#like - the relief was profound and being a size where I could go toward any expression I wanted based on a change of clothes - was enough

[soulvomit]

stuff with gender anguish about not fitting in with today’s current gender constructions

From another post I made: I need to talk about 20th century gender norms at some point as a living breathing 20th century fossil and how different it was. To most straight people, being gender non conforming meant gay, trans was on the far end of the gay spectrum, and gay was associated with being socially Not Normal at a time when you had to be Normal to get a white collar job. (The whole Normalhood thing im gonna talk about is VERY connected to mid-late 20th century construction of the white middle class.) Apropos of gender specifically... I’m not sure how 90s/00s genderfluid/genderqueer map to NB, or whether they do. It’s a big reason I am weird about IDing as NB - because it seems to mean something else than my particular understanding of my identity as it was formed in the 1990s. (Another thing is my social world being more people over 45 at this point and also I’m in a hetero relationship.) Part of 90s GQ stuff was that you could identify as a man part time, a woman part time, you could contain multitudes. “Woman-identified person with a male side” was a legit identity within that, so was “man-identified person with a female side.” You could be one person in the streets and another in the sheets. You could be several people in the sheets, especially if you were aligned with kinky culture. (And for a long time... I was.) There was a greater sense in the 90s and early 00s in genderqueerness culture that you could be GQ for no other reason than wanting to be and it wasn’t assumed to be bundled with physical dysphoria or even desire to change your public social identity. Some spaces - like West Coast geek culture and goth culture - had enough flexibility baked in that we didn’t really need to go to LGBTQ culture to explore our identities, and there was a whole geek queer sensibility that was evolving alongside of the broader LGBTQ culture that was definitely its own... thing.  And while people *say* that NB doesn’t mean any one particular thing or any of these things, that’s not always the message I get when visible NBs on TV/in film are almost always at present one very specific image or “type” of person, and that doesn’t resemble me. NB representation on TV amounts to presenting NB as a third gender with very specific codified behaviors (androgynous AFAB person who binds and has body dysphoria).   The message I get is that whatever my experience is, is better described some other way. Also the discourse around relationships with NBs is that a relationship with an NB is necessarily a queer relationship yet having been in relationships in and out of LGBTQ culture, I’m not really sure how to distinguish “a queer relationship.” My relationship is non-traditional in lots of ways and we’re both gender non-conforming in lots of ways though it doesn’t parse to most people because it’s along the lines of stuff that shouldn’t have ever been gendered in the first place. What my partner does not ever question however is his actual gender identity.  The thing is, actually publicly identifying as anything but a woman would create weird problems in my life in terms of social dynamics, and other stuff, and probably an unpredictable series of ripple effects downstream. But - that... just means I’m closeted, right? And closeted doesn’t mean your identity doesn’t exist or isn’t as unreal as someone who isn’t? And what if - as a “shapeshifter” - my relationship to myself within my relationship *is* part of that shapeshifting?  One of the things is that I’m in a heterosexual relationship. My relationship *is* one of my few spots where I’m happy in my skin, let alone happy in the world and I have no complaints with how I’m perceived in this relationship, and part of it is that practically every assumption about my gender is true, or has been true at some point, including the fact that I’m fine with being seen as a woman in the context of my relationship.  It’s in other spaces besides the intimate, that gender stuff makes my skin crawl. My deep interior gender identity is “pixels floating in the ether, which can assume any shape or form.” My gender identity among other people in non sexual friend spaces is “friend.” My partner identifies as a cis het man. I don’t feel like my relationship has any special quality that’s different from queer relationships I’ve been in, other than identities people have. If my partner doesn’t feel our relationship is queer then I don’t feel it is, either... though it’s not exactly *traditional.*  I don’t feel like our relationship is different from our hetero neighbors’ relationships regardless of whatever history I have. I have no way of knowing what my ostensibly-female ostensibly-heterosexual neighbors’ interior identities really are, or what their history is. And because we’re monogamous, it just never ever comes up. Our social world is about half queer and half not so nothing has changed. After decades of only dating people who had LGBTQ identities, and having a particular social world, now I’m with a cis het man from that same social world and nothing really has changed about the shape of my life.   I’ve moved between different spaces my entire life, sometimes I perceived myself as a boy in a girl’s body, but sometimes I didn’t, and don’t. And gender is one of the spaces in which I feel like a chameleon. There seem to be a ton of gender expression based communities that disappeared since the 90s that either disappeared or were erased from discourse and that makes this weirder/harder to talk about.  Another thing is that a lot of the discourse around pronouns (if pushed I’ll say I’m she/they but I am literally comfortable in anything, depending upon context) makes me really uncomfortable. Even in LGBTQ spaces it makes me uncomfortable. There’s the me that my friends know, and some of my family knows, and it’s a big enough world to contain that part of me at this point. I would rather not put my identity under a microscope in any space that matters. It’s weird but I wish I could just be “they” in the work, creative, etc, spaces, without the loading of what “they” means. I wish it meant nothing about the people who love me, or who I love, or how I love, or how I live my life, besides what pronoun I use. But it doesn’t mean nothing. That is why I hope more cis identified people will actually identify as they in the public sphere. There are plenty of spaces in the public sphere that I don’t think should be gendered at ALL. My wanting to be a “they” is in some ways more about wanting public anonymity and having formed my sense of self - at a tender time - online, than about my gender identity. Which means I’d be potentially appropriating “they” from people for whom it IS a deep identity, and yet... haven’t I spent half of my blog talking about how I’m not exactly the gender identity I advertise?? Haven’t I spent a long time up to now advocating for “they?” Isn’t feeling like a they, evidence that I’m a they?  And the thing is, this is such a YMMV issue and the problem is that EVERYONE has competing access needs with EVERYONE ELSE. Anything one queer person wants or needs seems to oppress some other queer person, and it sucks. But sometimes I wonder if I even need to just recognize how cis het passing my life is and acknowledge my privilege. The thing is though at that point... is it how much oppression we’ve experienced or are currently experiencing, that alone makes our identity? That’s as silly an idea as saying I’m less of a Jew because I haven’t personally experienced a hate crime. And yes there’s a lot to shared oppression experiences forming group identities, but I’m not talking about group identity. I’m talking about personal feelings of identity.

[whatifxwereyou]

Ashes Chapter 4: Stars

Pairing: Liu Kang x Reader

Is this progress? You two talk and you don't want to murder each other. Probably progress. Probably. Something fishy is definitely going on.

A/N: Hope you are all doing well! This is more fluffy angst than it is angry angst. But I mean, just wait until the next chapter. I'll make up for it! Hahaha.

First Chapter << Previous Chapter Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

“You forgot your tea.” The woman called to you, and you turned and offered a forced smile that fell quickly. You were handed your teacup and turned to look through the trees. Liu Kang had disappeared within them.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, dear.” The woman sipped her tea next to you. You had to get to work but your heart was heavy. “Trouble in paradise?”

You choked on your tea.

“Oh?” You cleared your throat and tilted your head inquisitively. The woman gestured to where Liu Kang had disappeared but had a knowing smile on her face. “Oh, no. No, no, no we aren’t… I… just no. He’s having a hard day is all. A hard week.” The woman seemed genuinely surprised.

“I’m sorry for assuming but I sensed that your spirits were intertwined. It was a natural assumption to guess that the two of you were together.”

Oh, good.

“We used to be close.” You felt suddenly exhausted and as if you could cry. The bag on your back was heavy with the weight of Kung Lao and your heart was heavy with the pain of Liu Kang. “I’m sorry for this. He just lost his brother and it’s been difficult. He’s not usually like this. I promise. He’s a good man.”

“Grief is one of the most difficult hardships we deal with. I understand. And I sense that the journey ahead of him will not be an easy one.”

“Yeah. He’s not alone though. I’ll make sure he’s okay.” You would. Even if he did nothing but yell and push, you would at least make sure he was okay. Attraction or not, it was the least you could do. Kung Lao would have wanted you to.

“You must be careful too. I sense great loss around you and great conflict ahead of you.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised.”

“Oh?”

“I was dating his brother.”

“Ah, that explains at least part of it.” The woman placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. You stood there for a time. You blinked back tears and hoped they went unnoticed but this woman seemed wise and observant. She reminded you of a nicer and less godly Raiden. “It’s a difficult three-day hike through the mountains to reach Nightwolf.” The woman walked before you and offered you a folded-up map and a small coin-sized wolf charm. She cupped her hands around yours. “You will need this to prove that you are worthy to see him.”

“Are you sure? I… I’m happy to explain to you what we’re doing here.” You were surprised. You didn’t know what unspoken trial you’d passed but you were grateful to have passed it. At least one thing was going right.

“No need. I can sense a great many things, dear, and you, without question, are worthy to seek out Nightwolf. Your soul burns radiantly despite the shadow hanging over it.”

You stuttered because you didn’t know what that meant. “Thank you. I’m… we’re grateful.”

“We will provide you both with anything you might need for your trip. When you find Nightwolf then show him this charm. He will know that you are worthy of being seen. I hope that whatever it is you are seeking from him he can provide.”

“Thank you. I really can’t express how grateful I am.”

“You don’t have to, dear. I can tell.” The woman’s voice was soft. “Follow me.” You did as you were asked and followed the woman through the village. A small cabin had been setup for you and Liu. It was quaint but there were two beds and enough space for you to rest for the night out of the elements. That was all you needed and more than you deserved, you thought. You stayed in the cabin after the woman bid you farewell and good luck. You hadn’t even introduced yourselves but your meeting had still been profound.

For some time after, you sat on the bed and held your bag, wondering what to do. Your heart was heavy and so you meditated and prayed for Liu Kang to find peace and for Kung Lao to forgive you. The last one was selfish, but you felt incredibly guilty and there was no easing it. He would have eased your guilt.

Sleep wasn’t coming. You were too worried about Liu getting himself lost in the woods in his anger.

You had no right to worry about him. He’d gotten by plenty fine without you his whole life. You shouldn’t have worried so much but you couldn’t help it. It was natural to fixate on the few things you had control of when the rest of it was so wildly out of your hands.

You left the cabin. Night had fallen and there were only a handful of other people outside. You wrapped the blanket you’d bought around your shoulders and walked around the village until you found a clearing in the trees where you could sit and watch the stars. The sky was beautiful. So many of the lights in the sky reminded you of home but they were also so different. It took you awhile to find your favorite constellations which distracted you for a time.

You felt him before you heard him. The fiery spirit of Liu Kang. He sat next to you. You’d always been able to sense him. Earlier, he’d been bright with rage and now he was a dull roar but by no means at peace. He said nothing but sat watching the stars next to you. You’d done this before years in the past. Sat on dangerous ledges and watched the sky in silence.

It had been comforting then. It was less so now. He put you on edge. Between nerves and attraction, your brain had no idea how to process him anymore.

“I’m sorry.” He broke the silence, and you turned your eyes away from the stars but not toward him. “I apologized to everyone I was rude to, but I figured that I would save the most important apology I had to make for last.” You could hear a smile on his face but also felt how weary he was. Carrying that kind of anger and guilt took a toll. You would know.

“It’s okay.” You had forgiven him hours ago. Honestly, you’d mostly been worried for him. “Believe it or not, I get it.”

“Do you?”

You locked eyes with him and then turned away as you felt the nerves rise in your throat again. He hadn’t made you this nervous in years and there were a thousand reasons why. “Yeah. I go through moments where the world is too much noise and things seem impossibly frustrating. Moments where I can’t avoid being angry no matter how much I don’t want to be.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You turned your eyes back to the stars, but it was hard to think about him losing control like that. It hurt to think about yourself like that too. He scooted a little closer to you and his knee touched just against yours. There had been nights where you’d sat with him after fighting with Kung Lao and he’d held your hand. And briefly, you felt that comfort and that spark that he always ignited, but you stomped it out quickly.

“I miss my brother. And I miss you.” He sighed as if it annoyed him to say. “But being around you makes it more real.” You had a feeling. He had the same effect on you.

“I’m sorry.” You managed to whisper but you thought your voice sounded rather pathetic, broken and as though you were desperate to get the words out without tears.

“It’s not your fault. I need to stop acting like it is. You don’t seem to blame me.”

“I miss him too. And I miss you. I miss a lot of things.” You sniffled away the upset that had come with realizing just how much harder you made it on Liu Kang. Sleeping with him had certainly not helped either. Maybe it had provided temporary relief, but it had definitely worked a lot of old hurt feelings into the mix that you hadn’t needed. “It doesn’t feel real sometimes. I brought his little jade thing with me as a reminder. So I won’t keep expecting to find him waiting for me when we get back.”

“Y/N?” Liu turned to face you. “If he were alive then it wouldn’t be me on this journey with you. It would be him.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” He was and you knew it. You hadn’t been on a trip with Liu Kang alone since before you’d started dating Kung Lao. “He’d never liked the idea of me going on trips with you alone. Always insisted on coming with us or replacing you when Raiden suggested it.”

“Oh?” Liu seemed genuinely surprised and you turned to face him.

“Yeah. I asked him why once and he never gave me a straight answer. You know how he was with that kind of stuff. It was like pulling teeth.” You missed your bag. It had become a security blanket in Liu Kang’s presence. “Now I’ll never know the reason. There’s so many things that I’ll never know.” You pulled the blanket a little tighter. Liu Kang was deep in thought and just staring at you and so you let him and avoided his eyes.

“Did you ever tell him?” He was hesitant to ask. Probably afraid you’d flee again. You snapped your gaze up to his in surprise. “About before you two were together.”

“What? No! No, god no.” You laughed awkwardly. “I didn’t want to cause any trouble between the two of you. He could be kind of jealous sometimes.” You liked those memories. It had never been a bad kind of jealousy. It had been cute and he’d always denied until after you’d fought about it and wound up rolling around together in bed. “Did you tell him?”

“I almost did once, but no. We’d been arguing and I almost let it out just to spite him.”

You inhaled sharply. That would have been a mess. “Yikes. Do you remember what you’d been fighting about?”

“It was something stupid. I don’t remember.” Liu averted his eyes. Was it something stupid? Or did he not remember? He was lying but you wouldn’t argue with him. You were in no place to push each other’s boundaries right now. This was the first real civil conversation you’d had while sober since Kung Lao died. “I just remember thinking about the trouble it would have caused you, so I held my tongue.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I knew you would.”

“Liu?” You wanted to apologize, and your gaze caught the scrape on his arm, left untended.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N.” He inhaled sharply as you touched the scrape, far more than he should have for such a small wound, as if your touch burned him.

“I’m worried about you.”

“Not ready to talk about that. Still… processing.” At least he hadn’t snapped at you. You lifted his arm and he scooted closer as if eager for your touch. “It’s fine. Didn’t even break the skin really.”

“Thank you for helping me back there.”

“I promised him that I would keep you safe.” He assured you and you rolled your eyes at him. He laughed which was short lived but also a wonderful sound. You had never needed him or Kung Lao to keep you safe. It had never stopped them from wanting to do just that. You would let him. If it made him feel better, then that was what mattered.

“That woman gave me directions and a charm to present to Nightwolf. We can leave in the morning but it’s a long hike. Three days, she said. We should rest.”

“I don’t think I can. I’m going to stay outside a bit longer.” Liu gestured to the stars. You’d both found peace in the sky in the past, both separately and together. Some things never changed, you guessed. You stood up and made to leave him on his own. He didn’t want you there and you knew that. So you would go back to the bed and to what little you had left of Kung Lao.

“Goodnight, Liu Kang.” You bowed politely but were surprised when he grabbed your hand. His thumb carefully brushed over the back of your knuckles. Your throat suddenly felt too full to talk. This was familiar. More familiar than it should have been. He’d stopped you that night too. He’d asked you to stay a bit longer with him. You had been drunk but had melted just the same and you were melting now.

“Don’t go just yet, Y/N.” He didn’t look up at you but he held your hand firmly. You considered that it was maybe a bad idea but sat down with him again anyway. He let go of your hand and then you sat side by side and watched the stars in silence. It wasn’t awkward, finally. It wasn’t long before you couldn’t keep your eyes open and had fallen asleep sitting up.

Next Chapter >>

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Chapter 14 (Witcher of the Night)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 13.1 (PREVIOUS CHAPTER)

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: NSFW. 18+ Geralt tried his best to resist. With Destiny sitting on her throne, utterly anticipating for how the witcher would react to your rut. She won the game this time because Geralt of Rivia was a lone man who couldn't say no to a woman who was thirsty for what the Djinn has held her in, especially when this woman was you.

Warnings: Size kink? Cockwarming? Insecure reader. Unprotected sex but no worries because it's Geralt? The long awaited smut. Smol tittie reader? (Respect to the big tittie committee, please do donate some to us!) Frustrated Geralt and reader. Wet Geralt? He's in the tub okay! 😂💕 Loss of virginity. NSFW. 18+. Explicit words. They’re both in a rut on this one. This is basically just smut before the plot shifts.

Words: 7.8k

A/N: STARTED FROM THE BOTTOM NOW WE HERE 😎 GET WRECKED, MIDGET! Also, SCREAM FOR ME, BB'S! I know y'all are waiting for this moment to shine! xD I've realized that the next smut after this is more explicit than Chapter 14. So, get ready for that as well. Most GIF’s are from (demivampirew) 💕

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi 

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Geralt's touches nearly pacified the scathing heat surging through your body. Your head that was nuzzling in between his neck helps soothe the pain. Howbeit, with Geralt; he was feeling rather tormented especially when the simple intimacy was winding the witcher up in a very hellish way.

The tip of your nose brushing against that part of his neck that had him turning rigid was driving him insane. Just your nose perched in the curvatures of his neck made the tent even more bigger, thoroughly agrestal and waiting to be unshackled from its pound.

Your satisfied sighs, breath that brushed and tickled his skin had received a deep timbre of warning from the man whom you were precariously desiring for. The way your breath touched his skin made his jaw clench so tight as he brought you up stairs, surrounding you in his rugged arms that you also wanted to kiss, wondering how strong it looks like once he was disrobed.

You never had seen Geralt in the raw. The way his clothes strains on top of his Herculean body was enough vision that he was utterly jacked; shredded and a man whom made your reticence plummet down the sewers like it has never been there before, the sexual longing and curiosity filling the void of lechery that has been furtively hidden and was now growing in absolute masses because of how one man can ruin that sobriety you have been holding dear.

When you were gently dropped down to your feet, torrid kisses and passionate touches were expected; but the way he'd stepped away to tell you that you needed a bath to take the heat away had your head turning hotter from how he wasn't dealing with your ache just like the way you wanted him to.

It was better if he joined, you asked him that but his silence was enough of an answer that he wouldn't despite of how you've noticed the wolf that rested in between his leather pants, waiting to be released from its cage and find relief in between that hollow cave you've been dying to be visited at.

"Midget..." the white haired witcher was belligerent as he seethed, giving you a frown because of how uncooperative you were becoming; turning hostile as much as you can get.

Geralt took a step closer, his actions appearing to be quite the contrary of his words when he'd tried to grab onto the hem of your sweater before you immediately jerked away; maddened for your wishes to be dismissed like he wasn't feeling the same way. You were desperate now. You understood and knew what relief that the pain needed to take.

"Stop touching me! I'm not going to undress myself in front of you, Geralt! I want you! Not a bath!" you loudly snapped, voice definitely ear-piercing by how you wanted to be followed; shaking the tranquil night away from your antagonism.

The way you've jerked away from him had dropped down more frustration to himself and to you as well. You've wanted nothing but to be in his arms, kissing him, touching anywhere you haven't touched, exploring the deepest depths of him that you haven't discovered. Geralt lowly groaned, his mouth in a tight lour that simply tells you he was utmost pissed-off from your resistance.

"Cease the mulish act even just for tonight!" he barked rather furiously, teeth gritted together with his eyebrows tightly curved in a way that alarmed you that he seemed to also be in pain; struggling with the appetite he seemed to be famished with, the cravings he desired standing before him whom also had the same wishes in her mind.

"Oh! now, I'm the one stubborn?! Why don't you do it for yourself too, Mr. stubborn-pants!? Why don’t you cease the mulish act even just for tonight, huh?!" you sent a snark, glaring back at the infuriated witcher. His eyes were burning in aggravation and midnight, dilated in a process of telling you he was in mania. Carnal manias. Geralt emitted a feral growl; in distress for himself, what was happening to him and also to your inflexible decisions.

"---and also cease the fucking crabbiness!" he snarled out loud.

The heat stirring below your belly wasn't helping his exasperation towards the situation at hand. His enraged demeanor stirring a strong prurient desire that sat between your legs, making you cross them together as you've continued your narks; trying to get under his skin. Literally or figuratively.

Your nose was flaring and so was his, emotions riling up your mind as you truthfully snapped the grudging feelings out in the open; freely for Geralt to hear and react upon.

"Stop caring like you're actually fond of me when you're not!"

"You're in pain!" the white haired witcher was quick to bark, hands on his sides and tightening them into tight fists as he mindlessly raked your ungraceful form; dilated pupils and your legs crossed like the heat was starting to pool down your pants. You were aroused alright.

Hence, Geralt knew that, sensed that. He could smell you from afar and the scent that naturally dripped from you was far more better than the Lemon and Peony he'd been thoroughly accustomed with.

It was heating him up; a lot more than he ever felt, if that was even possible.

You've given him a black look, teeth clenched together as you were hopping mad. The words that came out of your mouth seeming to be a sudden slip of your tongue.

"It's all your genie's fault and I'm blaming the Djinn again for even letting me fall for you hard because apparently, in your oh-so-silent witcher perspective; all that I’m feeling had magical or supernatural explanations! Thank you for letting me realize that, sir! I really needed that subtle rejection!"

The witcher blinked, his stance thoroughly livid. Back tense and piping warm as his heated gaze was solely on your enraged, elfin self. Your candor stirring and kindling with the fire that was sipping through his veins, wanting nothing but to strafe your lips with passionate kisses he'd fantasized about, exploring fascinating chasms and cavities that has never been traversed yet.

You were hot under the collar, completely seething as you've given him the most nasty lour you could. Still, being pigheaded from what you wanted, trying to furiously explain to him that you needed a different kind of relief that involved intercourse and not a lame bath. He couldn't help but try to soothe his displeasure by fluttering his amber eyes shut, controlled breathing slipping through his flaring nose as he lowly seethed.

"You need to calm down!---Stop shouting."

Your indignant self was awakening something barbarous within him, violently rousing the thirst that has been there from the start and he was certain that if you push harder, he may never be able to control.

Not anymore.

Severe profanities tripped out of your tongue, the profound sensations and feelings consuming you too much; more so difficult to handle as the clock ticks by with Geralt who stood maddened and raging with such desire that he appeared to be in denial about. His glowing amber eyes piercing through the piety of your soul, begging nothing but to corrupt you in any way despite of his refusal to accept.

"Don't go all alpha-shit on me, Geralt! I'm shouting because I'm in pain! I'm fucking frustrated, sad, weirdly thrilled, very infuriated because of your foolishness and I don't even know the fuck why!"

Your sudden impiety had the witcher cocking his head to the side, feeling his leather pants grow tighter by how you've spat those words with such a harsh tone when he shouldn't be feeling things by being cursed back by a midget who he'd seen to be vindicated and a little bit demented for his sanity.

"I know you're in pain!" Geralt fumed, heavily swallowing the discomfort from his thrilled, angered excitement for what was about to come.

You've growled, sounding rather a bit dinky for the latter like a kitten who was livid and trying to scratch a big dog. If you were trying to be intimidating, then it was totally a failure because it only got him more charmed than he ever was before.

"You don't know that, Geralt! Because, it's not happening to you!"

He angrily shook his head, heavily marching to where you stood till he was looming before you like a lion to its prey, utterly intimidating as his gaze was smoldering your core. The dampness of your panties making you wary of Geralt's effect on you when he isn't even doing anything but be mad. It was nutty to even feel aroused from his lambasting; getting thrilled and excited by his livid state? You were probably going bonkers.

"It is!" the enraged, white haired witcher roared, peering down at you as your feet ceaselessly stepped backwards till your spine hit a wooden; storage cabinet that was a lot higher than you, he trapped you in between his presence and the cabinet. Nonetheless, still galvanized for his fit of pique.

You were spitting false assumptions to his face because you never know what forbidding and rapturous sensations you were giving him. Hence, it was like you both were sharing each other's anger and frustrations. Your breath hitched when his abrasive, thick fingers caught your hips as he thoroughly hunched down to your level. The haze in his Aurum eyes making you catch a breath as a spark of flame utterly triggered the enthusiasm.

"I can feel what you feel and it's driving me fucking insane!"

Before you even know it, his rough padded fingers brushed onto your heated skin; oblivious of his ardent fingers that has slipped under your sweater, swiftly hauling you on top of the cabinet with ease as it felt a loud thud from his abrupt, hurried gestures.

"Geralt!" you loudly shrieked when he carried you; eyes bulging out of its eye sockets, not due to fear but utmost jubilant that you were ceasing yourself from grinning back at the glaring witcher because your carnal self was loving where the crossness was heading. Yet, you still chose to kindle with the raging fire that he had in him, stirring the witcher up more than you could ever do; bringing it out of him for you to succeed.

"That's bullshit! What are we? soulmates? a freakin' soulmate AU? Feeling what I feel like our hearts are connected? Some fantasy fanfic where you magically become my destiny when I somehow teleported in your world?!"

