#the shifter urge to pull up in the replies

[maeverse4444]

…do i even need to say it

[monster-disaster]

[wolf-shifter] Rome + Yes or red

wolf-shifter!Rome x human!Reader Good to know: tied down, edging

Previously: [wolf-shifter] Rome - Rome's rut starts while you are asleep next to him. [wolf-shifter] Rome + NSFW Alphabet [wolf-shifter] Rome + you take control - It's your turn to take control while the wolf is tied to the bed. Patreon/[wolf-shifter] Rome + for more - You go back to Rome for more.

Summary: Rome has his technique to make you compliant.

Your voice is a broken plea, trembling and raw. "Pleasepleaseplease." The words are nothing more than a breathless whine under the weight of your desperation. Tears cling to your lashes, then spill over, hot and salty as they streak down your cheeks. You can feel the familiar, salty sting on your tongue when your swollen lips part with another cry. "Rome-" His name claws its way up your throat, then fades among your labored breathing. "Please."

The shifter looms above you. His broad frame cages you against the bed. His gaze is sharp and calculating as he watches each twitch and flutter of your body. “You know what I want to hear,” he says, nuzzling his black nose behind your ear. "Just say it, Y/N," he urges you softly, amused. He shifts his hips forward, pressing them against your backside in a firm but teasing motion. "Just say what I want to hear, and you get what you want."

Your flushed skin is damp, glinting under the dim light with a thin layer of sweat. You are right in the middle of the bed, face buried in the tangled mess of sheets that reek of the scent of your mixed desires. Your arms strain, and your wrists sore from the firm hold of the robes binding them tightly to your ankles. Your back arches instinctively, hips raised in the air, leaving you bare and vulnerable to his predatory gaze. Your muscles stretch, and every shallow breath you take presses your chest further into the mattress.

"But-" Whatever you want to say dies on your tongue. Your words dissolve into a needy, pathetic whimper. "Rome-"

Your core clenches around his cock. Your cunt, swollen and overly sensitive, throbs and drools around his thick length. Your warm, slick walls flutter around him, pleading for the friction you so desperately need. He is soaked in your slickness, and you are covered in the mess of his cum. You can feel it drip down on your thighs, smearing all over your skin.

"Say it," he snarls above you. The rumble of his demand rolls across your spine, leaving you breathless. His chest presses against your back, the hard plates of his muscles following the arch of your back. "You pretty pussy is begging," he says. His breath is warm on the side of your face. "Give her what she wants." You can see his paw-like hand gripping onto the sheets, his fingers curl into the fabric as if wanting to tear it apart.

"I can't-" you cry out, sniffing. Every maddening grind of his hips pushes you deeper into your delirium. Your sight is blurry from the tears soaking your cheeks.

"Of course you can," Rome replies, keeping you stretched firmly around his cock. "Just say yes," he huffs. His muscles are taut from the force he keeps himself from pounding into you. "It would be so easy, Y/N," he coaxes. "Why are you punishing your pussy, huh? With your silly stubbornness." Straightening himself, the shifter pulls out of you, and you sniff again, louder as you try to follow him until his hands grab onto your hips, stopping you from moving. Without the warmth of his fur around you, you feel cold, shivering at the loss of him.

Rome started tormenting you when you laughed about his idea of you moving in with him. Carelessly, you said it would be too soon. Before you knew it, you were on your knees, wrists tied to your ankles. At first, you didn't worry about it. His tongue over your slick folds was too much to think about anything else. He ate you out like a starving man, feasting on your wetness until you were ready to fall over the edge, but then, he stopped. He replaced his mouth with his fingers. He stretched you out with one, two, three fingers while tapping over your clit, drawing small, teasing circles over the sensitive bud. When you still didn't budge, he positioned himself at your entrance, filling you up with his cock over and over again. During the last hour, he came inside you repeatedly, painting your quivering, aching insides with his seed until it started pooling onto the sheets between your spread legs.

At this point, your sensitive pussy is a mess of dripping arousal, and yet, he didn't let you cum even once. Every time you got close, he stopped, letting you fall back from the edge just to start it all over again.

You can feel the head of his cock gliding across your slit. Rome taps at your clit, watching your hip buck from the mix of pain and pleasure. Your arms tense as you try to get out of your restraints, but you don't even have enough strength to move more than an inch. A loud sniff rolls through your body, and for a second, Rome stops everything.

"You know your safeword, right?" The wolf asks quietly, watching every tremble of your body that can tell him that you are at your limits.

"It's red," you reply quietly.

"That's a good girl," he praises. "You know there is no out of this otherwise." His voice drops a few octaves as he presses his cock against your weeping pussy once again. He gathers his cum that escaped your used hole only to push it inside you again. He barely slips inside you, but he can already feel the tight ring of your muscles as you try to keep him there. "Say yes or say red, but there is no other option for you today."

For a long, tense second, none of you say anything. Rome waits for your reply while you try to gather at least one coherent thought under the thick fog of your mind. But there is nothing else for you to say, is there?

"Fine," you gasp. "Yes! I will move in with you! Please, Rome- Yesyesyes!"

The shifter slides inside you with one swift thrust of his hips, pushing out his own release in the process. You can feel his cum drip down across your slit as he starts to pound into you. His long fingers dig into the plush curve of your hips to keep you in place. His hold is bruisingly tight. His cock slams into your depth, balls slapping against your clit. The mixed sound of your hiccuping cries and his feral snarls fill the room, and the wooden frame of the bed thuds against the wall with each powerful buck of his hips.

"That's it," he growls above. "Let me give that pussy what she wants. Good girl."

With every stroke of his cock, you wheeze and moan as you feel your orgasm barreling down from the pit of your stomach. Your vision blurs, and the tight, burning knot in your stomach finally snaps, making you tense and then melt against the bed when the world falls apart around you. You clench around Rome's cock, throbbing and fluttering from the force of your climax washing over you in thick waves. The wet sound of him pushing inside you completely, only to plaster your walls with his seed one more time, rings in your ears. You can feel him pulsing and twitching, every warm spurt of his own release ripples across your spine. He pumps into you over and over again until there is nothing left, and your eyes flutter shut from the exhaustion that takes over you within a few seconds.

"Now." You hear him humming under his breath. You feel his claws snapping the ropes around your tingling limbs as he adjusts you across the bed, massaging your sore muscles and caressing your heated skin. "Sleep while I pack your things."

"Rome-" your voice is nothing more than a hoarse whisper, and no matter how much you fight it, you can't make yourself to open your eyes or say anything more.

"Sleep," he says, pressing his lips to your forehead. "I will take care of everything else.

[jasminumdew]

Bear! Price in his mating season

Warning: minors do not interact

Tags: bear shifter, p in v, knotting, breeding, hurt, comfort

Word count: 720

When there’s not much to do in the morning, you usually go on the morning walk with John. Sometimes he’ll agree to let you sit on his back and go out to the woods in his bear form. You always enjoy those days, to be able to breathe in the fresh air and see the leaves and flowers covered by the morning dew, hearing the early birds’ singing fill the area. But today you didn’t seem to pay any attention to those. 

You’ve been trying your best to ignore how your cunt keeps leaking, and how his back muscle brushes through your clit lightly when he moves, making you clench on nothing. Only 15 minutes in the woods and you already want to push him down right here and ride his thick fat cock. And John knew, his nose told him all what he needed to know and he decided today’s the perfect day to breed your fertile womb. Now when you’re so ready for his seeds, actively grinding on his back, he can barely control himself. 

“Get down”

His voice so stern it scares you for a sec, you climb down, cupping his face in your hands. “Is there something wrong, love?” you asked, looking down at him. But he only takes a step back and returns to his human form, eyes hungry like he wants to eat you alive, cause he’s about to, with his fully erect cock and tip already leaking out. He breathes in your sweet arousal scent while approaching you. Before you know it, your back is pressed to a tree trunk, thighs squeezing together to ease the throbbing, only for him to scoops you up, legs wrap around his thick abdomen, his cock pressed against your needy cunt, making it oozes more nectar. 

“Why are you acting so shy now, love? You didn’t seem shy rubbing your sweet scent on my back just a few minutes ago” 

You hide your reddish face on his neck, taking in his musky scent. “I didn’t mean to. You were moving…weird and I’m ovulating today so I..”. John bites down on your neck, making you yelp and cut out your words: “It’s fine, darling. I understand. I’ll make you feel better now”. 

Immediately, he guides his cock into your warm pussy and fills you up to the brim. His mouth sucking and nibbling on your neck then moves down to suck on your sensitive bud while his hand caresses the other. The forest seems to quiet down, and John only hears the sound of you whimpering his name. When you reach down to rub your clit, his hand which was playing with your buds now pushes your hand out to flick your pearl. You cry out, the velvety wall squeezes like it wants to milk him right then and there, the fire in your lower abdomen finally burns you whole when John thrusts up to your cervix wall. 

Too drunk on your pussy, he couldn’t resist the urge to put his seeds into you and make you the mother of his cubs, his bear form slips and accidentally knots your bodies together. He grunts, feeling how stretched your cunt now is, and how your nails dig deep into his arms. Then the tears in your eyes pull him back to reality. You haven’t taken his knot before, gosh it must be hurt, it hurts him too seeing tears keep pouring down your chin. He lies down carefully so his knot doesn’t hurt you more, letting you rest on his chest. “You alright, love? I’m sorry, darlin’. I wasn’t thinking clearly” he strokes your wet cheek “Does it hurt too much?” 

You sniff “It’s better now. It’s fine, keep going baby”. He doesn’t reply, instead he just wipes your tears away, watching your expression until you seem relaxed, then he slides his hand down to play with your swollen clit until you grind on his knot and beg for him to move. John pulls you down to kiss your face lovingly, his thrust slower and gentler than ever, pulling another orgasm out of you before releasing inside your abused cunt. 

Maybe this is another reason you enjoy your morning walk.

Note: he looks so cute I want to suck his c

[thebluehair23]

Imagine :Gil-galad’s wife bravely rescues him, leading to a heartfelt confrontation and reconciliation.

Title: Bound by Love and Bravery

When Gil-galad set out for battle, you felt the familiar knot of fear tightening in your heart. Every part of you urged him to stay, to be cautious, but he was the High King and duty called. Days passed, and reports came back to Lindon—a battle gone wrong, Gil-galad captured, trapped in the heart of enemy lines. Though you pleaded with the council to send a rescue party, they refused, their fear for their own lives outweighing their loyalty.

But you couldn’t accept it. You couldn’t bear the thought of him trapped, suffering, while you stood by, powerless. Even more so now, as you carried his child within you—a secret you had only just discovered. The thought of your child growing up without a father was too much to bear. And so, you made up your mind. Taking only what you needed, you left under cover of night, riding alone through perilous lands, determined to bring him back.

Days later, you reached the enemy camp under the cover of darkness, finding Gil-galad bound and held in a wooden cell, guarded by orcs gathered around their campfire. Your hands trembled, but with careful planning, you managed to set up a trap—stones rigged to fall, fire set to engulf the camp in chaos. When the flames rose, the orcs scattered, caught off guard by the sudden assault. Seizing the moment, you dashed toward Gil-galad’s cell, breaking the locks and pulling him free.

“Are you mad?” he hissed, his face twisted with fury as he took in your appearance. “What were you thinking, risking your life—and the life of our child?”

“We’ll argue later,” you said, tugging him toward the trees as the flames spread behind you.

Once mounted on his horse, you rode through the night, pressing on until you were far from danger. Finally, exhausted and wary, you found refuge in a small, hidden cabin owned by a mysterious figure—an old shifter, who could transform into a wolf but whose heart was kind.

The wolf-man greeted you both with warmth, setting out a simple meal: bread, eggs, and fresh milk. You were ravenous, and the food disappeared almost as soon as it was set in front of you. Gil-galad watched you in silence, his eyes still clouded with anger and worry as you ate, hardly pausing for breath.

Once you finished, he finally spoke, his tone sharp with frustration. “You had no right to risk yourself. You put our child in danger. What would I have done if I had lost you both?”

You met his gaze, unyielding. “And what would I do without you? How could I go on, raising our child alone, knowing I could have saved you?”

He clenched his fists, his anger softening slightly, though he remained tense. “That isn’t a risk I would ever want you to take.”

“And I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try,” you replied, your voice shaking with raw emotion. “You are my heart, Gil-galad. I can’t imagine a life without you. I would face any danger if it meant bringing you home.”

The room fell into silence, and your eyes began to sting as you held back tears. Unable to bear the tension, you turned to the wolf-man, asking where you could sleep for the night, hoping to find a place alone to calm your heart. He led you to a single room with one bed, his gaze full of quiet understanding.

Your heart sank. You couldn’t avoid Gil-galad tonight, but as you lay on one side of the bed, facing away, you kept your distance. Moments later, you felt the bed dip as he lay beside you, both of you engulfed in silence and unspoken feelings.

Then, his arm slid around your waist, drawing you gently back toward him. His touch was warm, comforting despite his earlier anger. Slowly, you turned to face him, finding his gaze softer, more vulnerable.

He brushed a hand over your belly, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and sorrow. “It isn’t only you I nearly lost today… I nearly lost him, too.”

You managed a small smile, brushing your fingers over his hand. “Him?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “For all we know, it could be a daughter.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer until you were nestled against his chest. “Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice softening. “But I know that you both wanted me safe. No matter how angry I am, I can’t deny… I’m grateful you came for me.”

You let out a small laugh, the tension between you melting as you relaxed against him. “I’m not the only one, you know. He wanted his father back, too,” you teased, though you knew it was your love for him that had driven you to such lengths.

Gil-galad’s eyes sparkled with affection as he gently stroked your hair. “Perhaps,” he replied, amusement dancing in his gaze. “But if I know him at all, he’s inherited his courage from you.”

In that quiet moment, you felt the strain of the journey fade away, replaced by a deep and lasting warmth. You lay together in the flickering candlelight, your love strengthened by the trials you had faced, knowing that you would face any danger for one another. And for now, in each other’s arms, you were home.

[queermentaldisaster]

“The Hunt Is My Muse”

Hello! The first chapter of my shifter!au fic is here! This one is gonna be a long one, so you better strap in. This one is gonna be so much fun! I'm so excited to introduce you all to the intricacies of this AU i have plotted out.

Tags: @forestshadow-wolf @spicyspicyliving @bringinsexybackk69 (If you wanna be added or removed, leave a reply, tell me in a reblog, or shoot me an ask. Reblogs are greatly appreciated.)

Chapter under the cut.

Chapter 1: "Steel and Silver Sing For Justice"

“No.” He said, being adamant about this. “I’m not working with him on this.”

Price exhaled, his eyebrows furrowed. “Ghost, you will be working with Sergeant MacTavish on this.”

