire lull the two to them to sleep.

#loki #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki smut #sub!loki #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #writing #loki x reader smut

[stained-glasswriting]

Sweet Kitty

Hybrid!Park Jimin X Reader

Word count: 4.5k

AN: ok guys this ones gonna be a little bit of a slowburn. The classic reader finds a hybrid and takes them home. I hope you like!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had already been a long day when you got distracted while dragging yourself home. Your day started with your only 8 am class of the week, you were late of course, keeping you from your daily caffeine dose. It all got worse when you left your college campus for the diner you worked at. Immediately upon entrance, you were bowled over by a coworker practically begging you to take the last three hours of her shift. Agreeing to take the shift from her, you set about getting ready for that was now a closing shift.

Of course by the time you flick off the lights and lock the door, it was dark and started to drizzle. Pulling your jacket tighter around yourself, you step out into the street, starting the 5 block trek to your apartment.

The first thing that caught your attention as you neared your home, was a quiet whimpering. Quickly you stop in your tracks, looking around the damp area. For a moment the darkened street was silent, before a barely audible whine came from a dark expanse of alley jutting from the street to your left.

Staying in the entrance of the alley you peer in looking for the creature making the noises. In the dim lighting you could make out the sight of a pair of dumpsters surrounded by trash, sitting a few feet from a brick wall dead end. In front of them laid what looked like a pile of cardboard boxes. One of the boxes had something dark dangling out of it. At first you couldn't see anything that could be making that noise.

Another whimper had you taking a couple steps towards the wet boxes in front of you.

“Hello?” you called out into the dark tentatively. There was no response, but the quiet whimpers started up again.

You shoot a glance back out into the street considering your options. Going wandering down dark alleys in the middle of the night was a bad idea, but what if someone was hurt.

Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you slowly pick your way down the alleyway following the noises. All of your senses on red alert, you had to be careful. As you neared the boxes, you quickly realized that a dirty cat tail was hanging limply out of one of them. The stiffness in your shoulders leaks out as the realization that it's probably an animal that needs help.

Crouching, you peek into the dirty damp cardboard, fully expecting to see a kitty curled up in it. Instead you end up coming face to face with a hybrid.

You slap your hand over your mouth, effectively cutting off any noise you were about to make in surprise. Hybrids aren't exceptionally rare, but really only well off families could afford them. There weren't a lot of them just wandering the streets so this was unusual.

This one didn't exactly look like he’d come from a nice house though, or at least hadn’t been in one for a while. His clothes were dirty and appeared threadbare in places. They had run ragged around his wrists and ankles. Blood dripped down from his shoulder and down his arm staining the fabric a dark red. A long matted tail hung out from underneath where he was laying on the cardboard.

Your eyes trailed up the man’s skinny figure, up to his thin face. A fairly large cut was opened above his eyebrow, slowly weeping blood down his overly pronounced cheekbones. The cat hybrid’s eyes were closed but fluttered lightly as he made small noises in the back of his throat. His dirt covered ears pinned back in what you assumed to be pain.

Through all the dirt, blood, and obvious malnutrition, he looked small and almost soft. Honestly, how could anyone do this to him? It took all of two seconds to make your mind up to help him. You gave the hybrid a long moment of consideration, before you took the last few steps to reach the boxes. Leaning near you lightly touched his shoulder.

The effect was instantaneous. His body flinched away from you violently. The hybrid’s ears flipped forward to face you then immediately laid flat back again. His eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide with fear, they seemed unfocused, and whipped around wildly looking for danger. Another heart wrenching whine was released from his throat.

Pulling back you murmur soft comforting phrases, trying to assure the terrified hybrid. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep shuddering breath. The cat hybrid’s eyes finally seem to focus on you, scouring your face in an instant.

After a moment of staring between you, he seems to come to some sort of decision. He slides his eyes closed once more, and bends his head towards you seemingly resigned to allowing you to do as you wish. He’d seem almost calm if it weren't for the shaking of his form, and the ragged breaths that tore up his throat.

It’s cold out, and his injuries needed to be tended to. If you left him here, he wouldn't last much longer, you’d have to bring him home with you.

“Alright, come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” you whispered to him, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice. You reach for his arm again, this time gently grabbing it. Your fingers wrap all the way around the thin limb.

Lightly you start pulling him out of the wet cardboard. You were afraid that he might resist or lash out at you, but he didn’t seem to have any fight left in him. He just sort of resigned himself to whatever you were intending to do with him.

You were able to pull the hybrid into sort of a crouching position. Several of the movements caused deeper, more draw out whines to escape him. The hybrid didn’t stop you while you placed your other hand on his elbow, pulling him into an upright position. The hybrid leaned on you heavily, his legs wobbling as you held him up.

The first couple of steps were difficult, and shaky as you murmured encouragement and praises to the man. He limped heavily to one side showing you there was something wrong with the leg. After about a minute he seemed a little more inclined to help, and didn’t weigh on you quite as heavily.

It took some time, but eventually you were able to get the hybrid to the front steps of your apartment building, and inside.

The light of the lobby showed just how much blood and dirt covered the man, and his clothes. Some of it had started to dry and harden to him. Other spots still oozed the thick red fluid. Underneath it all you could now see just how pale and exhausted he looked.

Thankfully it was late enough that the secretary for the building had left for the night leaving the lobby empty. This allowed you to avoid any strange conversations as you pulled the hybrid past the front desk and to the elevators behind it. Without setting the man down, you hit the button with your elbow.

You're lucky once more, with how late it is the elevator only took a couple of moments before opening with a ding. It wasn’t hard to pull him into the contraption, but as you stop to hit the button for your floor, you could feel him start to shake harder.

“We are almost there.” you assure the hybrid trying to calm him some.

A few minutes later you’re pulling the partially unresponsive hybrid into your two bedroom apartment. Bypassing your living room and kitchen, you drag him down the hallway into our bathroom. Carefully you settle him down on the floor, and lean him against the tub wall.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” You told him, and spun on our heel leaving in search of the first aid kit you kept in the hallway closet. While in there you also snagged a couple of extra towels and a whole box of Band-Aids.