You were now in-level with him; close enough, but he still had the leverage to look down on your face. The gaze in his eyes intensified, to the point that it was telling you how much he wanted to ravish you in so many ways.

With the way how you were smart mouthing him and the desperation in your sentences was working him up more than how those women in the brothels do. Just one word from you could wind him up in sinful ways.

Geralt tightly kept his pretty mouth shut, his gaze too penetrating as you could feel your heat twitching and moist to the point that you were soaking in ways you've never known it would despite of how you've not used your fingers in this one. Which explains how Geralt's presence was too overwhelming for a midget's heart and vagina.

Your words were obviously a conflict to how you've uncorked the lock of your legs, slightly unfastening them open till Geralt took a brooding step close to fill in the gap. The proximity rather fatal for your palpitating heart and raging fire that surrounded you both.

His fingers teased and witlessly glided along your imperfectly pouched belly, making you softly gasp from his touches as you've both shared heaving breaths. Your eyes connected with his in a way that got you wanting to hyperventilate from the choking tension you both have given to each other. You couldn't help yourself but shiver from Geralt's languid thumbs that brushed along the tubby curvatures of your waist; along the parts that has given you self-doubt because it was a body flaw that was quite difficult to erase.

Your mind wasn't thinking straight. It was in a whirlwind that no any other man could give with only his eyes staring straight into your soul. Tantalizing, wild and unchaste. The small stumble of words was enough to give Geralt the upper hand, knowing that only one touch was enough to make you feel like jello as he stood in between those unlatched legs of yours, waiting to be taken in any way that won't make you form any coherent words nor make you remember your own name.

"Stop...stop staring at me like that. You don't even like me that deep; for you to know what I'm feeling right now,"

You've avoided looking at him in the eye, your abashed state still passing through every now and then because it was what makes you, yourself. The timorous tone of your voice sounded titillating in the witcher's perspective as it stirred him up even more, wanting and urgently waiting to be free from the leather constrains that his pants locked him in.

His tender, teasing touches heightened your senses as it was the only thing you focus on as it brushed against your skin like a pencil to its paper, light and delicate. You were heedless of his other hand that moved under your sweater, his rough thumb and index finger giving you a spark of tingles when he'd lightly held your chin, ushering you to stare into his glowing amber eyes that captured your heart since the night he saved you.

The dimples of his nose caressed your plump cheeks, nuzzling the side of your face that gave such delectation of shivers through your spine; his breath was warm and impending as it fanned your ear, turning your body stiff as he gravelly whispered so closely to your ear.

"You don't get to decide nor tell me that you know what I'm feeling when you're uncertain of the verity," he apprised, taking a brief pause as you could feel the tickling tip of Geralt's nose nestling between the back of your ear, ponderously breathing in your scent that makes him feel like he was in paradise.

You could feel your heart thumping out of your chest, the hurried heartbeat of your heart ringing in your ears as it felt like molten lava pouring down on you both when Geralt seem to finally give in to your wishes.

He was a man, an amorous one, indeed. Hence, a tiny woman whom he was smitten with? Begging for a nooky? Well, why would he even be too obstinate to reject such bliss?

Your eyes immediately fluttered closed, teeth biting the insides of your cheeks as you were utterly thrilled. The voices who had been whispering inside your head has died down from the moment you both have shared the peeve out of the boiling kettle. Breathing turned erratic, thoughts quickly moving down south as Geralt heavily breathed against your ear.

You knew you were done for when he'd fondled with the hem of your sweater; those thick, sleek fingers of his, slithering higher and higher till you could never think straight; towards a place no one has ever did just yet and you were gladly letting him explore you in places you have never been touched.

His name clouded inside your head like a bell ringing from a church. Geralt's comforting warmth seething through your senses as you've felt him plant one soft kiss on the back of your ear, igniting a sensual whimper out of you that got him heavily breathing. The witcher's mind pooling with debauched thoughts for you.

And so, he let the palpable sensations control him for once; maybe not once, if he was given the chance again, letting his emotions get the best of him as he finally let go and like a warning, he rasped; "---you are asking a lot from me that not any other person could seek for a witcher,"

"---Yet, here I am; standing before you, succumbing to your wishes and trying to think of ways to help you overcome your struggles despite of knowing the repercussions, midget."

Based on how he'd let his gorgeous head fall in between the crevice of your neck, tempestuously giving your skin starved, open mouth kisses; those adorable fangs you've adored having its way as it was giving your neck a delicate bite every once in a while, you knew you were in for a delightful night.

The Djinny-Djinn-Djinn would surely be worth it.

Warm water pooled just below the lower parts of your bodies. Bare bodies submerged beneath till it stopped before your chests. Awning whatever it is that was needed to be sheltered. The abrupt reserved demeanor dawning on you every now and then when you were reminded why you've acted the way you were before, like a desperate animal that was needed breeding. But, the pain that stung in your chest was enough reminder that it was a needed reason for Geralt to just do it.

You have covertly imagined how Geralt would be crafted. Heedful to be expecting a brobdingnagian man molded like one of Michael Angelo's fine pieces or a painting made by Vincent Vann Gogh; utterly a prepossessing sight which needed to be reminded for yourself that you still needed to breathe.

Geralt of Rivia's birthday suit could wholly take a woman or man's breath away; you were gawking and he'd caught your sly peepers, gaping at the lofty man who was undressing while you sat in the end of the tub has got him humming in interest.

The vision of himself who was stripping his clothes off brought you in hell and also in heaven. He had his back turned away as he peeled his black tunic off him in one go; the gesture sucking all of your breath in your lungs, giving you a harsh whiplash when you've seen his wide shoulders and his sinewy upper body in the flesh, your heat pulsing with just the image of the witcher who was shedding his clothes off in idle; the zeal growing much more impatient as minutes pass by.

You were going to get wrecked tonight.

Your faint clearing of your throat resonated in the room when you've seen his fingers move through the front of his pantaloons, never wanting to snap your head away because seeing him strip fascinates you in so many ways; marveling at the sight of his chiseled, stark naked form. Your alter ego asking God how he was perfectly imperfect with those disfigurements that has wallowed up his fiborous back.

It was a wide-reaching scar; like a Megalodon shark has sunk its teeth along his shoulders and ribs. The mark made you give him another once over before he pulled his pants down straight off, making you snap your head away due to the blush that wanted to burn your face. Your fingers itched, in a way that it was pleading for you to brush your soft fingers against the scars that obviously appeared to be painful. You couldn't help but gnaw on your lower lip because of the despairing feeling that suddenly crept up your chest from how he was thoroughly scarred, imagining what happened to the witcher when he had it.

You were weak-kneed. The batter of bath water slightly swaying you when he'd finally walked in the tub. But, your shyness was simply manhandled by the witcher himself when you've heard him hum in amusement, a small grin curving his luscious lips when you seemed to be stilled from hearing him sitting beside you. Those buff arms on either side as you could feel his ardent gaze on you, forbearing your abrupt timidness that you were slowly trying to process the idea that he was bathing together with you, thoroughly stark naked as you were also the same way. 

Geralt was silently hoping you weren't thinking about leaving him alone after all of that, bearing with his raging boner has been quite a torture.

It took minutes after before he literally hauled you over his thick, slightly unlatched, brawny legs. You were tormenting him in ways he could never imagine as his hardened girth twitched under the warm water. There was a bashful squeal that erupted out of you when you were manhandled by the strong witcher, sitting you in front of him as you were greeted with his hirsute chest that gave your cunt a thump. He was also welcomed by your perky, right-sized breasts and a glowing cicatrix with the image of his medallion that rested in between the valley of your chest; while his, shone beneath the moonlight seeping through the opened windows.

Your diffident self was immediately forgotten with just one touch of Geralt's fingers brushing over your mark. The scorching heat now seemed to be blistering with one thing in both of your minds.

Coition.

"Thought you had other ways to help me?" you skittishly questioned in between torrid, passionate kisses you were sharing with him. Those calloused fingers of his rested and raked behind your nape, eager fingers slipping through your locks as yours fell on his thatch of hair on his prominent, wide chest; tenderly caressing over the medallion he wore.

Only a low, hoarse and short grunt was said. The way his mouth moved and brushed along the soft pillows of your lips was utterly enticing, perfectly molding against yours in a fervid way. His warm, febrile tongue slipping inside your mouth of its own volition; making you catch your breath as he'd lapped your stilled tongue. His vigor seeming to be over the top as you tried leveling with his fervor as well.

His torrid kisses was enough to make you forget your own name. What more if he was finally pummeling inside of you?

"I do." Geralt gruffly murmured, his succulent lips trailing from your side of your lips before you've took his face in between your palms, urging his vermillion to give you more passionate kisses that you were greedy for.

He'd willingly gave you another, his lips falling in between yours as you've given him another scalding smooch that unconsciously made you mewl when you've felt the tip of his tongue brushing against your lips and teeth. An unconscious nibble of his lower lip got the witcher growling beneath his chest, his other hand tightening around your hip while the one raking behind your hair, pushing your face further to his. Those simple touches making you struggle for breath; momentarily breaking away to look into those diluted, darkened amber eyes.

"Doesn't seem like it, Rivia. You're falling for the bard's suggestion," you grinned like a Cheshire cat, heaving breaths as you sat on his lap. Your forehead delicately falling on his temple when you've licked your swollen vermillion from all the bites it took.

His hot breath fanned your lips, nails tenderly scratching along the skin of your nape as he ceased his ministrations to admire the small, naked woman in his arms. He never imagined for this to happen so quick; like it was even meant to be because of how right it felt. Geralt was sure you'd be all faint-hearted once the effects of your scar dies down; if it ever would. Then, you were back with your abashed self; entirely blushing to even realize that he had finally bed you all night.

As long as you could remember everything. He was alright.

Your heart was palpitating; feeling overwrought for the words that wants to be frankly said. You beseeched, "I also thought---you...you didn't want me?---"

You've fidgeted with the medallion that rested upon his chest, his hand on your hips leaving to take your chin to cease you from saying anything further as he slightly moved his face away from yours. His features soft and understanding, "I didn't say that. Never. " pause. "---you are certainly unaware of how much I want you, midget. Too much that it's frightening and utmost perilous,"

Those lips of his that you've been kissing simply lifted into a small beam, making your heart flutter and feel ways that you could never fathom. You carry a torch for those scars that laid upon his face. Some were miniscule, difficult to notice unless you were staring up close and some were deep that probably held some menacing experiences.

Your delicate fingers glided down the pockmark he had that rested on the side of his ribs. The wonders in your head being filled by the experience your hand can get. Geralt let you, his scars never fazing him nor you as well. Just a touch for your curiosity to be quenched.

You've heard him inhale a deep breath, the simple action making his chest vibrate beneath your fingers as another hum slipped past through. Both hands grabbed onto your hip, ushering you closer to him in a proximity that weakened your legs. His hardened cock; feeling it veiny, protruding and thick, resting in between your damp folds that made your breath hitch as you've finally felt how he was gifted within his pantaloons.

Hence, it made you bite the insides of your cheeks. A question inside your mind as to how it would fit inside your damn vagina.

Geralt noticed you stuck in a daydream that he ought to withdraw yourself from, you've felt his breath glazing along your collarbone, languidly puckering his pillowy lips along your skin with every pass of his breath. The honeyed sound that leaves his lips whenever he pecked, sending jolts of heat up your spine as he took his wondrous time to worship the body you somehow have been insecure about.

He knew your low self-esteem; probably even have his own issues as well so that was why he could understand. If he would focus on how you've tried covering yourself up when he firstly sat in the tub, those eyes of yours demanding for him to not be ashamed of what sat in front of him. Geralt instantly knew and the white haired witcher planned to glorify all night, if you'd let him.

"That scent. Hmm. Your tangy scent makes me forget of what and who I really am," the latter roughly whispered, his lips on your skin; savoring your salty, sugary and rich taste against his tongue as he brushed his lips through the depths of your chest, ending in that glowing Cicatrix that made you audibly gasp before his sweet lips.

"Geralt---" you salaciously and softly whimpered, his name sounding raunchy when you did so. Irritable pain punctured through the symbol, like a spear being stabbed through your chest for a hundred times with no explanations why it was making you suffer like this, "The pain---It's not helping---It's just turning worse---I can't take it anymore,"

As the pain tripled, Geralt halted his smooth kisses that he'd wanted to give on the mount of your perky breasts. Your eyes demanding for him to satiate each other's cravings, aggressively, passionately or whatever could quench the lust. You were begging.

"Take me," you've raised your hands and grabbed onto the side of his pretty, white head. Peepers dazed and overflowing with obscurity, "---Claim me. Over and over, I don't care. Just take the heat and pain away,"

Geralt of Rivia was no angel nor any knight that honored the dignity of one deprived woman. He was a hunger-stricken man who yearned for all of what you could offer and if he had the chance to honor your chastity to be corrupted by the witcher himself; he wholeheartedly would.

That was what he would just do. Corrupt you in so many ways till his hunger would be sated. But, he doubted it would be slaked.

From the moment you were in pain and also pleading to be ravished, it didn't take him two darn seconds to continue his onslaught on peppering your breasts with searing kisses that gave you a shiver, his wet tongue hiking down a trail around your areolas before taking your nub in his god-forsaken mouth, suckling on your nipples like a starving man.

"U-Ugh, shit." you've quietly moaned in the back of your throat as you’ve taken a sharp intake of breath, utterly lewd for anyone to hear as you held onto Geralt's wide, muscular shoulders; giving them a gentle squeeze while your eyes fluttered in exstacy. The image of him who suckled your teat was utmost impure for your once chastised thoughts.

A moaning mess was what you've become, the slight hitches of your mouth whenever he'd licked your nub after his rough suckling made his stone hard girth twitch beneath you. One shift of your hips was enough for the witcher to be grumbling a grunt from the action that has made his cock feel your moistened heat which started to grind onto him mindlessly.

"Geralt," you've whined in the back of your throat as your hips moved in its own accord, his thick girth that rested in between your cunt being rubbed by its own and you were stroking in a way that could get the little nub finding the release it wanted.

He was sucking through your neck, making you whimper as his thick, calloused fingers went straight to knead at your teat that needed attention, his hands seeming to be larger than your breasts but he certainly didn't mind as he was loving the feeling of them that rested beneath his palms. Geralt lowly grunted beneath your ear, sucking on a spot that got you sighing as another lewd plaint slipped between your lips, mouth slightly opening. The coil starting to build up in between your heat.

His fingers ceased you from continuing so, making you whine in complaint as you were already feeling an orgasm approaching. Though, he may want you gushing around his girth and not through bathwater or humping him in the middle of the tub.

The hunk of a witcher passionately kissed you one more time, fervently devouring your lips like he would chump them for his sate. You weakly moaned in between his assaulting lips, tightly shutting your eyes closed as you feel euphoria surround yourselves by whatever natural deed that was happening from the both of you. 

He grabbed onto the base of his reddened, swollen cock; lining the bulbous head on your seeping entrance. The water from the bath and your position would probably help you for your first time. Geralt went on in kissing you, never breaking apart as he'd dragged his leaking tip to your wet mound and throbbing clit, flicking his tongue inside of your mouth as he'd lowly hummed out of his chest, vibrating your breasts as it was closely rested together with his, sending ripples through your soul.

His girth pressed along the insides of your heated cunt before ceasing on your entrance, it took only one tight grope of Geralt's hair for him to deeply groan, letting him take control and delve inside, his size ginormous filling every depth and fissure that ignited a kittenish moan which certainly made him whimper once he was abnormally tightly snuggled inside.

Geralt felt like he was over the moon; your grip bringing himself into a delirium that made his mind shake, choking in his own breath when all he could ever think of was you, alone. Y/N. His midget. The way your mouth tasted. Your warmth. A solace that only you could give. More, he wanted and more of you he would take.

You hold him like a vice; your mound choking his girth from how delightful you felt around him. The idea of being sexually connected with Geralt in this way was totally a different feeling, bringing you in rhapsodies of pleasure that you didn't know existed in your life.

He was fully sheathed inside before you even know it. Too distracted by his kisses that you don't feel any ache from being filled to the brim; expecting the unexpected from that experience. His hardened cock that has slithered inside you felt uncomfortable at first, though it seemed to have no problem with slipping in because you were too aroused and wet. Good. Geralt didn't want you feeling anymore pain and only hoped for your pleasure.

You've took your time to adjust, wiggling your hips every now and then; making you slightly wince because it had a pinch of ache when you tried to move. So much for feeling no pain. Your squirming got the witcher humming in displeasure; speechless and observant of what you were feeling. Geralt patiently waited despite of the howling feeling inside his chest; wanting nothing but to begin his corrupting, yet he respected your adjustments. Both of you were throbbing in each other's hold, before you've shakily got on your position, firmly on your knees, hands on either side of his shoulders as he was intensely staring into your eyes; all darkened, piercing and libidinous like a hawk while he waited for your next move.

Your hips got the best of you, wantonly stroking in a way that made the both of you whimper in sheer gratification for trying to get comfortable with the way he fits inside of you. The way you'd slowly lift yourself up before tormentingly coming back down, his jutting veins that rubbed you in the right way as your mouth went ajar when his length and size stretched you in pure exaltation.

Geralt's focal point was on you and your mound that choked and clasped around him, intently eyeing how your face contorted in such rapture that got him adoring the coltish mewl that emitted out of you, the way you've concentrated at the blurry image of his meaty girth that has been swallowed by your pulsing heat, he knew he would beg for another round.

Your wanton pace was torturing him; more so than hunting a beast in the continent that was difficult to find. He hoarsely groaned in the back of his throat, doing his very best to not turn you around and have his way with you. You bit your lip out of loving how he filled you to the rim, uttering out another weak, sensual moan that got the witcher feeling the pining rather agonizing while he silently watched you take your time.

But, he couldn't take it anymore. He was close to sputtering out profanities from how it was growing more intolerable as minutes go by.

"Fuck." he suddenly spat, sounding like a throaty whimper as you languidly sunk back into his twitching girth for a couple more times, his amber eyes blazing with the need to brutally ravish.

"---You are planning to give me an early death,"

Which got the witcher abruptly grabbing onto your waist, pulling himself out of you as you were suddenly turned around in the bath, your back hitting the edge of the tub as you loudly shrieked, whining for the lack of being filled thereof and also for the slight pain that his prompt actions got you.

"Well, that...that hurt." you honestly whined at the witcher, curious peepers gazing up at him as he moved in front of you, his fingers taking in your knees as he spread them widely apart. The water splurging around you as he'd move, seemingly fascinating to see how largely built his body was, before feeling his robust fingers on your waist, pulling you closer to his body; your back slightly slanted before gasping when he'd fervently entered, starting to consume you again and again.

"N-Nevermind. The pain--Ugh, probably's---Ugh, fuck! Geralt!---worth it," have been coyly moaned out loud, your face scrunched out in utter ecstacy as Geralt began to avidly pummel inside you, his girth violently ravishing your soaking mound with sharp thrusts of his hips.

His body was making you feel tiny compare to his gargantuan built. The way he situated himself above you, a hand tightly clasped onto your pinguid hip while the other rested on your side, his sweaty and earthy scent choking you as he drove you instantly to heaven.

The rousing sounds of his low grunts and hushed whimpers was enough to take you on edge. You've never...ever can tell how it was music to your ears as it also does the same to Geralt, your moans and mewls were bringing him to utopia, his heavy weight thoroughly crushing your bones apart no matter how he was helping himself up.

You didn't know you had a kink where you've wanted his body crushing you down; apparently, it was a new fact that you knew would instigate the fire and excitement. A size kink, then.

He went on with his ceaseless, wild, hammering of his girth. Your arms closely embracing him tight in a way that tells him you didn't want to let go; only wanting him to surround you in his warmth forever. Your palms gliding down his wide back till you've brushed your fingers along his own scar that you've handled oh-so-delicately, urging Geralt to utter a lewd audible grunt. He was congenial to your mushy touches; new to the gentleness he was receiving rather than ruthless force.

Thusly, it was entirely spiffing as it came with the freedom of impaling you till you were thrashing against his arms.

Your orgasm was quickly building up as you clenched around him, feeling his lips giving your neck wet, open mouthed kisses as he deeply whimpered. All-consuming changing his strokes as he pummeled yet again, holding onto your legs to surround himself better as he thrust brutishly, hitting a spot that loudly made you gasp, curving your spine as your breasts brushed against his fleecy chest, his medallion seeming to be in contrast to the heat that your mark has been giving.

This was what the voices inside your head wanted. The question is, why? For what reason?

"Geralt!" Your mouth was scrunched in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed together in a frenzy as you gripped onto Geralt's hair a little more tighter than you intended to, earning a low murmur of your nickname as he deathlessly shove and shove his hips, reaching you both in a place that'll give you what you needed and wanted.

A mind-wrecking orgasm.

One last drive of his hips, hitting the spot that uncoiled the havoc burning down below. You've seen the stars, maybe even the whole universe as you've obscenely moaned out with your mouth ajar, your orgasm making your eyes roll at the back of your head as you shuddered against his hold. Though, Geralt didn't stop there when you've continued to milk him whole. The swashing of bath water resonating the whole room and your amatory whimpers of delight came with his as he tries to reach his peak.

His thrusts turned sloppy and you knew he was close to coming. Your body was writhing against his, your cunt utterly sensitive as he nailed you over and over with his mouth-watering girth. Your body squirmed below him, moaning his name like a chant as it was the only word you could ever form.

You could feel another burst of bliss that spread through you as Geralt took one last sloppy thrust to your mound, lately realizing that he had slipped a hand between you both, urging you into another orgasm as he flicked and rubbed your clit; your second orgasm letting you emit a rather loud, noisy moan that would get any porn star shunning away because of how sensuous it sounded.

That last moan really got the witcher spewing out his load inside of you, also sending a witless guttural grunt when he came after you, ceasing once he rode out the orgasm with several sloppy thrusts before you've feebly and shakily reach out to grab onto the side of his sweaty and wet face as he slowly came to a stop, ushering him to look at you.

You've felt his come spread through you, summery and utterly pleasurable for the glow of your Cicatrix to be twinkling against the candle light. You were trying to catch your breath as Geralt also does to do so.

Your half-lidded eyes met his still diluted ones, the glow inside of it thoroughly comforting to your debauched form. The afterglow of sex making you feel spent but slightly quelled from your carnal gluttony.

You could feel his breathing turn even in less than a minute; the vulgar act washing away from how quick he seemed to got a hold of himself as your fingers brush against his temples, delicately wiping away the drop of sweat with your finger as the simple gesture was enough to make Geralt lean onto your touch.

He'd slightly turned his head, his nose nuzzling against your cheeks as this newfangled closeness was making him feel relaxed than he can ever get; having such a type of blessed peace that he may never imagine it to be, "Don’t worry," he huskily reassured, his thick fingers unclasping the hold he had on your waist, leaving a slight bruise that you obviously didn't mind.

You've heard the water splurge, his fingers lightly grasping your chin, turning you to look into his earnest eyes that was filled with sudden pique within it, "I'm---" his whole explanation was quickly cut off with a coaxing, soft tone of yours; doleful of what he wanted say. 

"Shhh. I-I know,"

A breathless, depleted midget laid beneath the witcher. His soft cock still inside your sensitive mound but paid no heed as you warmed him up. His face etched of bliss, though it appeared emotionless. Well, what man would be glum when he had a lay?

Geralt contemplated whether or not to pull out of you as he'd raked your naked body that stowed beneath him, those divine looking bites that rested upon your neck and even on your chest when he'd worship your body that no one ever had. Even so, he wasn't satisfied. Well, when did the witcher even been?

"Hmm." he fascinatingly hummed, eyes burning your skin as you watched him admire your midget of a body that he somehow find utterly exquisite. 

His enthralling amber landed on yours, his eyes darkening as it was keen for more. More he wanted to take and have because of the ravenous hunger utterly palpable. The Cicatrix that was engraved on the valley of your breast still gleaming beneath the candle light; his impassioned self seeming to be shared with you as the cravings were still there, strong and unwavering.

"I may need you one more time, midget." he roughly admitted, the tine of his nose brushing against yours in a sweet caress.

The latter has his eyes fluttered closed as he sighed, his salmon colored lips dangerously close to your swollen ones as he continued to rasp, "---or maybe all night," he leaned in close to leave a soft peck to your lips that he couldn't get enough with. 

"---and the weeks after,"

He consumed your lips once again, zealously keeping the sweltering heat going as he breathlessly snogged with you. Those needy fingers of his snaking to grip along the side of your neck; his kisses growing impatient and demanding as the sound of your lips smacking together was the only thing running in your mind, the urgency quickly building up again like it never even left.

The way he began to torridly kiss you felt like you were struggling to breath. His desire in having you again feverishly lighting you up as you've instantaneously break the kiss, panting before him as he chased for your lips before you had a finger laid between them, your face in flames while you got flustered, those rough fingers ceasing from kneading your taut breast on his other hand, "Maybe---maybe, a bed is nice to be ravished on? you know, with a mattress or something soft?"

You were completely flushed. Nose scrunched as you felt your heart pounding; waiting for his answer to your suggestion. Your mind was scolding you all through out as he held his silence, aware of his semi hard on that seemed to never want to leave your cunt as he tried and hinted for another nightly ravishing between you both.

Never in your life; even back in earth that you would actually get to experience sex in the making. The idea of you and another man going at it disturbing you before because you were worried they would despise your body and how you actually looked like, entirely bare. Yet, here you were, having your virginity taken by an attractive, hot mutant who slaughters beasts for a living in their dimension.