“And do you remember what happened the last time we worked together?” Ghost huffed, crossing his arms. 

Price closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ghost, this isn't a discussion. We need both you and the sergeant on the field for this one. If it makes you feel better, you'll be working with Commander Phillip Graves as well as Colonel Vargas and Sergeant Major Parra.”

“It does not, but it's not like I have a bloody choice, eh?” Ghost asked, his eyes narrowed under the mask.

Price exhaled once more. “No, no you don't.”

“Of course.” Ghost mumbled, turning around and leaving.

That was a few days ago. Now he was sitting in the helo next to Soap, the Scot rambling about something. Honestly, he'd tuned Soap out a while ago. He stared at the ground, feeling the urge to shift, that feeling like deep-rooted anxiety deep in his gut, bubbling up. He clenched one of his hands into a fist, taking deep breaths. ‘In for three, hold for three, out for three.’ He thought, repeating that in his head as he continued breathing.

When he looked back up, Soap was giving him a weird look. “What?” Ghost asked. Soap shook his head. “Nothin’, ye just looked nervous is all. Ye alright?” He responded, his voice soft and calm. Ghost looked away. “‘M fine, sergeant. Worry about yourself.” He whispered. Soap arched an eyebrow. “Lt, ye clearly ain’t fine. Just talk tae me, please.” The younger man pleaded.

Ghost shook his head, as the helo landed “No, Soap. I’m fine. We need to focus on the mission.” He stood up. Soap huffed. “Fine.” he said as he stood up. “But ah dinnae believe ye.” He muttered. Ghost looked back at him. “You don’t have to believe me.”

The helo opened and Ghost walked down the ramp, Soap at his side. The Colonel, Alejandro Vargas, walked forward to meet them. “Alejandro!” Soap exclaimed, offering his hand for a handshake. Alejandro took it with a polite; “Sergeant MacTavish.” 

Soap chuckled, his smile growing ever wider. “Call me Soap,” he said as the two men pulled away from the handshake. Alejandro looked to Ghost. “Lieutenant. Laswell says they call you Ghost.” He murmured. Soap cut in. “Actually, I believe he prefers to be-”

So Ghost cut him off. “That’ll do.” He said, looking back to Alejandro and nodding. Alejandro nodded. “You two shifters?” He asked, and it was a simple question. But one that Ghost did not answer. But Soap nodded. “Ah’m a red fox shifter.” Alejandro smiled. “Ocelot here. Let's go.” He turned around and led Ghost and Soap towards an armored vehicle.

Ghost and Soap climbed in the back. Alejandro got into the passenger seat. “This is my second in command, Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra.” He murmured, and Rodolfo looked at the two in the back seat. “Hello.” He murmured, before saying something to Alejandro in Spanish.

“Where’s Hassan?” Ghost asked. Alejandro smirked. “Cartel safe-house, ten clicks from here.” Ghost nodded, and the vehicle began driving, two more behind it.

Ghost honestly kinda zoned out on the drive through the city. At some point, he heard Soap say something to him about kids, guns and balloons, and Rodolfo said something about his mask, but he was too busy trying to ignore that damned feeling in his gut.

Ghost didn't shift. Not since Zaragoza and Roba. He used to, even with his dad's abuse, albeit rarely, but he couldn't anymore. Not when all it brought up were memories of pain and suffering. So he let the animal in him fester.

It would never get out again.

[minifamlover]

The dragon rider, and the dragon Shifter

Addam's POV

Rhaenyra instructed Jace to take me out on Seasmoke to get some practice in. Something he didn't seem to be pleased with, but he listened to her. We soared across the oceans, the dragon's powerful wings slicing through the crisp morning air. The sea sparkled beneath us, a vast expanse of blue meeting the horizon. My heart thrummed with the rhythm of the flight, the exhilaration of soaring high above the world never growing old. Seasmoke's scales glinted in the sunlight, a sharp contrast to the dark cliffs that rose abruptly from the shore.

Beside me, Prince Jace and his dragon Vermax were flying close, Jace giving me pointers on dragon riding as we flew.

As we rounded a bend in the coastline, my eyes caught a flicker of movement from a darkened cave nestled within the cliffs. I squinted, urging Seasmoke to glide lower for a better look.

"Do you see that?" I called to Jace, pointing toward the cave.

Jace followed my gesture, his brow furrowing. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure," I replied, my curiosity piqued.

"We should check it out," Jace said.

"Her Grace may not like that," I hesitated.

"It's probably nothing. Just come on, one look."

With a nod and a sigh, I directed Seasmoke to follow Vermax and descended toward the cave. The shadows grew longer, and the air took on a chill as we approached the mouth of the cavern. My heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of excitement and trepidation washing over me.

Seasmoke landed gracefully on the rocky ledge outside the cave, and Vermax followed close behind. The dragons snorted softly, sensing their riders' unease. Both of them seemed to almost cower in the presence of the cave opening. I dismounted, my hand instinctively resting on the hilt of my dagger as I approached the cave entrance.

"You should stay," I warned Jace, knowing Rhaenyra wouldn't like him putting himself in harm's way.

Suddenly, a huge gout of white flames came spewing out of the cave. I stumbled back, tripping on some rocks, pulling my dagger as I regained my footing.

"What the hell?" Jace exclaimed.

"Come on, we should go. I think that was just a warning shot." We quickly remounted our dragons and took off.

We peered back in time to see a large black tail peeking into the sunlight before returning to the shadows of the cave. We quickly made our way back to Dragonstone and found his mother. Queen Rhaenyra was in the room along with Lord Corlys, Ulf, and Hugh.

"Your Grace," I said, straightening up.

"You won't believe it," Jace said. "I think there's a wild dragon living in the caves off the coastline, right along here." He gestured to it on the map.

"A dragon? Are you sure? I've never heard of a wild dragon around here," Rhaenyra said.

"I think it was a dragon. All we saw were flames and a tail," Jace told her.

I bit my lip, looking at the mark where Driftmark was. "Addam?" She asked, and I looked back at her.

"Well, there's a story that floats around the shipyard and markets, but I have nothing to back its claim, Your Grace. Just the words of men."

"I think I know the one he talks about. I've heard my men speak of it many times. I'm afraid I never put stock into it because, like he said, I thought it was just stories," Corlys admitted.

"Well, let's hear it," Ulf said loudly and a bit rudely.

"A lot of the shipwrights talk of a dragon as black as the night sky living somewhere near here. It's only been seen at night, so no one knows how big it is. If it has a rider or not. People always exaggerate anyway. The only consistency in the stories is that it's always been caught diving down to catch fish or something in the waters."

"I heard similar stories as a boy myself. If it was true, the dragon would be just as old if not older than Vhagar," Corlys added.

"It could be rather large then?" Rhaenyra asked, and Corlys nodded.

"We don't have a rider for it, though?" Jace pointed out.

"We found these three. Maybe we could find another. A big dragon could be useful," she added.

"We could go back out and try and find it, but until we have someone to ride, it's no use to us," Corlys said.

"Unfortunately, he's right," she sighed. "Try not to worry about it for now. Focus on your training."

"I'll send a ship or something out to see if they can find the cave?" He offered, and she nodded.

As they discussed, I couldn't shake the feeling that this dragon was more than just a wild creature. There was something almost... intelligent about the way it had watched us. The night drew in, and as I stood on the balcony overlooking the sea, my thoughts wandered back to the dark cave. Rhaenyra and Jace joined me, curiosity etched on their faces.

A sudden splash interrupted my thoughts, drawing my gaze to the water below. Then, breaking the surface of the water, a massive black dragon emerged, water cascading off its glistening scales. My heart skipped a beat as it flew towards the balcony, landing with a grace that belied its size. Rhaenyra gasped, her eyes wide with astonishment.

"Is that...?" Jace began, but his words trailed off as the dragon's form began to shift. Its massive body melted and reshaped into a tall, regal woman with long black hair and piercing gold eyes.

"Who are you?" I managed to ask, my voice barely a whisper.

"I am Nyxia," she replied, her voice as smooth as silk. "And I have come to you to forge a bond that will change the course of our fates forever."

Queen Rhaenyra stepped forward, her gaze intense and cautious. "What are you? How can you shift from dragon to human?"

Nyxia smiled, a mysterious glint in her golden eyes. "I am a shapeshifter, bound by ancient magic. My kind has protected this realm for centuries, watching and waiting for the right moment to reveal ourselves."

"And why reveal yourself now?" Rhaenyra asked, her voice firm, though tinged with hesitation.

"Because the time has come for us to unite. A great threat looms on the horizon, and only by working together can we hope to overcome it," Nyxia explained.

Jace, heir to the throne, looked at me, his eyes wide with wonder. "This is incredible. A dragon shapeshifter... just imagine the possibilities."

I nodded, feeling a sense of destiny settling over me. "What do you need from us?"

Nyxia's gaze softened. "I need allies, strong and true. Together, we can protect this land from the darkness that seeks to consume it."

Rhaenyra glanced at me, then back at Nyxia. "We will hear you out. But know this: we trust few, and betrayal will not be tolerated."

Nyxia bowed her head in acknowledgment. "I understand. Trust must be earned, and I am prepared to prove my loyalty."

As the night deepened, the three of us stood with Nyxia on the balcony, the future suddenly filled with new possibilities and challenges. The revelation of Nyxia's true nature marked the beginning of a new chapter, one that would test our bonds and our resolve.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

The Polin Shifter Romance - Chapter 1

Hey, hi, hello. I've put all my other Polin fics on Tumblr, so I guess it's time to put this one on too. The vibe is Bridgerton meets Sharpe with some My Lady Jane undertones, and honestly I'm kind of having a blast with it. In a Bridgerton AU where shifters are illegal, Penelope and Colin's love story is complicated by Penelope's secret and a Lord Provost Marshall who could ruin both of their lives. Will Pen and Colin find their way to each other, and maybe make England a better place for shifters on the way?

This is also cross-posted on Ao3 (I'm SometimesSheWritesLongIntoTheNight there), so if you want this more quickly than a chapter a week, you can find it there. Enjoy!

1813 – England

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. They could at least refrain from being a cliché,” sniffed a voice, as a pair of rabbits enjoyed each other in a secluded corner of the royal hedge maze on the grounds of Buckingham Palace.

“I believe it’s worse than that,” replied Penelope Featherington. “Her family is Catholic.”

“Tcha.” The disapproval was clear in the dismissive sound. “It would serve them right if they get caught.” Penelope was no longer paying attention, instead tilting her head at the sounds of leather soles against the gravel of the path and the whisper of a silk gown as its wearer rushed to keep up with someone with longer legs. Flipping her head back, Penelope resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The pair of rabbits were sufficiently distracted that they had not heard the sounds that heralded their imminent interruption.

A barn owl’s hiss split the air.

The rabbits broke apart, trembling, and less than a second later where there had been two rabbits were an extremely disheveled Mary Anne Hallewell and Lord Fife. Mary Anne’s skirts were hiked nearly to the tops of her thighs, and Fife’s falls were down; nobody happening upon them could possibly misinterpret the situation. The footsteps were growing closer—Mary Anne and Fife seemed frozen.

“Come on, move,” willed Penelope.

“They won’t.”

Fife shifted from rabbit to human a few times in rapid succession but didn’t move. Mary Anne tried to push herself up off the ground, but slid on the loose gravel, landing on her bottom again. In just another moment, the other couple would round the corner. Fife looked like he might shift again, and Penelope could not risk anyone seeing that.

Spreading her wings, Pen launched herself from her perch in a secluded corner of the hedge and circled through the air to align herself with the new couple—neither were shifters. Screeching with the full power of her barn owl’s lungs and vocal cords, Penelope dived, her talons brushing through the second gentleman’s hair as she pulled up.   

A series of expletives that wouldn’t have been out of place in a dockside bar and a screech shriller than Penelope’s own split the air. It was quickly echoed by another feminine shriek and the sounds of bodies scrabbling on gravel.

“What the devil—” began the newcomer, thrusting his paramour behind him and moving to turn the hedge maze’s corner. Penelope wheeled in the air, feeling it stream over and through the feathers of her wings—a freedom she often longed for in her hair as her mama exhorted the maid to wind her curls tighter and higher—and dived toward the man again, this time batting his face with her wings.

“Be gentle with our wings,” scolded her owl. “That crunch had better not have been us.”

Based on the sheer volume of the crunch and the sudden muffled quality to the renewed swearing, Penelope guessed somewhat guiltily that she had forgotten her owl’s strength and broken the man’s nose…although possibly his cheekbone, given the lack of dripping sounds. She couldn’t stop to be worried about that now, however.

“Our wings are fine,” said Penelope, wheeling in the air to check on Fife and Mary Anne.

“Tcha. You don’t fly enough to know for sure.”

“When we fall out of the sky, then you may scold me!” Penelope’s owl chittered, irked, but left off scolding to ensure that they did not, in fact, fall out of the sky as Pen retraced her flight path.

Fife and Mary Anne were on their feet and running toward the far entrance of the maze. They hadn’t had the sense to separate, but neither appeared in danger of shifting where anyone could see them, and that was the important thing. The secret shifter community in the ton was safe for one more night. Penelope sighed in relief and began to make her way slowly and carefully back to the palace. Much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t fly enough to be truly confident in anything short of an emergency. Part of keeping the shifter community safe was staying hidden. And it would stay safe and hidden longer if she could identify the couple who had nearly interrupted Fife and Mary Anne…Penelope began to soar away from the palace and back toward the maze, only to be pulled up short by her owl.

“Find them back in the ballroom! You have already been gone too long; your Mama will be wondering where you got to.”

“If he has any sense, he’s going to leave,” insisted Penelope. “Taking a moment to check won’t hurt anything.” She winged back, catching the man—still cupping his face and swearing profusely, despite the presence of Miss Poohle (a younger daughter of a minor country noble)—as he climbed into a carriage emblazoned with the Cavender crest.

Philip.

One couldn’t smile with a beak, but somehow Penelope’s face managed to be viciously smug. A broken face couldn’t have happened to a worthier fellow.

The carriage pulled into the night at a frankly unsafe speed for a drive packed with other coaches, but apparently Philip was feeling embarrassed. Miss Poohle was left abruptly alone in the drive, face a combination of baffled, embarrassed, and hurt. A few tears must have slipped from her eyes, as she rubbed a hand across her cheeks before giving her head a shake, straightening her shoulders, and marching back toward the ballroom.

As Penelope winged back toward the back of the palace—specifically the servants’ quarters and functional sections of the palace where the business of running the building took place—she couldn’t help admiring Miss Poohle’s resilience. The girl was walking back into that ballroom with her head held high. Had Penelope been in her position, she would have winged herself off home to collapse on her bed and sob out her hurt and embarrassment in private, good manners and reputation be damned.