By the time you make it back to the bathroom, the hybrid appears a little more conscious. He was sitting a bit straighter, his tail clutched between his hands as he messed with the fur. His eyes wide with fear blinked up at you when the door opened.

“I’m just here to help, I promise,” you reassured the hybrid gently. Slowly you crouch in front of him trying to get a better view of his forehead. You could tell it was still sort of bleeding, but with all the dirt and dried blood it was difficult to tell where the cut started. You’d likely have to get him cleaned up before you could do anything meaningful about his wounds. He flinched violently when you carefully pressed a clean cloth on the wound, but didn’t move otherwise. After a few minutes you’re at least able to get the bleeding to stop.

Tearing your eyes from his injured forehead, you glance down, locking eyes with the man. He studied your face with an intensity that made you squirm slightly. You could tell he was sort of sizing you up. It was as if he expected you to do something, and was ready for whatever it was.

“Well, it’ll be difficult to do anything about your injuries till we get you cleaned up. Do you want to take a shower?” you asked the hybrid in front you.

His body jerked in surprise, his eyes somehow widening even further, apparently that was not what he had been expecting of you. He refused to speak but did respond with a stilted nod that left him wincing in pain.

Pushing yourself up, you cross to the front of the tub. He listens intently as you explain the different knobs, and what soaps to use.

“Do you need anything else?” you ask, lightly helping the man into a standing position. He quickly shook his head in response.

“I’ll bring you some fresh clothes.” you told him as you started towards the door. Warm fingers snaked around your wrist lightly. He pulled enough to stop you without actually pulling you back. This time when you turned to look at him, he kept his eyes firmly on the floor.

“Thank you.” he said quietly, his voice raspy almost like it was overused.

“Of course!” You immediately exclaimed with a nod. The hybrid looked up just in time to see a sweet smile come across your face. He released your hand then, allowing you to finally leave your bathroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing you did was change out of your now dirty work clothes, and into some comfortable pajamas. Looking through your closet, you pulled out some basketball shorts your ex left, and an oversized t-shirt. With a pair of scissors you cut hole in the back of them around where the hybrid’s spine would end for his tail. After a second thought, you grabbed a sweatshirt you wore often. It was your largest, even though he wasn’t much taller than you and was basically just skin and bones, you thought he deserved something soft and comfortable.

Carefully you slid the bathroom door open just enough to shove the clothes in. some steam escaped, showing just how hot he had the water at.

Your next task was getting some food into the poor boy. He looked so skinny, you should go with something that wouldn’t be too heavy on his stomach. Flitting around the kitchen, you get some soup started on the stove. It was just a simple chicken noodle soup recipe. Chicken, noodles, stock, and some vegetables you had chopped up originally for stir fry all went into the pot. Humming you bounced between the stove, and setting two places at the table.

Lost in your own world, you missed the sound of the shower turning off, then later the sound of the door opening. You got quite the fright when you turned, silverware in hand, and a now clean hybrid was standing in front of you wearing the shorts and shirt you left him staring at you.

A startled squeak slipped past your lips when you jumped. At the noise the man’s ears pinned back, and his eyes dropped back to the floor.

“It’s ok, you just startled me.” you reassured him, hands raised. “Are you hungry?” he responded with a short single nod. With a happy smile you went back to setting the table, and finishing the soup.

Before long, you were ladling the hot liquid into two bowls you put on the tale. Carefully you place the pot onto the pad in the middle of the table, and sit at one end looking expectantly up at the hybrid. He still stood in the doorway, head down, but now his tail sat in his hands as he carded his fingers through the fur. The sweatshirt you left him was slung over his shoulder.

After the shower, his fur proved to be much fluffier than you had expected. It was a lovely light tan that turned almost cream color in some spots without all that dirt covering it. Unfortunately there still appeared to be some tangles among the fluff, but those could be brushed out later.

“Aren't you going to sit down and have some?” you asked, confused as to why he continued to stand there,

“Sit… at the table?” his head snapped up to stare at you as the words tumbled from his open mouth. In his seemingly shocked state you were able to finally get a good look at his face now washed.

The hybrid was pale, and his cheeks sunken in from malnutrition. The wound over his eyebrow had stopped bleeding but the area around it was all red and angry. You could tell he’d been on the street for a while, and was exhausted if the circles underneath his eyes were anything to go by.

Despite all of this, the male across from you was handsome. He had nice full lips and high cheekbones underneath wide brown eyes, his hair, now clean, was a lovely light blonde color. Although it was shaggy, a little tangled, and definitely in need of a cut. Then at the top of his head stood a pair of fluffy ears with the same coloration as his tail.

After a long moment of staring between the two of you, he limped over and pulled out the chair opposite of you, and hesitantly sat down in it. He glanced up at you again, maybe waiting for you to start. With another reassuring smile, you grab your spoon and dig in. Once the first spoonful hit your mouth, he snatched up his spoon and started in on his food too.

The first couple of spoonfuls he started slow, but after that he tucked in with much more gusto. He made happy little noises as he dug into the hot broth. It took him only minutes to finish off the bowl, even tipping it back to get the rest of the liquid. His ears drooped slightly as he sat back and looked into his empty bowl forlornly.

“If you’re still hungry, have some more, there’s plenty.” you told him with a giggle, gesturing to the pot.

“N-no, I’m alright.” he stuttered out. The strange flick his tail did, and the look in his eyes told you differently.

“It’s ok, there’s plenty,” you responded, standing to ladle more into his bowl. This time he wasted no time tucking in and scarfing it down.

“So, my name is (Y/N), what’s yours?” you asked politely. You thought it was about time that you learned something about what was going on.

“My name?” he pondered for a moment before answering. “I’m Park Jimin,” he gave a short bow from his seat with the response.

“Park Jimin,” you repeated thoughtfully. “I like it!” you decided with a smile.

A beautiful smile lit up his face the moment the words left your mouth. His thick lips pulled back in a sweet smile that showed his teeth, and turned his eyes into little crescent moons. A light dusting of pink settled onto Jimin’s cheeks as he ducked his head and went back to his soup.

The moment you saw Park Jimin’s smile you knew you were a goner. With the appearance of that smile came the realization that you’d do just about anything to keep it on his face.