Fortunately, you were lucky in this department because of how magically you've met him and how gloriously you've been dicked down.

You wouldn't get to forget this once the effects of the Cicatrix finally comes to its halt or probably the morning after you've slept with Geralt. Your ribald suggestions for moving in a much more comfortable place while being rode off to Neverland will probably horrify you if the idea was taken into deliberation.

"I think I may have to agree, midget." Geralt gave a soft nod of understanding, intensely staring into your eyes as he has seen the same salacious look he has been giving; simmering down his worry about the thought that you weren't in the same page as he also was.

Perhaps, beasts aren't the only thing he butchers at night and in daylight.

Geralt only wanting this to be a one time opportunity? Oh, heck no. IT’S A PRANK! He never gets satisfied! LMAO JK 😂💖 FEEDBACKS ARE SO MUCH APPRECIATED! Please do! Heehee! (Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you, bb’s!)

Taglist for WOTN: @alyxkbrl​​ @himarisolace​​ @barkingbullfrog​​ @ayamenimthiriel​​ @hellodevilslittlesister​​ @vania-marie​​ @spookypeachx​​ @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us​​ @nympeth​​ @amirahiddleston​​ @gabethelobster​​ @dreaming-about-starfleet​​ @uncoolcloudyhead​​ @melaninstylezz​​ @psychosupernatural​​ @missjenniferblog​ @dance-dreamer​​ @marvelousell​​ @kingniazx​​ @angelias134​​ @tapismyforte​​ @chook007​​ @covid-donotenter​​ @winter-moons​ @cheesecakeisapie​ @silverkitten547​​ @angelofthor​ @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum​, @stuckupstucky​, @shesthelastjedi​, @a--1--1--3​​

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza​

[theshatteredrose]

Relic Keepers: Awakening of the Red Lily (Chapter 15) - Original Fiction

AN: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays~!

Ao3 | Wattpad | Inkitt | FictionPress

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Chapter 15:

Another loud explosion followed by a plume of smoke wafting up from the dense forest caused Eishirou to wince. The four figures he spotted in the sky weren’t close to the ground when that second explosion erupted. And that could only mean one thing; there was a ShadowDweller or two involved.

“I can’t see them properly,” Zayne muttered as he kept his gaze focused on the horizon before him. “Do you have binoculars?”

Eishirou perked when he realised that he actually did. He quickly pulled his bag close and immediately rifled through it. Thankfully, he found the field glasses quickly and pulled them out. “Ah, here.”

“Thanks.” Zayne kept his gaze forward as he reached around to retrieve the binoculars from him. He whipped them around and stuck them in front of his eyes. He fell silent as he scanned the area before a frown marred his lips. “Yeah, figured. They have one of the missing Elites with them. They look hurt.”

Well, that would explain their hasty movements.

Zayne abruptly handed the eyewear back to Eishirou. “We better get ready.”

Eishirou winced but nodded his head nevertheless. “R-right.”

He shoved the binoculars back into his bag and tugged at the medical kit. If the other Elite was hurt, then it was up to Eishirou to help him. He couldn’t begin to speculate what kind of injuries the other Elite had sustained, so he had to steel himself for the worst-case scenario.

Just as Eishirou pulled out the medical kit and pressed it against his chest, the other members of Elite Team 3 became clearer in view. He could see that it was Rinka who was leading the way, her pink mana wings easily seen against the blue sky. Behind her was Leon, and with him was the limp form of an Elite he did not recognise. Ernesta and Tatsu took the rear, glancing front and back, keeping a cautious eye on the rising plumes of smoke behind them.

Zayne pulled Eishirou away from the edge of the ledge where they stood in front of the lighthouse, giving the quickly approaching Elites room to land. He, too, materialised his mana wings, just as his teammates reached them.

“E-Eishirou!” Rinka stuttered as she and Leon land on the grass before them. “He’s hurt!”

“He’s one of the missing Elites,” Leon explained as Zayne moved forward to help him lay the injured Elite on the ground. “He’s breathing but completely unresponsive.”

“Ah, right!”

Zayne and Leon took a step back to allow Eishirou to kneel next to the unnamed Elite. He didn’t recognise him, though it might be partially due to the dirt and scuff marks on his face. He had short black hair and a mole under his left eye.

He rolled him onto his back and placed his hands upon his chest to do an inspection. Airway clear. Heartrate high but steady. Fractured ribs, on the right side. Torn ligament in right shoulder. Fractured right arm. Concussion. Unconsciousness. No internal blessing, thankfully.

But it was the small fracture in his skull and swelling on the brain that has him the most concerned.

In short, he wasn’t in the best shape!

It would be best to get him back to the Academy and into the infirmary. Eishirou could help ease his injuries, but not cure them completely. That concussion needed to be monitored. And that fractured skull was also not something he could help in the middle of the field like this.

“I don’t recognise him, who is he?” Zayne asked Leon as Ernesta and Tatsu joined them.

“Mikiel. Team Eight.”

“Where’s the rest of the team?”

“We don’t know,” Ernesta was the one to answer. “He’s the only one we found.”

Before Ernesta could explain further, a loud shriek reverberated around the basin.

In a flurry of leaves and tree limbs, a large centipede reared up, holding its head high over the treetops. Large pincers. Legs flailing angrily, clawing at the air. It then reared its head back and screamed an ear-piercing shriek. So loud that Eishirou winced and instinctively covered his ears with his hands.

“And then this bastard intervened,” Leon muttered bitterly.

Zayne tisked, just as annoyed. Perhaps more so. “Another damn centipede.”

Eishirou couldn’t help but stare, though. It looked just like the one they battled before.

That…wasn’t what he saw chasing the Elites in the recording. Did that mean that there was another ShadowDweller out there somewhere? Was that the reason why the rest of the Elite Team weren’t found?

A hand suddenly clasped Eishirou’s shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. He lifted his head, subconsciously tensing his back.

“Just concentrate on healing.”

Unsurprisingly, it was Zayne. But his voice prompted Eishirou to remember their last encounter with ShadowDweller of that size and shape. Or more specifically, how it sent Zayne crashing to the ground with a shape of its head. “B-but…”

“It’ll be different this time,” Zayne interrupted and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “There’s more of us. I’ll make sure you’re safe. Trust me.”

Trust him? That was quite easy to do, honestly.

Eishirou nodded his head. “Right. Be careful anyway.”

Zayne gave his shoulder another quick squeeze before he removed his hand. And showing that he did indeed trust Zayne and the members of his team, Eishirou shifted his position where his turned his back toward the ShadowDweller and impeding battle. And concentrated on offering much needed healing to Mikiel.

It was difficult to ignore as Ernesta issued her commands and sounds of the Elite materialising their mana weapons. It was especially difficult to ignore the shriek from the ShadowDweller as it, too, prepared itself for battle.

Eishirou shook his head to clear it. He needed to focus on the task at hand. He had a role to play and he needed to complete to the best of his ability.

With his hand against Mikiel’s chest, Eishirou focused on slowly and carefully siphoning healing mana toward the areas that needed medical attention. He couldn’t heal the fracture in his skull, and he was honestly reluctant to due to the pressure building in his brain. And that was his greatest concern. If he could reduce the swelling…

He hadn’t done anything remotely like it before, but he had to try.

One small burst of healing at a time. Gently. He couldn’t afford to be hasty. The brain was sensitive organ. If he could prevent any brain damage, he was damn well going to try.

He became so focused on his task that he didn’t hear or take notice of the battle that continued behind him. And slowly, the pressure withing Mikiel’s head began to ease.

Eishirou breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled back his healing.

Finally, he could turn his attention on Mikiel’s other injuries. But first, he wanted to make sure that Zayne and the others were ok.

He turned slightly to look behind him. As he did, the chaos and noise of battle quickly struck him. It wasn’t as chaotic as their first battle against the Centipede ShadowDweller. Due to the open area, allowing for the Elites to attack from above and afar. They were also able to keep the ShadowDweller distracted. And away from him.

Zayne looked to be fine. Movements flawless and agile. Striking at the ShadowDweller’s head quickly before darting back. He was being cautious. As was everyone else.

…Yeah. This battle was different from last time.

Confident that Zayne and his team would eventually win the battle, Eishirou shifted his attention to his medical kit and pulled out the antiseptic and bandages needed to dress Mikiel’s wounds.

But his injuries…they looked strange. They didn’t look like they were inflicted by a ShadowDweller. Not that he had much experience with ShadowDweller injuries. And they did come in many different shapes and forms.

Still…something about them were too accurate. Too clean. Too précised.

Oddly, his left hand was clutched tightly into a fist. And no matter how much Eishirou coaxed and pulled at his fingers, his hand would not unfurl. He could see that he was grasping onto something, however. So tightly that his knuckles were white.

That…thing must be important. Whatever it was.

He shook his head. He didn’t have time to ponder the origin of the wounds. He needed to heal them.

Eishirou had just finished wounding bandages around Mikiel’s right wrist, he heard a telling shriek behind him. And knew immediately that it was the ShadowDweller’s final death cry.

The relief he felt was profound.

Eishirou turned in time to witness the mysterious black mist that would signify a ShadowDweller’s demise drift into the sky before dissipating completely. The sight caused Eishirou to breath another sigh of relief.

One less concern to worry about.

Zayne is the first to return and promptly lands close to him. A light layer of sweat shimmered across his brow. But there were no other injuries to be seen.

Even so…

“Are you all right?” Eishirou asked as Zayne dismissed his wings and placed his holsters back to his sides.

“Of course,” Zayne replied dismissively and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Piece of cake.”

Eishirou would have to take his word for it. Though, his response did bring a smile to his lips.

Ernesta, on the other hand, was far from smiling as she approached. “How is Mikiel?”

The smile on Eishirou’s lips soon disappeared and he sighed. “Not good. He’s gone into shock. He won’t respond.” He would keep his concerns about the origins of Mikiel’s injuries to himself for now. “Did you find him like this?”

“Yes. He was alone. No sign of his teammates,” Ernesta explained briefly, her concern and unease palpable in her voice. Which was beyond reasonable.

“What should we do now?” Leon was the one to ask.

Ernesta sighed and folded his arms tightly under her bust as she turned to look at the horizon. That prompted Eishirou to glance over, too, and he was honestly startled to note that an orange hue was already beginning to stain the sky. Sunset won’t be too far away now.

“It’s grown late,” Ernesta stated. “It would be too dangerous to attempt to evacuate now.”

Rinka visibly winced. “We’re camping here?” she asked meekly.

Again, Ernesta sighed. “We do not have a choice.”

They had provisions, so Eishirou wasn’t entirely worried about setting up camp. He was worried about their injured companion, however. And the missing Elites. Something was definitely wrong here.

Eishirou placed his med-kit back into this bag and pulled out his tablet and communicator. Thankfully, he had coverage being on a tall peak in the basin. But the distance would prevent a face-call. Still, he had a voice. He could convey what was happening easily enough.

“I can get into contact with Communications,” Eishirou said as he tapped at the screen of his communicator. “I’ll alert them to our situation. They should be able to send transport by the morning.”

Leon turned back to Ernesta to ask her; “Should we search for another campsite or stay where we are?”

Ernesta spent a moment to survey the area. “I suggest we stay here. If the situation escalates further, we can escape by air. And we may need to evacuate by helicopter. This lighthouse will act as a marker and landmark.”

Ok, good. Eishirou would remember to tell everything to Communications.

It took a few, drawn out seconds for a connection to be made. Finally, the connect symbol popped up and a familiar voice resounded from the communicator.

A smile immediately made its way to Eishirou’s lips. “Ah, Misaki!”

Unexpectedly, there was a brief sigh of relief heard on the other end. “Are you all right?”

That wasn’t exactly the first response one should expect from Communications. Especially when it was asked in a blatantly concerned manner.

“We’re fine. Why? What’s going on over there?”

There was another sigh from Misaki. “We’ve lost contact with two Elite Teams who were sent to Midnight Islands,” he explained bluntly. “Lyvia is trying to raise one while Professor Jalen works to find the other.”

T-two teams?!

Eishirou shared a quick glance with Zayne who had crouched down next to him. In Zayne’s eyes were a sense of concern, too, though his expression was stoic.

“We…found one member of a team,” Eishirou began to explain. “We don’t know what happened to his teammates. He’s stable, but in serious condition. Unfortunately, we’re too deep within Flutterlight Forest and it’s too hazardous to conduct an evacuation. We’re setting up camp for the night before withdrawing in the morning.”

“Understood,” Misaki responded professionally. “Can you send coordinates? If the situation deteriorates further, we may be forced to conduct a night flight evacuation.”

Eishirou balanced his tablet on his knee and quickly sent the coordinates. “Visual landmarks will include a white tower that is similar to that of a lighthouse.”

“Understood,” Misaki responded instinctively before he paused. “A building?”

“Yeah, it’s on a peak in the middle of a basin. It’ll be difficult to miss, I imagine. I’d explain more, but we need to prepare for camp.”

“Understood,” Misaki responded once again, returning to his professional role. “Keep me updated whenever possible.”

“Roger,” Eishirou replied before he shut down communications.

As he placed his communicator and tablet back into his bag, he accidentally caught sight of Tatsu. His expression was blank, as it usually was. But his eyes were narrowed slightly, and his jaw clenched tightly.

It…was just tension. He didn’t like the situation they were in. Understandable, really.

“Ok, we need to move quickly,” Ernesta stated as she took on a commanding role once more. “Leon, set up a single tent. Tatsu, we will need a campfire. Rinka, help me to gather wood and kindling. Zayne, keep watch over Eishirou and the injured.”

“Roger!”

Eishirou didn’t need to be told what his role was; he needed to keep watch over Mikiel. Though, he did wish he had something to do, but he understood that it was the Elites themselves that did the physical labour. He was just the guest.

As the Elites completed their tasks, Eishirou leaned forward on his knees and placed his hands upon Mikiel’s chest. His breathing was steady, his heartbeat strong. There was still minor swelling on the brain, but for the most part he was stable. He would be far better in the infirmary, but Eishirou was fairly confident that he wasn’t going to, ah…expire on him.

His injuries, though…

Eishirou sat back on his heels and turned his head toward Zayne. The Elite had taken to his feet to survey the area, on alert for any kind of threat. He was clearly busy, but Eishirou had the need to talk to him. To at least tell him a certain titbit he witnessed a previous recording.

“Can I talk to you?”

Zayne immediately turned his face toward him and nodded. “Yeah. Are you worried?”

“A little.” Who wouldn’t be when they were camping in an unmapped forest with ShadowDwellers? But that wasn’t all. “It’s…when I pulled a recording from that badge, I saw something else.”

A slight look of confusion appeared on Zayne’s face. His expression soon cleared and he lowered himself into a crouch next to him. “What?”

“A ShadowDweller had followed the team into the tunnels,” Eishirou revealed as he reached into his bag and pulled out his tablet. “But the ShadowDweller wasn’t a centipede or scorpion. It looked like this.”

He pulled up the photo he had taken of the cave painting they encountered in the tunnels a few hours ago. He showed Zayne a close-up of the tall, black figures that were the main focus of the mural.

“Humanoids?” Zayne questioned, a hint of surprise in his voice. He turned his gaze away from the photo to look over at Eishirou again. “Are you thinking that these guys are responsible for the missing Elites?”

Eishirou nodded as he dropped the tablet onto his lap. “Yeah.”

A frown tugged at Zayne’s lips. “I see.”

Zayne’s expression was stoic, but Eishirou could tell that he was unnerved by the possibility of a new type of ShadowDweller being out there somewhere. And the possibility that it was responsible for the missing Elite Teams.

If…if it could take out two Elite teams, they were in danger, too.

Zayne suddenly reached out and wound an arm around Eishirou’s shoulders and pulled him toward him so that their foreheads touched gently. “I’ll make sure you’ll get out of this, I promise.”

Eishirou felt his cheeks flush and his eyes widen at the admission. The determination in Zayne’s voice was resolute. And endearing. He meant that. He truly did.

And yet…

“You’re…going to have to stay close to me to do that.”

A half-smile made its way to Zayne’s lips and he tilted his head to the side in this cute, yet casual way. “Sure, sounds good.”

[btgalaxy]

Moonlight - Jungkook wolf!au

➳ pairing: jungkook x reader

➳ genre: wolf!au, a little bit of everything tbh; angst, fluff, smut

➳ word count: 4.3k

warnings: slight violence and gore

previous / masterlist / next

Chapter 10 (double digits holy)

“Y/N, we need to go.”

You roll over in the bed, humming into the pillow as your body stirs before settling again in a new spot. Your eyelids remain softly shut, lulling you back into slumber before —

“Y/N, we need to go now. It’s a code black.”

The words resonate in your eardrums for a moment while you try to digest them amongst your sleep-induced haze. You raise your head ever so slightly from the silk cushion, ears piquing to your mate’s voice.

“Y/N, now,” he groans, finally handling you himself and lifting you by your shoulders. It’s at this moment you begin to come around, drunkenly squinting open your eyes at the harsh light piercing the room.

“What?” You mumble, still grimacing as Jungkook lifts you up bridal-style to your feet, leaving you stood there for a minute gently rocking as he rummages through your half of the wardrobe. Your eyes begin to widen when he brings over a pair of leggings and drops to your feet, prompting you to step into them. You do so, finally regaining some sanity throughout your slumberous trance.

“Code black?” The words fall from your lips with profound confusion riddled in your tone, material slid up your legs as you gently remove your silk nightie.

“Code black, Y/N. So hurry the fuck up,” Jungkook becomes stern now, throwing you a waffle knit jumper to haul over your arms to then frantically follow him down the stairs, hopping to pull on some socks as you go.

Suddenly, an alarm begins blaring through the house, ringing like sirens that blast your eardrums and you flinch at the shrill, stumbling into your mates back. He growls in response, yanking your figure round in front of him to steer you towards the front door, grip bruising your forearms as he pushes you forwards. The force he uses to coax you outside makes you shudder, breathless by the way his eyes are devoid of any comfort or love, or the intensity they were filled with yesterday. Instead they burn with fury, squinted slightly ahead of him and on high alert. You stumble forwards onto the front porch.

You smell it first. The burning. The buildings in the distance burning alight like a sea of orange flickering and a brazen heat wallowing faintly over your skin making you recoil back against the Alpha. He simply pushes past you to take your wrist and that’s the moment you spot a group of men, sprinting chaotically as Jimin screams orders at them.

“Don’t shift,” Jungkook orders, authority dripping from his tone like venom to cause your head to nod weakly. It really is your instinct to shift. To run like hell from this place and go to Taehyung’s or even back to Scarlet Oak. Somewhere safe. Somewhere not on fire.

Jimin paces over to the two of you, wetting his lips as he pants from bellowing orders across the alarms, “Alpha, they’ve infiltrated the town — he’s here. He brought them.”

Jungkook’s expression darkens, “Where’s Jin?”

“Safehouse.”

And then you’re running. You can’t understand why you can’t just shift, but your mate seems adamant to keep to the human form, so you’re stuck with your short legs wobbling pathetically as Jungkook hauls you forwards. You run down the usual dirt track, and as your eyes stray into the depths of the surrounding forest you see ominous, golden eyes staring back at you through the night, watching you. You can’t tell if it’s Red Moon’s Epsilons, or if it’s the Rogues, laughing as you run so desperately towards some kind of safety, already knowing that you aren’t safe at all.

Your legs are weak, you haven’t been trained for something like this — you’ve never been particularly fit in your human form, so you want to collapse. You want everything to disappear, and for you to collapse into your mate’s arms in your bed together, but instead you’re still dragged and dragged along the cobblestone paths as you reach the town, now littered with ash and strewn rubbish from the havoc wreaked, some sultry smell of burning sheathing you with the smoke.

You’re nearly suffocating by the time you approach the packhouse and it’s burning like a wildfire lighting up the night, barren of people now, bar the Rogues. You’ve never seen a Rogue before. You don’t know what you expected them to look like, but frankly they look the same as any other wolf. Mostly brown fur, dark eyes, predominantly male that have been well trained from their muscular sizes. There’s also a few men in human form, laughing as they continue to batter at the once beautiful little town. You’re completely outnumbered, so your mate rapidly yanks you behind a wall, one hand on your belly holding you to his chest where you finally breathe and take a moment to calm down.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks you quietly, head leaning down to your ear so you can distinguish the words better.

You nod in response, panting slightly, “I’m just unfit.”

He gives you a gentle squeeze against him, “It’s alright, the safehouse is just round the back here.”

You’re thankful he, even if momentarily, drops the Alpha attitude, moving from behind you to take you by the hand and slowly creep around the side of the building. The entrance to the safehouse comes in the form of a wooden hatch into the ground, scattered with mud and leaves to conceal it from an inattentive eye.

Jungkook crouches down, knocking rhythmically against the oak. Its pretty quickly flung open from the inside, and a familiar head of dark hair emerges from the trap, eyes darting about in anxiety.

“Y/N?” Jin breathes as he sees you, pushing the door the whole way back so he can scramble past your mate and towards you. You see the anger flash in Jungkook’s eyes as Jin lunges forwards and wraps his arms around you in relief, enveloping your head in his arms to hold you near his chest.

“God, I thought they’d have gone to your house first,” Jin mumbles, breathing heavily into your neck. It only takes a second for Jungkook to interfere, pushing his arms between the two of you and wrenching you apart with anger-fuelled strength.

“Know your place, Epsilon,” the Alpha snarls, nostrils flared as he presses one hand to Jin’s chest, the other firmly holding you against him.

It’s eerily silent for a second, before Jungkook continues, “Keep her safe and keep your hands off.” His instruction is brutally clear, and Jin is fast to return to his ranking’s appropriate demeanour; head down, eyes on the floor, hands by his sides. You used to hate being scolded by Alpha Marcus more than anything — it’s humiliating, and you used to mull over it for days afterwards in embarrassment and shame. You can’t imagine how Jin feels.

“You’re leaving?” You sputter all of a sudden, wondering why Jungkook is telling Jin to look after you.

“I’m Alpha, Y/N, and there are Rogues literally just around this corner, so you need to get into the safehouse,” he demands, before his eyes soften slightly, “Don’t do anything stupid, because I need you here for me to get back to. You’re the only thing that keeps me running these days, okay?”

He holds you by your waist, and you wet your lips with a nod, “Don’t fight them, just take care of the pack members and wait till they leave.” You don’t much agree with your words, and you already feel the biting need to stay near him rather than stay tucked away in some cushty saferoom. Can’t he understand you need him just as much as he needs you?

He ignores your request, “You stay here, Y/N. Okay?”

Then the words just roll from your tongue before you can stop them.

“I love you,” you tell him, and the moment stills fleetingly. His gaze freezes over yours, hands hardening on your waist as he holds you tighter, and then he squeezes his eyes shut before nodding with an indecipherable expression, taking off back towards the burning.

Was that a mistake? Jin’s hauling you backwards into the safehouse before you can overthink it.

The place is crammed full of families and pack members, but you’re surprised at how large a space it is. A part of you regrets saying no to officialization at this point, however, considering you’re surrounded by the members that have only been able to make assumptions of your place in the pack and with the Alpha. So it’s safe to say your presence attracts a fair amount of attention, especially with Jin solemnly by your side, steering you to another room with less crowding

“In here,” he tells you, opening up a door into a tiny room with a bunk in it, “It’s not much, but it’s specifically for the Luna.”

“It’s more than what they have,” you counter, referring to the numerous families quaking in the main area of the safehouse, “How did you get everyone down here so fast?”

You slump onto the springy mattress, Jin choosing to remain stood across from you, an oddly far distance than usual, “One of them must’ve screwed up, because we saw a light flashing at the Southern Border, only for a few seconds, but we had the feeling it could’ve been them co-ordinating their attack. So, we got everyone down here, and thank God we did.”

You nod, somewhat disturbed, “Is it a bad attack?”

“You must’ve seen.”

“Yeah, but is it really bad? Are they gonna-,” you swallow back the apprehension, “Is Red Moon gonna be okay?”

Jin smiles reassuringly, softening his gaze as he approaches you slowly, “Red Moon is one of the strongest packs on the continent. We’ll be fine, Y/N. Alpha is a truly capable leader.”

You bite your lip slightly, “What about Taehyung? We could call Taehyung and ask for backup?”

Jin leans down in front of you, squatting as he cautiously takes your hands in his, “I think Alpha Taehyung would be more of a distraction than an ally at this moment in time.”

He speaks the truth, but it’d still calm you down a bit if you know your mate has some kind of back up. You immediately become restless, legs bouncing up and down as you consider every possible scenario of Jungkook going out to fight and coming back injured or, worse, dead. You wonder where he’s at right now, who he’s with, if he’s alone, if he’s fighting, if he’s bleeding, if he’s calling out for you. What if he’s calling out for you? You’re his mate, it’s your duty to be by his side.

You begin to pick at your fingernails nervously as Jin encourages you to try and sleep for a bit, considering it’s the middle of the night, but you know you couldn’t sleep. You just want to get out and find him. The Rogues looked brutal and savage, and to just allow your mate to leave you like that? The guilt is eating at you from the inside out, throwing intolerable thoughts at you and making you lightheaded.

“Do you love him, then?” Jin asks, throwing you off all of a sudden.

“Sorry?” You stammer.

He exhales, manoeuvring on the bed to face you, “You told him you loved him.”