Not that she’d often needed to cry in private because of a man; since her debut season in 1810, she had grown into a near-invisible wallflower. She was firmly at the bottom of the list of eligible debutantes in her first season and had somehow managed to fall off the list in her second season. Now in her fourth season, she was slowly but surely morphing into a spinster. She was less chaperoned than chaperoning, trusted with first-year debutantes and largely ignored by the gentlemen near her own age—with a notable exception.

Colin Bridgerton never failed to dance at least once with her at any party they both attended. She suspected that in her first season, those dances had been down to Violet Bridgerton’s inexplicable, surprising, but warmly welcomed soft spot for her. All three Bridgerton brothers would dance at least one dance with her at parties, but as she and Colin got to know each other, Anthony and Benedict asked her to dance less often, and Colin began to seek her out between dances for lemonade, eclairs, and other small refreshments and conversation. By the end of that first season, she considered him a friend.

He hadn’t sought her out to dance yet at this ball, she mused. She half wondered if his siblings were still punishing him and that was why he had yet to seek her out. Eloise did not know that earlier this week Penelope had locked herself in her room to cry over an emotion she wasn’t even sure she could put a name to after she had accidentally interrupted the eldest three Bridgertons in time to hear Colin declare loudly and decidedly that he was “…certainly not going to marry Penelope Featherington!” She had been unable to swallow a confused “Oh,” and Colin’s face had been redder than her hair when he turned to see her. She had muttered some polite nothing and then practically ran for home to hide tears that were as confusing as they were strong. Anthony and Benedict would not have hidden their derision and scolding from the other Bridgertons, although they likely would have kept the details private.

She knew—because Colin and Eloise had both told her—that Violet had made it her mission to get Colin married and settled before he came to grief traveling in or near a part of Europe Bonaparte controlled. His close call in Spain on his grand tour had shattered her peace with his desire to travel—and the narrow, silvered scar along his jaw when he had finally returned home meant that Violet was descending to levels that even Portia Featherington raised eyebrows at to put desirable young ladies in the path of her third son. This resulted in an ill-tempered, trapped-feeling Colin whose generally genial nature was being sorely tested and his temper flared easily when teased about the situation.

Penelope knew all of this. She had also resigned herself to spinsterhood, coming to appreciate the ever-greater measures of freedom she experienced as she sat on the shelf. Having made her peace with a single life, she could not understand why Colin slamming the door on a future she had never truly imagined she could have with anyone—nevermind with a Bridgerton—had so affected her. She had spent the entire rest of the afternoon in her room, even begging off from a ball that evening because she had not finished bursting into renewed tears at seemingly random intervals.

The Bridgertons were at the ball tonight; Violet had been in the clutch of gossiping, matchmaking mamas near the dance floor. Did she want to see Colin? Having to ignominiously leave him on the dance floor to hide her tears would only be marginally less mortifying than crying in his arms on the dance floor and not even be able to explain herself or her feelings—

“Stop! Glass!”

The shrill warning came too late for Penelope to avoid colliding with the closed window, but she arrested enough motion that she didn’t break her beak—or her neck—when she did hit it. Stunned by the force of the impact, Penelope didn’t even try to catch herself. Instead, she focused every ounce of will, thought, and intention on staying shifted. Not even the dark underbelly of the palace was safe from prying eyes. If some servant or guard—or God forbid a non-shifter member of the ton—saw her, she was doomed.

If the glass stunned her, the ground drove every last gasp of air from Penelope’s lungs. She nearly lost control and shifted back to human, but somehow managed to hold the owl shape. Everything in her mind was a flat, heart-shaped face with a cream beak and big, liquid-black eyes. Long, soft wing and tail feathers—more red than tawny underneath dark grey speckles—and a cream-colored breast. Delicately lethal talons. She had always thought that her owl was beautiful, even if she wasn’t. Keeping her owl in her mind allowed her to stay shifted while she regained her ability to breathe.

“We have to get up.” Her owl’s voice in her head was panicky. “We have to get off the ground, we die on the ground.”

Spurred by her owl’s mental images of the sharp teeth of weasels and foxes, Penelope thrashed, trying to right herself. Between the sharp pains and aches of hitting first the window and then the ground, her damnable lack of practice in this shape, and the panic flooding her from her owl, Penelope couldn’t get herself righted. She thrashed uselessly, grinding dust and gravel into her feathers, until the report of a door slamming open made her freeze.

She was caught.

“It’s just an owl, my lady.” The young male voice was unfamiliar, and belonged to a flushed, liveried young footman. “It must have collided with the window and fallen. Shall I call a groundskeeper to dispose of it?”

“Dispose of such a magnificent creature?” Penelope’s heart stopped. She was more than simply doomed, having been caught by her mother.

Footsteps approached Penelope, and Portia Featherington swept her shifted daughter up in her arms as she might a human infant. Penelope kept her wings tightly furled. She had learned as a child what the consequences of using her wings to fight her mother’s hold were, and she had no desire to revisit them.

“I shall take it to the mews,” declared Portia, in a tone that brooked no disagreement. “Return to your post, Watts.”

“Yes, my lady.” Footsteps receded, and Portia seemed to wait an interminable moment before carrying Penelope inside. As Portia found a windowless room with a deadbolt and locked them both inside, Penelope’s mind was whirring. She had left the window of the dusty and clearly rarely used storeroom open, she knew she had. This wasn’t the first time she had needed to quietly shift in an unused room, follow a careless shifter, and return through the window. The system had never failed her before, she was excellent at choosing unused rooms that were unlikely to be disturbed. Had she been unlucky tonight, or was the game up?

Portia crouched, placing Penelope on the floor. Stepping back, she crossed her arms over her bust and tapped her foot.

“We’re alone,” she snapped.

Penelope’s shift back to human form was instantaneous. She hadn’t fought her mother’s orders to shift back—hadn’t even considered fighting the order—since she was a toddler. Portia didn’t have a book to hand, but her reticule was looped around her arm. One shake of an arm and the strap was in Portia’s hand and the reticule was whipping through the air toward Penelope.

“How many times?” hissed Portia. “How many times must we go through this, Penelope? You are far too old for this kind of behavior. If you will not heed me, then I will find a husband to take you in hand, lack of dowry or no!”

The reticule thudded into Penelope’s arms and shoulders, but Penelope didn’t try to flinch or move back. Not only was there nowhere to go but it would also further enrage her mother. The reticule felt nearly empty, but the bruises from cracking Philip Cavender across the head hitting the window and ground in quick succession—which were already shadowing her body purple and blue—made each blow painful.  

“Have you no thought in your head for your sisters or this family?” continued Portia. “If you get caught their prospects will be utterly ruined—and Mr. Finch may not be the most attractive prospect who walks this earth, but he is at least here and interested in Philippa. Would you cost her a marriage?”

From long experience, Penelope knew that Portia did not require answers to any of these questions, so she held her tongue and gritted her teeth. Philippa and Prudence might not have shifted since they were children—following in their mother’s footsteps—but Penelope refused to give up her owl. Portia dictated everything about her young ladies’ lives, from what they wore to what and when they ate and with whom they were allowed to socialize. Her owl and shifting was the only taste of freedom Penelope had ever had.  

“Honestly, Penelope. We cannot go on like this. I am going to have to do something, since you have shown over and over that you cannot be trusted to obey.”

The reticule blows, which had been getting progressively weaker, finally ceased, and Portia stepped closer to her daughter, examining her hair. With quick, deft fingers she brushed dust and grit from Penelope’s curls and then straightened them, repining a few that had come loose. Her dress and gloves were unscathed, as garments always were after shifting.

The same could not be said of the body. Lifting one of Penelope’s arms, Portia turned it, tutting softly. The gap between the top of the elbow glove and the bottom of the short, puffed sleeve of the dress was mottled in bluish-purple bruises that promised to darken further by morning. Penelope wished she would stop manipulating the limb; it was sore enough already.

As deftly as she had put Penelope’s curls to rights, Portia pulled off the delicate silk chiffon shawl she had loosely looped over her elbows and looped it behind Penelope’s back before wrapping the ends around her upper arms. Then she puffed the silk artfully to cover the bruising, securing the entire thing with a couple of straight pins. Stepping back, lips pursed, Portia assessed her youngest daughter.

“You do not leave my side for the rest of the evening, or I will ship you to your cousins in Ireland so fast it will make your head spin. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama,” said Penelope.

“Well. You look a fright, but nothing that will bring ruin on the family. Come.” Portia turned on her heel. Unlocking the door, she strode out of the small room and led a seemingly cowed Penelope back to the brightly lit, smokey ballroom.

Portia attached herself to a cluster of Mamas eyeing the ballroom like vultures eyeing a carrion field and immediately joined the conversation to opine on the most eligible bachelors and debutantes. Penelope stood awkwardly in her Mama’s peripheral vision, but was excluded from the group and their conversations.

Penelope wished that she could make her way to the seating around the edge of the room for older Lords and Ladies who wished to observe the ton and socialize, but no longer had the energy to dance with the young people. She had not felt the deep aches of impact as she endured Portia’s treatment, but now that the adrenaline had subsided, Penelope was sore, and she was tired. Thanks to the pins in the shawl, she was also forced to hold her arms stiff and still, which made them ache further. If she relaxed, the pins stuck the sensitive flesh beneath her upper arms. The last thing she wanted to do was bleed all over Portia’s shawl; she would never hear the end of it if she did. 

Lord Cavender puffed angrily up to Lady Cavender, who was standing next to Portia, drawing Penelope’s attention. He had Mr., Mrs., and Miss Poohle in tow. Both men were red-faced and furious, and Mrs. Poohle looked worried. Miss Poohle, however, had a carefully neutral face. If pressed, however, Penelope would have said that there was something triumphant in her eyes.

“We must go,” announced Lord Cavender.

“My lord,” protested Lady Cavender.

“Now, Eleanor,” he snapped.

Lady Cavender snapped her fan closed and straightened her shoulders. “Portia, dear, we shall have to finish our conversation another time,” she said. “Do say you’ll call on the morrow? Or I shall call on you?”

“I shall call, of course, Eleanor,” said Portia.

“Lovely. Now, if you’ll excuse me, apparently something urgent has come up.”

Lord Cavender’s teeth were grinding audibly throughout the exchange. Penelope caught Miss Poohle’s eye, and the other girl half winked at Penelope before her parents pulled her away in the Cavender’s wake.

“Miss Featherington,” came an all-too-familiar voice from behind Penelope. “May I have the next dance?”

Portia and Penelope had both turned at “Miss Featherington” to find Colin Bridgerton, whose approach had gone unnoticed thanks to the ignominious exit of Lord and Lady Cavender.

The third eldest Bridgerton son stood before Penelope and Portia looking less relaxed than usual—although anyone who did not know him well would not have been able to tell the difference. Like Anthony and Benedict, Colin stood at about six feet tall, with well-coiffed chestnut hair and blue eyes. Colin’s eyes had perhaps a little more green to them than his brothers’ did, which had always struck Penelope. She quite liked his eyes.

Like all the Bridgertons, Colin never appeared less than expertly tailored at balls. However, where Anthony was buttoned-up to the point of severity and Benedict tended to lean toward carelessly disheveled in the small details (Penelope couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Benedict at a ball with a properly tied neck cloth), Colin generally managed to look exquisitely put together and simultaneously genial and approachable. Tonight, the bow tying his neck cloth was on nearly a forty-five-degree angle, the top button of his waistcoat was undone, and the peaks of the stiff collar brushing his jaw were ever-so-slightly off-center. They also rose higher onto his face than they were typically wont—his shoulders were tense and slightly raised.

When Colin’s eyebrow rose a fraction and his polite smile turned strained and pasted on, Penelope realized that she and her mama had been silent for too long.

“Mr. Bridgerton—” they began simultaneously before stopping at the other’s voice. Portia shot a practically venomous glare at Penelope, who had glanced into her mother’s face and then immediately down to her shoes.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” repeated Portia, with a terrible finality. “How kind of you to ask. I’m afraid that Penelope is rather tired. However, I’m sure one of my other young ladies—”

“Just one dance; please, Miss Featherington?” Colin pressed, roundly ignoring Portia.

Penelope did not have to look up to know that his eyes would be soft, begging her to take his hand and join him in the relative privacy of the dance floor to chat.

Inside her head, Penelope’s owl ruffled her feathers. “You know you want to know what he wants.”

The next thing Penelope knew, her hand was enveloped in Colin’s warm one, and they were walking toward the dance floor amid the discordant tones of the orchestra tuning. Casting a look over her shoulder at Portia’s livid face, Penelope wasn’t sure whether to flee back to her mother’s side or revel in her small rebellion.

“You still haven’t looked at him, you know.”  Penelope didn’t respond to her owl; she never did when her owl was being ridiculous. She had her eyes firmly locked on the loose top button of Colin’s waistcoat as his right arm curled around her and his left shifted its grip on her right. The shawl was pulled into tight bands across Penelope’s back and around her very sore arms, digging into existing bruises and likely creating a few new ones.

Once the music began, however, Penelope forgot her bruises and simply enjoyed being in Colin’s arms. He held her as if she were made of glass; carefully but firmly, as though she would break if he dropped her. Where some gentlemen held their dance partners too hard or offered so little resistance that their ladies had to do twice the work one normally would to complete the steps and get around their partner, Colin always knew the precise pressure to apply. Even now, despite the fact that his hand rested directly on a bruise, he was not hurting her. She felt cradled, safe. And more than that, she never failed to feel pretty and appreciated when she danced with Colin. Dancing with other gentlemen could be pleasant—Penelope rather enjoyed dancing, and was better at it than most gentlemen realized—but she never felt as well-partnered as she did when Colin led her on the floor.

“You must be angry with me, Pen,” murmured Colin, as they returned to each other after a figure eight through other couples. “You have not so much as looked at me tonight.” He squeezed her hand gently as they stepped down the line of couples. “I owe you an apology.”

That finally made Penelope raise her eyes to his face.

The consternation that filled Colin’s face wrenched her thoughts—flitting between Mary Anne and Fife’s close call, Philip’s typical ill manners, and her own aches and pains—firmly back to the young man who she had known since she and Eloise had both been seven-year-old children tossing a ball back and forth in Grosvenor Square. Colin had often been away at school in those early years, but when he had been home for the season or on holidays, he was never too grown-up to toss a ball or hoop with them for a few minutes. As they got older, he had always been willing to chat about books with them on promenade or at family teas and suppers. Penelope had developed quite a crush on the charming older boy who listened quite seriously to her thoughts on her books and would discuss them with her as though she were a peer instead of his younger sister’s playmate.