You observe him quietly while you finish your own bowl, Jimin however had another two. He looked up gratefully at you when ladled more into his bowl each time, his tail flicking back and forth. Around the middle of his fourth bowl, both his tail and his eyelids had started to droop. The hybrid looked sleepier and sleepier as time went on, but you wanted to deal with his wounds before you settle him in for the night.

Trying not to startle him, you stood slowly, gathering the dirty dishes from the table. When Jimin noticed you cleaning up, he hopped out of his seat and snatched his own dishes off the table before you could grab them too. With big eyes, he stood looking at you, waiting for you to make a move. He followed you like a shadow into the kitchen, immediately placing his dishes next to the sink with your own.

The hybrid then ignores your movement to return to the bathroom, and instead turns to the sink turning it on.

“Leave that for now, I’ll take care of it later.” You tell him turning the sink back off, holding your hand out to him.

Jimin’s ears go back again as he stares at you in confusion.

“You- I-?” he sputtered for a moment, eyes flicking between your face and your hand. “Shouldn’t I do it?” He finishes lightly placing his hand in yours.

“I’m a big girl, I can wash my own dishes,” you giggle, gently pulling him back to the bathroom. A look of utter confusion passed over his face, but he allowed you to tug him along.

You walked him back to the bathroom, taking care to go slowly so he could limp along without too much trouble.

Once there , you settle Jimin down on the edge of the tub, and open up the first aid kit. Flipping the lid open, you pull out a spray antiseptic.

“This is gonna sting a little.” you warned as you pushed back the tan strands of hair that flopped over his forehead as they dried. Now clean the cut above his eyebrow looked a bit smaller, and the edges looked clean like it had been done with something very sharp.

Carefully you sprayed the antiseptic over the slash mark, making Jimin wince as he gasped sharply.

“Sorry… Sorry,” you whisper, pulling a piece of gauze out of the kit on the counter, you lightly press the gauze to his forehead with one hand, using the other to attach it with medical tape. Once it seems secure, you take a step back to admire your work.

Jimin stared up at you with curious eyes, sleepiness seemingly entirely forgotten for the time being.

“Alright, now for the shoulder, shirt off.” you said with a gesture to the piece of clothing.

The hybrid stared at you for a long long moment, seeming to study you. It took a little for you to even realize why.

“Oh, I mean only if you’re comfortable…” you tried to back track. The tell tale feeling of warmth of a blush flooding your cheeks.

He then gave you a small nod, and began pulling the shirt over his head, wincing as he moved his shoulder up.

A gasp passed your lips as the true extent of the damage done to Jimin’s body was revealed. His malnutrition was even more obvious with the sight of his clearly visible ribs, the skin clung tightly to each one all the way down to his stomach slightly distended with the weight of the meal he’d just had. His hip and collar bones stuck out sharply showing once more how long it had been since he had a good one.

Bruises of various states of healing dotted up and down his emaciated form. Scars joined the mixture here and there across the expanse of pale skin some more healed than others.

Tearing your eyes from the hybrid’s chest, you moved to take a look at his battered arms. They were also dotted with bruises, but at the top of his arm and around his shoulder was a large patch of marred skin. It looked like he’d likely skidded across the ground on it. You could see bits of gravel still embedded in the skin, some parts still damp with spots of blood, others had already started to scab over. Lightly you pulled on his arm to turn his body to give you more access. This also gives you a view of his back.

“Oh, honey…” you breathed out in shock, nausea rose in you as your eye’s raked down his pale skin. His back was somehow even more mutilated than the rest of him. Thin, ropey scars crisscross across it in no apparent pattern. Thankfully even the newest ones looked mostly scarred over, like it had been a while since he’d gotten them.

Before you could think, you lightly dragged a finger down a raised line of skin. Jimin released a shuddered breath causing you to jerk back away from the injuries.

“I was bad a lot.” he whispered without turning to look at you. For a moment you stared dumbly at the back of his head before you realized what he meant.

“What? You meant these are punishments?” you asked shocked.

The cat hybrid didn’t respond at first, his breath rattled through his chest. It took a moment but eventually he gave a stiff nod. Suddenly his behavior through the night started to make sense. You didn’t know how much abusive bullshit they filled his head with.

“Oh Jimin, you don’t deserve anything like this.” you told him, tears starting to form in your eyes. Hesitantly you reach for him shaking, but you stop, hands hovering over his skin. Faint warmth radiated off as you looked over the expanse of marred skin on his back. Honestly you couldn’t tell if the hybrid was shaking more or if you were.

A loud sniffle escapes you, as you rub away a couple of tears tracking their way down your face. Jimin’s ears flick back towards you at the noise, and he whirls around to look at you.

His eyebrows pulled together tightly over eyes that studied you again with an intensity that had you dropping your hands into your lap. Jimin’s eyes search your face, following the tracks left by your tears. After a moment he broke your impromptu staring contest, drooping as he turned his face to the side.

“ Why are you crying?” he asks, not looking at you. His voice then gets really small. “I was naughty, it was my punishment.” The hybrid’s tan tail stays low but swishes side to side fast behind him.

“No no no, you don’t deserve this.” You move to reassure him, kneeling down on the floor in front of Jimin. He notices this, looking down at you as you sit and continue on, “ nothing you could ever do, would make it ok for them to do that to you.” By the end of your sentence your voice had started to waver. Jimin was fully looking at you by this point, mouth dropped open in shock.

It’s only a moment before his face crumples into tears. Quickly you pull the cat hybrid off of the tub rim, and into your arms. He startles, stiffening at first, before melting into your arms. His body trembles hard in your arms as he buries his face in your neck. You start rubbing his back slowly trying to calm him.

It took a while to get him to stop shaking, and even longer for his sniffles to slow. Pulling away carefully as his breathing calms, you raise a hand to wipe at the tear tracks covering his face as well now. Jimin just blinks slowly at you, pure exhaustion written all over his face. It’s definitely time to get him cleaned up and in bed.

“Come on, up.” you tell him, pulling him up as you stand. The hybrid’s eyes and tail are clearly drooping in sleepiness when you settle him back on the tub side. “I’ll finish cleaning you up. Then we can go to bed.”