Oh, right, that. “I kinda just said it. I didn’t really think.”

Your admission silences him for a minute, “He loves you back.”

He may never have the chance to tell you after this, however, “I know.”

Why is Jin so kind? Why does he have to be so nice? It would make ‘disobedience’ a hell of a lot easier. But, you can’t just sit here. It’s impossible. The wolf inside of you is howling and scratching and biting and you feel all those primitive urges violently chastising your unusually passive behaviour.  

You don’t want to do it. You really don’t want Jin to suffer again.

But, unfortunately, you aren’t so compliant.

“I-,” you finally speak again, Jin’s ears piquing in interest, “Could you get me some water? I need- I feel a bit dizzy.”

“Yeah, of course. You should really sleep,” he says, leaning over to squeeze your hand before blindly jogging out of the room.

You don’t think about your actions, or the repercussions (as per). You just do it.

Flying out of the door, not looking out for your guard because it’s inevitable he’ll figure it out momentarily anyway, your feet launch you to the main room where you push past the crowds of people with unwavering haste. Full-blown action movie style you slide and squeeze between confused faces towards the exit, to lead you back into the heart of the brawl where your mate could already by laying bleeding.  

There are limbs everywhere; you feel them catch on your skin as you fling past in desperation. You underestimated how many bodies there really were in here, and they seem to have multiplied since the brief few minutes you spent in the Luna’s room. Maybe you should stop. Maybe Jin hasn’t noticed.

An agitated scream of your name falling from the Epsilon’s lips informs you otherwise.

It’s too late to stop when you reach the hatch, jumping to push up as you feel the crowds separating to allow Jin through. You feel your toes curling as you plant your hands on the base of the outside, fingernails sinking into the mud to get a better a grip and haul yourself onto your stomach, Jin’s hand grazing over your ankle just as soon as you slide forwards slightly.

You waste no time with hesitation. There’s a latch on the outside and you instinctively slam the hatch shut and slide the bar across, Jin’s face flashing with anger just before as he begins banging on the other side, screaming at you through the wood.

“Y/N! Y/N, no! Y/N!” He bellows, rattling the small wooden hatch, but you’re already darting away. The fear of everything that could happen to Jungkook motivates your body to ignore the burning in your legs and chest and to keep running until you find him and see that he’s alright.

As you run, you already feel the guilt filling you, remembering the last time you betrayed Jin. You were lucky he forgave you and trusted you again as quick as he did, and you aren’t sure things will be the same after this. But you’re Luna. You shouldn’t just sit around and wait for the men to sort their squabbling like this. You know first-hand that Jungkook can be impulsive and angry and surely it’s the Luna’s duty to prevent that? Besides, you aren’t even officially Luna yet. You don’t have to stick by those rules.

The town isn’t particularly large, and the Rogues seem to have vacated to one particular area; the plain you’d seen pack members having a barbeque on only recently. Now it was home to a huge bonfire with- you nearly gag.

You turn away, unable to process the sight and feeling bile burn at the back of your throat.

The smell of burning flesh fills the air, and you try to tuck your head into your jumper, but it still seeps through and clings to you, inescapably so.

You nuzzle further into your top, quickly crouching behind a small bricked off path next to the field to look over. It at least brings a little comfort to see Jungkook is fine, angrier than you’ve ever seen him before, but he’s safe at least. There doesn’t seem to be much actual fighting other than the men trying to save the wolf already burned alive on the stake just above the bonfire.

Your mate is seething, black eyes and red skin as he helps the men save the burning wolf. He pushes a whole swarm of Rogues to the ground at once, face illuminated by the orange glow as he reaches over to aggressively tug at the knots holding the man in place.

A Rogue is running towards your mate. He’s running a full speed and Jungkook’s busy with the knots. Oh God. You knees falter for a second, before you spring up only a second before Jimin does, tackling the oncoming wolf to the ground with generous force as the Alpha doesn’t even flinch. You snap down back to your place. Maybe they’re alright after all.

The wolf tied above the bonfire falls all of a sudden to the muddy ground, the bottoms of his trousers singed and his arms bubbling with burns. He screams and screams and screams as he’s carried away by four or so other men, leaving your mate again to deal with the rest.

Most seem to be retreating, all looking rather smug and victorious as though they’ve done what they intended to. But they didn’t even take over Red Moon? What sort of a victory is that? You begin to mull over why on earth they’d just cause chaos. Maybe they’re just here for fun, to wreak havoc and mayhem just for a little excitement. Or maybe it’s part of something bigger. All these questions and no answers.

You suddenly see a flash of blonde hair emerge from behind the bonfire. The man you recognise as Yoongi. June’s Yoongi. Yoongi as in seen with Hoseok. What the fuck is he doing here? It doesn’t help as suddenly Jungkook’s father walks out behind him. Your gaze snaps to your mate. He’s heaving with fury.

“Jungkook,” His father smiles. It scares you the way his lips curl so viciously. You never knew a smile to be so blood-curdling, “It’s good to see you, kid.”

Your mate doesn’t respond, instead he snarls at the man as the remaining Rogues begin running back under Yoongi’s orders yelling over the prickling fire. Everyone’s leaving. You can finally breathe.

Suddenly, Jungkook’s running forwards to his father. Just a blur of his clothing as he darts forwards, but Jimin uses himself as a brace to stop him, and the two tumble to the floor. Your mate’s father simply laughs before jogging away smugly. What the hell happened between those two? What is wrong with his dad? More unanswered questions.

You’re just thankful they’re leaving.

As the men are beginning to make amends to the burning meadow and some of the town, observing the damage instigated by the mass of Rogues during the invasion, you spot something in your peripheral. A light, it seems. A reflection of a light. And you turn to see a masked being, only eyes to be realised through the black material, and you instantly know who it is. You would know, you would always know.

The figure is only there for a moment, before it retreats away into the forestry, into the labyrinth of tree trunks. You follow, you can’t help but feel as though they wanted you to see them. They want you to follow them. And perhaps that’s a mistake, but you’re already on your feet away from your little hiding place behind the wall chasing after. You call out a name, but it’s swallowed by the sound of the wind and the fire and the wolves all racing about to get away; it carries only a few metres, not enough for it to reach their ears.

You realise it’s a bad idea to run after the enemy, but you aren’t exactly thinking clearly. The trees seem to become denser the further you run, having to weave stealthily in and out of them following the figure gradually decreasing in size as you comprehend you’re much, much slower.

You lurch yourself forwards, urging your legs to keep going before they cave in and collapse to the ground when you lose him. The dark figure is gone, and you’re left alone in the woods, with only the distant sound of whistling and shouting in the air.

You frantically turn on the balls of your feet, snapping your head left and right to look into the distance but you can’t see anybody, not a Rogue or a Red Moon pack member. That’s until another flash of light to the right of you, the same you saw earlier. You take off again.

The light disappears seconds later, along with its creator. And as you approach the area, a well comes into view. It’s a bit battered and obviously hasn’t been used in a long, long time, but you immediately hear the echoing of footsteps coming from it. You press your palms onto the brick edge and lean over to peer down into it. It’s mostly dark inside, not helped by the lack of moonlight due to the overhead trees, but there’s a darker part near the left wall at the bottom. A tunnel.  

You exhale softly, frowning at the sheer idiocy of your mate. This is how they’ve been getting in and out.  It must lead out to beyond Red Moon borders. How has nobody found this before?

A twig breaks behind you and you freeze.

“Y/N? Is it?” The same voice from earlier, the voice you’d seen talking to Jungkook. Who you believe to be his father.

You slowly turn on your heel to face him, “I’m- I’m-“ You feel stupid but you can’t get the words out. Not even your wolf stirs. You’re completely immobile.

He takes a step towards you, “I see you’ve found our little getaway hatch.” He smiles sadistically, walking past you and sitting on the edge of the brick well, “It’s alright. We won’t be needing it much longer.”

He leans forward to touch your face, but you quickly jolt backwards, “Such a pretty thing. I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances. Take care of my son.”

You remain frozen as he smirks again, swinging his legs over to shift mid air as he drops into the tunnel, howling before racing into the darkness.

Not the way you expected to meet your boyfriend’s parent.

You just want to get out of here now. You just want your mate to hold you. You aren’t even sure you know the way back.

Thankfully, not all the flames have been put out yet, so you’re able to follow the only source of light in this awful night. You know Jungkook will be angry too; you just want everything to be okay again. You just want him to kiss you till you forget you’re here to be anything other than Jungkook’s mate, loving him, pleasuring him, caring for him.

When you return back to the saferoom behind the packhouse, you’re desperate to tell someone of your findings and seeing Jungkook’s father to finally be back with your mate. You spot Jimin first, who’s shouting about orders and ordering people back to their homes looking beyond stressed when you call his name. He turns to look at you, expression riddled with shock.

“Y/N?” He stutters slightly, “Y/N, where have you been?”

You run forwards towards him, “I followed a Rogue.” You’re panting a bit from all the running, and you’re careful not to let the name slip, “I saw how they got in and out and Jungkook’s father-.”

Jimin looks at you incredulously, ignoring the revelation, “You- you followed a Rogue? Y/N, Alpha’s going out of his mind- wait, you spoke to his father? Oh God, look, look, go back home, we’ll say there was a misunderstanding, and nothing ever happened, and you’d been home the whole time. We’ll get Jin in on it too, and we can pretend-“

Then you see him emerge from the packhouse, pushing Jin forcefully aside as he sees you.

“Where the fuck have you been!” Jungkook roars, silencing most of the wolves around you. Jimin takes a step back, lowering his head and leaving you defenceless to your furious mate, stalking urgently closer.

You freeze for a second, “I was scared for you and then I saw-,“ you swallow back the fear from the inevitable oncoming stream of anger, “I saw a Rogue and I followed him and I saw-“

“You followed him,” he lets out a humourless laugh before stopping to throw his fist against a brick wall, making part of it shatter, “Of course you fucking did. Will you ever learn?! You’re-”

“I spoke-“

“Don’t fucking interrupting me!” He whips round, holding his hand at you. Nobody moves, everyone’s silent. This is worse than any times Alpha Marcus scolded you in front of pack members. Jungkook is too blinded by his own rage to acknowledge the small gathering of people, all listening in to his fury. They all just watch on, watch you.

“I gave you direct orders, and you fucking disobeyed them! I’m the Alpha!” His words irk you finally enough to retort.

“I’m not just another of your pack members, Jungkook!” You yell back in his face, making a vein in his neck protrude even redder, eyes bulging and pupils blown out making him look on the verge of madness.

“You-,” he exhales, jaw clenched and lips pursed, “Go home.”

“You aren’t listening to me! I saw where-“

He interrupts and screams, “I said go home!” He shakes with anger, and you can see the end of his claws breaking through his nails and making his palms bleed as he attempts to hold back his wolf, “Go home now, Y/N. You’ve brought enough shame to this pack as it is.”

That hurts you. That really hurts you. Enough so that you’re already shifting before you can cry, and racing back to the house, only able to feel as though you’ve failed.

[wongpuppy]

FATED, huang xuxi

↳ Rating lots of fluff + slight crack

↳ Pairing player!Xuxi x Y/N

↳ Word count 5k [ one-shot / soulmate!au ]

↳ Summary the red thread of fate was real after all, managing to make something out of nothing

Red Thread of Fate: ancient Chinese mythology about the lunar matchmaking god Yuè Lâo tying a red thread around the ankles of destined lovers at the age of 21; regardless of place, time, or circumstances.

The DJ played hectic, bass heavy EDM tracks that contrasted drastically to the semi formal themed party. You down the red of the alcoholic contents in the red solo cup with a wide smile, turning to your best friend Ella.

“Thank you for forcing me to come! I’m having the time of my life!”

Stress has been your closest best friend lately, with all the exams and projects being thrown at you. So when Ella asked you to go out with her, you were definitely more than hesitant at first.

You throw your hands in the air and Ella smirks at you. “I told you you’d have a blast.”

The sea breeze flows through your hair when you close your eyes and throw your head back, appreciating the open decked yacht and everything this extravagant party had to offer. You were on some random yacht off the coast, still close enough to be able to see the city. The moon was completely full tonight, high and dominating the entire sky.

Your tipsy mind free from troubles and bad thoughts. You felt reborn the moment the time went past midnight.

The DJ announces that it was midnight and the crowd cheers heavily and you join, not really knowing why exactly the mass of people were going crazy.

“You never did tell me what club this is or event this was, you know.” You take another cup of beer from the bar and chug the whole thing down in one go.

Ella’s eyes widen at your question and she laughs nervously, sipping on the cup in her hands. “Funny story, Y/N.”

You motion for her to go along whilst nodding and dancing to the song the DJ played, not really focused on what she was saying.

“This isn’t a club or event.” She sighs and avoids your gaze. Eun says the next sentence quick and all in one breath, knowing exactly how you’re gonna take it. “Its Xuxi’s yacht, and he’s now officially 21!”

Your best friends throws her hands in the air as if to cheers, but you felt every ounce of alcohol fade once she mentions the younger boys name. Whether it was the tequila shots or just how much you hated him, your hearts been racing ever since Xuxi was brought into the conversation.

You knew you could never date a guy younger than you, even if it was just a few months younger like him.

“Are you fucking with me?” Your arms are immediately crossed against your chest as you stare at Ella with a narrow gaze.

Needless to say, Xuxi and your relationship was pretty worse for wear. You loathed him, his intensely cocky personality and ‘i’m richer and better than you’ attitude was a complete turn off. Everything about Huang Xuxi was a complete turn off.

“He invited us.” She shrugged. “You were having so much fun before I mentioned it was his party.”

Invited us? Give me a break. As far as you could tell, Xuxi hated you almost just as much as you hated him. He sneered at you whenever he saw you and even gave you the nickname Top Bitch. Which, to be honest, didn’t really sound all that bad to you.

“Exactly.” You sigh and feel a headache come out of nowhere, leaving you clutching your right temple. “I’m allergic to even the slightest mention of him, I just got a headache. I’ll be back, don’t think you’re in the green.”

You move past the crowd to get towards the bathroom, or anywhere that was at least somewhat quiet. Going inside the large living room, you walk towards a bathroom but when you knock and only hear explicit noises on the other side; you cringe and leave. So you go towards the main bedroom instead, walking in when no one answers your knock.

The empty and quiet room let you release a sigh in happiness, massaging your temples. Contemplating laying down on the large and inviting white bed, you go to the bathroom instead; only feeling your temples throb even more.

You wince as you walk towards and pull open the door to the bathroom only to jump back and shriek at the sight.

None other than Huang Xuxi was leaning against the sleek marble sink, clutching his forehead until he jumped at the sound of the door opening and a girly squeal. You watch him groan and wince before turning to you.

But, amazingly once you connect eyes, the throbbing pain is gone and all you feel is relief. Your shoulders relax, your head feels light, its like a wave of serenity flows all through your body. You couldn’t help but feel so at ease, its like you forgot who you were currently gawking at.

“Y/N?” Xuxi looks at you with dazed, confused eyes before looking you up and down, iris’ doubling size at the sight of your feet. “Oh my god.”

You quickly look down and you instantly get why, mouth falling open.

Your black minidress and strappy black heels allowed for a thin, glowing red thread to wrap and tie itself around your ankle. But it didn’t stop there, you watched in horror as it continued onto the bathrooms tilled floors and under Xuxi’s pants, presumably to tie around his ankle.

You swallow thickly. The string felt like nothing but Xuxi and you could definitely see it, the vibrant red surrounded by a bright white light.

“What the hell is going on? Did you do this? Is this some sort of joke?” You stare at the last visible end of the thread before it disappears under the tall, irritating boys pants. He sighs, still staring at your ankle and the ribbon with a disbelieving look.

“No, princess, its a stupid fairytale my dad used to tell me. Guess its fucking real, huh.” Xuxi squeezes his eyes shut and you’re stood there in the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom still in shook. “Red thread of fate, a Chinese myth about a string that ties around two fated lovers ankles. We’re... We’re soulmates.”

The two of you stare at each other with disbelief written all over your faces, before you burst into laughter. “Thats a joke right? You’re definitely messing with me.”

When Xuxi continues to stare at you with his wide brown eyes, your laughter soon fades when you realize his facial expression wasn’t changing at all. Your face falls and you quickly reach down to your ankle, trying to pull at the string. Your hand just goes through it, as if it was just a hologram.

Your jaw drops. “H-How?”

“I don’t know.” Xuxi replies, eyes watching your hand go through the thread, yet the thread followed your foot wherever it went. “This... This is so fucked up.”

You grumble and give up, sitting on the floor and careful not to flash that guy-your soulmate your undies. Crossing your arms across your chest, the both of your eyes set on the thread connecting the two of you. You swallow thickly when a thought comes to your mind.

“Why aren’t you calling me Top Bitch?”

Thats when you fully take notice that this whole hour consisted of a very different Xuxi, one that hasn’t called you any names or threw a comment at you. He hasn’t cursed at you, hasn’t given you any looks, this was definitely unusual for Xuxi. This Xuxi was full of big, brown eyes that seemed to be permanently dazed. His words were softer, almost as if Xuxi’s voice got gentler the second he turned 21.

Xuxi’s eyes whip to yours and they’re obviously wide. “Holy shit. I haven’t called you that.” He swallows thickly and quickly looks away from your gaze with pink on his cheeks. “I don’t feel like I want to anymore.”

For the first time in the whole three years you’ve known Xuxi, your heart flutters for a second. But that one second is so profound it leaves you clutching your chest and shaking your head slowly.

“What is going on with me?”

“You’re falling for me, Y/N.” Xuxi lightly smirks for the first time since the two of you locked eyes, which is very surprising. He sighs a second later and taps the sink. 

“Shut the fuck up.” You sneer at him and scrunch your face. “This is all my drunk mind and everything will wear off in an hour or two.”

Xuxi sits on the floor leaning against the sinks drawers. “Enjoying my party?” He’s sitting across from you and the end of his feet reach your knees where the ends of yours reach the middle of his calf. You take a quick inhale and look away.

“I guess. Then this crazy migraine came out of nowhere and now I’m here.”

“Same here. But its completely gone now.”

That definitely meant your headaches were connected. There was no way the both of you could get a headache at the same time then have it leave at the same time. 

The red thread. 

Your eyes narrow and you go to nudge his calf, but once your foot touches his leg, it was like adrenaline flew through your bodies, goosebumps instantly rising. And when you looked at the thread, it started to slowly loose its vibrancy. Your eyes widened.

“Xuxi, look, if we’re touching the string gets dimmer and fades really slowly. If I pull away it stops.” You show him and nod to yourself with a small grin. “So it should fade away the more we’re touching.”

When you look up at Xuxi, he looks as if he was daydreaming but looking directly at you. His lips were in a small side smile and eyes low. The way he managed to look at you pretty intimately made your cheeks pink. “I think that’s the first time you’ve said my name.”

“Thats definitely not true.” You scoff and can’t help but laugh under your breath. Xuxi’s grin widens just a little at the sight.

“Lets just say it was then.”

Your grin is unbearably wide and you couldn’t believe it, never once thinking Xuxi of all people would be making you blush. But then you remember that it was Xuxi and you clear your throat and rolled your eyes. “Please, Xuxi, how many other girls have you used that on?”

“If I’m being completely honest, a lot.” Xuxi twists the rings on his fingers and you scoff loudly. When you sit up to leave, he leans forward and lightly grasps the back of your calf and you let out an audible gasp.

It was crazy, it felt like butterflies that took a lot of steroids.

“But up until an hour ago, I’ve only been thinking about one girl and its only been you.” You’re standing up and you swallow thickly at the honesty in his voice and big, brown eyes. “Which is fucking insane because we’re supposed to hate each other... right?”

You run your hands through your hair and sigh. “Its this red string thing. But the feelings aren’t real, it’ll all fade, look.”

You point to your ankles and the slightly faded string but Xuxi keeps his eyes on you, swallowing thickly at your sentence.

“Don’t you... don’t you feel like this is something more?”

Your eyes snap back up to Xuxi’s and your throat goes dry. He immediately gets up and motions between the two of you. “I don’t know about you but I’ve never felt anything like this before and I’ve been in love, so, this is different.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Xuxi? In love? That was an idea you never would’ve connected. Yet, you couldn’t help but agree. Even if you’ve never really been in love, you’ve felt it and knowing exactly how much you hated Xuxi, whatever was still keeping you in the bathroom with him was powerful.

“Why us?” You sigh and squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m soulmates with a guy who sleeps with a different girl every night!”

“Hey.” Xuxi frowns and takes a few steps towards you. “Thats not true. You know I won’t do that to you, I’m not that type of guy in relationsh-“

This Xuxi was definitely one that you aren’t used to, seeing him in a completely different light. It was as if he really did care.

“I don’t know that you wouldn’t do that to me!” You point a finger to his chest and ignore the sparks that go off from the smallest contact. “And don’t talk about us in a relationship, take a few steps back.”

He rolls his eyes and holds his hands up, moving back and away from you. And even though you know you asked him to move back, you couldn’t help but feel a loss of comfort the more steps Xuxi took. You groan at the feeling.

“I need air.” You mutter, taking one last fleeting look across Xuxi and his big, wide eyes before walking out of the bathroom and bedroom, and out towards the empty front deck. The entire walk your eyes were focused on the red string around your ankle.

No one else seemed to notice the string, as it followed your ankle through the mass of people. When you got to the deck, you take a deep breath and sigh. The three years of unfortunate encounters with Xuxi and you could be compared to a cat and dog type of relationship. The two of you went at it back and forth, ever since you first met.

Three years ago

You and your friends were at some random dorm hall on campus, playing pool and chilling in the community game room. It was around 9:36pm on a Sunday so campus was almost empty, save for the guys playing pool casually next to you.

Not gonna lie, you noticed them the minute you walked in the room, talking to your roommate Ella. Especially the taller, blonde one. He was probably the most beautiful guy you’ve ever seen, with full lips and broad shoulders, he was definitely gonna be stuck in your head for a few days.

But when he caught you staring, he gave you a cocky smirk that had you rolling your eyes. If theres one thing you hated, it was a conceited guy who played girls with that exact smirk.

You’ve had too much experience and you were sure this wouldn’t add to it. In the corner of your eye you watch him and a couple of his friends walk over and you groan, nudging Ella. “They’re coming over.”

“Sheesh, blondies a looker. I caught you rolling your eyes when you saw him.” She sneaks a look at him and turns back to you with a satisfied grin.

“Not my type.” You cross your arms across your chest and boldly turn to watch him and his friends get closer. “He’s way to cocky for me, I feel it.”

“I like them confident.” Ella eyes you. “Can I go for him?”

“Go for it.” You shrug at her and turn back when the guy in question and his friends are in front of you and your friends.

“I don’t think we’ve seen any of you before.” The blonde guy keeps his gaze and smirk locked securely on you. “Do you live in the hall?”

“We live in Beacon across campus.” Even if Ella’s the one that spoke up and answered, Xuxi takes his time looking away from you to her. You scoff.

“Interesting.” He turns back to you with a cheeky grin. “I’m Xuxi.”

“My names Ella.” She holds out her hand towards him and he looks away from you with a little wink. You shake your head and turn to his friends instead. They seemed a lot calmer than Xuxi, the two boys now turned to you with warm grins.

“Hey, I’m Y/N.” You nod your head at them and they nod back. The one with light brown hair and a pretty smile answers first.

“My names Kun, I’m Xuxi’s roommate.”

“Sicheng, nice to meet you.” The boy with flawless features and light blonde hair replies.

“Nice to meet you guys too, both of you freshman?”

“No, Sicheng and I are sophomores. This is your first semester here?” Kun replies and you nod grinning at him.

“And you aren’t caught up by the force that is Huang Xuxi, impressive.” Sicheng smirks and you laugh a little, shrugging.

“Theres a lot more to a pretty face.” You look back over to Xuxi and where he stood with your friends a couple feet away. You turn back to them with a grin. “So what’re you guys’ majors?”

“Xuxi and I are both business majors.” Kun replies with a shrug. “I’m not really into it, more into editing and videography, which I do on the side.” 

“I’m a theatre major.” Theres a faint pink hue that spreads across Sicheng’s face until he shrugs it off. “My parents wouldn’t let me go to acting school so this is the closest thing to that.” 

You laugh loudly and shake your head at the two of them, already knowing you’re going to like them. “That’s really cool. I’m a bio major, but I might switch because it’s already getting hard and I don’t like that.” 

Kun visibly cringes while Sicheng shrugs. The lighter blonde boy smirks at you, nudging Kun. “He failed intro to bio twice in his freshman year, it was pretty sad.” 

You laugh again and when your eyes fleet across the room for a second, you catch Xuxi’s eyes. He turns back to you with another smirk.

“I don’t think I got your name.” Xuxi excuses himself from the girls before walking over to you without another word.

“It’s Y/N.” You give him an unimpressed look when he looks you up and down. He grins wolfishly.

“Thats a lovely name and, do I hear an accent?”

“Get her whole life story then her snapchat, bro, always works.” Kun scoffs and you grin at him. You pull out your phone towards Kun and Sicheng, away from Xuxi.

“Speaking of, can I get the both of yours?”

Both their eyes widen slightly before nodding and pulling out their phones and exchanging codes. Behind you, you can hear Ella and the girls hounding Xuxi for his snapchat and you release a sigh of relief.