Over the years, Penelope had, on a number of occasions, seriously considered telling Colin that she was a shifter. She had known from a young age that the Bridgerton family was one of the few in the ton who truly did not have any shifters in the family, and had not in as many generations as the underground community of ton shifters could remember. Despite Portia’s insistence that her daughters pretend that they could not shift, Lord Featherington had quietly facilitated Penelope’s introduction to the shifter community at age ten, as soon as she had made it clear that she could be trusted to keep her own and others’ secrets. Shifters did not associate with each other in society; it was safer that way. Instead, they kept in touch through an underground correspondence network, with safe locations where letters could be deposited and collected at the discretion of the individuals in question. This system allowed them to nurture friendships, warn fellow shifters who had unwittingly drawn royal attention, and generally support their small, underground community. It had been run by an elderly Welsh rabbit shifter, but as he and Penelope had corresponded over the years, she had shouldered more and more of the responsibility for running the network. By the time she debuted, she was functionally in charge, with the old rabbit shifter available if she needed assistance or advice.

It was her knowledge of and role in this network and the secrets that weren’t hers to share that had stilled Penelope’s tongue every time she turned to Colin to say, “I am a shifter.” Even her owl wouldn’t have stopped Penelope from telling Colin to protect her, but the other shifters? That stopped Penelope cold every time. She still had nightmares about Miss Euphemia being captured at her presentation by the Lord Provost Marshall, Sir Harlow Collins, the Viscount Mowbray. His too-smooth stalk and seeming enjoyment of Miss Euphemia’s fear had never left the recesses of Penelope’s mind, and she would not be the reason another shifter fell to his tender mercies.

Since she could not tell Colin about her whole self, Penelope had simply never found a way to communicate her feelings to him either. Somehow, trying to tell him that she liked him when she couldn’t share her whole self with him had seemed…disingenuous. Even if she had told Colin she liked him, how could he like her when he couldn’t know all of her? That had been a heartache and spiral into sadness that Penelope simply hadn’t been able to face. She had decided that she would simply never marry, and she and Colin had remained friends.

“Answer him before he—” began Penelope’s owl, but before she could finish, Colin’s expression grew even more concerned, and he spoke.   

“Please, say something, Pen?”

Had he been speaking? She thought, realizing that if he had been, she hadn’t heard a word after “apology.”

“I—ah…that is…” her voice petered away lamely as she felt her cheeks flush, embarrassed that she had been so wrapped in her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard one of her best friends when he was speaking directly to her.

“Are you so angry with me you cannot find words?” His frown deepened. “Or are you truly not feeling well, and I have behaved abominably, dragging you onto the dance floor without a care for your well-being?”

“I rather enjoy dancing,” she responded quickly. Anything to resolve the worry in his face.

“But you are either angry or unwell?”

“Well no, but…that is, I…” Why on earth couldn’t she get the words out to answer his questions like a sensible person?

Colin glanced about them, and seemed to come to a decision, nodding once to himself. Shifting his grip on Penelope, he smoothly maneuvered them out of the line of dancers without missing a beat himself or causing any other couple to lose their place in formation—an impressive feat. More than a few unpartnered debutantes along the edges of the floor took note, whispering intently to each other or their mamas. Penelope could hear snatches of the whispers, from “so gracefully done” and “what a gentleman” to “catch yourself a Bridgerton” and “wasted on the heavy Featherington girl.” Before she could so much as blush or feel her stomach roil at the vicious words, Penelope found herself on a chair in a corner of the room cooled by the breeze from an open window with a glass of lemonade in her hand and Colin positioned to block her from view of the rest of the room, but without making their tete-a-tete so private as to be scandalous. Had she been feeling faint, this would have been the most courteous thing Colin could have done.

As it was, however, Penelope found herself on the verge of panic, feeling trapped by his presence and the unfinished business and secrets between them. He was worried she was angry with him. She wanted nothing more than to reassure him, but between her physical aches and pains and the butterflies in her stomach, she wasn’t sure enough of her own feelings to do so. She couldn’t even bury everything and lie as she often did with her mama—Colin knew her too well for that.

“Colin—”

“Pen—”

They both stopped, uncertain. Colin’s hands were folded behind him, and he looked like he wanted to pace. Penelope at least had the lemonade glass to occupy her hands, but feeling clumsy as a toddle with the fine crystal added yet another layer of anxiety that she simply did not need. A long moment of silence was followed by simultaneous awkward gestures from both parties, encouraging the other to speak. Ordinarily that would have broken the awkward moment with companionable laughter, but by the time they realized that, the moment had passed and the situation was so palpably tense that the atmosphere could have been cut by a knife.

“If I waited too long to seek you out to apologize, I am deeply sorry, Pen,” said Colin rapidly, in a single breath. “You must know that I spoke in frustration, and I did not mean to say that you were not a desirable marriage partner. For someone. Who is, of course, not me. Why, any man of the ton would be lucky to have you as his wife—”

“Just not you,” Penelope finished for him, the acid in her tone surprising her. She wasn’t angry at him, so why did it sound as though she was? And why had she responded in such a way as to force him to feel even more churlish than he clearly already did?

“Pen, I didn’t mean…I mean, I had never considered you in that manner. That is, we’ve been such good friends for so long that…” he trailed off. “You are Pen,” he said, helplessly.

“I am indeed Pen,” she agreed. “And you are Colin. And we are friends.” She smiled, stood, handed him the half-full glass of lemonade, and strode back to her mama. Had she looked back, Colin’s bewildered, hurt face would have pinched her heart.

"What on earth was that?” scolded her owl.

"We are friends,” insisted Penelope, before blocking out any reply her owl might have made.

Now if only she could convince her stomach and her heart that they were just friends. That all they could ever be was good friends. She hadn’t made any progress on that front by the time she returned to Portia’s side. Thankfully, Portia was engrossed in a conversation with some other ladies, so she barely spared Penelope a cutting look before proceeding to ignore her. That was normal enough that Penelope could push her feelings aside and begin composing in her head the several things she needed to write and secretly deliver tonight before she slept.

[newhavenrp]

Is that RAHUL KOHLI? No, that's EZRA GHOSHAL. The 37 year old SELKIE ALPHA MALE is a RANCH HAND. If you ask their friends, they're known to be CHARISMATIC & DADDY, but they urge you to be cautious, because they're also known to be GREEDY & JEALOUS. Their friends also say that they're into KNOTTING, BREEDING & SEMI/PUBLIC SEX but don't even think about trying GORE, WATERSPORTS, SCAT with them.

"He was the moon and I was the tide, forever pulled towards him but never able to fully touch-." Wait! Wrong word document!

Four score and thirty-seven years ago(give or take a few hundred years), lived the Ghoshal family. A simple family who devoted their lives to fishing and herding the fish from one end of the ocean to the next. Being a custom held by the selkie families that lived in the barest parts of Greenland, including the Ghoshal family. It was a blessing, a pod of selkies with no sharks. The small community would learn there's more to fear as they often struggle in numbers, some time it would be the occasional bought of disease. Other times it was natural disasters allowing cocky young selkies to meet their creators as easily as the wave returns itself to the ocean.

Four score and thirty-seven years ago(minus four scores), Ezra Ghoshal was born. Born to a simple family; a mother, a father, a couple of older siblings. Growing up, Ezra learned the custom held by selkies in their family for generations, that of herding the schools of fish that they eat. Traveling and trading with other across the wide stretch of the Atlantic Ocean. Growing up calling the remote areas of Greenland home, Ezra found it a bit isolating. However, there were many benefits to being a marine mammal shifter. Ezra got to befriend many different selkie children, even those from the renown Carpenter family. He remembers summers, playing in the snow with a Carpenter boy and laughing until they were reprimanded by both set of parents. Ezra doesn't remember seeing him after that.

Four score and twenty years ago(minus four scores), Ezra began to question their way of living. He has spent his years living with his simple family, trying to learn what had happened to the Carpenter boy. Trying to piece together how in meeting different selkie villages, they would often come across their sharks as well. How would it be possible for their remote homes in Greenland to not house even one. Ezra began to think of all those who he grew up with seemingly vanish from their town throughout the years. Ezra decides to ask one of the elders in his family, he asks why their town has no weresharks. The elder replies to him.

"We don't feed the fish, child."

Four score and nineteen years ago(minus four scores), the Carpenters came to visit the Ghoshal family. It was an occasion to the simple family, but very suspicious to Ezra. He had presented as alpha a month before their visit. The Carpenter, in addition to being a well renown family, was also the largest family in size amongst their small community. Those that decided to visit couldn't fit in the Ghoshal's quaint living room. However, it wasn't the amount that brought Ezra to suspect something of the family, but rather who they've brought with them. He looked different, of course, age does that to people, but still Ezra managed to recognize the man as the friend that had disappeared all those days ago. The Carpenter family presented him as a way for the two families to grow... by presenting them another alpha. Suspicious is as suspicious was. Even their whispers at night did little to ease Ezra's nerves.

"Hush now, once the wedding is done, the Walrus will make sure there's no more oysters to cast doubt."

Four score and eighteen years ago(minus four scores), Ezra left his home. It had been almost a year since leaving his simple life, away from the lies and deceit or rather the horrible truth of his simple life. The Carpenter family held a custom tied to something that lives under their small remote town. They call it "the Walrus". They've been feeding the community's weresharks to it since the beginning of the family's stay. The Carpenter family, in addition to being revered by the community, was also the largest family in size. And with good reason. Knowing all too well the curse set on all selkies, one or two of their own precious bloodline would be chosen to escort the weresharks to the Walrus. They learned early not to let them mature. Knowing what he knew now, Ezra couldn't risk traveling by ocean and being found. He decided to keep himself hidden as long as he could. Traveling with his seal pelt wouldn't be easy, but each mile Ezra pushed forward would be another mile put between himself and the Walrus.

Four score and a couple years ago(minus four scores), Ezra found his path to New Haven. He after some much needed peace, Ezra decided to stay as a ranch hand. He found the work rewarding and herding of cattle seemed fairly similar to herding schools of fish. The selkie thought his troubles were far behind him until he found a postcard in his inbox.

It read: "Thinking of you, sorry for the late housewarming present. - The Carpenters."

[ezra-ghoshal]

Is that [Rahul Kohli]? No, that's [ Ezra Ghoshal ]. The 37 year old Selkie Alpha Cis Male is a [ Ranch Hand ]. If you ask their friends, they're known to be [ Charismatic ] & [ Daddy ], but they urge you to be cautious, because they're also known to be [ Greedy ] & [ Jealous ]. Their friends also say that they're into [Knotting, Breeding, & Semi/Public Sex] but don't even think about trying [Gore, watersports, or scat] with them. [Ian, 27, He/Him/They/Them, PST]

"He was the moon and I was the tide, forever pulled towards him but never able to fully touch-." Wait! Wrong word document!

Four score and thirty-seven years ago(give or take a few hundred years), lived the Ghoshal family. A simple family who devoted their lives to fishing and herding the fish from one end of the ocean to the next. Being a custom held by the selkie families that lived in the barest parts of Greenland, including the Ghoshal family. It was a blessing, a pod of selkies with no sharks. The small community would learn there's more to fear as they often struggle in numbers, some time it would be the occasional bought of disease. Other times it was natural disasters allowing cocky young selkies to meet their creators as easily as the wave returns itself to the ocean.

Four score and thirty-seven years ago(minus four scores), Ezra Ghoshal was born. Born to a simple family; a mother, a father, a couple of older siblings. Growing up, Ezra learned the custom held by selkies in their family for generations, that of herding the schools of fish that they eat. Traveling and trading with other across the wide stretch of the Atlantic Ocean. Growing up calling the remote areas of Greenland home, Ezra found it a bit isolating. However, there were many benefits to being a marine mammal shifter. Ezra got to befriend many different selkie children, even those from the renown Carpenter family. He remembers summers, playing in the snow with a Carpenter boy and laughing until they were reprimanded by both set of parents. Ezra doesn't remember seeing him after that.

Four score and twenty years ago(minus four scores), Ezra began to question their way of living. He has spent his years living with his simple family, trying to learn what had happened to the Carpenter boy. Trying to piece together how in meeting different selkie villages, they would often come across their sharks as well. How would it be possible for their remote homes in Greenland to not house even one. Ezra began to think of all those who he grew up with seemingly vanish from their town throughout the years. Ezra decides to ask one of the elders in his family, he asks why their town has no weresharks. The elder replies to him.

"We don't feed the fish, child."

Four score and nineteen years ago(minus four scores), the Carpenters came to visit the Ghoshal family. It was an occasion to the simple family, but very suspicious to Ezra. He had presented as alpha a month before their visit. The Carpenter, in addition to being a well renown family, was also the largest family in size amongst their small community. Those that decided to visit couldn't fit in the Ghoshal's quaint living room. However, it wasn't the amount that brought Ezra to suspect something of the family, but rather who they've brought with them. He looked different, of course, age does that to people, but still Ezra managed to recognize the man as the friend that had disappeared all those days ago. The Carpenter family presented him as a way for the two families to grow… by presenting them another alpha. Suspicious is as suspicious was. Even their whispers at night did little to ease Ezra's nerves.

"Hush now, once the wedding is done, the Walrus will make sure there's no more oysters to cast doubt."

Four score and eighteen years ago(minus four scores), Ezra left his home. It had been almost a year since leaving his simple life, away from the lies and deceit or rather the horrible truth of his simple life. The Carpenter family held a custom tied to something that lives under their small remote town. They call it "the Walrus". They've been feeding the community's weresharks to it since the beginning of the family's stay. The Carpenter family, in addition to being revered by the community, was also the largest family in size. And with good reason. Knowing all too well the curse set on all selkies, one or two of their own precious bloodline would be chosen to escort the weresharks to the Walrus. They learned early not to let them mature. Knowing what he knew now, Ezra couldn't risk traveling by ocean and being found. He decided to keep himself hidden as long as he could. Traveling with his seal pelt wouldn't be easy, but each mile Ezra pushed forward would be another mile put between himself and the Walrus.

Four score and a couple years ago(minus four scores), Ezra found his path to New Haven. He after some much needed peace, Ezra decided to stay as a ranch hand. He found the work rewarding and herding of cattle seemed fairly similar to herding schools of fish. The selkie thought his troubles were far behind him until he found a postcard in his inbox.

It read: "Thinking of you, sorry for the late housewarming present. - The Carpenters."

[bonny-kookoo]

Yoongi: Scratch My Heart 4

In which Jimin brings home a cat shifter just for a night, while Yoongi decides to keep her at his side, uncaring that she stays in her feline form constantly, hoping that he can be the reason for her to trust again.

Tags/warnings: hybrid!Reader, human idol!Yoongi, idol!BTS, future smut, fluff, past trauma, insecurities, reader has to learn how to function as a human again, and yoongs helps, it's so cute pls ,more TBA as the story goes on

Additional Chapter Warnings: Nudity (mentioned), vomiting

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Yoongi grows worried the longer you sleep.