Carefully you patch up both his shoulder and several large slices around his leg. All of the cuts appeared to be done with a knife like his face had. The questions you had about them could wait at least the night, while Jimin’s emotions were obviously still raw.

By the time you finish, he is clearly nodding off, jerking himself awake every few moments. When you move back to put your first aid stuff in the box, the hybrid’s big brown eyes blink blurrily up at you. His left hand raised to rub at his still somewhat red and blotchy face. Grabbing his hand, you pull him into a standing position, and help him put his shirt back on without messing with his wrapping too much.

“Alright, I have a guest bedroom that is all yours for the night.” you tell him, gently pulling him from the bathroom. In the same hallway were two doors, one being your room which you pointed out to him, the other being the guest room you were leading him to.

Opening the door, you help him hobble inside, holding onto his uninjured arm. You deposit him on the bed, and help him under the covers. Reaching over to a little side table situated next to the bed, you flick in a small lamp sitting on top. The dim light shows a sparsely decorated room.

The walls of the room were a pretty light blue color, but other than the bed and the table. The only furniture in the room was a dresser. A closet juts out into the room next to the entrance, a pair of large full body mirrors work as the sliding doors to it. Honestly the room was mostly set up for when your brother came into town, which you’re thankful for now.

Once Jimin was settled into bed, eyelids already falling, you straighten up, leaving the dim light on just in case. You sneak out of the room, leaving the door cracked, to let the exhausted hybrid sleep.

Quietly you go about cleaning up the remnants of your dinner. After taking care of the dishes, you turn in for the night as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: alright guys let me know what you think. And if you want another chapter!

#bts x reader #reader insert #jimin #park jimin #jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #hybrid jimin #hybrid park jimin #hybrid jimin x reader #hybrid bts #cat hybrid #cat hybrid jimin #hybrid park jimin x reader #bts au #jimin au #park jimin au #kpop fanfic #hybrid!jimin #hybrid!park jimin #bts #bts fanfic #bts jimin #bts park jimin

[nev3rfound]

don't go yet, please : h.z

you shouldn't have followed after your dear friend, but then again, the baron should know better by now that you'll never be too far behind. (1.8k)

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop - requests open!

requested: well I had a request from @geekgirlofarchangels for friends to lovers and this is what I came up with as I'm a bitch for zemo rn warnings: mentions of blood, descriptions from tfatws also a brief attempt at german (I'm sorry if it's terrible)

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

It was one big mistake going along. You should've stayed back in the apartment as Zemo suggested. However, having been friends with the Baron for many years, he should know better by now than assume you'd do as he suggests.

Standing in the warehouse, you were watching Walker carefully. He was becoming twitchy, his patience clearly wearing thin. "It's too quiet." He states, looking over at Bucky who remains silent.

"I could check, but I am preoccupied here." Zemo chimes in, holding up his cuffed wrists, not missing the quiet chuckle from you.

"Tough crowd, Baron." You spare him a glance, noticing how he is already eyeing up the small lock on the cuffs.

"I'm going in," John steps forward, only to be blocked by Bucky.

That was the beginning of the end for things to work out smoothly. Sure, Zemo being handcuffed by Walker was one thing, but you knew Zemo well enough after all these years to know he'd be out of those within minutes. However, Walker himself was becoming a loose cannon, and you know what they say about those.

"It hasn't been ten minutes yet, John. Just sit tight." Bucky comments.

John continues to pace, nearing you and Zemo. "Don't do that, don't patronize me." John spits back, his breathing becoming frantic.

"He knows what he's doing." You speak up, ignoring Zemo muttering your name at the sight of John pausing and turning his attention to you. "Unlike some people."

"You might wanna watch yourself," John seethes, watching Zemo tug on his handcuffs. "and find better people to hang around with, sweetheart." He looks you up and down, forcing a smirk before focusing on the clock.

Stepping backwards, you can feel a hand brush across yours. Without looking, you accept it and squeeze it three times, relieved when he squeezes back.

"I'm goin' in." John marches toward Bucky, only to be pushed back. "This must be easy for you. With all that serum running through your veins." He scoffs. "Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?"

The question hangs in the air too long, and without needing an answer, John shoves past Bucky with Lemar on his tail.

"Seriously?" You huff, moving toward Bucky and following behind him.

"Y/n," Zemo speaks up, his voice now echoing in the empty room. "you seem to be forgetting my situation." He motions to his cuffed hand.

"Well, Helmut," Slowly you walk toward him, crossing your arms over your chest whilst you try to suppress the grin forming on your lips. "I suppose you'll just have to get yourself out, you're a pro after all." You tease, turning around and leaving him be knowing he'll be right behind you in a matter of minutes.

*

Echoes of gunfire and voices bounce from the walls as you continue to run through the endless corridors, unsure where you're even heading.

Breathlessly, you find Sam who couldn't look more disappointed. "I was so close getting through to her." He admits, shaking his head. "Walkers lost control, Y/n."

"Where is he?" You ask, but Sam sighs. "I'll find him."

"Y/n," Bucky walks into the room. "I lost her." He states. "There's a dozen of them in there."

"This place is a maze." Sam mutters, taking his eye off you for a moment, just a moment long enough for you to slip out of the room and toward a spiral staircase.

If there's anything Zemo has taught you over the years, always look for a distraction. And for once, it's actually working in your favour.

Your feet guide you toward a large open part of the warehouse, lined with dusted windows.

"Don't," Karli yells, another round of shots being fired from someone whilst you remain out of sight, ducking behind one of the barrels.

Daring to peer around it, you swear to yourself seeing the Baron stood with his gun aimed at the young girl.

"This, this is all," Zemo keeps his gun trained on Karli whilst his attention shifts to the vials of serum beneath his feet. "wrong." He smiles to himself as he stamps on the first bottle, ignoring Karli's cries for him to stop.

"Helmut!" You yell, leaving your hiding spot and head straight toward him.

Before Zemo can finish his mission, his eyes widen at the sound of your voice. "Y/n?" He turns around, only to see the shield enter his peripheral a millisecond too late.

Falling to the ground with a dull thud, your out cold.