Until Kun turns to the girls and asks for their usernames. Whilst Kun and Sicheng were getting the girls’ codes, it left you and yours truly free.

“So, Y/N,” Xuxi takes a few steps towards you, “my snapchats h-u-a-x-u-x-i.”

You raise a brow. “I don’t remember asking for it, do you?”

He looks confused for a second before his smirk grows. “You’re feisty, huh. Don’t worry, babe, I love a challenge.”

You scrunch your face in disgust, wondering how such pretty looks can be obscured by such a narrow personality. But before you could say anything, Ella’s voice calls Xuxi’s name and you sigh in relief.

“I’ll catch you in a bit, Y/N.” He winks at you while walking backwards and towards Ella. You wave with a fake smile before turning away with a roll of your eyes. You turn to Kun and Sicheng instead, enjoying their company much more than Xuxi’s.

Later that night you get a notification on your phone and its a request from none other than ‘huaxuxi’ himself. You nibble on your bottom lip for a few minutes before accepting it. And you already felt like you would regret this.

Xuxi: Kun spilled and told me your username :)

Y/N: tell kun i dont like him anymore

Xuxi: Does that mean you like me more?

Y/N: that would require me to like you in the first place :)

It only takes Xuxi a week before he realizes that you actually didn’t like him and decided that you thought of yourself too highly. From then came Top Bitch and the countless sneers and scoffs. 

And thats just how it was for the both of you, never any different.

You’re sitting in the cafeteria with the girls when some of the NCT boys walk by, making you roll your eyes and sink in your seat lower catching a glimpse of who was there. But instead of walking up to your table, Xuxi just walks by and doesn’t even say hi making you furrow your brows. 

“Did Xuxi just ignore me?” You mutter to Ella once he’s a good distance away. You keep looking at him sneakily behind her shoulder and when he catches your gaze, instead of smirk or wink, Xuxi glares at you. “Holy shit he just glared at me.” 

“Maybe he gave up, isn’t that what you wanted?” Ella replies, shrugging at you. 

“Yeah.” You say quietly, swallowing thickly when your throat goes a little dry. “Yeah, it is.”

⇝⇝⇝

It isn’t until that moment that you realized you completely ditched Ella. You groan and quickly pull out your phone from the back of your tight, strapless dress. Texting her where you were, you at least knew she would still be on the boat.

You put away your phone and sigh, leaning against the yacht railing and watching the moonlight play against the water, the full moon still bright and powerful. The cities colorful and lit skyline looks almost animated and magical.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

You turn your head to the sound of your best friends voice, Ella walking towards you with narrowed eyes. You sigh and shake your head.

“You wouldn’t believe what I went through.”

Ella raises a brow at you once she’s beside you. “Oh? Do tell.”

You nibble on your bottom lip and realize you didn’t even know where to begin. How do you tell someone that a magical, mythical Chinese fable about soulmates happened to you?

“Remember three years ago when we met Xuxi?”

Ella’s eyes get a bit widened, noticing the way you say his name without cringing. She nods and motions for you to go on.

“Why didn’t you ever go for him?”

“Oh, honey,” she sighs and rolls her eyes, “I tried. He was just too... preoccupied, I guess.”

“Preoccupied?” You furrow your brows and turn back to the view.

“Y/N, he was like hooked on you the minute he saw you. Theres no way you didn’t notice.”

You sigh loudly and face her with a stressed look.

“Do you see anything tied around my ankle?”

Ella gives you a funny look before looking down and confusedly on your ankle. “No? It’s too dark, here let me put flash on.”

You look down at the still half vibrant red thread that stood out in the darkness with a sigh. “Never mind, it’s okay.”

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Your best friend gives you a worried look, never seeing you like this before.

Your chin wobbles and you close your eyes. “Xuxi and I, we’re soulmates.”

Ella stares at you, waiting for you to shout ‘JK’ or to laugh it off. But your straight face doesn’t falter, making your best friends eyes widen.

“How do you know? Xuxi? Soulmates?”

Your eyes pull open and you sigh at her. “Its hard to explain but yeah it’s true.”

“Is it true to you though?”

You look at Ella’s face and hesitates before nodding a little. Now that you were apart from Xuxi, your mind was clear but there was an obvious divide. When you were with him there was electricity in the air, sparks flying from the slightest look. It felt like something else completely being around him, it felt nice. Inviting.

“Yeah, Ella, I do.”

⇝⇝⇝

Xuxi collapses on his bed with a loud sigh, already feeling his headache coming back. He knew you were walking further and further, spending three minutes earlier just watching the red thread twist and turn.

Theres no time for him to be alone with his thoughts as his best friend Sicheng walks in a few seconds later. “Xuxi, bro, why are you still in here? The parties outside!”

Xuxi sits up on his bed and rubs his hands over his face. “Have your parents told you about that myth about the red thread of fate? About the soulmates?”

Sicheng furrows his brows and gets up from his place where he was leaning against a desk table. His confused face was obvious, Xuxi never being the one to talk anything about love, feelings, or soulmates. “Yeah, why?”

“Its true, bro.” Xuxi sighs and avoids Sicheng’s eyes, focusing on the floor. “Y/N and I...”

Sicheng’s eyes snap down to the exact placement of the thread and he comes closer. “I don’t see anything, Xux.”

“Obviously.” The taller boy motions for the vibrant red string. “But Y/N and I definitely do.”

“No fucking way.” The other Chinese guy shakes his head staring at Xuxi’s ankle. Until a smirk blooms on his face. “Y/N, though? I’m not surprised.”

“Right?!” Xuxi groans and stops, realizing Sicheng said the complete opposite of what he thought the guy would say. “Wait, what do you mean? We hated each other.”

“In the whole three years we’ve known each other, Y/N’s the only girl thats been consistently in your life that isn’t family.” Sicheng shrugs and continues to smirk at the boy sitting on the bed. “Which is insane because, you know, it’s you. And I am now 30 dollars richer thanks to you and Mr. Kun.”

Xuxi completely skips over the second sentence once Sicheng finishes talking, turning to the boy with wide eyes and an incredulous look. “The both of you bet on Y/N and me?!”

“To date, yeah, but this whole fate thing is basically the same thing, right?” Sicheng laughs loudly and winks at Xuxi. “I’m joking, man. But, knowing Y/N, she isn’t too happy with this?”

“That’s an understatement. She’s outside getting air.” Xuxi lays back down with a groan. “When it went past midnight, its like my feelings towards Y/N flipped. I feel so different towards her, like, I don’t mind this whole... situation, you know? The whole soulmates thing?”

“Then what the fuck are you doing here?” Sicheng claps loudly, instantly pulling him out of his reverie and forces Xuxi on his feet. “Go and tell her that!”

“Are you sure?” Xuxi gives him a small look, not really knowing what to do in this position at all. He was used to girls but you were something completely different, not like any girl he’s ever dealt with. The last thing Xuxi wanted to do was piss you off, knowing how heated you would get. 

“One hundred percent.” The shorter boy shrugs with a smirk. “When am I ever wrong, Xux? Now, go!”

Xuxi hurriedly runs out of the bedroom without a second thought, racing to find you. It was clear as day in his mind now, Xuxi realized that all these years of detesting you was nothing but a hoax, because if you were ever somehow out of his life; Xuxi wouldn’t know what to do. 

He doesn’t stop to wink or talk to girls, only thanking and waving at the people who told him happy birthday. Xuxi was a man on a mission, racing through his yacht to get you.

“Y/N.” He gets to the front deck and slows his steps when you aren’t alone. Your best friend, Ella, he recognized, stood beside you with dear in headlights eyes. “Oh, shit, sorry, I thought you were alone.”

“Oh! Its okay, I was just asking about rides back home.” Ella laughs nervously, nudging you low key. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

You nod and watch your best friend leave, not without throwing you a thumbs up and wink before she was gone. When its just you and Xuxi, the electricity is back and the headache is gone.

“Your headache stopped too?” You ask him and he nods at first before he realizes what you asked and Xuxi’s eyes widened.

“How did you know my head hurt?”

You shrug and the corner of your lips pull up. “Soulmate thing.”

Xuxi’s eyes focus on your smile for a second longer then bubbling laughter flows out of him. He takes some steps closer to you, reaching forward to hold your hand. Theres the feeling of pop rocks the second your hands touch and its addictive.

“The feelings aren’t fake or gonna fade in a day or two.” Xuxi clears his throat and blushes a little, the tops of his ears turning red. “They’ve always been there. This whole string thing just made me realize it.” 

The moonlight, colorful city lights, and fairy lights decked throughout the yacht made this moment so magical, for the first time that night, you fully believed in the old Chinese wise tale. 

“You piss me off a lot but I don’t know what I’d do without it.” You say with a shrug, smirking not long after. Xuxi chuckles and bites down on his lip, looking down at you.

“Are you willing to give it a shot, Y/N?”

You sigh and playfully roll your eyes, standing closer to him. “I guess I will, Xuxi.”

The red thread between the two of you dissolves almost all together the longer the two of you keep smiling at each other. Seconds later, fireworks go off in the backdrop and scares you, making you shriek and jump. Xuxi laughs loudly and holds you against his chest, watching the colorful lights in the sky.

“I forgot the fireworks went off at 2am.”

“Why 2 in the morning?” You laugh loudly, unable to stop yourself from clutching onto his chest to get closer. The warmth Xuxi gave off was so inviting.

“So people don’t forget it’s my birthday.” Xuxi smirks to himself, obviously proud of himself. You roll your eyes but laugh none the less.

“You’re unbelievable, Xuxi.”

[concerningwolves]

On Writing Post-Apocalyptic Fiction

A frustratingly long time ago, @futureauthor-mabye put out a question about post-apocolyptic masterposts. Without stopping to think why none seem to exist, I said I would make one and dove straight in. On realising the sheer size of the task at hand, I decided to make this instead, a springboard starting-point to building your post-apoc world.

All genres have their own conventions that allow us to recongise them. Post-apoc has gained a reputation as being “the genre where zombies take over the world”, but that is far from the case.

Genre conventions:

Internal v External Danger - Whether or not there are external threats, such as zombies, the presiding theme has always been that the real danger of an apocolypse is humanity itself.

Desolation, Isolation and Death - Aka, the three inescapable truths of a post-apoclyptic world. Usually, the PA protagonist will feel alone; the world they are now inhabiting is falling into a state of desolation and disrepair, and there is always the danger or reminder of death.

Humans to Animals - this ties in closely with the idea of internal danger outweighing external danger. In order to survive, humans often become “like animals” and abandon their morals.

Cold Nostalgia - The inhabitants of a PA world are rarely allowed to forget how everything has changed. Although different, hallmarks of the world before still exist in the form of abandoned cars, trucks and famous landmarks ect etc

No Hope - an apoclyptic event is usually regarded in fiction to mean that civilization is over, and will never rise again to be as it was. Therefore, although there might be some hope in the form of a small band of survivors, this hope is never more than a temporary relief. Everyone usually has to accept that what is done cannot be undone.

Existentialism - If the world as we know it is lost for good, why continue to live? All purpose that you had before is gone, so why keep on surviving when survival is meaningless? These are questions that arise time and time again, as characters struggle with accepting their new fate.

Misinformation or no information - Without communications, as the power grid and telephone lines invariably shut down, any word at all reverts to being word of mouth. This results in rumours, speculation or no information at all.  

Power Struggle - As new civilizations form (or try to form) they tend to give rise to idealogies that would never have been accepting en mass in the world before. This results in a power struggle between people following various extreme idealogies.

Return to Nature - Nature starts to reclaim the human world, and humanity has to learn to adapt to nature in order to survive.

The beauty of the post-apoc genre is that it can be a sub-genre, or a genre in itself; the lines are there for you to bend. I’ve already mentioned that zombies are thought of as the trademark of the genre, but there’s so much more you could use!

The clearest route to writing PA is to look at the world around us and think about what is widely considered the biggest threat. For Stephen King, it was mobile phones, hence the novel Cell. For others, it’s robitics and AI, our sun dying, or the destruction of nature at humankind’s hands is suddenly punished by an inexplicable natural disaster. To get started, here are my top three favourites:

Zombie

A zombie-apoc lends itself really well to the conventions of Return to Nature and Internal vs External. Looking at the roots of the trope, the only hard and fast rule is that these are people who have come back to life without speech or free will, as found in the root lore of the Haitian Nzambi. There’s no reason why you can’t have a zombie apocolypse in a high fantasy world. Maybe the necromancers abused their powers one too many times, or some ancient curse was triggered? Maybe aliens descend and bring with them some technology or a virus that re-animates the dead?

Science behind a zombie apocolypse

Technological

AI, cyborgs, synthetic humanity, robot takeover... This one is my favourite. The main themes you could run with are Return to Nature in conflict with Technology vs Nature, as well as the question of what makes us human. Artificial Intelligence could re-programme the human mind and turn them into mindless killers, or shut down the power grid and plunge the world into darkness or cold. Computer viruses, hackers, seizing control of the nukes... yeah, there’s a lot to work with.

An overview of an AI apocolypse

More thoughts on AI (video)

Online debate on “are we too dependant on technology”

Body-hacking and cybernetic organisms

Nuclear

I love this one for its sheer relevance. No matter what happens, the threat of nuclear warfare has been around for a long time, and doesn’t seem to be going away any time soon. We’ve all heard about Hiroshima and Chernobyl, and considering that on a global scale is terrifying. Such franchises as Fallout have taken this fear and expanded it as far as they can into (what I understand from Temp) something amazing.

Effects of radiation on humans

Mutations and radiation (with further links at the bottom of the page to more information)

Science behind fallout four

And a list of other apocolyptic events

Plotting a Post-Apoc

The post apocalyptic genre tends to stick to the same tropes, and so long as they're done differently each time, it works. For example, the "one person is immune" trope applies frequently to zombie apocs, such as Znation (series) and The Last of Us (videogame). I read The Girl With All the Gifts the other week, and playing on the themes of family, relationships and child-adult bonds, the author transformed the immunity trope into a fantastic new take. I'm not going to spoil, but by adding the twist of natural human evolution and resistance to the idea of immunity, the whole trope was freshened up.

Themes are very important when choosing a plot for your post-apoc story, since it is a genre that often studies the more profound question of "what does humanity mean?". The genre's thematic backbone tends to be "Humans will always find a way to survive", but there are many different angles that you can take on this.

Possible themes for your plot:

family/found family

Humanity against humanity

trauma and recovery

unlikely allies

search for hope

cure motivation (either for a zombie virus or the state of the world)

the next generation

the world after the end

power struggles

fanatics

military control

meaning of existence

human nature

unlikely heroes

keeping faith

finding hope in the face of adversity

overcoming flaws in order to survive 

These are only some of the most popular themes woven into post-apoc plots. They can be combined in any way that you like, and don't always have to lead to brutality or "greater good" plotlines. I remember watching The Book of Eli which was about one man taking the last copy of a holy text to the last print in the country (or world? I can't quite remember) in order to return faith to the humans. Whether it was good or not is a question I can't answer, but the different take on a typical post-apocalyptic plot was refreshing to see. It was simple and didn't offer a cure for the world, but mapped one man's internal journey instead.

But What About Sub-Plots?

The really beautiful thing about post-apocalyptic fiction is that all of the day-to-day runnings of life no longer matter. Bills, taxes, work, the annoying neighbour, car insurance... all means nothing now. But this can also be a scary thing, as one of the biggest prompts for creating sub-plots is to use real life on your characters.

For those who don't know, sub-plots are the key to an enthralling overall plot. They're single threads that make up the whole plot of your story, driving character arcs, development and keeping the pace going. Common sub-plots are created by a character's need to maintain their life, be it managing an alter-ego in our world (superman, spiderman, supergirl) or dealing with the running of a castle, keeping good relationships and hiding secrets. Post-apoc removes the more obvious routes towards sub-plots, but there are still ways around - by using a certain theme, a subplot can be added.

For example, you're writing a post apocalyptic world wherein one woman is on a mission to discover whether or not her daughter is still alive, but you need more stuff happening under the main layer of plot. Perhaps consider how the relationships theme impacts her. Does she have anyone else in her group? Or is she too stubborn and working alone? What happens to her to change her worldview? If not relationships, try "meaning of life". How does she find it? What are her low-points? How does she overcome them? Try to look at your character’s personal journeys in relation to the wider world, and examine how their internal landscape conflicts with that of the new world.

This has been another installment of my On Writing series, a long-standing collection of writing advice posts covering everything from genre to sensitivity. All installments can be found under the tag “art on writing”. If you need help on something else, feel free to drop an ask!

[frejahertziswritingthistime]

Teenage kicks  Chapter 1

A/N: this was a request from @theboundlesssoul – I really loved the idea, so I’m going to make it into a short series (currently I’m thinking it’ll be between 10 and 15 chapters), and I’m really glad you requested it!

I hope you like it!

This story will switch from Deans POV to Readers POV, and flashbacks will be dated.

Remember, I always say yes to requests, and feedback feeds the writer!

Summary:

Dean Winchester has known the reader since they were teenagers, when their fathers went on a hunt together. Dean and the reader never really liked each other, but twenty years later, something seems to have changed.

MASTERLIST 

Pairings: Dean x reader, Sam, Bobby (mentioned), John (mentioned), Castiel

Warnings: Language

DEAN POV

Summer, 1995

Dean was staring at the crowd of people out front of Bobby’s house – he didn’t think there would be that many people. He didn’t know anyone would be here, at all, actually. He snuck a glance at his dad. He had his brows knotted together as he scanned the crowd; he didn’t know other people would be here, either. “Come on, boys.” He grumbled, laying a hand on Sammy’s back, and Dean trotted along sluggishly behind his brother and dad. As they approached the crowd, Dean could spot a few well-known faces; Bobby stood to the right, talking animated with an older man – Martin Y/L/N, who Dean had briefly met once, when his dad was hunting a Tulpa, when Dean had been ten. On Bobby’s left, Ellen stood – Dean only recognized her because of her laugh, and he waved quickly at her, when she caught his eye. He hadn’t noticed it, but Sam had broken into a huge grin and sprinted towards a girl around Dean’s age, who stood next to Martin, looking bored out of her mind. “Y/N!” Sam’s small voice rang through the still air, and she turned, her hair flipped around her face, and smiled gently at Sam. “Hey, Samson. What are you doing here?” Her voice was sweet and clear – Dean didn’t know why she had called him Samson, but whatever. Not that he cared, or anything. Dean stopped next to his dad, and leaned casually against Bobby’s house, running a hand through his hair haphazardly, so it looked tousled, and he glanced at Sam and the girl – again, not that he cared. He didn’t. “Hey, Bobby. Martin.” John said with a nod towards the two men. “What’re you doing here?” He continued, stretching his hand out to shake Martins. Martin shook his hand. “Bobby called, said you might need some backup.” John sighed and glanced at Bobby. “Bobby, I didn’t…” Bobby cut him off. “Yeah, you did. Don’t be stupid, the boys need a little time off, I’ll watch them here along with Martin’s kid. You need the extra hands, so take them for cryin’ out loud, you idjit.” Bobby said dismissively. He turned to Dean, who was still leaning carefully casual against the wall. “Come on, go to your brother and Y/N.” Dean frowned. “I don’t need to be babysat, Bobby.” He groaned and rolled his eyes. Bobby grabbed his arm, and walked him over to the bench, where Sam and Y/N were sitting and talking. “The hell you don’t, boy. Behave.” He said sternly, before returning to John and Martin, briefing both of the men on the case.

Dean sighed and sat down on the outer edge of the bench; he wasn’t interested in talking, he wanted to hunt – not sit here with his baby brother and a strange girl. “And I think it’s awesome. I like reading, you know.” Sam said, clearly deep in conversation with Y/N. “That’s supercool, Sam. I do too.” She said with a smile. Dean snorted. She snapped her head to him, a frown on her face – she had freckles on her nose, and a small bruise was fading from her cheek. Her teeth were a little crooked, and her cheeks were round. Dean rolled his eyes. “What?” She asked in a clear voice. “Nothing. Nerds.” He said, his voice a little lower than usual. She snorted back at him – a very un-pretty-girl sound and shook her head. “What, like you’re any better? I’m guessing you wear that stupid leather jacket to look cool, you have a bad-boy rep, and you’re a pain in the ass, probably to cool to get anything done, other than kiss chicks, drink before you’re old enough to do it and look at cars.” She said bitingly. He rounded on her. “not really, sweetheart.” He said with an air of indifference, but his blood was boiling. Sam snickered. “Sammy, shut it.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t care what a goodie-two-shoes like you think. I bet you’ve never had any friends, have you? Fucking prissy.” He said. Her eyes flared at him, and she stood up abruptly. “Fuck you, Winchester.” She spat. “Fuck you too, no-name.”  

She turned to Sam. “Sam, I’m happy you’re at least a decent human being, when you’ve got ass-clown over there as a brother.” She stomped off. Sam slapped Dean on his arm. “Dean, seriously? I really like her, she’s cool, and know you’ve gone and made her mad!” Dean rolled his eyes and stood up. John and Martin were packing the car, getting ready for the hunt. “Whatever.” He didn’t care, he told himself, but he couldn’t help but look over at her as she stalked off, somewhere far away from him.  

 Present day

“Dean, hello? Can you get your head in here as well?” Sam sounded annoyed with him, but Dean flashed him a quick smile. “Sorry, Sammy.” He said and cocked his gun. “Let’s do this.” He moved quickly and quietly to the back of the barn, where the werewolves they were hunting, supposedly camped out – Sam took the left, his gun held high. Dean heard a loud grunt and a sound somewhat reminding him of a body thumping onto the ground, before he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head, and his vision went black.

When he came to, it was dark; a few lanterns had been lit within the barn, but it barely provided any light. He tried to twist his head around to see Sam, but he couldn’t see past the beam, he was tied to. “Sam? Sammy?” A low moan came from the right. “I’m here.” He grunted. Dean sighed, a small wave of relief flooding him, and he wriggled a little; he was bound on his hands and feet, around his ankles and knees, and a rope was around his neck as well – he was standing against a wooden beam, which was thick and sturdy; no way he would take that down with just his weight. He tried to get to his back pocket, but his hands were tied very tightly, almost cutting on the blood supply to his hands. Either way, he was sure, the goddamn werewolves had been clever enough to take any and all weapons from them. Shit. “Sam? Can you get loose in any way?”” He asked – a few grunts followed his question. “No, I’m tied up pretty good. What the hell are we going to do?” Dean looked around – his eyes had adjusted to the low light, and he could see a few figures huddled together in the shadows. “I don’t know.” He said. One of the figures, a big, burly and huffing man, moved closer to Dean – despite his size, he moved graciously and silently; when he got closer, Dean could see a sheen of sweat on his browbone. Good, nerves were good. “Who are you?” The man spat at him, his breath smelling like rotten eggs and spoiled meat. Dean gagged slightly and craned his neck to the side, trying to avert the stench wafting over him. “Dude, have you heard of a goddamn toothbrush?” He hissed. A big hand grabbed his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, and he was eye to eye with Mr. Burly. “Who are you?” Dean spat him in the eye. The werewolf groaned in anger and dried his face with the back of his hand; Dean noticed the layers of grime and the tattered clothes, he was wearing. They must’ve been holed up here for a while. “Fuck it, I don’t care. You won’t tell anyway.” The man spat, before he ran a finger along Dean’s throat, his grimy nail skidding along the sensitive skin. “Buy me dinner first, then we can get to the fun part.” Dean grunted, as a fist collided with his stomach – he had a grunt from his right and guessed Sam had gotten the same treatment.

His ears picked up a sound, that was unfamiliar with this place – it was as if someone was tip-toeing on the roof of the barn, and he saw a little drizzle of dust trickle down from above him. Fuck it, a distraction it was, then. “Eating kids, huh?” He said with venom. “That’s pretty low, even for a pack of mutts like you.” Another fist collided with his body, this time his ribs, and he grunted in pain. “We eat what we can.” Dean sighed at the obvious answer. “Wow, profound.” Another fist, this time on his eye – he yelped in pain. “You are going to die, and we are going to eat you, until your bones are clean.” Another hit. Mr. Burly moved closer to him, sniffing the air around Dean. “You are going to be a great dinner.”

“Or maybe not.” A clear, sweet voice rang through the barn, before the echo of a shot, and the burly werewolf fell in front of Dean, slumping on the floor. Dean jerked his head up and gaped; a beautiful woman stood in the low light, dressed in all black. A pair of black leggings hugged her legs, and a goddamn gun-holster was around her thigh. A leather pouch hung loosely from her belt, a blade, bigger than Dean had seen before, swaying lightly with her movements. Her upper-body was covered by a black leather jacket, that honestly looked like some form of body armor, and she was wearing black boots, small heels driving into the grimy floor under her. Her hair was in a high ponytail, and it swayed as she looked around, training her gun at the few, who dared to move closer to her. She looked lethal, and Dean was enthralled. “If any of you fuckers even move a fraction of a millimeter, I will personally deliver you to purgatory. If you stand still, I’ll do it quick.” She said and moved sideways, her legs criss-crossing in a rapid motion, until she was right next to Dean. She smelled like a dream; her perfume was like a field on the spring. Her small fingers fumbled behind him for a minute. “You get the mountain either out, or you two dumbasses fight.” She whispered as she let her blade drop to the floor next to him – he felt the bindings give way, and he quickly picked up the blade and walked towards Sam, who was bleeding from a cut over his eyebrows, and cut him loose. They both stood up, Sam swaying lightly – Dean wasn’t feeling too hot either, and his eye was already halfway to being shut completely by the swelling, but he didn’t care – he was ready to kill some bitches. “Catch!” Her voice rang out, and Sam caught the small gun, she had thrown over her shoulder – she started firing off her gun quickly, dipping down to her knees, swiping her right foot out and tackled the werewolf, who had tried to attack her from behind. Dean was mesmerized as he watched this vixen fight her way through the pack of werewolves. She ran out of bullets, but had in one, swift motion opened her jacket, pulled a small, silver knife from the confines (a lantern light up the inside of her jacket, and an array of knives in different sizes lined it), and threw it at the last standing werewolf, who fell to the floor with a thump, the knife buried to the hilt in her forehead. She turned to Sam and Dean. “Well? Come on.” She said and stomped out of the barn, leaving the door opened. Her stomping stirred a memory with Dean, but it was hazy and fuzzy.