He only needs to place a hand on your head to notice you're burning up, possibly running a fever as he calls Jimin. The shifter visits the studio shortly after the call, trying to find out what's wrong with you. "You can't stay like this." He says, as Jungkook knocks at the door, stepping inside.

Yoongi is curious as he watches, as Jungkook turns towards him. "Remember when I used to stay like this a lot?" He asks, and Yoongi nods, remembering it after a moment. Jungkook had been sick for a while after having stayed in his non-human form for too long- and its only now that yoongi realizes that you're probably going through the same thing. You lift your head, jimin humming a reply as he turns around.

"Hyung, can you leave for a second? Jungkook, fetch some clothes she could fit in, okay?" He requests, as Jungkook instantly moves. Yoongi himself however, hesitates, unsure if he wants to go. Why didn't you want him close? "Hyung.." jimin urges after a moment, and its only then that he realizes that maybe you don't want him to see you.. well, at all.

He sighs at that, leaving the studio as Jungkook walks in again.

"I brought some of hyungs clothes. I think you'll feel most comfortable in those." He says reassuringly, before you move, almost falling off the bed as you clumsily shift. Both jimin and jungkook catch your fall, helping you sit on the bed again as you grow dizzy.

"There we go. You gonna be sick?" He asks, as you think for a moment, before nodding. Jimin fetches the bin underneath Yoongis desk, making it in time for you to bring up last night's dinner before you cower in shame at it. There's still your cat ears and tail present, showing that you really are a bit out of practice with your shifting between forms. "Its okay." Jimin reassures, as Jungkook helps you stand to get dressed. Even though Yoongi is the member with the smallest clothing size, his shirt and shorts are still big on you, your tail barely peeking out as you don't look at anyone.

"He's still gonna like you." Jungkook says, as if he reads your mind.

"Do you.." you start, voice quiet and unsteady. "..think he'll.. keep me?" You ask, and Jimin smiles as he finally sees your still very cat-like eyes staring up at him.

"Of course." He says, as you nod, believing him for now as you move, curling up in the very corner or the couch in Yoongis studio, hiding underneath the blanket as Jimin and Jungkook chuckle. "We'll let him know he can come in, yeah?" He asks, as you simply nod, before pulling the blanket down again. Only your tail peaks out a little.

Once they leave, the door stays open for a moment, until someone walks back in. At this point, you know it's yoongi simply by the way he walks- and its quiet for a while, his office chair squeaking a little as he sits down.

"Can you look at me?" He asks after a moment, voice calm as he spots your tail flick at that- an indication that you've heard him loud and clear. It takes a moment, until you move around a bit, blanket leaving your head a bit as you reveal your face, eyes wide open as they look at him.

He can't believe his eyes.

He's never been one to really ever think of an ideal type; he didn't really have one at all. He didn't care about looks that much, concerning himself more with the character of a person, than what's outside. But in his eyes, you were absolutely bewitching; big eyes looking at him, black cat ears still present on the top of your head, hair a bit chaotic- but it makes you look just absolutely adorable.

He's never really thought about what you might look like, but he now knows that nothing he could've imagine would've been able to prepare himself for this. And as he walked closer, sitting on the couch, he reaches out for you to do what he knows you love.

Petting your head, your purrs soon filling the studio as he can't help but grin.

He can't help but feel like you're finally beginning to trust him.

[calaofnoldor]

Sixth Time’s the Charm [4]

(GIF credit: @teamfreewill-imagine)

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 6,107

Series Summary: All the times Dean has tried to get Sam to admit his feelings for you. (Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone.)

Chapter Summary: You offer yourself as bait for a shapeshifter hunt. Things do not go as planned.

Warnings: canon level violence, language, idiots in love, mutual pining, huffy!sam, protective!sam, slight angst?, slow burn, fluff

A/N: i am SO sorry for the wait (story of my life) but to make up for it, look, 6k words! (yeah i’m sorry about that too, i don’t know what happened there.) written for @tvdspngirl314‘s birthday writing event with the prompt “You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone?” which is bolded in the fic. this also fills a square for @spnfluffbingo​!

Square Filled: Rescue Mission

← BACK UP | MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

The fourth time was all you. Dean barely had to lift a finger. The result, however, was far more traumatic than he had planned and rather emphatically revealed the magnitude of his brother’s feelings toward you.

Much like the previous attempts, there was a case: a shapeshifter going after women who conveniently happened to fit your description. The strategy was obvious, and you’d leaped at the opportunity to both make yourself useful and hopefully take the place of what would have otherwise been the next innocent civilian victim. But of course, Sam resisted at first.

“No. Absolutely not! We don’t know enough about this guy for you to just jump into his waiting arms, Y/N!” The fervent indignation in his tone and body language was palpable. Sam was rarely one to raise his voice or sport much of a temper at all really, but lately these heated outbursts seemed to be occurring more frequently, and frankly you were getting sick of it. The false hope they momentarily granted you through the notion that perhaps he cared about you as more than a friend was one thing. What’s more, the way his voice lowered half an octave combined with the sight of his flared nostrils, puffed chest, and straining jaw always seemed to have a sideways effect on you, in that it was impossible to keep your attention on his words alone. But boy did you try.

“Sam, how many times do we have to go through this? I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself. And your wrist is still healing so it’s not like you can call the shots on this one anyway. Besides, I’m not going in alone. You and Dean will be there for backup the whole time, right?”

“’Course we will, eh Sammy?” In a strange turn of events, Dean often appeared to be the one with a more jovial outlook recently.

Sam merely nodded and continued his heavy breathing. He glared down at his bandaged left wrist, the result of skirmish with a couple of wraiths, as if it were the root of all his problems. Then he looked up and through densely drawn brows, those magnetizing multicolored eyes pierced yours, his countenance bearing a charged and sullen expression of pensive exasperation as his jaw visibly tightened. You swallowed and could not for the life of you find the will to look away.

“So it’s settled then,” Dean proclaimed jubilantly, “Unless… you’ve got another reason you don’t want Y/N playing bait, hmm Sam? Maybe something you wanna share with the class? Or, you know, I could leave…”

“Dean, stop it. You’re not helping,” you quickly admonished before steadying your gaze back on the taller Winchester, “Look, Sam, have I ever let you down?”

“No. Never.”

“And do you still trust me?”

“Of course,” he responded immediately in a ‘what-kind-of-a-question-is-that’ tone, at which you simply raised your eyebrow to send him a reciprocating ‘then-what’s-the-problem?’ look.

“OK fine,” Sam huffed out a big breath, “But you’re not taking any risks! Anything seems off at all, just… promise me you’ll wait for me and Dean and keep us in the loop?”

His pleading eyes were so earnest and you’d truly never been able to say no to the giant puppy before, so you offered him a little smile and said, “Cross my heart.”

Sighing, Sam rubbed his face, looking lost in thought for a moment until he spoke up again, much more reserved and hesitant this time, “Do you still have that uh… ring from… that time?” Dean muffled a snort at his brother’s expense but you both ignored him, completely accustomed to his nonsensical teasing by now.

“Uh yeah, I- I think so.” The uncertainty in your voice was a lie. Of course you still had the ring you’d once used to pretend to be married to Sam Winchester. You may or may not have tucked it away in a special place for safekeeping.

“Good,” Sam nodded curtly, “I want you to wear it. It’s silver. I’ll wear mine too and Dean already has his. That’s how we’ll know that we’re still… ourselves.”

“OK, yeah that’s a good idea,” you agreed, trying your hardest not to linger on the memories.

“Well look at you two! Getting hitched again so soon-“

“Shut up, Dean,” you and Sam cut him off together.

When the meeting was adjourned and you were about to part ways to prepare for the upcoming hunt, something inside you forced you to call out his name, “Oh and Sam!” He turned around at once, questioning gaze somewhat urgently searching yours for a sign of what might come next. You stuttered though, feeling suddenly self conscious, so the next words you uttered were not much louder than a whisper, “Be careful with your wrist.”

Sam smiled, his dimples making your fingers twitch with the need to caress them. “I’ll be fine. You just look out for yourself. Remember, we’ll be right behind you.”

Somehow you both didn’t hear the groan Dean emitted as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling and prayed to whoever was listening, ‘Good lord, someone give me the strength to survive another day with these imbeciles.’

There was only one diner in the tiny Pennsylvanian town, and seeing as you were starving by the time you got there, the three of you were forced to make do with soggy fries and questionable milkshakes. As you ate, you went through your game plan once more, which essentially consisted of waiting until nightfall to visit the bar from where the previous girls had gone missing, while Sam and Dean shadowed you covertly.

Before you left, you took a quick trip to the loo and when you returned, Sam was stood outside alone, a broad smile upon his face.

“Where’s Dean?” you asked as you began to walk out the diner, expecting to find the older brother waiting impatiently in the parking lot by his precious car, but the Impala was gone.

“He went back to the motel, said he had something to take care of and that we should go scope the place out first.”

“But I thought we agreed to-“

“Yeah, well change of plans, you know how it is,” Sam replied casually with a shrug.

Little red flags started fluttering in your head, urging your eyes downward to locate the silver band on his finger. You frowned when you found it there untouched on his right hand; Sam almost never interrupted you, not even when he was absorbed in the foulest of moods.  

Apparently sensing your hesitation, he added, “I mean, he made a good point. Maybe if you familiarize yourself with the surroundings first, you’ll be able to take the guy out faster.”

Sam was still smiling at you, but it felt all wrong. You couldn’t explain it, but there was something missing from his rainbow eyes. The colors were all there, but they lacked luster and warmth, a delicate twinkle that you’d learned to associate with the beautiful, heroic yet self-doubting giant of a man. Never had you seen that breathtaking magic replicated elsewhere, nor had you ever seen Sam without it, which was why you were almost completely certain that the man before you was not the real Sam Winchester.

But weaving within you was a thread of doubt, insisting that you couldn’t just pull a gun on your best friend because of something as trivial as… a feeling? No, you needed to test your theory. And so, bracing yourself with a deep breath, you slowly reached out your silver-equipped hand to do something you’d grown accustomed to resentfully abstaining from: touching Sam’s bare skin. You aimed for the large target of his hand, deeming it the most inconspicuous of places (given that he was wearing his hunters’ uniform and the only other visible option would’ve been his face or neck), but Sam was faster. Just before you were able to graze his skin with your ring, he caught your wrist in his much bigger hand and pulled it away, twisting your arm until it was locked painfully behind you.

“You think you’re smart, huh?” the shifter snarled with a flash of its eyes, moving in real close as he used Sam’s immense size and his own superhuman strength to easily constrain you.

Even so, you stared up at him defiantly, unafraid, “Sam and Dean will be back.”

“That’s the plan.”

Sam’s sneering face and threatening voice were the last things you saw or heard.

You had no way of determining how much time had passed when you unceremoniously came to in what looked and smelled to be an underground sewer. As your senses sharpened and your muddled brain began to size up your current plight, you nearly scoffed at the clichéd style of your captor. Sat on a peeling wooden chair, manila rope bound your wrists together behind your back and tethered your ankles securely to each of the seat’s front legs.

Ignoring the ache in your head, you set about strategically testing the knots and the integrity of the wood. If only you could reach the silver blade in your boot. But your attempts were interrupted by the reappearance of the shifter, whose shoe hit something as he stepped before you. A metallic clang echoed through the confined space as a result and you followed the sound to find your coveted knife on the ground, far beyond your reach.

“Fucking hunters, always think they’re so clever, always one step ahead because it’s their game. Sure, we might be the monsters but you’re the predators! So let’s see how you like being the prey for once.” Shifter Sam’s upper lip curled up in a way that seemed so foreign to you as he leaned forward to rest his hands on either arm of your chair, caging you in.

The malicious glint in his eye left you with no qualms about affronting this being who, for all intents and purposes, appeared identical to the man you’d recently discovered you were in love with. Lifting your chin, you glared up at him brazenly, “If you’re so keen on being the predator then why am I still alive? What are you waiting for?”

“Why your knight in shining armor of course!” he exclaimed, backing up as he stood to his full height and gestured to himself with both hands. “You think it was a coincidence that all those women looked like you?”

The shifter’s narrowed eyes were alight with amusement and a ripple of fear surged through your body. You were in much deeper than you or the boys had anticipated, though years of practice helped you keep your voice steady and bold, “What did you do to them?”

“Oh, I gave them a fairly painless death, don’t you worry. They were just stepping stones on my way to you. See, the Winchesters owe me a girlfriend, so I figured I’d take the closest thing to theirs. But imagine my joyous surprise when I got into this big lug’s head and discovered that he’s in love with you! No, actually it’s more than that. He’s obsessed with you; you never leave his brain! Every other thought and memory is about you... Well, it’s either you or his brother, but oh, it’s gonna kill him to see you die before his eyes. I might’ve been able to replace my dead girlfriend, but I don’t think Sam here will ever come back from losing you.”

Stunned into silence, the stupid influx of misguided hormones pumping through your veins forced you to focus on maintaining a neutral expression as he rattled on.

“And you feel the same way, don’t you? So this really will be a double kill. It’s OK, you can let it all out. I might be a monster but I’m not one to deny the dying their chance for some last words. Besides, you can say it all while looking into the eyes of the man you love.”

“Fuck you,” were the only words you could trust yourself to spit out at him.

‘Sam’ laughed, but it was nothing like the laughs you normally pulled from him. It didn’t radiate like sunshine or replenish your soul with glee. Rather, it was chilling and conniving and despite the mimicry of Sam’s beautiful voice, you immediately decided that you never wanted to hear it again.

“Not feeling too talkative, huh? Or maybe you’d rather wait until he gets here in the flesh to make that anticlimactic confession of love? That’s alright, I can just tell you more about this dumbass’s feelings for you.” The shifter chuckled with delight, as if every word brought him nothing but pure joy. “Man, he loves you so much, it’s insane. I’ve never been inside the skin of someone so in love. And I thought I really loved my ex. Afterall, this whole revenge thing is for her. But I gotta tell ya, I’ve got nothing on Sam Winchester. Did you know he thinks you were made specifically for him? You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone? Cause Sam does. That’s how he feels about you.”

“Why should I believe you?” you challenged, growing tired of the inadvertent response his words were eliciting. Your heart was pounding in your neck, core trembling at the mere possibility of Sam genuinely feeling the way he’d described. But you knew better than to trust a monster, and one who was in pursuit of maximal vengeance no less. Still, those rose-colored thoughts resonated within you, and you stumbled to dismiss them as they bubbled up, one after another like a game of emotional whack-a-mole.

Shifter Sam smirked, “Yeah, you’re a cynical one, aren’t you? You know everything he said in that marriage counseling session was true. You kinda hurt his feelings when you just brushed it all off. Even big brother Dean’s been trying to get him to confess his love for you. You must’ve heard them arguing about it at some point? They weren’t exactly being discreet.”