Unable to focus on anything else, Zemo rushes to your side. Blood marks your hairline from the impact and he lifts your head up, cradling it in his arms. "My liebling," Zemo mutters, brushing his fingers along the crimson dripping down your cheek. "why must you be so reckless?"

"I learn from the best." You weakly mutter, forcing your eyes to open despite the immense pain coursing through your head.

"What have you done?" Walker emerges from the shadows, a darker look across his eyes that Zemo easily recognises. "You'll pay for this," Zemo seethes, reaching for his gun as his hand shakes, crimson coating his fingertips.

John laughs and steps toward the pair of you, noting you trying to stay awake with little success. "I don't think I will somehow." John states confidently, tearing Zemo's gun from his grip and throws it forcefully against the wall, breaking it into pieces. "Have fun, Zemo." John salutes to the Baron before disappearing back into the shadows, knowing what he has to do.

Taking your hand in his, Zemo squeezes it three times in hope of a response, but you remain limp in his arms. "Come on, Y/n," He whispers, bringing your hand to his lips and presses his lips against your palm. "I can't lose you too."

*

When Zemo emerges from the building, the world is a different place. A man's body lies beneath the feet of Captain America, blood staining the shield and you lay in Zemo's arms.

"Y/n?" Bucky hits Sams arm forcefully, averting his eyes from the scene in the middle of the square to a dishevelled looking baron cradling your body close to his chest.

"What happened?" Sam demands, now walking alongside Zemo who remains lost in his thoughts, thinking back to all that time you spent visiting him in prison, trying to provide some level of sanity to keep him occupied for the short while you had alone.

"He did." Zemo spits the words, his eyes remaining glued to your face, dried blood coating the left side that is hidden in the fur of his coat, tainting the pure white. "I'm going to kill him once my Y/n is awake." He mutters under his breath, not caring if either men hear his comment.

Once they reach Zemo's apartment, the silence between the trio is deafening.

Zemo takes you straight toward his bedroom, knowing you'd prefer privacy rather than being under the watchful eyes of your other friends.

"Oh, little dove," Pulling the silk sheets over your body, Zemo lowers the glass of scotch onto the bedside table alongside a damp towel to clean your blood.

As he presses the towel along your hairline, his free hand cups your face. He brushes his thumb across your cheek, humming a familiar tune.

"This is a nice way to wake up." You mumble, feeling Zemo tense momentarily whilst you keep your eyes closed. "Are the blinds open?"

"Hold on." Zemo moves away from you, taking the warmth with him causing a shiver to ripple through you.

Hiding you from the daylight and the cold reality of the world, darkness coats the walls. "Thanks." You comment, trying to sit upright only to wince and have your arm bat lightly by Zemo's hand.

"Don't move." Zemo instructs, perching on the edge of the bed, his coat thrown across the chair in the corner of the room, hiding the bloodied fur from your view. "You really are stupid sometimes, schatz."

"You really want to have this conversation, now?" Quick to retort, you glare up at your friend, having not forgotten what you witnessed in that warehouse. "It's all gone, isn't it?"

Zemo's prolonged silence answers your question, and he listens to you hum in response.

"Du bist ein idiot, Helmut." You state in German, not missing the tug on the corner of his lips. "But you're my idiot, nonetheless."

Stretching your arm out, you take a hold of his hand, squeezing it three times. "I thought I'd lost you for a moment in there, Y/n." Zemo painfully admits, knowing you were slipping in and out of consciousness.

"I know," You rub your thumb across his knuckles, his hands were always so soft against yours. "but I promise you, Helmut, I'll never go down without a fight."

"I don't want you to fight, Y/n." Zemo sighs heavily. "I just want you to be safe."

Scoffing lightly, you force yourself upright despite Zemo shifting closer. "You can't control that, Helmut." You remind him, having visited him once or twice with some minor injuries from smaller missions with Sam. "Nothing about us is certain, I mean," Trailing off, you can feel the mere thought of the conversation is causing your head to thump.

"Come," Zemo rises to his feet and walks around the bed. "get some rest. We can talk in the morning."

As Zemo approaches the door, you interrupt him. "Helmut, please, don't go." You whimper, faintly seeing him turn back to face you. "I don't want to be alone if I don't have to."

Smiling sadly to himself, Zemo removes his shoes and slides beneath the covers. Within a matter of seconds, he holds you close in his arms, your head resting against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"I'm not going anywhere, Y/n." Zemo whispers, kissing the top of your head as your eyes close, tears dampening his shirt. "Not when I just got you back."

"You sure about that?" You dare to ask, glancing up to see the faint outline of a sad smile crossing his lips as those dark eyes remain on yours.

"When it comes to you, I'm certain." He mutters, feeling you shift in his arms.

Your breath fans his lips before you softly kiss him. Zemo reacts instantly, his hand moving to cradle your neck as he kisses you back, desperate to not let you go.

Eventually, you both part. "Helmut," You breathe out, only for him to kiss you chastely. "I,"

"Don't say it, Y/n." Zemo hushes, knowing if he heard those three words leave your lips he'll never forgive himself if anything happened to you or him. "Save them for me, okay?"

Nodding in response, you mould back into Zemo, his fingers gliding across your shoulder creating various patterns including love hearts without realising it.

Yet, as you begin to drift off, you hear those three words from him, hoping that one day you can say them in return.

t a g l i s t (thank you for the support!) link in my bio and at the top of this piece to add yourself☺️(if your user isn’t tagged, it’s because nothing comes up sorry!)

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[hrina]

The Thrill of the Chase, Pt. I

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 3.6k REQUESTED: no

hi! it’s been a while since i’ve posted something on here lol, i wonder if anyone still remembers me 🤕

this is PART 1 of the hunter!AU that i’ve been writing. while the story is a patreon-exclusive, my patrons gave me permission to post the first chapter here on tumblr for anyone who’s curious about the kind of content i offer on patreon. 

if you want to read the rest of this series and unlock access to my other exclusive work, you can sign up for my patreon here. and as always, please reblog the fics you like and leave feedback for the authors, because we pour a lot of time and effort into our stories. happy reading 💌

~*~

Harry’s life is simple.