Sam shrugged and left the barn too, with Dean tailing him. When the were outside in the fresh, crisp air, they looked around for the woman, who had saved their lives. They heard a roar of flames springing to life, and turned around – fire was licking the barn, consuming it faster and faster, and a figure stepped out in front of them, arms crossed. She stared at them. “Fat load of help, you were in there.” She huffed with a casual nod back to the barn. “You seemed capable, sweetheart.” Dean smirked, trying with all his might to charm this perfect woman in front of him. She bent down and pulled a tiny knife from her boot, placing it gingerly inside her jacket before zipping it back up. “Listen, smart-ass, I’m not a flirt. So, you can pack that do-good attitude right back in your ass.” She bit at Dean, who stepped a little back, hands outstretched. Sam had pursed his lips, trying hard not to laugh. “Do you have any idea how much you could have fucked up tonight? I have been tailing these assholes for a month and you decide to just waltz in there, unprepared, clearly horribly armed, and get kidnapped, so I had to save your sorry asses, which meant that the fucking pack-leader got the fuck away.” She spat at Dean, stepping closer to him, pointing at his chest. “And know, I have to check both of you to make sure you haven’t been mortally injured, because you got caught, which means I have to haul both of you lumberjacks back to my motel-room to stitch up your stupid faces.” She narrowed his eyes at Dean, who was taken completely aback; she was something else. “You knew we were hunters?” She rolled her eyes at him. “Of course, you moron, your car is full of goddamn casefiles and the trunk was jampacked with weapons. Besides, I’ve kept an eye out for you two, since you were apparently just looking for trouble.”   She sighed and turned to Sam. “You seem like the normal one. You haven’t tried to flirt with me after a near-death experience. How’s your head?” She asked and frowned as she stood on her tip-toes to see Sam’s forehead. He frowned back. “Wait, I know you.” He stated. She raised her eyebrows. “Really?” She answered, stepping back a little. Sam’s face lit up with a smile. “Wait a second, Y/N?” Dean blanched. No fucking way. No fucking way, that the annoying, smart-mouthed little bitch-ass girl from his teenage years had become a hunter. No fucking way she looked like that either – last time he saw her, she still looked like a kid. “Wait, who are you?” She asked, clearly confused. “I’m Sam!! You used to call me Samson, I think. We met a few times at Bobby’s!” Sam explained. Her face lit up as well, and she laughed, hugging Sam the best she could. “Holy shit, you’ve gotten tall, Sam! What the hell?” She said with a smile. Dean had kept quiet, but of course, Sam had to draw him into the conversation. “Dean, don’t you remember Y/N?” Y/N turned slowly towards dean with a wicked smile and narrowed eyes.

“Ah, yes, dickwad. Hello, again. You haven’t changed a bit.”

CHAPTER 2

 TAGLIST: @trustnobodyshootfirst, @hobby27, @wingedcatninja, @supernatural-idjit-95, @mypage-myfandoms

FOREVERLIST: @supernaturalmagicfolk, @redeyedvixen, @al1y, @roonyxx

[missunknown624]

Someone to Stay

Liam Dunbar X Reader

Author’s note

     TEEN WOLF FOR EVERYONEEE! :3 So this is, Season 4 Episode 11, a little scene where Liam attempted to make Mason stay at his place, who apparently has things to do. In the process, he got a little down and a bit lonely— (poor pup) well, let’s say help is on his way. Spreading warm fluffs to all! +w+

~***~

     The strong pouring weather resounded outside the Dunbar resident’s. Instead of hearing the audible thunderstorms and restless splashes of rain, the smashing 2D sound effects echoed around the beta’s room. Their friendly gaming competition was nearly finished, clearly because Mason’s life bar was almost the size of a pea. Usually though, he normally would’ve won every game Liam insisted to play, but this time was a bit different. His strategies were completely useless from his best friend’s unbelievably quick response to his strong attacks. Then after one little blow, Liam ended the game, declaring him as the winner.

     “Oooh!” The both of them expressed, having a two-sided rhythm. Mason briefly threw his arms in the air, slightly chuckling and looking a bit surprised from his friend’s unexpected victory.

     “Dude! When did you get so good?” Smiling proudly, Liam almost shrugged at the compliment.

     “Hey, have you been practicing? Or did you just suddenly get superhuman reflexes?” The other teenager exaggerated in a joking manner.

     “U-Um…” Liam widened his eyes involuntarily, averting his gaze from him as he immediately answered back.

     Of course he knew that his best friend was being sarcastic, but really, he couldn’t help to be a little taken aback towards the mere coincidence. “I… uhm— P-Practicing! Yeah, I-I’ve been practicing.” The anxious male blurted enthusiastically while Mason nodded as response.

‘Thank god he’d bought it.’ Liam barely sighed in relief, feeling uneasy about the sensitive topic.

     The black male glued back his eyes to the screen and grinned in astonishment at the little battle they had. Then, he suddenly remembered something important, as he announced rhetorically, “Right, and I should be studying.” Putting down the game controller, he slowly elevated from his seat.

     “W-Wait! Where are you going?” Liam dramatically reacted, making the other throw a skeptical look upon his overwhelmed glance.

     Just within the brunette’s tone and his peculiar demeanor lately, he vividly expressed his vulnerable state how afraid he was of isolation. But more than that, he was certainly terrified. He obviously didn’t want to spend another night by himself after those ominous delusions that constantly haunting him up for the past few days.

     Mason narrowed his eyes in bewilderment, replying from his odd questioning tone. “Um, home? Besides, I got this History test tomorrow.” On the other hand though, Liam kept insisting him to stay a little longer, his voice cracking a bit. “Come on. One more game.”

     “Sure, you said that four games ago.” And with that, Mason entirely stood as he strolled his way at the end of the room.

     Panicking, the beta exclaimed and stumbled from his words, hinting the desperation between. “S-Study here! You can stay over!” His friend halted, turning over by his concerning pleas.

     For a moment there, his voice resonated like he was entreating his life on the line. But the truth is, Liam just wanted company. He just wanted someone to talk to, like… someone to have this problems melt away for just a tiny moment, even if he was given little chance to get their time. He extremely needed someone like that, especially with the things happened when his supernatural status almost made him leave his normal teenage life behind. Well, almost…

     “Come on, one more game. Just one.” The troubled teen tried calling out, but it was left unanswered.

     “You okay?” Mason prompted, his eyes flowed in both worry and confusion.

     With a struck of realization, Liam was quite surprised at himself as he caught how eager he acted. Completely ignoring eye contact, the helpless boy forcefully pierced his eyes shut in dismay and disappointment, meekly distracting himself from the game console in his palms. “Y-Yeah. You’re right. You should go.” He stuttered.

      Replying ahead, he gave a weak uptight tone. “I should p-probably study too.”

     He shook his head a little from his foolish act, as he bid a farewell to his friend. “See you at school.”

     At some time later, Mason went home as the beta ended up cleaning his room from the mess they made one moment ago. Liam leaped into bed, merely making himself comfortable. While he whipped around momentarily, he soon landed his eyes at the lamp switch. He started to feel hesitant if he’d grow comfortable with the room scorching in pitch black.

     Flashing images of that monstrous creature paused in the back of his mind. Hearing the wild echoes of the berserker’s deep growl made the male pull up and sit from the rickety mattress. His azure eyes scanned the almost dimmed room, alarmed of the fact that something might be secretly watching over him. Apparently, everything was at place and nothing was out of the ordinary. All he knew is he saw his regular old bedroom. But, he had this strong feeling that it wasn’t just it.

     He brought himself back to bed, still cautious of his unpredictable environment around him. Swiftly turning the lights off, he was shutting his eyes one second then doubtfully shifting them open after.

     At that moment, silence was the most distinct sound that his senses could hear, but the colorless scene became clear when the once faint drops of rain became louder as it balanced through the ears.

     Slowly, he heard the wooden floor inagruably creak. The boy’s breathing almost hitched, exhaling and inhaling very heavily. Trying to convince himself that he’d mistaken the sound, the fast pace of his frightened heart didn’t faltered a beat. He couldn’t tell if it was true or just a pigment of his imagination. Maybe this terrifying beast was real that he was just waiting to be slaughtered alive?

     Pausing, he heard a profound snarl. Violent heavy footsteps soon approached him. Its massive silhouette followed each crushing steps, but Liam never bothered to move a single inch. He anxiously panted as he felt this large figure hovering around him.

     “Y-You’re not there.” Trembling, he said in fear repeatedly. He chose to close his eyes, hoping for this nightmare to end.

     Before a few ginger knocks came at his door, he suddenly heard a low soft heartbeat enveloping his supernatural senses. With that, he instantly sat up and went flicking the lights up hastily. His eyes fixated towards the room right before him. Once again, he found it normal as it was before, yet the eerie atmosphere that extremely disturbed him somehow evaporated into thin air. It was like his nightmare faded away upon feeling a heartbeat.

     The boy heard the person on the other side sigh lightly, creating a tiny cough to clear their throat out. Imagining some murderous voice at his door, he heard it far more feminine and gentle than he could’ve imagined. “Um, hello? Liam? Are you there?”

     He then recognized her melody. The boy vaguely arranged himself altogether and he blinked relentlessly, realizing he was already sane. He rested his right palm on his forehead as he sighed in relief.

     Soothingly, her reassuring voice cooed kindly. “Liam… I’m coming inside now, is that okay?”

     Letting himself answer a quick hum, the hinges of his door squeaked slightly, some soft shuffling steps followed after. A female entered his room with a small tender smile on her lips that sent strange unraveling feelings inside the beta’s stomach. How odd.

     “Hi, Dunbar.” She waved a bit and shyly walked up to his bed. “Are you alright?”

     “Uh… yeah. W-What are you doing here, (Y/n)?” He wrinkled his brows, a dazed expression plastered his face. Chuckling lightly, she told him honestly. “Well actually, a certain person told me that you need someone to talk to and unfortunately, he’s busy at the moment… so, I wanted to help you with it.”

     In a heartbeat, Liam got flustered at the scene and carefully broke eye contact with her. “It was Mason, wasn’t it?” Nonetheless, the girl nodded in response.

     (Y/n) sat on the male’s bed, although the teenager beside her flinched at the abrupt closeness. As respect, she made a little space for him to be comfortable towards the situation. She graciously smiled, hoping to encourage him quite a bit. “Do you want to talk about it?”

     Like any other being, they would be taking second thoughts about heart to heart talks, but Liam wanted to say every single word of what he’s been bottling up inside, though nothing came out. He wanted to have this long conversation with her, believe me he really does; but, something was still having him hold back. His innocent blue irises articulately stared back at her curious (e/c) ones. They didn’t  needed a voice to explain every detail, their eyes already spoke.

     “Ah, it’s okay… I’m not trying to force you out of it.” Withdrawing those delicately caring words out, the beta slightly smiled at her assuring rhythm. She reciprocated the gesture, but with a bitter appearance. “It must’ve been hard for you, wasn’t it?”

     The boy furrowed his eyebrows and laughed nervously. “What do you mean?”

     She sighed as a smile curved her lips. “You see… you reminded me of someone I know. It might not look like it but I can feel the strong resemblance inside of you. Even if you haven’t seen it yet, you’re really the same as him.”

     Liam glanced at her in wonder, noticing her eyes lit up when she warmly looked back towards his blue orbs. “So… who was he?”

     “He was someone who always protected his friends and stood beside them against all odds. He’s someone who cared for his pack very much, which now included you too.” She pointed, as the boy’s once large pupils shrank at the unpredicted revelation. He froze momentarily.

    Slipping her hands into his, she squeezed his hand comfortingly. He found it very endearing of her, and couldn’t help but be struck in astonishment. His eyes narrowed down with a tender glimpse on to her. The female locked their gazes together and said. “I already knew, Liam… Whatever or whoever you’ll be, I’m not afraid of yo—”      Halfway to complete her sentence, (Y/n) felt the mattress shuffle across her and a sudden warmth radiated her body. Liam wrapped his strong arms around her waist, terminating the short distance between them once and for all. He leaned his chin over her shoulder as he was hugging her from behind. Both of their hearts hammered inside their chests, feeling the same awkward predicament. Soon after, the two of them relaxed, though stayed put like that, never breaking the silence nor the connected contact.

     He held her tight like he was going to lose her at any moment, yet at the same time kept her safe like a frail feather. He felt himself melt entirely, as if this dangerous cruel world stopped and all of his worries were erased entirely. Hesitantly, he softly mumbled under his breath, subtly tickling her earlobe. “(Y/n)? C-Can you— uh… s-stay over for t-the night?”

     Unexpectedly, he then heard a small giggle from her. “Oh, Liam…” Turning around to meet him, she smiled warmly. “Of course I will, silly.”

     (Y/n) bundled her arms around his neck as he buried his burning face on to her (h/c) flowing locks near her collarbone. Liam focused his hearing into her steady heart, gladly closing his exhausted eyes. In that perfect moment, he felt very delighted and secured in her kind fragile touch, he even found himself clinging into her like a poor scared puppy.

     As she stroked his hair affectionately, she reached over and planted a brief loving kiss on his temple. “Remember that we’re here for you, okay? I’m here.”

~End

[papaculture]

Shirley Hughes

When it comes to bedtime (and morning and afternoon) reading, I’m not sure I’ve enjoyed sharing any author’s work more than Shirley Hughes. Undoubtedly, part of this is due to nostalgia on my part. Her Dogger was probably the book I read more than any other as a child and one of the first books I bought as a parent. The nostalgia here is twofold — for the remembered pleasure of discovering her books, but more so for the seemingly lost world they depict.

It’s a cliched lament for parents to yearn for the apparent simplicity of their own childhood, but I get a real pang looking at the screen-free days, large backyards, intimate neighbours and kerbside games on show in books such as Moving Molly and Alfie Lends A Hand. If Hughes’s time machine has a particular power, that’s largely due to how vivid and real her work seems. Part of that is down to her illustration style. At a glance it might almost be called unpretty, but there is something unusually tactile to her slightly scruffy figures and the furiously detailed backgrounds. Her characters and settings almost feel more familiar than those from my own memories of childhood.

While I often transposed myself into the characters of books I read as a child, I don’t think I ever felt that books were about me in quite the same way as I felt Dogger was about me. That wasn’t entirely because protagonist Dave is a good spit for my four-year-old self. It was because Hughes conjures an emotional life for her child characters that is almost unparalleled in the world of picture books. The dramas here are perfectly sized. There’s terror as Alfie accidentally locks himself in the house with Mum on the street, or grief as he loses his pet stone, or excitement when the roof leaks while he’s at home with a babysitter. Molly comes to terms with an unfamiliar environment. Carlos wishes for a new bike, but finds joy in not getting what he wants. Dave, of course, is heartbroken when he thinks his lost toy dog is gone forever.

I’ve seen both our kids connect with these simple dramas and the complex emotions they elicit. It’s easy to underestimate the trauma wrought on young minds by apparently trivial upsets, but Hughes has an extraordinary empathy for the children she writes and draws so beautifully. Everything is an adventure, everything matters, and everything can be dealt with – by determination, negotiation, patience or resilience.

Dogger

This was a – if not THE – formative book for me (like myself, it has recently celebrated its 40th birthday). I suspect it still informs my worldview in ways I can’t entirely pinpoint. It’s a story about loss that ends up not quite being a story about loss. When collecting his older sister Bella from school, Dave loses his favourite toy and best friend — the eponymous Dogger. Mum and Dad search everywhere, but Dogger is nowhere to be seen. At the school fair on the weekend, Dogger turns up on one of the toy stalls, but Dave doesn’t have enough money to buy him back. He runs to Bella for help, but not before Dogger has been bought by somebody else.

This book is such a rollercoaster of emotions. Indeed, so profound was its effect on my young heart, that I had misremembered it as a tragedy. While the (spoiler) happy ending brings a sense of great relief, the gutpunch moment is the display of sibling love on the part of Bella, who sacrifices a toy of her own to save Dave’s Dogger. This is all the more moving as it follows a bout of resentment on Dave’s behalf towards Bella, as she is having a much better day than he is. There’s such a closely observed honesty to the line: “At that moment he didn’t like Bella much either because she kept on winning things.”

Hughes was apparently inspired to write Dogger out of fear one of her children would lose their most precious toy (Dogger actually existed, but was never lost). It’s a recurring nightmare for this parent too. Child Two has gone through half a dozen foxes (we prepared for this eventuality), whereas Child One was once briefly separated from her Pooh Bear (who has no understudy). When that happened, I oddly found myself more worried about the Bear than the child. We could have persuaded her to accept a substitute, but I’m not sure I could have lived comfortably with the knowledge that the original bear was out there, wondering why his best friend had never come back for him.

Moving Molly

This was a recent, timely discovery. We had to move twice in the space of 12 months, which was a bit traumatic for all of us, not least Child One. This book was a salve for her feelings of dislocation and uncertainty. Molly’s family leave behind a basement flat in the city for a large house in the middle of nowhere. While she likes having her own room, she misses the busyness of the city and her neighbourhood friends. Left to her own devices (a luxury children had in the 1980s), she discovers an overgrown garden next door (hints of The Secret Garden) and conjures up a raft of solitary adventures. It’s a simple tale that acknowledges loneliness and boredom, while assuring the reader they already possess the equipment to overcome. Life doesn’t stand still for long; it’s up to us to make what we can of it. I particularly enjoy the double-page spread (not pictured) in which Molly’s reality is paired with a number of imagined adventures.

Trotter Street

This anthology series follows the exploits of a group of kids from a London street. While Hughes generally seems to focus on white, probably middle class characters (I hasten to add that her illustrations and supporting characters always depict a multicultural Britain), here she broadens her scope somewhat. Characters such as Carlos – who lives in a council house with his brother and single, working mother – are from more diverse backgrounds.

Actually, it’s worth noting that all her books depict a reasonable array of different sorts of families. While the mother is usually the primary caregiver, I never had a sense of her worlds being afflicted by rigid gender roles. I’ve only tracked down four books in this series, but suspect the original intent was to explore the sort of characters and situations that often exist at the periphery of her stories. As it is, these are great tales, possibly aimed at a slightly older audience than Dogger and Alfie, but nonetheless devoured by our (then) three-year-old. She was particularly inspired by Angel Mae, who enjoys her stage debut in the school nativity play as the “Angel Gave-You.”

Alfie

These are such a rich collection of stories. It’s a treat to be able to see Alfie grow and his relationships with friends (notably bad boy Bernard) develop. Likewise, sister Annie Rose goes from being a bit part baby to an involved and troublesome toddler. It’s probably Hughes’s most elaborate world, with the neighbours portrayed as vividly as Alfie and co (one of the stories deals rather beautifully with the death of a neighbour’s much loved moggy).

What I think I like most about these tales is the focus on relationships — friends, siblings, parents, friends of parents, neighbours. In Alfie Lends A Hand, Alfie has to negotiate his own unease at going to a party without Mum, while balancing the conflicting needs of two of his friends. In helping others, he learns something of his own strength. I never tire of reading these stories, although I’m grateful for the audiobook collection (read delightfully by Roger Allam, with music and sound effects) as the children’s enthusiasm for them exceeds even my own.

Age and stage: 2+

Gender stuff: Pretty great, really. While you could argue that most of the protagonists are male, there are some really well-crafted and atypical female characters throughout her work. Take Bella, for example. Athletic and pragmatic, where Dave is dreamy and sensitive. Likewise, male characters like Alfie resist the usual rough-and-tumble stereotype. Both Alfie and Dave are pictured crying without this being a reflection on the state of their masculinity.

Drama: realist, very child-centred, usually resolved without trauma.

Outdated bits: I’m really reluctant to pick out the old-fashioned bits, because many of those are my favourite bits. You could argue that the Britain pictured looks a bit monocultural by 21st century standards, but Hughes does a much better job at representation than almost any other picture book writer of her time.

Themes: kindness, resilience, bravery, compassion, disappointment, change, love, loss, friendship, community, stuffed animals.

[thing-you-do-with-that-thing]

4 AM

Characters: Y/N (reader), Jared Padalecki, Jason (OMC), Rose (OMC)

Pairing: Jason (OMC) x Reader, Jared x Reader

Warnings: Postpartum Depression, Depression, Anxiety attacks, Dickbag husband, Cheating (not Jared), Horrible childhood, Lousy In-Laws      

Word Count: 2000ish

A/N: This is my entry for @luci-in-trenchcoats 2K Follower Challenge where my prompt was: “You’re gonna tell me everything”

It is also 1 out of my 13 entries for @mamapeterson / @mrs-squirrel-chester’s Album Fanfiction Challenge where I chose the album “Smoke and Mirrors” by Imagine Dragons. The song prompt for this fic is: It Comes Back To You

Thanks so much to amazing sweet (yet slightly grumpy) @mysupernaturalfics for betaing angst for me.

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

You felt as if there was a hole inside of you. The hole was nothing new. It had been there for days, weeks, months, even the depths of it wasn’t new. You had felt the deep dark nothingness inside, that threatened to swallow you once before and it scared the crap out of you. The feeling of being completely and utterly alone had never been more profound though and this time you knew it was true.

You had been the poor girl in the neighborhood growing up. The girl that everyone felt sorry for because her mom was a drunk and her dad was never around. You had never wanted people’s pity. It had infuriated you. You didn’t want people to feel sorry for you. You wanted them to see past your circumstances and see you. You didn’t want them to only give you the time a day because they felt bad for the girl in the holed shoes and size too small clothes that came from a thrift store.

You had been very young when you had decided you never wanted people to feel sorry for you ever again. You wanted a different life for yourself. You wanted a life, a big house, a husband and kids. You wanted all the things you never had growing up and you had fought tooth and nail to get it.

You had gotten a business school education. You had bought your own clothing line. With the help of your then boyfriend, now husband, you had tried to expand. You had had it all or so you had thought. Right up until the moment your little girl was born and your depression had set in. For weeks you hadn’t left the house. You were sure something was about to go wrong. You were sure you were gonna lose her somehow. That everything around you would hurt her, especially if the weren’t within reach or sight.

Your husband, Jason had never understood you. His family never understood. They got angry with you and told you, you were being irrational and that you needed to get yourself together. Their words had run through your head and you felt the small hole inside of you, you had hid so well since you were a child start to grow. Your mind started telling you that no one cared. No one wanted you around and that your daughter would be better off without you in her life.

You had kissed your sleeping daughter on the forehead and you had gone to your kitchen with tears streaming down your face. You had always been unwanted. You had always been the one people pitied and now they didn’t even do that anymore. Now they were angry with you. They wanted you to be normal and to get over whatever it was inside you that prevented you from being happy.

Pity had come later, when you had returned home from the hospital with bandages around your wrist. They had walked around you like you were a fragile porcelain statue that they could break if they breathed wrong somewhere near it. They excluded you from your own business, the only place you had found peace through all these years. Whenever you tried to design something new, someone swept in pulling your pen and paper from your hands.

Your husband insisted it was all to protect you. To make sure you found your way through this and got better. You had chosen to believe him, which had proven to be the biggest mistake of your life. Well maybe aside from marrying him in the first place. When the bank called telling you they needed your signature for the declaration of bankruptcy Jason had filed for your business. You had been sure they had made a mistake. You were so sure that you after having dropped your daughter off with your mother-in-law, you had went to go see him at his work. Only you had seen a lot more of both him and his secretary than you had expected too. You just stood there. Frozen to the spot as she gathered her clothes and ran from his office. You weren’t sure what you had expected from him. Remorse, apologies. Certainly not the anger and blame that you got.

Yes your store had gone under because you didn’t design new clothes. Yes he had slept with someone else for months because you were no longer the woman he married. Because during your mental health break down you hadn’t catered to his needs. Finally your anger met his and he told you he wanted a divorce. He told you to get out of his life and that you were never going to see your daughter again. He told you, you were poison to her and everyone around you. Confirming everything the voices in your head had told you less than a year ago.

You felt the hole inside you grow and the darkness in your mind take over with every added word. So you had fled. You had fled from his office and your life to come here. You were sitting in a Vancouver airport hotel with your legs pulled up under you, staring at the bottle of pills that could end your pathetic life, with your phone lying next to it.

You thought of him. The only true friend you had ever had. The boy that stayed under the bleachers with you when you were crying. The boy that had held you up every time life had tried to beat you down. The boy that had turned into a man standing before you professing his love for you the day before your wedding to Jason. The man you hadn’t chosen because you had been too scared too. Jason was safe. You had cared for him once but never really loved him. Jared. Jared you had loved so much it hurt. So much it had scared you. You always knew losing Jason would hurt, but losing Jared after allowing him in would break you.