Choosing not to respond, you simply scowled at him.

“No? Still in denial? Perhaps you need details… You ever notice how he always sits across from you whenever you’re doing research? It’s because he thinks you’re gorgeous when you’re focused, and it gives him an opportunity to admire you without getting caught. And why do you think he lets you call him Sammy, huh? Yeah, he might not let it on but he fucking loves it when you do, makes him feel all tingly inside. And you remember that cop who hit on you? Captain Anderson, was it? Sam wanted to break the guy’s nose just for touching you. Oh and why do you think he asked you to move into the bedroom closest to his? It’s so he can keep track of your nightmares. He likes to keep you close because it makes him feel like he can protect you better when you need it.”

By now, your ‘neutral expression’ must have surely mutated to betray your shock, and you couldn’t have answered if you tried. The shifter didn’t seem to mind either way. In fact, he appeared to be having the time of his life.

“And it’s not all pure thoughts, let me tell you! Oh man, buddy boy here has dreamed up plenty of X-rated scenes with you, ranging from obnoxiously romantic to just plain obscene. You name a position and he’s imagined it, in high-definition detail,” he embellished, tapping an index finger against his temple, “His mind is like a library of pornos starring the two of you, although he’ll never get to live out any of his fantasies, will he? It’s a shame really; some of these are really hot... Ooh, I’ll have to borrow that one,” he said with closed eyes, as if a figment of Sam’s imagination was playing through his head in that very moment, “Maybe my girl and I can re-enact it while we’re still in your skins-”

“Shut up, just shut up!” you finally bellowed in protest.

Sam watched the bathroom door attentively after you’d disappeared through it, unable to contain the upward jerk of his lips when he saw you walking back out of it. Heartwarming relief had become his body’s intrinsic response to seeing you safe and sound.

“You ready?” he questioned when you made it to his side.

“Yeah, I’m good.” God, even the sound of your voice made him happy.

Once you got back to the motel, Dean plopped down onto one of the full-size beds, exhausted from the drive. Within a matter of seconds, snores began to fill the room, and Sam chuckled under his breath as he sat down around a wobbly table with you to continue your research on the shifter’s victims, hoping to find something else that linked them together or a clue as to where they might’ve been taken.

It wasn’t long before you inhaled a revelatory gasp and abruptly clutched Sam’s wrist to show him what you’d found. But your grip was harsh, causing him to hiss in pain and do something he’d never before done: recoil from your touch.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does it still hurt?” you asked nonchalantly, smiling up at him innocently.

Worse than the pain in his fractured wrist was what felt like sirens blaring in his head. You were always hyper-cognizant of his injuries and exceedingly careful around them, sometimes even more so than himself. Sam looked you over subtly, eyes landing on the silver ring still upon your finger. Perhaps his mind had been playing tricks on him and all that tender attention he thought you’d shown him was simply a mirage of his own wishful thinking?

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.” Sam sent you a tight smile, to which you responded with a dazzling one of your own. It was beautiful but something about it felt off. In the past, you apologized profusely if ever you found yourself the accidental cause of his discomfort, no matter how indirect or insignificant the case, but right now there wasn’t a single speck of concern in your eyes. Indeed, the more he looked into them, the more he struggled to recognize the person staring back at him.

In a flash, Sam had you up against the wall, a silver blade held against your neck. He looked down to see the metal sizzling there, burning your flesh, and cursed himself for failing to notice sooner.

The noise woke Dean from his slumber and what he saw when he opened his eyes was equal parts shocking and amusing. “Whoa! At least wait till I’m out of the room! And isn’t that a little kinky for your first time?”

“Dean, it’s not her. She’s not Y/N,” Sam grit out, “She’s wearing the ring but she’s not Y/N.”

His brother’s brows knit together as he rubbed the sleep from his emerald greens. “Wha- How did you know?”

“She was acting… weird.”

Dean scrambled off the bed, making a quick call on his phone to ensure you really were missing. He paled when a robotic voice over the line told him the number he was trying to reach was no longer in service.

It was then the shifter decided to speak up, “You know, the real Y/N would have liked this, you pressing her up against a wall?” she murmured suggestively.

“Shut up. Where is she?!” Sam slammed her body against the flimsy motel wall once more and dug the knife in a little deeper. In his panic-stricken state, he barely registered her remark, being driven entirely by a one-track mind at present.

Shifter Y/N grimaced slightly, glancing down at the knife, “Maybe if you stop cutting into me with that, I might consider telling you.”

“How did you get the ring?”

“Oh, this little thing? You like it? It’s imitation silver, but otherwise nearly identical to the one on the real Y/N’s finger. You see, we’ve been following you for a while now.”

“Who’s we? Where did you take Y/N?!” he demanded incessantly.

“My boyfriend’s got her, but don’t worry, he looks just like you so I’m sure she’ll find her accommodations to her liking,” she retorted with a smirk.

Sam’s heart lunged in his chest and his mind began whirring with endless possibilities of escalating dread. Had you been deceived and captured by a shifter pretending to be him? Were you being hurt or tortured by someone who looked exactly like him? How would you ever be able to look at him the same way again? Of course, you’d know it wasn’t Sam but the damage would still be done. You would forever remember his face as that of someone who once hurt you, who tried to kill you. That is, if Sam could make it to you in time.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to see her one last time. That’s actually why I’m here, to take you to her when the time is right,” the shifter added casually.

“I will end your miserable fucking life! Tell me where she is right now!” Sam roared before pressing the blade further into her neck, the veins in his forearms ready to burst through his skin.

“Hey, hey! Sammy, ease up! We need her alive, alright?” Dean bounded over to his brother and after quite the struggle, managed to assuage him enough to release his vice grip and replace it with silver chains that shackled her to a chair.

“Sam, maybe we should also be asking ‘why’,” Dean mused as he fastened the end of a chain against one of the beds.

With a shake of his head, Sam avowed through grinding teeth, “I don’t fucking care. I have to get to her.”

“And what if it’s a trap?”

“Then I’ll find her myself.”

Dean scoffed in disbelief as he turned to his usually wise and level-headed little brother, “Oh yeah, and how’re you gonna do that? Where would you even start?”

“I don’t know!” Sam exclaimed in exasperation. Then, after a pause of desperate deliberation alleged, “Shifters like to make their lairs in sewers, right?”

Taking a step closer, Dean maintained his challenging tone, “So what are you gonna do, just wade through the entire town’s shit and piss until you find her?!”

“If that's what it takes, then yes!” Sam looked like he was about to eat his brother alive.

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” shifter Y/N interfered from her seated position before them, raising her chin to meet Sam’s eyes, “Don’t worry, handsome, I can tell you she feels the same way. But unfortunately, by the time you get to her, I don’t think she’ll be able to tell you herself. In fact, you’ll probably hardly recognize her anymore… so you might want to keep me around, if only as a souvenir of your soon-to-be-dead girlfriend.”

Sam couldn’t contain himself anymore. Despite looking like a carbon copy of you, the evil gleam in the shifter’s eyes made her easily differentiable, and so Sam held back nothing when he lunged across the distance, knife in hand ready to do some real damage. However, Dean pounced with him, having predicted his brother’s violent eruption and felt his shaking wrath, knowing a little too well just how rash he could be when it came to you. Still, it took all of Dean’s strength to pull Sam back, sending him a stern but knowing look once he did.

“Sam, stop!” His low voice rumbled as he went into authoritative big brother mode, “Listen to me, you wanna save Y/N? Well so do I, but this is not how we do it! Now I know it’s hard, but I need you to calm down, alright?”

Sam’s massive chest was practically at his chin as he heaved ginormous breaths. Though his body language was still offensive, his hazel eyes were filled with fear and devastation when they looked toward his brother, “Dean, if I don't get to her in time, I’ll...” Clenching his jaw, Sam made a fruitless attempt to calm his tremoring frame and quell his tumultuous emotions. What would he do? Sam wasn’t even sure himself. All he knew was that every cell in his being was currently screaming at him to get to you, to make sure you were safe and soothe away any of your pain. There was nothing he wouldn’t give in that moment to simply know you were alright and to hold you in his arms. He knew you could look after yourself, but for once he had a terrifying feeling that even you were in over your head, that you might actually need him this time, and he’d be fucking damned if he let you down.

“Woah! Hey, hey! Sammy, look at me! That ain’t gonna happen, alright? We’re gonna find Y/N and we’re gonna bring her home in one piece, you hear me? We’re the Winchesters, man! We’ve faced the end of the world. What’s a couple of shifters got on us?”

‘You,’ Sam thought, ‘They’ve got you.’ But he appreciated Dean’s pep talk nonetheless and nodded in response as a fresh surge of determination swelled within him.

“Alright then,” Dean nodded as well, “Why don’t you let me give her a go?”

As Dean’s silver blade cut into the detained shapeshifter, Sam flinched with every moan and howl of agony. He knew it wasn’t you, but she still had your voice and your perfect face. Yet not a second was wasted on the feeling of relief when they finally managed to get a location out of her. Sam nearly tripped over himself in his haste as he snatched the Impala’s keys and his gun before flying out of the room with a jumbled order for Dean to stay with the monster.

“Well, if you’re not gonna admit your feelings for the giant lumberjack, I guess you’re right. Maybe I should stop yapping and get to prettying you up for that first and last date of yours, huh?” Shifter Sam prodded your cheek with a switchblade.

You said nothing. At this point, you had a sneaking suspicion that physical pain might be more bearable than the psychological torment your imprisoner had been so keen on. It was one thing for you to torture yourself by entertaining the slim possibility that Sam might return your feelings for him, but to hear such outrageous perceptions from a creature who could read the inside of his mind like a paperback novel, and conveyed with such tantalizing conviction… well, it just about broke you.

And knowing that the shifter was yearning to coax a confession out of you simply to cause Sam as much anguish as possible made you more resolute about your refusal to submit, beyond the need to protect your own sanity.

One shiner and a slash to the thigh later, however, you heard a loud clash. Shifter Sam paused his handiwork and began to turn around, “Could your knight be here ahead of schedule?”

‘Dammit,’ you thought. The Winchesters were usually capable of being stealthy when necessary but in case it really was the sound of them making a blunder or encountering some other form of resistance, you figured you’d buy them a distraction.

“Wait, wait! You’re right, OK? Maybe I do feel something for Sam, but even if I told him, I think you’re forgetting… This is Sam fucking Winchester we’re talking about here. He’s been tortured by the devil himself. You really think killing me is going do much damage?”

Your abductor had now given you his full attention, leering at you with a sly smile, so you continued, “Besides, you picked a fight with the Winchesters; don't expect to live to see tomorrow.”

Right on cue, a hulking blur of hair and plaid came barreling in, growling ferally as he grabbed the shifter and threw more than one brutal punch against what appeared to be his own face. The silver ring on Sam’s hand made contact with skin and his shifter counterpart groaned in pain.

You nearly forgot about your ceaseless work of untying the rope that cuffed your wrists together as your looked on in shock. Why Sam hadn’t just shot him with a silver bullet was beyond you. He was smarter than this. There was no need to drag out a monster’s death if a more efficient option existed. But as he continued to engage his clone in hand-to-hand combat, it appeared almost as if he was venting his frustrations on the shifter, as if he drank up every ounce of hurt he was able to inflict. But his high only lasted so long and shifter Sam soon regained his balance, making use of his supernatural invulnerability and superior strength.

“Sam!” you screamed as the shifter threw him across the room.

He tumbled up just in time as the shifter meandered over, “So nice of you to join us, Sam. You know, Y/N here was just telling me about-“

Sam didn’t wait for him to finish, choosing instead to tackle him to the floor with a loud grunt. While they wrestled on the ground, you worked furiously at the knots behind you, wincing with every hit Sam took though it was becoming hard to tell them apart.

When Sam finally drew his gun, the shifter was able to divert its barrel and a shot rang out futilely. Catching a subsequent elbow to the ribs had Sam falling to his knees and you watched in horror as shifter Sam once again gained the upper hand, sending the gun flying out of Sam’s grasp. The binding around your wrists was just about undone when Sam seized a stray rusty pipe and swung it against his counterfeit. Shifter Sam was incapacitated for a brief instant but quickly returned to form with some vicious hooks and a couple of well-placed knees.

With your hands finally free of their restraints, you staggered over to the gun, the chair still attached at your ankles. As you took aim, you shouted, “Sam, get down!” before you shot his mirror image through the heart.

Sighing, you slumped to your hands and knees whilst the real Sam sat up with his back against a wall, gaping at you with a look of awe. Yet before he even caught his breath, he was up and gliding toward you, cradling his left wrist at an awkward angle.

“Sam, your wrist!”

“It’s fine, are you OK?” he swiftly dismissed your concern, cupping your face with his good hand as he examined the darkening bruise around your eye.

You ignored the palpitations in your chest and placed a hand upon his wrist, “Yeah, I’m fine. He wasted more time playing mind games than anything. You know villains and their monologues,” you joked, trying to ease his tension and the deluded self-imposed guilt you knew he must’ve been brewing in.

As if to prove your point, Sam lamented, “God, I’m so sorry. I should have known. I should have gotten here sooner.”

“What? No! They were miles ahead of us, Sam. The whole thing was a set up; this was their hunt. How could you have known?”

Rather than replying, he released a breath and busied himself trying to help you out of your binding.

Back at the motel, after icing your eye and stitching up your thigh, you insisted on re-wrapping Sam’s wrist while Dean took care of shifter Y/N’s remains. But when the older Winchester returned and spied you and his brother sitting together on a bed through a crack in the door, he couldn’t resist the chance to exercise his espionage skills.

“How did you know she wasn’t me anyway?” you asked as you gently wound the ace bandage around Sam’s swollen forearm.

“I just…” He looked down at your nimble fingers upon his skin and smiled unwittingly at their tender touch, “had a feeling.”

Sam’s sunflower gaze locked onto yours for a frozen instant and something about his soft expression made you forget what words were, until he cleared his throat, “Did you um- did you know he wasn’t me?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling for some strange reason. Perhaps you were just glad to see his trademark twinkle return to those otherworldly eyes. “Pretty soon after actually. I… had a feeling too.”

Sam’s dimples made every ache in your body disappear as that twinkle glistened in full force, “And how’d you know which one to shoot?”

Well, that dampened your mood and brought you back to the task at hand, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you kept grimacing every time you used your left wrist?” Although your words had a bitter force behind them, the pressure beneath your fingertips never increased and Sam had almost completely forgotten about his pain.

You, on the other hand, were reminded of your struggle to reconcile with what had happened since his question prompted a restored and growing frustration.