He performs only the essentials—wakes up and eats an apple for breakfast. Drizzles some lemon juice into his flask of water to keep his teeth healthy and clean. Shrugs on a few heavy furs. Lets Magnus outside to keep him from howling and pawing at the door. Sharpens his arrows. Knocks on the threshold of the cabin once for good luck. Goes hunting.

Upon returning, he crouches next to the firepit, laying out his kills and skinning them. He cooks one for himself—something small, like a squirrel, or a rabbit. Others, he saves for the market—fox, deer, coyote, boar. The pelts, tusks, and antlers are extremely sought-after (particularly by nobles), and often earn enough coin to carry him through the rest of the week.

He doesn’t entertain visitors, because who in their right mind would trek up the side of a mountain just to seek out one lonely hunter? Despite that, he’s come to appreciate his solitude. The silence is familiar—comfortable. Besides, Magnus proves both excellent and useful company, if the sheer volume of their kills offers any indication.

A simple life for a simple man.

Harry doesn’t need anyone else.

“Ready to go, mutt?”

He scratches behind Magnus’ droopy ears. One of the hound’s hindlegs thumps frantically in response. Harry chuckles, slinging his bow over his right shoulder and pulling open the cabin door.

“Come on, then.”

The sky is a dark, cloudy grey, and the smell of oncoming rain is unmistakable. Still, the two of them persevere, ducking past the trees at the edge of the clearing.

It’s a bad day to hunt.

With the threat of a storm looming just above the canopy, the animals have forgone their typical foraging patterns in favour of taking shelter. Harry only manages to kill a rabbit, and even then, it’s a messy shot. He usually gets them right through the eye—a quick, neat splice that results in minimal suffering. This time, however, his foot slips on a damp stone; he fumbles, and the arrow buries itself into the creature’s stomach.

“Fuck.”

The rabbit is still alive when he reaches it, its furry body heaving with shaky, uneven breaths. Harry kneels down, apologising quietly. His hand finds the scabbard strapped to his waist, and he draws a silver dagger from its depths.

He slits the poor hare’s throat just as rain begins to fall.

It’s easy work, after that. He pins the animal’s fluffy forelimbs together, tying them in place with thick, coarse rope. Magnus whimpers as Harry slides the creature’s limp body over his shoulder. He shoots the hound a tired look and shakes his head. Damp brown curls stick to his temples.

“Think that’s enough for today.”

The two of them have nearly made it back home—Harry’s boots squelch as he jumps over the small creek that flows close to the clearing—when Magnus perks up, lifting his snout and sniffing the air.

“What is it, mutt?” Harry asks.

Magnus releases a loud bark and takes off in the direction of the cabin. Harry sprints after him, one hand clutching his game while the other wraps around the leather grip of his bow.

“Magnus!” he yells.

The dog skids to a stop next to the wide trunk of a tree. He barks again and wags his tail feverishly.

Harry releases his bow, approaching with slow, cautious steps.

“What’s got you so—shit.”

You’re slumped in the mud, unconscious. Harry’s gaze rakes over your form, from your tattered blue gown to the leaves and twigs tangled in your hair. There are a few cuts littered across your face, arms, and chest. Rivulets of blood trickle down your wrist, spiderwebbing across your skin.

Magnus sticks his tongue out and pants.

“Good boy,” Harry mutters, bestowing a rugged caress atop the hound’s head.

He gathers you into his arms, paying no mind to the extra weight of your sodden dress. Your neck lolls over his bicep, sternum rising and falling with shallow, barely-there breaths. Harry carries you out of the forest and into the clearing. When he kicks open the cabin door, your eyelids flutter.

“Bear?” you mumble, lifting your head slightly. Your voice is grating, hoarse.

He looks at you. Your face contorts for only a moment before you slouch back into oblivion.

He sets you down onto the thick, woven rug splayed out in front of the hearth. He works quickly, shrugging off his furs and his game and discarding all of it without a second thought. Rain thrums against the roof, but the sound is lost amidst his heavy footsteps.

He hurries into his bedroom and pulls open the top drawer of his wooden dresser, fumbling for a glass jar and a spool of bandages. When his fingers finally make contact with the desired supplies, he darts back into the other room and kneels beside your motionless body.

He draws his dagger again, gripping the intricate material of your gown and slicing through it. Your corset proves far more challenging, practically embedded into your skin. He sets his knife aside, not willing to risk it. Instead, he hooks his fingers beneath the top of the girdle, rough knuckles brushing against your soft bosom. With a mighty tug, the structured fabric splits under his palms.

He screws open the lid on the jar and dips his thumb inside. The salve is sticky, viscous, and smells faintly of lavender. He smears it across your scrapes before inspecting your wrist.

The flesh is slashed and bloodied—how did you acquire such an injury? Canines? Claws? Harry uses the frayed edges of your dress to clean the mess. He then unwinds a few bindings from their roll, expertly bandaging your wound.

Once he’s finished, he sits back on his haunches, expelling a stale breath. His work is far from over—he needs to wash you, to scrub off all the dirt and grime staining your skin. He’ll go down to the creek with a cloth, he thinks, and saturate it with cool water. He’ll pick the leaves and branches out of your hair, and cover you in spare furs to keep you warm. He’ll prepare a hot meal so that you may eat when you wake. You’ll be ravenous, certainly.

These thoughts whirl around in his head, along with the realisation that you might expire here, lying on an old rug in the middle of a stranger’s secluded home. Still, he watches your chest rise, swelling with proof of your vitality. The sight puts him at ease.

Harry aims a cursory glance over his shoulder. Magnus is stationed at the door, wet snout resting on the ground. The dog gazes at your limp body with big, solemn eyes, as though he somehow understands the severity of the situation.

“Don’t worry, mutt,” Harry tells him, knees shuffling against the floor. “I won’t let her die.”

~*~

Three days pass.

Harry curtails the duration of his hunts. He kills only the essentials: a hare or a squirrel, something small enough to cook over the fire. He has enough coin saved up from his previous trades to last him another few trips to the market.

Every morning, he prepares a simple, homely meal for you should you wake. When you do not, he eats the food in your place—he’ll be damned if it goes to waste.  