You had lied to Jared that day, telling him you didn’t feel the same and never spoken to him since. That was 5 years ago and now you had flown to another country because you felt he would be your only salvation. Because he would understand. Because you still loved him, even if you didn’t deserve his love. Not anymore and maybe not ever.  

Tears filled your eyes and your closed your arms around your legs, rocking yourself slightly as the phone call replayed over and over in your head again and again.

“Hello?” his voice had gotten deeper over the years but you still recognized it easily. It still made you feel calm even if you didn’t deserve the comfort his voice brought you. “Is anyone there? Hello?”

“Jared…” your voice sounded broken, just like you felt. It had taken every ounce of strength you could muster even getting his name out.

“Y/N?” He recognized your voice. He didn’t sound angry. Suprised, then worried, but not angry. “Y/N/N what’s wrong? Talk to me sweetheart,” Jared pleaded with you through the phone. Knowing you well enough to know you were breaking from just one word. His name.

“Jared, I am afraid I might do something… I….” you stuttered and you instantly head a scrambling of keys on the other end of the phone.

“Y/N/N, I am coming. I will be on the next flight home. Is there someone you can call closer. You can’t be alone right now,” Jared rambled as you heard him clearly leaving his home.

“You. Jared, I am in Vancouver. Fairmont room 422,” you answered him through your tears.

“Baby, please don’t do anything before I get there. I am on my way. Please wait for me,” Jared pleaded as you hang up the phone. You didn’t want to lie to him again. You didn’t wanna make him a promise you weren’t sure you could keep. You were going to try though. For him you were going to fight.

You looked up just as you heard three knocks and the door opened wide. You hadn’t locked it, knowing you might not be in a state to open it for him. You saw the fear on his face, turn to relief, before it turned back into worry as he walked towards you.

“Y/N?” Jared sat down on the bed next to you and you started rambling, without meaning too. Without purpose.

“He is taking Rose from me. He is taking my daughter,” you cried and Jared’s arms instantly closed around you and you clung to him as if he was your last lifeline, because he was. He rocked you gently, his arms shielding you from the word. His warm, steady breath against your neck somehow gave you strength. Made the darkness inside you seem less grim and the hole shrink just a little.

“Y/N,” Jared looked at you with worry and care written all over his face, “You’re gonna tell me everything now and I will help you. Okay?” Jared smiled tenderly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face and you nodded. You told Jared everything that night. You sat on a hotel room bed at four am in the morning with the man you should have chosen five years ago, spilling every last detail of your life that had fallen to pieces. You never saw blame in his eyes, you saw anger directed towards the man you had married over him, but you never saw any hate towards you. You saw care and love.

“Jared, I am so sorry. I was scared. I loved you. I love you. I always have, but I was just so scared of losing you so I…” you cried and Jared instantly wrapped his arms around.

“You chose something you could bare to lose,” Jared spoke understanding you as well as he always had, making you cry even harder.

“But Rose…” you sobbed against his chest and Jared tighten his grip around you.

“You’re not losing your daughter Y/N. I’m here now. I am going to help you get her back,” Jared promised pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, “Y/N/N I love you too. You’re not losing either of us ever.”

You let out a gasp with his words and your mind instantly started racing, telling you how you didn’t deserve him. How you were going to destroy him by loving him, but it was as if Jared had read you mind. He just simply cupped your face in his huge hands, “don’t do that Y/N. Don’t believe the voices. I’m right here. Let me be here with you.”

You nodded, deciding it was time to be strong just like you had always wanted to be. Not by creating a perfect picture for others to look at but by allowing yourself to be loved. By Jared and by Rose. You were getting your family, even if it wasn’t in the way you had imagined. Jared was here and everything was going to be okay. Eventually. As for right now you let the feel of his soft lips pressed against your chase away the darkness in your mind. You let his strong arms protect you from a world to hurt you and you believed in him when he said you were going to hold your daughter in your arms soon. Jared and Rose was going to be your happy ending and you were willing to fight Jason and the voices for it. As long as you got to feel the way you did right now. Loved, safe and almost happy in the arms of the man you had given your heart long ago.

Jared Tag Team (CLOSED)

  @mysupernaturalfics @blacktithe7 @percywinchester27 @jpadjackles @supernatural-jackles @supernaturalobessed @skathan-omaha @feelmyroarrrr @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @winchesterprincessbride @curliesallovertheplace @faith-in-dean @ellen-reincarnated1967 @elliewinchesterr @adriellej @moonstar86 @alexafromthefandom @atc74 @nikolanna @brooke-supernatural16 @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @melonberri @thatonehaspanicchick @stilinski15 @impalaimagining @phoenixia67 @bringmesomepie56 @chaos-and-the-calm67 @jasminwild @gryffindorable713 @blushingsamgirl @lilyleely @smoothdogsgirl @angelkurenai @charliebradbury1104 @chelseypaigeake @gecko9596 @mouselovesmusic @lucifer-ismy-bae @sleepywinchester @deansleather @katnharper @fangirl1802 @buckysmetallicstump @spn-fan-girl-173 @jensen-gal @purgatoan @iamnotsaneatall @waywardjoy @gemini75eeyore @brunettechick @winchester-writes @just-a-touch-of-crowley @itsummertime22 @deanwinchesterisamazing @caitsymichelle13 @sandlee44 @nataly-world @riversong-sam @flawsweirdo @gabriels-trix @supernaturalismalife @captainradicalpassion @tomlinson-winchester-wings21 @dontbeamenacetotheforce @love-kittykat21 @we-know-a-little-about-a-lot @thelittleredwhocould @ivvitm1109 @iamflanneltrash @mogaruke @haleyhay96 @thewhisperingfox @blanketmadeofstar @you-know-whodoesthat-crazypeople @for-the-love-of-dean @girl-next-door-writes @autopistaaningunaparte @bemyqueenofdarkness @legion18993 @mamapeterson @zeneko1987 

[seriouslyhooked]

Just a Taste (A CS AU) Part 8/10

AU where Emma and Killian are contestants on the Great American Baking Show and all twelve contestants hail from Storybrooke Maine. In this AU Emma is a book editor by day, while Killian is an architect who just moved to town a few months prior. Expect baked goods, flirtatious interactions, a little drama and a whole lot of fluff with a guaranteed HEA for Captain Swan. Rated M.

Part One Here, Part Two Here, Part Three Here, Part Four Here, Part Five Here, Part Six Here, Part Seven Here

A/N: Week eight brings the remaining players in this story to another Americanized week. I have deemed this the breakfast challenge, mostly because I wanted to return to baked goods I know how to make myself. Don’t worry, there’s still plenty of bad puns and cuteness to go around, and enough fluff and smut to get us through another week. Thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoy!

If anyone had tried to tell Emma that in just a few weeks time she’d be used to cameras tracking her every move in the kitchen while she baked, she’d have called them crazy. Baking for the longest time had been personal for Emma, and a means for her to melt away from a present moment and into whatever she wanted to think of or dream of instead. To do that, to reach that same state of zen while on display for cameras and an eventual at home audience, should never have been possible, but here she was. Finally, content that everything in her life was going well, Emma lost herself in the process of making her favorite muffin recipe.

As she beat together the eggs and sugar, folded in the flour, and created her first baked good of the weekend, Emma thought about the week that had passed. In six days she had managed to move nearly everything she planned on taking from her house to Killian’s. Things were moving quickly, but the blending of their two lives was going about as seamlessly as a good bake. Everything was clicking into place, save for one element. Killian and Emma had discussed it, and for now at least, it made sense to keep Emma’s home unlisted. At least until all the buzz around the show wound down, they’d keep this new part of their lives quiet. The only people who needed to know about this next step were their close friends.

“Focus in on Tiana’s methods, if you would. She’s bringing together her batter in a different style than the others. Make sure the light is with you. Aye, like that.”

Emma could hear Liam’s quiet demands of his crew and for the first week in her Great American Baking Show memory, it didn’t put her on edge. The change in Killian’s brother had been profound, and whether it was thanks to his renewed relationship with Killian, or the harsh censure of a certain assistant, Emma didn’t know. All she could say was that the man beneath the bluster and ambition was one she’d appreciated getting to know better. With Killian’s trust restored in him, Liam had been introduced to their home a few nights back for dinner, and Emma managed to get more than a few stories out of Liam about him and Killian and their rambunctious youth.

Unfortunately for Liam, the forgiveness and acceptance he’d largely found with Emma and Killian did not spread to all of the bridges he’d started to burn when fueled by network wants and ratings. Tink, though cordial and attentive to her professional responsibilities, was still throwing herself into activities that didn’t require interaction with Liam whenever possible. Not that Emma could blame her really, hell she didn’t even know the whole story of what their history was, and Liam had been extremely guarded over it when she’d asked. It was just hard to watch a person she’d grown to care for, a woman who had been strong enough to risk her standing at her job for what was right, suffer this sort of discomfort.

“I think I have an idea about how we can fix that,” Belle said to Emma discretely as she stood beside her friend and gestured over to Tink. Emma placed her own muffins in the oven to bake, and by the time she’d closed the door, Mary Margaret had joined their impromptu meeting.

“How?”

“Well how do we fix all matters of the heart?” Emma and Mary Margaret smiled before responding together.

“Wine.”

“Right, so tonight, we’ll invite her out with us to girls night. No taking no for an answer, and with the trusty assistance of a much needed drink on her part, we’ll figure it all out.” Emma sized up her friend Belle, who more and more had been demonstrating that she was incredibly intelligent when it came to people. Emma had always known she was book smart, but this was a newfound skill.

“I think you’ve just really taken to match making,” Mary Margaret said, taking the words right out of Emma’s mouth. Belle shrugged.

“What can I say? I need an outlet for all of those romance novels I read, and a man would get in the way of that.”

Emma laughed but a thought came to mind. Belle would actually make a really great author. Emma had seen some of her writing samples, and knew her friend was not lying about her wealth of romance literary insight. Emma made a mental note to bring that possibility up to her friend at a later point, maybe even tonight after they’d finished getting the truth from Tink.

“We should give it a code name so if we bring it up the rest of today, no one knows what we’re talking about.” Mary Margaret’s excitement at the prospect of covert operations was laughable, but perhaps effective.

“Operation One More Couple?” Belle joked. Emma shook her head.

“Too obvious. It needs some level of hiding what we’re doing.” Emma looked at big red count down clock and an idea came to her. “Operation Time’s Up?”

“Sounds kind of ominous. How about Operation Right Time?” All three of them agreed to that idea only for Ruby to make her way over, camera crew in tow and a hand on her hip.

“Girls, I love you, really I do, but I can’t save you if you have a bad bake today because you’re too busy planning world domination.” Belle’s dramatic response of a hand thrown over her face to cover her eyes and a groan had Emma muffling a laugh.

“Ruby, now you’ve gone and ruined it! Thanks for nothing!”

As Belle and Mary Margaret made their way back to their stations, Ruby sidled up to Emma and hit her hip against hers.

“We were actually planning girls night tonight,” Emma filled in. “Now that I think about it, that seemed like an incredibly overconfident thing to do.”

Ruby laughed at that and then walked through with Emma every step in her process. Today’s bakes, all of the contestants had been told, would be getting more in depth profiles. Thanks to the fact that there were less bakers, and that there was a new direction for the show, the hosts, either together or separately, wouldn’t just be providing comedic relief, but gathering more information about the process.

“So, if people wanted to make this recipe, or one like it at home, what would you advise?” Emma loved this question, and was thrilled that finally she was getting her chance to approach this competition like the people in the original franchise. Thank goodness she’d lasted this long in the competition to get her shot.

“The thing about muffins is that their kind of like cake, only if the cake you were making had a tendency towards denseness. The best muffins I’ve ever had and ever made have toed that line between being just a bit too heavy, and still having a sort of lightness. The key to getting that is to chill your batter for a little while before baking.” Ruby smiled.

“So that’s why you put yours in a bit later than everyone else.”

Emma nodded, checking on her bake and deciding it was time to take them out. The happy little sigh that Ruby let out when she smelled the Twist on Traditional Blueberry muffins sealed for Emma that at least her taste would be right, no matter how the bake turned out. The addition of cream cheese Emma knew added a richness and an almost silky composition to the muffins, and also added a bit more savory of a smell into the sweetness of the berries.

“Well that and I just like playing with fire. The closer I get to the zero on that count down clock, the higher the adrenaline rush,” Emma joked. Ruby laughed heartily, but Emma’s acknowledgement of the time reminded everyone that there was more to be done.

When the bell did chime, signaling that all bakes needed to be presented, Emma was happy with her display, and luckily for her, so were the judges. She received almost perfect feedback (well as close as one could get to perfect with Mr. Gold as a judge) and was excited, until the judges moved on to Belle’s and announced that her muffins were dry. When Mr. Gold decided to use Emma’s standard against Belle, it undercut any good feelings Emma previously had. She didn’t ever want to be used to shame someone like that.

“Alright that’s enough.” The comment from Liam as Gold was about to continue his breakdown of every single flaw Belle’s bake had, silenced the room. No one moved for a moment, breaths caught, the air filled with tension. Mr. Gold was shocked for a moment but soon prickled at the command.

“I’m being paid to critique the food, and I’m damn well going to do it,” The man sneered and Liam crossed his arms over his chest, hitting home the size difference between the two men.

“At this rate you’re intending to go on for another ten minutes, and with a forty-five minute show, I can guarantee it’ll all be cut. I got your snippet, and so enough is enough.” Mr. Gold stepped forward, his snarl becoming more apparent on his face.

“You realize that I could leave right now, and then where would you be?” Liam smiled, but it was almost more a bearing of teeth. It reminded Emma of wild animals that seemed to grin at an opponent just before attack.

“In a fantastic position to sue, and likely doing better with young female viewers. There’s just something about you they seem to find so off putting.”  Damn, when Liam went in, he did not pull the punches.

“Liam,” Tink’s voice cut through the moment, soft but stern. Maybe their producer was willing to go toe to toe with one of their main judges, but that didn’t mean it was a great idea. Liam looked at her, and Emma saw in his eyes a want to understand her, but he caved instead to her wish, even though he’d found no answers.

“We’ve got what we need from this bake. On to the next one.” As the crew set up the required next elements, Killian approached Emma, standing close enough to whisper.

“Well that was certainly something,” He acknowledged. Emma nodded, feeling herself calm from Killian’s presence alone. Emma let the kind, almost melodic lilt of his accent wash over her as she moved the slightest bit closer to him.

“Who knew your brother was a crusader for justice all this time?” Killian smiled, shooting his brother across the tent a thoughtful look.

“I did. But bloody hell, when he commits, he doesn’t half ass it. Making an enemy of a judge like that for a woman he barely knows���”

“It was honorable. And whether or not he meant for it to do so, it seemed to thaw some of the ice away.” Emma gestured to Tink who was ignoring her own clipboard to look at Liam. Emma felt Killian’s hand on the small of her back, the warmth was powerful even though it was a simple touch.

“I think it’s very likely my brother’s affections for the lady rival mine for you,” Killian mused and Emma looked at him surprised.

“Really? You think he loves her then?”

“Aye, love. Now, do I think anyone capable of love as strong as I have for you? Certainly not. The world would be a far less productive place.” Emma laughed at that.

“So you’re some sort of hero for managing to carry on a relatively normal life despite your overwhelming love for me?” Emma teased and Killian’s other hand came to rest on her hip, moving her to face him, no thought of their surroundings at all.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far, Emma. Life with you is far from normal after all. It’s spectacular.”

Emma smiled, and rose to kiss him lightly, not allowing anymore than that to pass between them. She didn’t care if the action made it’s way to TV, for she knew no one would use their quiet confessions against them, Liam had made sure to promise that. It was faith in that promise that let her freely say what she needed to say.

“I love you Killian Jones,” He smiled, the look in his eyes so filled with love it turned those clear blue eyes a little hazy.

“And I love you, Emma. More than I can ever say.”

“Alright love birds. You may have some sort of truce with production, but if you’re going to stand here making heart eyes at each other all afternoon, I won’t promise any such protections from me.” Ruby’s words were light hearted, though neither Emma nor Killian sought to test the validity of the statement. They broke apart, returning to their stations and faced their technical challenge.

“Bakers, this week’s technical challenge is a dalliance with delicate details. A courtship with complex creation, a stroll with-,” Ruby groaned mid statement from Graham.

“Oh my God, come on guys, seriously?! This much alliteration? You’re just messing with me at this point, right?”

Graham grinned at her, reminding everyone in the room (and eventually America) why he was considered such a heartthrob. Seriously, it took a lot of looks, charm, and kindness to spend a season searching for love on national TV only to say none of the women were right for him, and still be beloved by so many. The fangirls were going to eat this up.

“Actually, that was all me. Just wanted to see how quickly I could drive you crazy.” Ruby’s face flashed with a bit of surprise before she composed herself and gave him a smile of her own that made her look like the cat who caught the canary.

“In your dreams, pretty boy.” Emma watched as Graham’s own cockiness diluted a bit, he’d fallen right into one of Ruby’s oldest, and most consistent traps. Now the man hardly knew if she was flirting, or waging war. It was hilarious to watch and would play so well on TV this week. “Now, leaving Graham’s love of letters behind, this week brings us a standard from one our judge’s kitchens. Chocolate Curse Croissants from Miss Regina Mills.”

Belle raised her hand with a question, surprising Ruby.

“Yes Belle?”  

“What about it is a curse?” Ruby looked to Regina, who stood with the others and the judge gave a smile.

“You can’t have just one, and they wreak havoc on your figure.” The whole tent laughed at the claim before the bakers set to work on the pastry before them.

Emma knew that croissants were incredibly easy to mess up, so she kept focused, drowning out the sound around her by lightly humming to some music in her head. Unsurprisingly, the music turned to love songs, and when she realized the transition, it had her looking over to Killian who was already staring at her. When she caught him, she watched the most adorable little flush cross his cheeks, a hint of embarrassment at having been caught. It made him all the more endearing and she wanted to just forget about the bake and go home for the day, even if that wasn’t an option.

“I’m really glad it all worked out, Emma.” Emma turned to find Tink standing beside her, a genuine smile on the petite woman’s face. “With you and Killian and Liam I mean. I’m happy that you guys don’t have to hide anymore.”

“Me too. You know, that’s in many ways thanks to you.” Tink adjusted her glasses and shook her head.

“I didn’t –,” Tink tried to deny her involvement, but Emma wouldn’t let her.

“Oh yeah you did, Tink. But we can pretend you didn’t if it makes you uncomfortable.” Tink gave another smile, clearly relieved not to talk about herself within the confines of the tent. “I was going to ask you after filming, but I was wondering if you wanted to come to girls night with Mary Margaret, Belle, Ruby, and me.”

“That sounds really nice actually,” the smaller woman said and Emma was surprised but delighted that Tink had accepted so easily, though they couldn’t do much more than share a time and place since it was soon Emma’s turn once more to explain her strategy for chocolate croissants.

The afternoon passed in a relatively pleasing way. There were no more outbursts or moments of tension. Emma even came in first in the technical round. The only real bummer for the day was that Belle had once again suffered from a lack luster bake. Her friend wasn’t upset by it though. If anything, she shared the same relief that David had the week before.

All through the girl’s night that came hours later, Belle spoke of her desire to have her weekends back once more, a want they were all familiar with. When Mary Margaret asked what she would do with those weekends, they all discovered that Belle was actually already working on a novel as Emma had hoped she would. Whenever it was ready, Emma knew it would be fantastic, and Belle had told them all they could have dibs on reading it first. Through the evening, they toasted to their new friendship with Tink, and the new chances in Belle’s life, but though Emma had a wonderful time, part of her couldn’t wait to get home so she could see Killian once more.

…………………

“You didn’t have to come pick me up,” Emma said as she and Killian walked into the house together hand in hand. Closing the front door behind him, Killian smiled at her, clearly amused by the slight bit of tipsiness she’d acquired from wine night.

“I wanted to. Making sure you’re safe is a top priority, love.”

Emma smiled, moving her hands to his chest ready to strip him of his jacket. She’d been thinking nearly all day about what she’d like to do to her hot, adoring boyfriend when they were finally alone again, and all that time had given her some creative possibilities to explore. While Killian allowed the jacket removal, he stopped her hands when she went for his shirt, causing Emma to pout a bit.

“Trust me love, we’ll get to that part later, but when we do, I want you sober and able to feel everything I give you.”

The shiver that coursed through her at the promise and the raw sex appeal in his voice was powerful. Emma doubted she could be more in tuned with her feelings but she also didn’t hate the idea of waiting if it meant the satisfaction would be that much richer later.

“Alright then, what’s the plan?” She asked and Killian pulled her into the kitchen. There before her was a spread of… wait, was that breakfast food?

“Killian, what is all this?” Emma asked as he stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her front, and pulling her close before filling her in.

“All day long under that blasted tent, I thought of how badly I want normal weekend breakfasts with you. We won’t have that chance for a few weeks yet, I’m afraid, seeing as you’re so exceptionally talented, so I’m making amends. Enough breakfast to keep us sated for a while at least.”

Emma felt tears sting at her eyes. This was such an incredibly thoughtful gesture, a real over the top breakfast made for her by the man she loved who loved her in return. Emma couldn’t comprehend it, but she knew it was one of the most beautiful gifts she had ever been given. He brought her to the table, opting to have her sit perched on his lap over giving her own chair. It was such a domestic display, and made Emma feel like she was living one of those romantic stories Belle was such a fan of, only this was so much better than any words on a page ever could be. As they chose from the spread before them composed of Emma’s favorite breakfast foods (fruits, pancakes, waffles, omelets and a dozen donuts from Granny’s), Killian asked about her night out with her friends, and Emma was eager to tell him everything, especially when it came to Tink.

“She and Liam kissed a few months before Liam got the offer to head this show up. Tink’s been in love with him for a while now, and one thing led to another…”

“But they just left it at that? I find it hard to believe my brother, who is obviously just as taken with her, was content with that.”

Emma noticed the way Killian’s hand stayed firmly above her hip, as if keeping her in place, unconsciously worried that he might lose his chance at love as his brother had. His thumb moved back and forth though, finding a patch of bare skin just under her shirt. It wasn’t helping to stop the craving she had for him, so she had to distract herself, continuing to talk about what she’d learned while she ate the food he’d worked so hard on.

“She got scared. She doesn’t see that he wants more than a fling,” Emma confirmed and Killian scoffed at that.

“Love will blind you, I guess.” Emma nodded knowing he was right.

“You’re brother apparently has a bit of a reputation, and to protect herself she told him it was a mistake. Saying those words has become a huge regret for her, and to live with it she’s dug herself into a state of denial that gives past me a run for my money.”

Killian pressed a kiss to Emma’s temple at the mention of her past, prompting Emma to close her eyes and take a deep breath. He was so sweet with her and yet also so commanding. They fit together so perfectly, and it went unspoken but not unfelt that the only reason she’d been able to get over her past hang ups was because she’d had a man like Killian to put her trust in.

“And now? What state does current Emma live in?”

Emma turned to face him, losing herself in how intensely he watched her. He was searching for confirmation, trying to convince himself that she was just as head over heels as he was. Lucky for both of them she was.

“She lives with her incredibly sweet and problematically sexy boyfriend, eating breakfast at midnight and marveling at how much she loves him and her life.” Emma ran her hand across his chest again, tracing at the v of his t-shirt. “She’s also sober, and really wants said sexy boyfriend to take her to bed.”

“As you wish.”

With all the flourish and coordination she’d come to expect from Killian, they left the remaining spread behind them, finding themselves right where Emma wanted to be most in no time. There was nothing slow or tantalizing about this, any thoughts of a languid seduction were over now. All day and all night they’d been skirting around what they both wanted most, physical affirmation that they belonged together. No one could argue with the chemistry zinging between them, and as more and more of their clothes were stripped away, Killian and Emma sought to touch, to kiss, to feel as much of the other as they could. Despite their proximity to a huge, lush bed, Killian pressed Emma against the wall, when they had nothing left between them.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch you all day long, Emma, knowing that you’re mine and not being able to take you how I want, to please you how I want?”

She moaned as one of his hands trailed its way down to her sex, forcing her legs wider before he honed in on her clit. He peppered kisses on her neck, sucking and biting in between words, and all Emma could do was claw at him for closeness, silently begging him for more.

“Yes!” She practically yelled the word a whole octave higher than her normal voice, feeling the pressure of one and then another finger as it pumped inside her, rhythmically working as his thumb left delicious swirls just how she liked.

“I’m not sure you do, love. I’m not sure you war with yourself constantly as I do. I see you mixing together ingredients, the light catching your hair, that little smile you get when lost in your world reaching into those beautiful eyes, and I think of all the nights I come home to see you doing that here and how you so willingly share that happiness with me. Under that tent, you’re untouchable, but Gods what I’d give to touch you, to take you.” Leave it to Killian to mix sweetness with a burning inferno of desire.

“So take me now,” Emma pleaded and Killian growled at her pulse point before coming back to look her in the eyes.

“Soon, love. First I want to watch you fall apart… twice.”

Emma was more than happy to oblige him, embracing the sensation of being on fire with lust as her orgasm built and then snapped inside her. She expected him to continue his ministrations on the wall, but Killian had different ideas, bringing her to the bed to bring her to even more pleasure with his mouth. Emma could hardly breathe, she was so wound up from every thing he did, trailing from her lips down to her breasts and finally down until he reached her core. It was easy for Killian to make good on his word with the skills he had, but as soon as he did, Emma changed the dynamic between them. He’d given her what she’d needed all day, now it was his turn.