It had been bugging you the whole time and you felt compelled to confront him about it because storming in alone with a bad wrist, ready to throw hands with an out-of-his-league monster was really not Sam’s style. Something must’ve gotten into him and with everything the shifter had told you, you couldn’t help but wonder. Nevertheless, you were a little afraid of how he might answer, so Dean had to lean in closer to hear your next words.

“Why didn’t you just shoot him?”

“W-what do you mean?” Sam stammered out after a pause.

“Sam, you have a broken wrist, but instead of sending Dean or using your gun from the get-go, you came in like a madman and went after him with your fists!” Your voice was full of incredulity though it also carried an undertone of anger.

As Sam picked up on that reproachful tone, you could almost feel the telltale signs of his puppy dog eyes coming on. “He used my face to deceive you, to hurt you. They manipulated us. I had to- ...I mean, he killed those women just to get us here. He had it coming!”

Your hopes plummeted. Of course, Sam was ever the righteous man. Why would you assume his brashness had been purely born out of a need to avenge you? Though regardless of his reason, you were still upset about his self-destructing behavior, “Yeah, but you had to have realized you were in no position to be the one to give it to him, right? I mean, you might’ve looked the same but he was juiced up on monster superpowers, Sam… which meant he was stronger and faster, not to mention uninjured, in his own territory, and apparently the only one with a sound plan.”

A breath of laughter left Sam’s lips though there was no smile on his face. Here he’d been on a mission to save you, but you were the one who’d ended up saving him, again. You must’ve thought he was comically stupid and pathetically useless. How could he possibly think he was worthy of you? “I guess I should thank you for saving my ass again, huh?”

“What?! No! That’s not what I mean. Sam, you’re the one who saved me! And I’m beyond grateful for it, really I am. I just wish you didn’t hurt yourself more in the process.” You finally finished up with his wrist wrap, securing the final ends with a clip, and letting your hands linger on his for longer than necessary, momentarily distracted by the disparity of size between them. Sam didn’t appear uncomfortable though, as his fingers twitched closer to yours and he made no move to pull away.

He couldn’t help but smile again when he noticed the sincere concern in your eyes that was previously absent in the shifter’s. “Yeah well, what was it you once said to me? ‘Your ass will always be worth it’?” 

“And if I remember correctly, you once told me you don’t do things on hunts that make your injuries worse,” you quoted him back with an arched brow.

“Yeah well, I guess this is payback. Now you know how I felt.” A playful grin made his dimples deepen and you clenched your jaw to refrain from gushing over the ridiculous cuteness of this ‘giant lumberjack’.

“You’re an idiot.”

“As long as you’re OK,” Sam answered assuredly, and you nearly melted when his free hand caressed your cheek for the second time that day, big thumb tracing a feather-light path below the purpled skin.

‘You’re both fucking idiots,’ Dean groaned internally from the other side of the door. He knew he had no choice but to up his game.

thanks so much for reading! feedback is greatly appreciated!

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TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern​

[sleepysnk]

Can I have some headcanons for Jean having a crush on a warrior/titan shifter pls ? She was undercover like Reiner, Annie and Bertholdt and although she spent the majority of her time with the boys, she became very close to Jean during the 3 years of training.

Before the 54th expedition he confessed to her but she just replied that he should forget the idea of dating her but she didn't say if his feelings are mutual (they are).

She was in the Castle like Reiner and Bertholdt so they meet again when the Survey Corps come get back Eren and later at Shiganshina but she gets picked up by the Cart Titan and returns to Marley.

Like Porco and Pieck she fights against the Survey Corps at Liberio and Paradis. They found her with Reiner in the abandoned building and she decides to comes in the flying boat like Reiner.

How he would feel about having to fight her in her titan form on several occasions, learning why she did that, not talking to her during 4 years and seeing her after all this time (he always have feelings for her) etc. Would he try to talk to her ?

Sorry if it’s too long or too specific thank you😅💕

OH DAMN 😳 this was very specific, but i loved the idea! so i tried my best to make these decent. i didn't want to make the post overly long, so i hope you enjoy! ♡

Jean having a crush on a warrior fem!s/o headcanons

Warnings: HEAVY SPOILERS TO THE MANGA/ANIME

Jean Kirstein:

- when Jean first met (y/n), he couldn't help but admire how beautiful she was. she had pretty (h/c) hair, and shimmering (e/c) eyes.

- he was instantly attracted to her the second they locked eyes.

- but she had some dark secrets..

- she was secretly a titan along with Annie, Reiner, and Bertholdt.

- but she couldn't help herself, as much as she hated getting closer and more attached to him, she just couldn't resist how sweet he was to her.

- they became very close over the 3 years they were friends.

- Jean is very jealous, so whenever he saw her with Reiner or Bertholdt, he would get insecure. he believed she had something for one of them.

- truth is, she liked Jean.

- she was shocked when he told her he was joining the scouts, she always thought he'd join the Military Police.

- just before the expedition, Jean wanted to tell (y/n) how he felt, he didn't know if she would come back alive or not.

- "(y/n).. i like you okay? like i really really like you, i want to be more than friends"

- as much as she wanted to spill her guts about her own feelings to him, she couldn't. she had a mission.

- "i'm sorry Jean, but you should get that idea out of your head"

- as the days went on she avoided the hell out of him, and Jean had no idea why.

- when she was in the tower with Reiner and Bertholdt, she told them everything that happened.

- "we're gonna get home (y/n).. just don't let Jean get to you"

- when the tower almost fell that night, she almost transformed, but with the scouts having obtained Annie... she couldn't do it.

- Ymir transforming was a shocker, she was the one who ate Marcel that day when they were kids.

- as the scouts showed up and took out the titans, she noticed Jean was with them.

- "(y/n)! are you alright?!"

- "yeah... i'm fine"

- he hated how bland her answer was. he asked the same question, what the hell happened to her?

- when Reiner and Bertholdt transformed on the wall that day, she knew she had to do so as well. there was no going back.

- everyone was shocked to see a third titan.

- Jean stared up at the titan seeing (y/n)'s features, he didn't know what to do.

- having to fight her was so hard for him.

- when he watched her leave with Reiner, Bertholdt, and Ymir it broke him.

- Jean felt as if he was lied to.

- "i always knew she was hiding something.."

- when they met again during the retake of Wall Maria, he struggled to have the urge to put her down.

- for some reason, despite her being considered a monster, his feelings remained the same.

- "Jean... pull your head out of your ass. who cares what the hell she was to you"

- even as the smoke of battle cleared, and both Reiner and (y/n) were captured. he didn't want her to die.

- "come on (y/n)! you played a good role faking who you were! so tell me now"

- "hanji! don't kill her"

- when she heard his voice she wanted nothing but to touch him, and hug him.

- but unfortunately that was short lived as Pieck got away with her and Reiner.

- that was the last time they would see each other for a pretty long time.

- having to fight her again 4 years later was horrible. Jean for some reason, STILL HAD FEELINGS.

- having to kill so many people was hard for her, and she couldn't bare most of what she had done.

- even as they got onto the boat and Jean saw her up close, he wanted to speak with her.

- "(y/n)..."

- "Jean..."

- honestly writing this made me sad :/

[mcdannoangelwolf]

Idk if you’re into this writing this but what about werewolf au with danny being (more) grumpy the day of/after the full moon and Steve doing his big eyes and smooching Danny all over his face

Hello Anon! Here is the fic birthed by your prompt! I hope you enjoy it. I had a lot of fun writing it.

“I’m going to rip your throat out with my teeth Steven, I swear to god,” Danny growled as Steve rolled him over onto his back. Before his interference, Danny was face down on the sofa. Grumbling into the cushions in aggravation.

Steve simply smiled and hummed, “Sure you will Danno, now drink.” And handed him a bottle of water. Steve didn’t take Danny’s ornery attitude seriously as he knew Danny, 1. Would never lay a hand on him. And, 2. Couldn’t help his attitude. It was the day of the full moon and Danny was always extra moody and grumpy the day of the full moon.

Many werewolves had issues on the day of the moon. Usually, their animal nature being closer to the surface than normal. In a few, it could manifest as anger or violence but it wasn’t normal.

For most werewolves, it was a need to be closer to their Pack and a stronger urge to be active and physical.

Like so much of Danny though, his werewolf nature wasn’t entirely normal. Danny was Moon Birthed, born on the night of a full moon. Because of that, his wolf nature had always been stronger than many shifters. He could half and full shift by puberty and anthro-shift by eighteen. There were pros and cons to being Moon Birthed. And one of these was, on the day of the full moon, Danny was a grumpy pain in the ass.

Those were Danny’s words though. Not Steve’s. Sure Danny was grumpier but most of it came from things he couldn’t help. His senses were all amplified, more so than the already enhanced range of werewolves, so light, sounds, and smells could all irritate him. His body also ached, from his toes to the roots of his hair.

Ok, so Danny was a grumpy pain in the ass. Steve could agree. But it didn’t bother Steve. Danny was his grumpy pain in the ass. Before they got together Danny would always spend Moon Days alone. Of course, Steve worried about his friend and partner but he respected his choice and privacy.

Once they started dating and Steve realized how poor Danny's self-care was on Moon Days he intervened and refused to let Danny isolate himself.

Danny often liked to point out the irony of Steve saying Danny’s self-care sucked. But Danny could shove it. So on Moon Days Steve turned the reins of 5-0 over to Chin and he and Danny spent the day ensconced in Steve’s house. (Danny had yet, after a year, agreed to move in with him but Steve was working on it).

“Water?” Danny groused, leaning up enough to down the bottle. “I know you have something stronger.”

“You need to stay hydrated Danno, which means water. Not booze.” Steve smiled, sitting down and pulling Danny’s bare feet into his lap. Danny groaned and fell back on the sofa, tossing an arm over his eyes.

“It’s not like it would do me any good anyway.” Danny huffed and Steve just shook his head. Danny continued grumbling nonsensically but Steve ignored him and focused on massaging Danny’s feet. Steve knew the relief would only be minor. Nothing would soothe the wolfs' agitated body other than shifting under the moonlight. But every little bit helped. So Steve worked slow and gentle. He massaged Danny’s feet and calves, even popping his toes and rolling his ankles to stretch the muscle.

Danny had quieted while he worked so Steve maneuvered Danny's legs around him and started to rub his thighs when Danny looked up at him.

“Why are you so damn nice to me when I’m such a dick head?” Danny grumbled at him. His normally blue eyes shone wolf gold in the gloom of the room, (Steve had invested in room darkening curtains for Moon Days).

“Because I love you Danno, and I like taking care of you,” Steve replied, working the thick muscles of Danny’s thighs.

“I’m a hateful jackass who keeps snapping at you and complaining about all the sweet shit you’re doing for me,” Danny argued, waving a hand around to encompass the changes to the house.

Steve had maxed out efforts to make the house comfortable for Danny on these days. He hung up room darkening curtains and cranked the AC up. There were scentless, deodorizing candles burning through the house. He also had soft jersey-knit sheets tossed around in case Danny, who on moon days often didn't even tolerate boxers, felt like wrapping up. “Yea, you do. But I don’t take it personally. You’re not doing it on purpose.” Steve went on, abandoning Danny’s thighs to spread his hands over Danny’s furry, toned stomach.

“You act like I’m all sunshine and rainbows every other day of the month,” Danny grunted out, looking away, and Steve scowled.

Danny didn't always like intimate contact on moon days but Steve decided to take a chance. He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Danny's scruffy cheek. When Danny didn’t respond Steve kept pressing quick kisses over Danny’s cheek, jaw, and up to his temple. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see Danny’s lips twitch into a small smile. Knowing how fast Danny’s mood could turn Steve left off and nuzzled against Danny’s cheek.

“And you act like I’m not also an asshole on the regular,” Steve replied quietly and Danny huffed and tugged at Steve’s shirt.

“Strip and lay down with me awhile.” Steve was quick to comply. Stripping to his boxer briefs he lay back and let Danny sprawl out over him.

And so it went. They napped and cuddled for a while. Afterward, Danny need some space so he went down to the basement to beat up a specially reinforced punching bag and Steve went out to grill a few steaks. He made sure to keep an eye on Danny’s. Contrary to many wolves Steve had met Danny normally didn’t like his steaks rare. Instead, he liked it medium-well. Moon Days were the exception and Danny could only stand rare to medium-rare.

After eating there was more cuddling, a shared workout in the basement, more food, and a shower. Once clean Steve managed to talk Danny into laying down and letting him give him a slow full body massage. The massage ended up putting the agitated wolf into a fitful sleep.

With Danny asleep, Steve went back downstairs cleaned up, and did some more cooking for later. As soon as night fell in full Danny ambled into the kitchen, looking loose and sleepy. Steve smiled as Danny came up behind him and wrapped his arms around him, chest pressed to Steve’s back.

“Come on. Don’t wanna go without you.” Danny grumbled into his skin and Steve smiled and turned in Danny’s hold and hugged him close. Danny nuzzled briefly into his chest before pulling away. He grabbed Steve’s hand and Steve let himself be drug out to the gloom of the backyard. Danny dropped his boxers as they walked and Steve stooped to grab them, admiring the curve of Danny’s ass as he did.

Once at the edge of the yard Steve halted and let Danny continue down to the sandy beach alone. He watched as Danny halted and turned his face skyward. Danny could shift anytime he felt like it but Moon Days were different. A Moon Birthed couldn’t shift on full moons until they were under the moonlight. No one knew why.

The clouds parted and silver moonlight lit Danny, the sand, and the sea, and Steve watched as Danny shifted. It wasn’t the pain-riddled and jarring shift seen in horror movies. Nor was it the smooth and sleek shift of romance and adventure tales. Instead, it was a mix of both. Danny tripled in size, muscles thickening and limbs lengthening. Even from a distance, Steve could hear the pop and groan of Danny’s bones and joints growing and reoriented. In the final stages of the shift, Danny's head morphed into a wolfs. Golden brown fur erupted over his body and a short, tuft tail, grew above his now furry behind.

With the shift finished, Steve let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. It was always brutal and breathtaking to watch. He watched as Danny shook and settled himself before throwing his head back and howling up at the moon.

Immediately others joined in. Some from the neighborhood dogs as well as other werewolves in the distance. Steve even joined in with a short howl of his own.

When the cacophony ended Danny turned and stalked toward him. Danny, in his anthro-form, towered over Steve by more than a foot and was twice his width. Steve wasn’t afraid. Even under glowing, lupine-gold eyes, Danny shone through. Danny scooped him into his massively muscled and furry arms and carried him to the makeshift den. Steve always set it up at the edge of the yard on moon days and filled with blankets, pillows, and sheets.

Steve let himself be shifted and moved until he was ensconced in a light sheet in Danny’s lap.