On the fourth day, he carries a bowl of soup into his room. He’s expecting to see you tucked into his bed, still unconscious. Instead, you’re alert, sitting upright and studying your surroundings. The furs that previously covered your body now pool around your waist, exposing your naked chest. When you catch sight of Harry lingering in the doorway, you gasp, fumbling for the pelts and clutching them to your sternum.

“You’re up,” he says gruffly, stepping through the threshold.

You scramble back, eyes widening in fear. He pauses.

You’re afraid, he realises, tilting his head to the side. This may be more difficult than he initially thought.

“Soup,” he says slowly, holding out the small clay bowl in his hands. “You need to eat.”

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice is patchy and frail. “Where am I?”

He sets the dish down onto his dresser before shooting you a stern, expectant look.

“Eat.”

Upon exiting the room, he strains his ears and listens carefully. The creak of a loose floorboard—you’ve climbed out of bed. The sound of nimble footsteps pattering across the ground—you’re moving toward the door. And finally, the quiet scrape of clay against wood, indicating that your hunger has prevailed.

He nods to himself.

You’re not dead. That’s a start.

~*~

That evening, Harry is perched next to the firepit outside the cabin. The orange sun crawls down the horizon, kissing the tops of the trees. He basks in the warmth, knowing that it will soon be eradicated by the cool chill of nightfall.

He fiddles with the spit poised above the flames. He caught another rabbit, today. The creature’s fur is laid out across the grass, scrubbed clean of blood. The rest of it cooks over the fire, darkening with each passing minute.

A faint creak reaches Harry’s ears. He perks up, glancing at the door.

You hover just beyond the threshold, leaning nervously against the strong wooden beams. Harry relaxes and turns back around. He uses a long stick to poke at the charred logs; the kindling pops, and a few embers float into the air.

“What are you doing?” Your inquiry is soft, shaky.

His reply is curt: “Dinner.”

You approach warily, bare feet treading through the grass. When you spot the hunk of meat roasting over the flames, a feeble gasp tumbles from your lips.

“That’s barbaric.”

Harry rubs his palms against his thighs. “That’s sustenance.”

He stands, and you retreat. His attention then falls to your torso. You’ve covered yourself with the furs from his room; they hang just past the swell of your bottom, rendering you exceptionally vulnerable. Goosebumps crop up on your bare thighs, visible in the golden light of the sunset.

He hums. “You need clothes.”

You look down at the ground.

“That would be nice,” you whisper at last.

He merely grunts in response.

You follow him back inside, albeit from a distance. He strolls into his bedroom, pausing in front of a large trunk shoved against the far wall. Twin latches click open, and he begins rifling through its contents. After a few moments of silence, he produces a pale linen shirt and a pair of dark leather trousers.

“Here,” he says.

He dumps the fabric into your arms. You huff in surprise, instinctively relinquishing your hold on the pelts covering your body. They fall to the floor in a heap, exposing every inch of your skin.

An embarrassed squeak echoes in the back of your throat. Harry averts his eyes, staring pointedly up at the ceiling.

“Put those on,” he murmurs.

You nod quickly, sidestepping his broad frame. Now that you’re no longer in his line of sight, he lowers his gaze. Part of him wonders if he should say something else, but he decides against it. His legs carry him forward, and he disappears through the door.

~*~

You emerge from the bedroom a short while later, smoothing your hands over your hair in an attempt to look a bit more presentable. Harry resists the urge to tell you that here, in the mountains, appearances are hardly significant. He doesn’t own a mirror—such luxuries can only be afforded by the rich.

His clothes are too big on you, but that was to be expected. You’ve rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt and cuffed the brown leather trousers so that they cinch at your ankles. You’re anxious, incisors gnawing on your bottom lip and eyes darting around the clearing, like you’re waiting for a monster to burst forth from the bushes.

“Here.”

Harry cuts a sliver of meat from the cooked rabbit carcass resting on the spit. You sit down on a wide, round tree stump as he holds the food out in your direction.

At first, he thinks that you may vomit. Fortunately, though, he finds himself mistaken. After a long moment of deliberation, you accept the protein, bringing it up to your nose and sniffing it warily.

“It’s good,” he rasps, slicing off another strip for himself. “Rabbit—all white meat.”

He pops the piece into his mouth and chews. Slowly, you copy him, sighing happily as newfound flavour erupts over your tongue. You waste no time, then, impatiently shoving the rest of the meat into your mouth.

Harry’s lips twitch.

“Thank you,” you say after swallowing.

He simply nods. The two of you continue to eat in silence, grinding the remnants of supper between your teeth.

Eventually, your curiosity overwhelms you.

“What’s you name?” you ask, timid.

Harry sits back, wiping his dagger with the hem of his cotton shirt.

“Harry.”

“And how did you find me, Harry?”

A low chuckle resonates in the back of his throat.

“Wasn’t exactly hard. You were lying in a puddle of mud not far from here.”

Your lips part. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Three days.”

“Three days?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember any of it,” you say softly, playing with your fingers. You hesitate before elaborating: “But I—I remember seeing your face. I thought you were a bear.”

He recalls that day, how you lifted your head weakly and uttered the word before sinking back into unconsciousness. It led him to believe that you’d been attacked. Your side of the story, however, proves much more entertaining.

“Well,” he says, exhaling brusquely, “I’m not.”

You examine him with big, tender eyes. He shifts awkwardly under the intensity of your gaze.

“No,” you finally agree. “You’re not.”

He swallows and flips the conversation around.

“Who are you?”

You stiffen, caught off-guard.

“That is…hardly relevant.”

“Perhaps,” Harry says. “But it is fair.”

When you don’t reply, he continues.

“You’re a lady, aren’t you?” he guesses. “A duchess. Your gown was too pretty to have belonged to a commoner.”

“My gown?” You perk up at the mention of the dress. “Where is it?”

“Gone. I tore through it.”

You gasp. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“It was the only way to keep you alive,” he says simply. “Your corset was impeding your ability to breathe.”

“My corset…” you mutter, mostly to yourself. You grimace after registering the implications of his words, thoroughly scandalized. “So, you—you—?”