“You have it all wrong you know,” Emma said as she moved above him on the bed, straddling his legs, taking his waiting length in hand and pumping slowly. “I think about this just as much as you do. That smile on my face, the light in my eyes, the happy aura you see, is because of you. I would never have been able to have that, that safety in a room full of people, without you.”

Killian’s eyes had grown dark, lust taking over nearly completely, and Emma took advantage of that, releasing him with her hand and lining her own aching entrance up with him before setting a demanding pace designed to have him feeling every bit of explosive pleasure as she had. They went on like that, mindless on the quest for pleasure, until eventually he spoke again.

“You have all of me, Emma. You’re everything.”

Everything about Killian was a turn on, but those words, that promise, it was the last thing Emma needed to spiral into bliss once more, this time pulling him with her. In the aftermath, the world was quiet, peaceful, and nothing filled the space between but their ragged breathing as they came back down to earth.

Lying beside him, knowing that in the morning she’d wake up to this same glorious feeling in his embrace and would come home to this again tomorrow and every day thereafter made Emma smile. Killian didn’t miss it, his thumb coming up to trace the upward tilt of her lips. Without another word, they continued to lie together, both soaking up the feeling of each other’s presence, until sleep finally came. The last thought to cross Emma’s mind was that they were another day closer to forever, and that undeniable fact made for wonderful dreams and the restful kind of sleep that only Killian could ever seem to give her.

………………

“Okay, look guys, I know you want us to do a song and dance for our ode to breakfast week, but there’s a baseline of respect I have for myself which simply will not allow it. Please, just have mercy and throw me some terrible puns.”

Emma had to hand it to Ruby, her friend was a terrific actress, and after all of this, if she wanted, Emma was sure she could get another job in television based on her dramatic flare. It was this silly sort of theater that allowed all of the contestants to keep their cool in the weekend’s final challenge.

In typical Baking Show style, the challenge for the final day was tricky, even if the contestants had all week to work on it. Today, they were expected to create a perfect dozen of New York-style bagels. The flavors could be whatever they wanted, but the key would be uniformity and perfecting the process.

Emma had done her homework. In order to be ‘truly New York’ and not like the bagels they had locally in Maine, the bagels would be boiled and she would use malt sugar and syrup to create the proper sort of encasing. Both Emma and Killian had tried multiple times to make heads or tails of the process this week, and they’d both gotten it right all of one time. She had to hope that today would be a mark in the win category instead of another loss.

For her book-themed creation, Emma opted to step away from the classics, and instead move to a book she’d read recently. Her Brie Before Bleu Cheese bagels brought together two types of creamy, melted goodness, traditional brie, and a mild variation on bleu called cambozola. It was a riskier bake, but Emma had supplemented the cheeses with some lighter herbs and she knew that if she got them right, they would be a hit.

“I can’t tell if my tears are from how good those smell, or how emotional that book was,” Ruby said as Emma pulled her bagels out. Emma was flattered by the compliment, but very aware that Tiana’s sweet chocolate chip nutella bagels would really give her a run for her money this week.

Emma wasn’t threatened of the competition, actually she enjoyed the fact that there was a consistent opponent who performed just as well as Emma did. David was right; realistically it would come down to her and the other young woman in the finals. While Tiana didn’t interact with the other contestants very much, having her own friends in town who hadn’t been interested in joining the competition, Emma knew her to be polite and a good sport. Tiana simply had great aspirations, ones that winning this show would help her finally reach. Emma didn’t fault her for working so hard to achieve her dreams, and she actually appreciated that she was never unkind in her attempts to win like many people might have been. Tiana had a lot of class, and Emma was certain, whatever the outcome in a few weeks time, Tiana would get everything that she wanted someday.

“Maybe it’s relief that you didn’t have to put on your tap shoes and sing us the lyrics to a song about muffins.”

“Fair point. Very fair point.”

Ruby continued to ask Emma about her bagels, the conversation flowing naturally as Emma set up her display with just the right cream cheese and the design she wanted. Of course she had extras cut up in small bites for Ruby and Graham and the crew. The cameramen got a pretty great shot of a failed attempt at subtlety from Graham which Emma knew would likely make the cut for this week as well, and in those happy moments, she’d forgotten any fear she had about presenting to the judges. That lack of worry only helped her in the end, seeing her through to reach her desired tier of star baker. Unlike last week though, Emma was required to do an exit interview, this week with Liam while Tink handled Belle’s final goodbye after being cut.

“So, another week, another star baker title. Does it feel good to hold the record for most best bakes in a season?” Emma smiled.

“Yes and no. I am honored that the judges have liked my work enough to award me the week’s win so many times, but also, there’s no previous seasons to compare to. Maybe in a couple years, when you guys have a few seasons under your belt, it will be more impressive to have this many wins.”

Liam cordially went through the rest of his questions, barely fishing for anything past her feelings on the bakes. It was Emma in fact who brought Killian into the conversation.

“Do you have any words of wisdom for our audience at home who love to bake as well?”

“Yes. Find a partner, whether it’s a friend, a family member, a significant other or whoever, who isn’t afraid to be honest about what they think. There’s no way I would be doing this well or feeling this confident if I didn’t have pure honesty from Killian when I make him try everything first.”

Liam’s eyes lit up at the claim, happy on two counts, for he could see Emma and Killian were happy, but he now also had something to make the network ease off his change in direction for the show. That happiness was undercut though by the sound of Tink’s laughter on the other side of the tent. No doubt Belle had made a funny comment about her departure, but Liam’s gaze left Emma’s and turned into a longing look in the other woman’s direction. While Liam looked away, Emma motioned for the cameraman to avert the lens and shut off her microphone.

“She needs to know you’re serious,” Emma whispered and Liam looked back at Emma confused but sincere.

“I am serious. I had it out with the executives, I’ve changed the direction of the narrative, I –,”

“No, she needs to know you’re serious about her.” Liam looked a bit embarrassed at that, glancing at the other PA behind the camera, a guy named Gus, who typically wasn’t very outspoken.

“Well she’s not wrong, man,” Gus noted and Liam ran a hand through his hair at Gus’ comment, not unlike Killian when he was flustered. Then he finally turned back to Emma seeking advice.

“How do I do that?”

“Show her. Girls love a grand gesture… just don’t do it anywhere near this tent.”

Gus laughed at that, and Liam managed to crack a smile, excusing himself and leaving Emma with her interview clearly over. She hoped that Liam would be brave enough to find a way to talk to Tink, but in the end it was up to them. For now, Emma was more than content to return to Killian who was ready with a teasing greeting and a kiss on the cheek.

“Saw my brother moving like a bat out of hell from your interview. Would have liked to hear what you said to cause that reaction.” Emma smiled, walking with Killian hand in hand away from the tent and back into the real world.

“I told him to take a page form your book and go for it.” Killian lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles gently.

“I hope that he will, love, and if he’s half as happy as I am, he’ll be glad for it.”

They both will be, Emma thought to herself, hoping she was right.

Post-Note: Another week, another chapter for me to fill with dream baked goods, bad jokes, and cute CS moments. I hope that you guys enjoyed the chapter, I can’t believe there are only a few more updates left, but I’ll be sure to make them count. As always thanks so much for reading, and I hope you are all having a lovely week!

[yesterdream]

When Nicky Drew on the Wall

In the kitchen doorway that led into the living room, Vincent froze. Across from him was a scene just disruptive enough to acutely snag his attention. It wasn’t life shattering or even world ending—in fact, it was exemplary of simple innocence. But to Vincent’s vexation, it was just enough to amount to villainous mischief.

Sitting on the floor, right next to the open door of his room, was the busy child Nicky. Occupied with his own work, the two-year-old had managed to ruffle the quilt blanket underneath him, having done so every time his little body had twisted and turned to face the wall or to pick up one of the crayons that laid scattered around him. There was a gentle scratching that occurred each time Nicky lifted one of his crayons up and dragged the waxy tip back and forth across the drywall. Large, periwinkle curves arched over the child’s head, while other patches of scribblings fractured the blank, white surface just in front of him.

To Vincent, it was utterly garish and, what was worse, wholly infuriating. Not only was it an insidious mess, but also every scrawled line was an intrusive violation of the pristine surface that had originated. The clean, white slate was now polluted with disruptive, uncoordinated linework that did not even fashion itself into any coherent pattern. It was pure, inconsistent chaos, nonsensical in its essence, and altogether offensive.

Yet, the man did not move from his place, not even to stop the child. Instead, he clutched at the side of the doorframe with one hand, tightly, while a surge of electric anger continued to charge his motionless body. Stark hesitation had ensnared him, and he found himself paralyzed. This petrification resulted from the vivid memory that had instantly struck Vincent upon seeing the boy. A flash of a quiet afternoon in a seemingly empty living room—or was it a bedroom? Whatever the case, there was also a wall there. Tall as it was vast, it seemed to stretch upward into oblivion or, at least, toward some stratospheric level that was irrelevant to him at the time.

He wasn’t sure of the proper age, but he did recollect that this occasion had ensued when he was very young. Vincent assumed that he must have been no older than Nicky was, now; perhaps he had even been the same age. What he recalled more specifically was the dark green marker that he clutched in his hand. It had a dull smell, he remembered, but not a scent that could be easily identified. Other details that stood out in his mind included the way in which the sunlight from the opposite window barred the carpeted floor, the barely audible sounds of an old television set from another room, and the slow-going afternoon that had been the primary influence behind his decision to engage in any manner of activity so long as it was constructive.

In fact, Vincent could recall what he had drawn on that wall. It had been a bird of some kind, a few of them, really, as they had been on his mind since he had heard their continuous chirping all that morning. He could even remember lying in that crib, looking up at the window and seeing nothing but white sky beyond it while hearing a few tree branches sway in the breeze, and, then, the aforementioned chirping. The moment had lasted for some while until his mother had entered the room. Eventually, her oval face and dark, curving hair loomed over him, blotting out the light of the morning until she had lifted him out of the crib.

She stood, now, in the room with her hands on her hips. A towering figure of wonton authority that directly contrasted his minute and more vulnerable size.  The dark dress swayed freely at her slender knees while a thick, red belt cinched her waist. She had yelled at him, although now Vincent could not recall exactly what she’d said. Some tone of anger relayed her displeasure with his actions, then the quick yank of his marker from his hand, followed by a swift and stinging strike to his face, verified the manifestation of her fury. He recalled being pulled off the floor and walked out of the room, then—and that was all.

Now, by some quirk of fate, Vincent was facing himself. A surreal leap back in time had him mystically placed in the presence of his past. Nicky had a profound likeness to him, which was mostly evident in his sandy brown hair and dark hickory eyes. There was a decision to be made, although, while it ought to have been simple and obvious, Vincent’s mind had twisted it into a stalling complication.

At the time, during that day, he had known no wrong and had enjoyed his moment of artistic expression. The activity had calmed him and kept him invested. There had even been a sense of pride within him that he had enjoyed. He could remember that very distinctly.

However, a livid anger so very desperately urged Vincent to rush at the child. Before any further damage could be done, Vincent’s neuroticism screeched for him to remove the toddler’s vandalistic tools immediately. But that was what his mother had done. A prevalent stubbornness forbade him from mimicking her actions. She was a disruptive harpy in his mind. Just as intrusive as those ill-fitting marks that crisscrossed and corrupted the once clean surface of the wall.

His anger swarmed him, but he resisted its influence. This did not, however, spare him of the slight tremor that began in his shoulders and arms as he still grasped at the edge of the doorway. He had clung to it as if it were a grounding instrument. Though, by now, it seemed to act more as a vacuum that devoured his will and so hindered him from deciding on a proper course of action.

The entire time, Nicky had been completely oblivious to his predicament. Mildly picking at the edge of the ripped paper near the tip of one of his crayons, the boy only looked up when he’d finally heard a vocalization. But it was one that did not come from Vincent.

“Yikes!”

The gasped word had drawn Nicky’s attention—and Vincent’s, too, though he hadn’t bothered to turn his head. Carrying an empty glass, Keenith had emerged from the dining room, having just pulled himself away from his own work, an endless chore of pouring over numerous accounting spreadsheets for his business.

He had immediately spied Nicky on the floor with his crayons, but an odd sense had also pulled Keenith’s attention toward Vincent. The man seemed to be no more than a single frame of himself, and by observing Vincent’s uncharacteristically dithering state, Keenith could tell that something was wrong. He knew instantly that it had to do with the scribbled crayon on the wall, but his instinct knew not to introduce any further stress to the situation. So, Keenith made his way over to Nicky, knelt beside the boy, and in a melodic tone, he commented, “Uh-oooooh.”

Nicky looked up at Keenith questioningly, then followed Keenith’s hand with his eyes to the marks on the wall as Keenith pointed them out.

“Looks like you drew on the wall, there, buddy, but you’re supposed to draw on paper. That’s an ‘uh-oh.’”

“Uh-oh,” Nicky parroted, and Keenith grinned back at him with a nod.

“Yeah, that’s right, we can’t do that. It’s gotta be on paper.”

Nicky looked back at the wall with uncertainty. A conflict had begun to bloom in the child’s mind as he puzzled over how he could still possibly continue his drawing.  There was a want for it, but Nicky did not wish to violate the forbidding “uh-oh.” Contemplation shown in the toddler’s eyes, which equally stirred Keenith’s own thoughts until finally an idea snapped his attention.

“Hey, little guy, you sit right here, and I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t do anything with these until I get back,” Keenith motioned to Nicky’s crayons, and the little boy answered him back with a cooperative “okay.”

The spirit of inspiration had Keenith up again, and he slipped by Vincent in the doorway to cross the kitchen, place his glass in the sink, and head toward the basement. As he passed, Keenith had graced Vincent’s arm with his hand and had given it a slight squeeze. That quick taste of comfort finally persuaded Vincent to allow himself a hint of relief, and after Keenith disappeared down into the basement, Vincent, although still persistently mute, made his way into the living room. He sat down in the recliner just beside the couch and laced his fingers together in his lap while he continued to observe Nicky. The toddler simply seemed content enough with continuing to pick at the paper wrapped around the crayon he still held in his hand.

In just a few minutes, Keenith returned, carrying with him a sheet of unused poster paper, leftover from one of Eliza’s school projects. He brought it to another part of the wall, where he applied a strip of tape to each corner, then he stepped over to Nicky, picked him up, and brought him to the newly prepared workspace.

“There you go, buddy. What do you think, huh? Now you have paper on the wall right here. So you can draw on this, now, okay? Is that good?”

Thoughtfully, at first, Nicky stroked the poster paper a few times with his tiny hand. The boy then turned a wide grin to Keenith and answered, “yeah.”

Keenith smiled back to him and planted a light kiss on the child’s head before lightly ruffling his hair. He then brought Nicky’s quilt over and the rest of his crayons, while the young child had already eagerly returned to his work. When everything was settled, Keenith finally approached Vincent, who had remained seated and watchful the entire time. A sharp, yet wary intensity shown in his eyes; his jaw was stiff, tightly clenched, and he seemed to be deeply pressed into the chair.

Paper on the wall.

The solution that Keenith had conjured had been so generous and peaceful. Apart from everything else, it had been obscenely simple. The benevolence of his actions was so profound that, in small part, it had left Vincent with a bitter realization—that it was unfair. During that innocent day, so long ago, he had endured punishment, but the possibility of peaceful resolution, instead, had always been there all along.

Vincent’s upset was clear to Keenith, although when asked if he was okay, Vincent only answered by giving a single, slow nod of his head. Silence was most often his cover when it came to matters that reached just a little more deeply under the skin. So Keenith let him be, though not without an understood promise that he would clean up the markings left on the wall by Nicky later. Keenith was offered another quiet nod, which he accepted with a gentle smile before placing a soft kiss on Vincent’s temple. The affection caused the man to half squint, but by no means was it an expression of rejection. Sensing that the situation was mitigated, Keenith retreated into the dining room, where he sat down to continue with his work.

In Vincent’s mind, Keenith was a wizard. A genius. He was stoutly convinced that no other man with greater wisdom on this earth could possibly exist.  

[sherristockman]

Fight Crime With Gardens Dr. Mercola By Dr. Mercola In U.S. cities, about 15 percent of land sits unused, vacant or abandoned. These spaces, which translate to an area the size of Switzerland, are associated with increased crime and stress to residents, especially in low-income neighborhoods. Plots of land with low-lying trees and shrubs, for instance, have been associated with a greater fear of crime, researchers wrote in the journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (PNAS), as the vegetation may hide potential attackers and illegal activity.1 Vacant lots that have been cleaned up or "greened" seem to have the opposite effect and are linked with greater feelings of personal safety and lower levels of violence and crime. Charles Branas, an epidemiologist at Columbia University, and colleagues decided to find out where vacant land restoration could have a citywide impact on crime and resident well-being, so they worked with the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society and Philadelphia Division of Housing and Community Development to clean up hundreds of vacant lots in Philadelphia. 'Greening' Vacant Lots Reduces Crime and Violence, Increases Feelings of Safety The researchers specifically chose interventions that were inexpensive, scalable and sustainable, such that one day they could be applied to other U.S. cities. The main intervention involved removing trash and debris from the lots, grading the land, planting grass and trees to create a park-like setting and installing a low wooden fence around the perimeter to signal that the lot was being cared for. The cost for the intervention averaged about $5 per square meter (3.8 miles) with upkeep coming in at about 50 cents per square meter. The lots were regularly maintained throughout the study period. Another set of lots received a second intervention, which consisted of cleaning the lots of trash and debris and maintaining the cleaning for the duration of the study. A third set of control lots, which received no attention, was also included. A total of 541 lots were involved in the study. Outcomes were measured over three years via police reports of crime and nuisance as well as surveys of 445 nearby residents. "We tested the effects of these interventions on the commission of violence and crime, as well as perceptions of fear and safety among individual study participants, at a citywide level," the researchers wrote.2 Significant benefits were reported due to the greened lots, including a significant reduction in gun violence, burglaries and nuisances, with the latter two falling by 22 percent and 30 percent respectively. Further, in neighborhoods below the poverty line, the transformed lots reduced overall crime by more than 13 percent and gun violence by nearly 30 percent.3 Residents also reported significant benefits, including feeling 58 percent less fearful of going outside due to safety concerns. A 76 percent increase in their use of outside spaces was also reported. According to the study:4 "[S]tructural dilapidation and blight can be key causes of negative outcomes in terms of people's safety, both their perceptions of safety and their actual, physical safety. When left untreated, vacant and blighted urban spaces contribute to increased violence and fear. The physical components of neglected and impoverished urban environments can be changed in inexpensive and sustainable ways as a direct treatment strategy for violence and fear in cities. Restoration of vacant spaces using well-delineated interventions … is a scalable and politically acceptable strategy that can significantly and sustainably reduce persistent urban problems like gun violence." Gardens Not Only Prevent Crimes but Are Good for Rehab Too As any avid gardener knows, there’s something intrinsically soothing about getting outside and putting your hands in the dirt. Such productive stress relief, then, would seem to be a natural match for prison systems looking to rehabilitate prisoners while also providing a valuable product: food. Prior to the 1970s, many prisons, including Alcatraz, had gardens. Then came an era when, as The Washington Post put it, “lock-’em-up-and-throw-away-the-key justice took hold."5 Gardens in prisons disappeared, along with their many profound, yet little-recognized, benefits. Preliminary research in California prisons suggests that among prisoners who participated in gardening programs, less than 10 percent returned to prison.6 Typically, more than 60 percent will be sent back to prison after committing new crimes or violating parole,7 so the simplistic act of gardening seemed to have a significant effect in keeping people out of prison. That amounts to an approximate savings of $40 million to the state and taxpayers based on the average state cost to incarcerate someone at $47,421, according to the Insight Garden Program (IGP), which helps U.S. prisons establish gardens.8 IGP director Beth Waitkus told the Post, "The demand is huge … Prisons see the value of this. When you have to tend to a living thing, there's a shift that happens in a person."9 Some prison garden programs use their harvests to feed inmates, both saving money and adding to the quality and taste of the food. Others donate food to low-income areas, allowing prisoners to give back to areas where many of them were raised. Still other prison gardens generate so much food that they're even able to donate to churches, nursing homes and schools. Gardens Lead to Transformations Gardens have the power to not only transform physical spaces but also the people who tend to them. San Quentin State Prison in California is among those participating in the IGP. Research suggests that prison gardens and other environmental programming "contribute profoundly toward transformative values re-identification, which is integral to a rehabilitative experience that inspires lasting change."10 In addition, for people who are incarcerated and facing personal crisis, gardening improved the sense of personal control along with deepened environmental understanding. IGP also reported on Waitkus' master thesis, which looked at the effects of a garden on the physical environment and social climate of the prison yard at San Quentin State Prison. The following benefits were noted:11 The garden was the only place where different races could congregate and work in teams without fear of violence from others Gardens invited attention, use and refuge Being in or near a garden reduced stress Gardeners gained benefits from directly working with nature, creating the possibility for hope and further change Spending time in nature to nurture plants gives people in prisons a chance to learn new information, perform complex tasks and problem solve,12 while at the same time offering mental, emotional and even spiritual benefits. Researchers wrote in the journal Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine that interacting with nature positively affects multiple dimensions of human health:13 "Physiological effects of stress on the autonomic nervous system are lessened. Psychologically, deficits in attention can be restored or minimized, and people report feeling greater satisfaction with a variety of aspects of life. The presence of the natural world promotes social health by encouraging positive social interaction and lessening the frequency of aggressive behavior. Spiritual well-being is enhanced through the experience of greater interconnectedness, which occurs when interacting with the natural world." IGP has since expanded, operating in eight prisons in California as well as facilities in Indiana and a re-entry program for people leaving New York facilities. One graduate of the program, a man named Julius, credits IGP with making him a better person:14 "Now that I'm out, I'm more active in the community and in work. When the garden is planted, and the work is done, and the vegetables grow, it brings a lot of people together. That's the way community grows … Learning about different plants and herbs inspired me. There were a lot of herbs that I didn't know about. Plants can help you a lot. There's actually stuff you can grow that can cure the problem. Knowing that it is actually good for the body, I try to eat healthier and set a good example for others in my community. I was going through a rough time in my life, and IGP helped pull me out of anger issues. I'm more caring than I was in the past. When I'm having problems or having a bad time, I take some time to meditate and try not to stress about it." Sustainability in Prisons Project Helps Build Healthy Communities Another example of how prisons are connecting with nature — with stellar results — is the Sustainability in Prisons Project (SPP), a partnership founded by the Evergreen State College and Washington State Department of Corrections. The program offers science, sustainability and environmental education programs in all 12 Washington state prisons, leading to such impressive outcomes as:15 Growing about 492,000 pounds of produce for food banks and prison kitchens in one growing season Raising and releasing more than 13,000 caterpillars and adult butterflies onto lowland prairies as part of the Taylor's checkerspot butterfly program More than 1,100 students have graduated from a 50-hour environmental course in preparation for environmental careers, resource savings and positive community involvement Since 2009, more than 2 million rare and endangered species were grown and delivered to lowland prairies as part of the program's prairie conservation nurseries SPP has more than 180 programs in all, from beekeeping and worm composting to land restoration and plant and animal habitat. Many former SPP participants report forming "environmental identities" that last after they're released. Participants have, for example, pursued environmental education and environmental careers as well as shared what they learned with their families and communities.16 Meanwhile, the Philadelphia Prison System (PSS) also operates a composting program that keeps 685 tons of food waste out of landfills every year, turning it into compost instead. The program also saves Philadelphia $40,000 a year in landfill costs.17 PSS built a composting facility via a grant from the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and now creates so much "black gold" that they give it away to the community for free. There’s also the Philadelphia Prison Orchard Project, which got its start from a donation of 200 fruit trees. The prison-created compost is used to fertilize the orchard, and inmates are able to work in both areas. PPS has partnered with Temple University and inmates can earn a vocational certificate in organic farming after completing the program. Reaping the Benefits of Gardening in Your Own Backyard Prisoners are only one population that stands to benefit from gardening. Benefits have also been revealed for older adults. In those who are institutionalized, gardening promotes an “internal locus of control and well-being,” similar to what is experienced by prison inmates. A decrease in sadness and anxiety was noted among institutionalized older adults who gardened, while in general gardening by older adults is linked to:18 Feelings of accomplishment Well-being and peace A decrease in depressive symptoms A protective effect on cognitive functions The development of social links Gardening has also been shown to increase fruit and vegetable intake among school-aged children,19 while offering benefits for veterans, including lower cortisol levels, improvements in post-traumatic stress disorder and depression and greater quality of life.20 A study in the journal Preventive Medicine Reports also concluded, "A regular dose of gardening can improve public health," noting that gardening is associated with reductions in depression and anxiety and increases in life satisfaction, quality of life and sense of community.21 There's even research showing that people with chronic pain had significant reductions in anxiety, depression and fatigue, and an increase in the ability to manage their pain — all from therapeutic vegetable gardening.22 Of course, growing your own vegetables and fruits is also one of the best ways to ensure ready access to fresh, nutrient-dense and chemical-free food, which is one of the most compelling reasons of all to try gardening. If you’re ready to get started, here are 10 DIY gardening hacks to help you create the perfect garden.