“Yes. I had to.”

“God,” you choke out, covering your mouth. “How dare you? You should have just—!”

“Let you die?”

His query successfully squashes your disapproval; your lips flatten into a thin line, and you say nothing else. Harry watches the creases in your forehead dwindle as you realise that he’s right. You fiddle with the collar of your shirt, turning to the side and regaining your composure.

“Thank you,” you finally murmur, trying to hide your face from his piercing stare, “for not letting me die.”

He grunts. “You’re welcome.”

Brief silence ensues. A light breeze blows through the clearing, tousling the curls atop Harry’s head. The gust is enough to extinguish the last few flames frolicking over the kindle, until glowing embers are all that remain.

“I am a lady,” you suddenly add, though you refuse to meet his eyes. “But not a duchess.”

Harry leans forward, prodding at the residual ash in the firepit.

“What were you doing in the woods?”

You tinker with the bandages wrapped around your injured wrist.

“I was to be wed,” you confess, peeking up at him. “But I—I could not bear to go through with it. One should not marry for duty, but rather—”

“For love?”

You pause at his intrusion, lips parted in surprise.

“Yes,” you breathe. “For love.”

Your gazes lock. He clears his throat, breaking the contact quickly.

“You ran away, then.”

It’s not a question. You nod, and he hums.

“What is it?” you ask, brows knitting together.

“Nothing. It’s just…I may find good fortune in this situation.”

“How so?”

He shrugs. “Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.”

Though he’s not looking at you, he can tell that you’ve recoiled.

“Please don’t,” you whisper.

He examines your face in the periphery of his vision. Your eyes glisten with unshed tears.

Just then, Magnus races out of the cabin, his tail wagging eagerly behind him. He trots over to you, sniffing your shoulder and releasing a high-pitched whine. You use one hand to swipe hastily at your cheeks; the other migrates to his head, tickling his floppy ears.

Harry watches the interaction unfold, completely stunned.

“He—he likes you.”

You glance over at him, still wary of his previous threat.

“I suppose he does,” you say quietly.

Magnus paws at your thighs. You direct your attention back to the keen bloodhound, pressing a feathery kiss to the tip of his wet nose.

Harry blinks a few times, trying to pinpoint the reason for his mutt’s newfound behaviour. At first, he wonders if his eyes are simply playing tricks on his brain. Yet with each flutter of his lids, the sight before him only seems to solidify.

“He doesn’t usually take well to strangers,” he mumbles.

When you don’t respond, he clenches his jaw tightly. Countless thoughts zoom through his head, spinning like wheels, tangling like thread.

Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.

Harry is not a sensible man.

~*~

The three of you retreat indoors when the last shards of sunlight fade from the sky. Magnus circles the large woven rug poised in front of the hearth. Eventually, he collapses onto the mat, his snout drooping over his front paws. You stretch your arms into the air and yawn gently.

Harry is the last one to enter the cabin; he shuts the door behind him.

“Thank you again for dinner,” you say lightly.

You spin around and nearly crash into the hard barrier of his chest. Reflexively, his hands fly up to grasp your biceps, steadying you. He peers down at your face in the darkness, his thoughtful gaze tracing the contours of your cheeks. Your eyes are wide, lips split apart as you suck in air.

“Sorry,” you say, frozen in place.

He only grunts, releasing your arms and stepping away.

Your attention lingers on him as he approaches a wide pile of furs stacked into the corner of the room. He’s been sleeping on the makeshift cot for the past three nights, and though his back is always sore the next morning, he has yet to find a better alternative.

“What are you…?” You hesitate, rethinking your question. “What is that?”

“My bed.”

“Do you…always sleep there?”

“No,” he rasps, lowering himself onto the thick pelts. “I prefer to sleep in my room.”

He shoots you a pointed look, and you frown when the realisation sinks in.

“We—we can switch,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “I don’t want to impose.”

“No.”

“I insist.” You try again.

“As do I.”

You clamp your mouth shut, unsure of how to respond. Magnus has already dozed off—his soft snores filter through the heavy silence hanging over your heads.

“He’s lovely,” you suddenly say, referring to the quiescent hound. “Well-trained, too.”

“I won’t take credit for that,” Harry grumbles, rubbing his palms against his thighs. “He was a palace dog.”

You blink. “W-what?”

“A palace dog,” he repeats. “I found him alone in the woods after a hunt. His leg was broken—the guards left him there to die.”

“That’s awful.”

He hums in agreement.

“You took him in, then,” you say. When he nods, you add, “It seems that you have a knack for nursing others back to health.”

He doesn’t reply.

“The hunts—” you start, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. “Do they…occur frequently?”

“Why do you ask?” Harry says. His shoulders wobble with a hollow chuckle. “Are you afraid of being caught?”

You inhale sharply, and he realises that yes, you are.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Subconsciously, his voice drops an octave, taking on a soothing quality. “They don’t come around often. And even if they did, I doubt that a single runaway lady would be of much concern.”

You blow out a relieved sigh, though the uneasy expression on your face never wanes.

“You’re probably right.”

A few hushed seconds draw out, during which neither of you speak. Your bare feet shuffle clumsily against the cold floor. You appear to be waiting for some sort of cue—a sound, a gesture, anything.

“Er—” Harry breaks the peace, cocking one eyebrow. “I sleep naked.”

“Oh.”

The exclamation is unbelievably breathless. Your throat bobs amidst a difficult swallow, and you totter back.

“Of course,” you stammer. “I’ll just—”

With a trembling hand, you motion toward the entrance of his bedroom.

He nods wordlessly.

“Right,” you mumble, retreating. “Goodnight, then…Bear.”

At that, he pauses. Your cheeks twitch with a feeble smile, but you don’t comment on the sweetness of the simple endearment.

Harry remains completely still as you scurry into his room. He sits there for a prolonged moment after the door shuts, trying to make sense of his thoughts. Your features have been stamped onto the backs of his eyelids, practically seared into the skin.

At last, warm air spills past his lips, and he allows himself to utter the low, relentless reply pulling at his tongue.

“Goodnight.”

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #uhhhh yeah so here u go. if this flops it never happened i guess #hunterry #harry writing