This was Danny’s thing. The first few hours of Danny’s Moon Day shifts he was always a bit more wolf than man. His need to keep Steve safe, comfortable, and protected was forefront. Steve was happy to let Danny wrap him up and keep him close, even if he got too warm. He amused himself scratching through Danny's fur and pressing kisses to his face and muzzle.

Later they’d chase each other up and down the beach, demolish the nearby cooler of food, and do some swimming. Near moonset, if was lucky, Steve might get the chance to test his flexibility and endurance.

For now, though Steve was happy to wrap up in a too warm sheet and settled in the ample lap of the massive golden-brown werewolf.

[jpat82]

Wolf With—In

   "Hey girl!!" Wanda yelled over the steady bass of the music filtering in the hidden speaks in the dark club. Red and green lights strobed, a grin plastered across your face as you wove in through the throngs of people.

      It had been over a month since any of you had enough down time and you had been craving a girls night for a while. Just you and Wanda, some drinks, loud music and plenty of men to stare at. It wasn't like you weren't surrounded by men constantly but you didn't know these men and you even better none of them knew you.

"Oh, y/n, I hate crazy long missions." Wanda sighed after grabbing a drink and heading to the table.

     "God, you and me both." You stated back flopping down.

     "So, I have to ask, how awkward was that?" She asked, taking a sip and getting right to the point.

    "How awkward was what?" You pretended not to know while looking everywhere but at her.

    "Y/n, are we seriously going to pretend that you don't know why I'm talking about?" She questioned cocking her head, lip slight purses and eye brow raised.

     "I can't pretend if I don't actually know." You replied, swirling the thinnest straw in the history of straws.

     "Steve." She said point blank.

     "What about him?" You asked back, now examining the tiny little napkin that they always give you with your drink, why do they bother with those anyway?

    "Last I knew you two were pretty close and something happened and know the two of you can't even be in the same room without a crap ton of tension." She remarked. "And will of the love god will you at least look at me?"

    With the vague outline of wisps of red your head was forcefully brought up to face Wanda. Sometimes her abilities ticked you off, like now, a low growl escaped the back of throat. You could feel every muscle tighten as you resisted the urge to change right here and now. She knew that being forced to do something you didn't want was a very hot button to push.

    After all she had seen what happened to not one but two different iron man suits.

    "Down girl, I just want to know what happened and if you are okay." She asked, her voice softening.

    "I'm fine." You growled, standing abruptly. "You know what, I think I'll go for a long walk instead."

     Turning on your heel, you shoved your way out of the packed bar leaving the stunned woman behind you. It's not that you were mad at her, just mad she couldn't just leave it alone. You weren't even sure what had happened, one minute everything was great and then nothing.

Worse then nothing actually Steve actively avoided you like the plague.

    As you walked the darkened street with the light drizzling falling from over head you failed to notice the dark figure stalking behind you, keeping close to the shadows. It wasn't till you turned the corner seeing stark tower in sight that you were made aware of the presence, literally hitting you up side the head. He knocked you to the soaking ground, his form towering over yours.

     "Pretty little girl like you shouldn't be alone out here at night." He chuckled, taking a step toward you. You pulled yourself to your feet, allowing your leather jacket to slowly slide form your bare arms, feeling muscle and bone slowly beginning to shift.

     "Good thing I'm not just a pretty little girl." You growled lowly, feeling your teeth slowly elongate as you knees popped and bent the opposite of what they should.

     "What the fuck?" He stammer, reached into his waist band. "You're one of those freaks!"

      "You have no idea." You growled as you shape completely shifted, clothes ripping and falling reveling your canine form. Standing on your haunches you were now the same height. Tonight was not one of those nights, you didn't want to people for the love of god.

    It was as if time slowed down, flash of silver from the gun in his hand reflected in the lamp light over head. All your muscles began to coil tightly as you began to spring forward, mouth opened wide, teeth bared. A whisper threw the air, red and blue whipping right past your head. The man who seconds earlier brandished a weapon fell to the ground with a the unmistakeable thonk of metal to cranium, halting you in your spot.

     Looking over your shoulder, the rage slowly leaving beginning to shift again. Heart thundering in your chest, blonde hair plastered to his head, shirt, jacket and jeans drenched and clinging to his body, soft blues focused on you and you alone. Steve.

    "You." You breathed, feeling like a thousand volts went through your body unsure of what to think. Even on the mission you hadn't seen him, you heard him through the coms but he had been like a ghost.

     "Are you okay?" Steve asked. You rolled your eyes as your turned face him, muscles twitching beneath your fur.

“Why are you here?” You growled, glaring over at him.

“Because, I was worried. Wanda called and..” Steve started to explain but you cut him off before he could continue.

“Of course the witch would call, and then you came running.” Anger dripping from every word as you started to pace. “But when shit hit the fan on the mission you stayed away. I could of used your help.”

“No, you didn’t need my help.” His words soft as he walked toward you.

“Maybe I wanted you there. Maybe I wasn’t sure if I could do it.” You yelled, anger slowly starting to shift.

“Y/n, there was no doubt you could this.” Steve stated walking over to you. Slowly he brought his hand up to you cheek, placing it gently as he stroked his thumb over your fur. “Why are you really angry?”

“Because.. because.. you weren’t there.” You replied.

“That it isn’t it.” He said softly, those blues focused on your eyes. “Not really.”

“I wanted you there, you make me.. you make me feel calm and safe.. I don’t feel like a monster.” You sighed, feeling a hit tear rolled down you face. “And I am.”

“No, you aren’t. You are a shape shifter, not a monster.” Steve calmly told you as you felt all your anger leaving you, sadness slowly replacing that feeling. “You are an amazing, talented and strong woman. And you, are beautiful, in what ever form you’re in.”

Your eyes snapped up to his as you felt your bones begin to shift, and change. Your fur slipped from your body, your paws slowly turning back to your hands. The rain dropped down kissing your bare skin as you stood before hm. Steve slipped his coated off and wrapped it around your naked form.

“I can’t be around.” He added, with a smile. “Cause if I was I wouldn’t be able to let you go into a mission, I would be too worried you would be hurt. And then I wouldn’t be able to do my job.”

Permanent tag-

@kitkatkl

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[willow-salix]

Ok, so, here's the next chapter.

It's a wee bit weird, so feel free to skip most of it, it won't affect the story at all. It's just there, doing it's thing.

Here's the first part, you can follow the link to read the rest of dip out here if you don't want to read a full ritual.

---

“What do you mean Lin is in the hospital?” Selene gasped, unable to believe her ears. “I just saw him no more than...” she glanced at her phone, “four hours ago.”

“Yeah, well, that was before the arrow hit him,” Vera snorted, tugging at Selene’s dress as she unzipped it and yanked it down.

“Arrow? What arrow?” Selene asked, her voice muffled as a new dress was slung over her head.

“The one that hit him in the leg,” Alegra answered as she bustled past with an armful of candles, clearly heading outside to the circle clearing.

“What the hell was he doing to get shot in the leg?”

“Teaching an archery class, it appears someone had very bad aim. One legged Linden strikes again,” Alegra replied.

“That name is because he is the master of Tree pose, not because he only has one working leg!" Selene argued, starting to feel more than a little stressed. “Who the hell is going to be my Priest if Linden is out of action? There’s no one else I’ve worked with enough to even have a connection with let alone one enough to raise the power needed for the circle.”

“Don’t you worry your head about it,” Vera snapped, tugging violently on Selene’s arm, yanking her down in a chair where she sat as still as a statue, allowing the old lady to attack her hair. “Tanzi said she had a plan, so give her some time to see what she can pull out of her arse before you start your panic flapping.”

“But there isn’t anyone here,” Selene argued. “Why don’t we let Tanzi take my place, she’s worked with far more people than I have, she'd know how to work their energy better than me.”

“Because it’s your role, that’s why.”

“But I- OW!”

Vera pulled the brush back like she might donk Selene on the head again.

“We’ll have none of that negativity, my girl, I taught you better than that. You know negativity before a circle is a no no. Just trust the Gods, trust they have a plan and a reason.”

“Linden won’t like that he was part of whatever plan they supposedly had,” Selene grumbled but stayed still as Vera slapped a flower crown on her head and set to work curling her hair around it.

"Well, it's not like he has a say in it now, is it?"

-x-

“I feel ridiculous,” John complained as Tanzi straightened his tunic, giving him the once over.

“Oh hush, you look gorgeous, she’s gonna shit a brick when she sees you.”

“I swear, if anyone even dares to take a picture I’ll make sure that they never get an internet connection again for the rest of their lives,” John threatened, wincing as Tanzi grabbed a comb and a pair of scissors to start attacking his hair. "Are you sure this is completely necessary?"

"Oh yes, very necessary, you have to dress the part, besides, it'll be worth it, you'll thank me later," Tanzi grinned admiring her handiwork. "That bitch is gonna send me a gift basket for making you look so good."

"And there's really no one else to do it?"

"No, I already told you. Linden is out of action and it's been years since she's worked with anyone close enough to lead a ritual with them. You're bonded to her, you're basically her familiar, you're the perfect solution. Don't worry, it'll be fine, believe it or not she does know what she's doing, she won't let you mess up."

"I never thought for a moment that she wouldn't be completely capable and in control, she always is. She may seem flighty but-"

"You don't have to tell me," Tanzi interrupted, patting his shoulder. "I've known her since she entered the craft, in fact I think tonight will be quite eye opening for you. You've never seen her in a ritual before, have you?"

John shook his head.

"Then you're in for a treat, she's a natural performer as well as a talented witch."

"My wife with a penchant for dramatic performance? Never."

Tanzi sniggered under her breath but declined to comment, focusing her attention on the back of his head as she worked.

"Are you sure this is all I have to do?" John asked, unfolding the instructions he'd been given and reading them through again. They seemed simple enough, follow Selene, stand where he was told, do as she directed and only speak when she spoke to him first or asked him a question, it sounded like a standard social event to him.

"Yep. You've got your part of the performance there too, just make sure you give Sel her part."

"Tell me again why we aren't warning her about this?"

"Because I want to see the look on her face," Tanzi shrugged. "I'm old, I have to get my kicks somewhere."

John snorted out a laugh. "Don't let my Grandma hear you complaining about being old, she gets very defensive when anyone under sixty even dares to mention they have a wrinkle."

"Good job I'm over 60 then," Tanzi answered distractedly, tugging at the side of his head as she tried to wrestle his hair into submission. He resisted the urge to flinch and instead focused on her words.

"Sure you are, and I'm planning a career change to become a game show host." The woman didn't look any older than he did, let alone old enough to appease his Grandma.

Tanzi grinned evilly. "Look me up if you don't believe me, but sit still while you do it."

For want of anything better to do John pulled out his phone and did as he was told. It took him less than two minutes and a tiny bit of government file delving to find the truth.

"There's only one Tanzanite Summerland, who is apparently seventy-eight years old."

Tanzi hummed a little sound of acknowledgement as she worked on his parting, trying to force his hair to lay in a way that didn't come naturally to it. "Why won't your bloody hair stay where I put it?"

"Selene asks the same thing, I gave up trying to change it years ago and just work with it, but don't think I don't know you're trying to change the subject," he retorted, on to her game.

She huffed, giving up on the parting, deciding to work with what she had, smoothing it back into place instead. "I'm mated to a full bloodied Shifter, Nikos is 297."

"He's what?" John spluttered, turning to look at her. "That's impossible."

"Dude, you turn into a cat, nothing should be impossible to you," she drawled, her tone implying she thought he was being particularly dense as she grabbed his head and turned it to face forward. "Avery is 413."

"Avery too? What does he turn into?"

"Nothing, though I'm sure he'd love to embrace the bat cliché if he could."

"Bat? Why would h-"

Tanzi raised her curved fingers to her mouth in a crude depiction of fangs and hissed.

John's eyes widened.

Tanzi nodded. "Yeah, and he's still not matured into a fully functioning adult, he'd be lost without my sister, I swear. Now, you've got your words, I've done the best I can with your hair, I think you're good to go."

"What? No! I've got questions, you can't just dump this kind of information on me and expect me to just accept it. I need answers."

"No time my friend, chop chop, it's getting dark, move your arse, your wife's waiting."

-x-

"Seriously?"

Selene couldn't have been more shocked if Tanzi had produced a monkey from her pocket to slap her around the face.

"You think John is the solution to our problem? How? Why? He hates people!"

"Oh hush," Tanzi soothed, brushing away her concerns. "He'll be fine, it's only a little ritual-"

"Little? There's a hundred and fifty people out there joining in!"

"In at the deep end," Tanzi shrugged, "he married a witch, he's gotta learn sometime. He said he'd do it."

"But why him? Is there really no one else?" Selene fretted, more worried about her husband's social anxiety than the ritual itself. "Can't you do it?"

"Nope, you're our poster child, you're the one they came to see, we can't let them down. He's the only person here with a connection to you that won't dull your energy. You know a Priest is supposed to enhance it, not drain it."

Selene wanted to argue, but her friend did make a good point, not that she wanted to admit it. She had worked with John in little ways before, working on his intuition and raising his personal power quicker and easier before each shift he attempted; it really wouldn’t be that much different for him, you know, apart from all the people staring at him.

“Fuck it, we’ll make it work,” Selene huffed. “Did you at least prepare him, even a little? Gods, he’s never going to leave my side again after this. I walked away for an hour and he was drafted.”

“Of course I prepared him, I gave him a script and everything,” Tanzi promised her, crossing her heart.

“Which script?” Selene asked suspiciously.

“This one,” Tanzi grinned, handing Selene a book of Shadows already opened on a page.

Selene quickly scanned through the pages, recognising the revised ritual instantly.

“I’m going to make a few adjustments,” she stated in a tone that allowed no arguments.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Tanzi assured her, knowing that she had won that round.

“Fine,” Selene sighed, checking the time. “Then I guess I'm ready.”

“Good, let’s go,” Tanzi said, draping a cloak around Selene’s shoulders.

“Hang on, where’s my chapstick?”

“Do you really need it?” Tanzi asked, desperate to get the other woman moving.

“Yes, I do, especially as I have a lot of foreheads to kiss out there,” Selene answered, already scrabbling through her bag looking for the elusive little tube.

“Where the hell is the bloody...Oh, thanks, babe,” she said in response to the chapstick that appeared in her line of sight, recognising the ring on the hand that held it. She took the stick and slicked on a generous amount, making fish out of water noises at her reflection in the mirror before turning around. She stumbled, reaching blindly behind her for something to hold on to, because praise be to every single deity for the God that was her husband.

“Holy shitballs Batman!”

“See, I look stupid!” John huffed, his cheeks burning. He should never have let himself be talked into it.

“Rubbish,” Tanzi scoffed.

“Wow,” Selene breathed, seemingly unable to form any full sentences.

“Told you she’d like it,” Tanzi grinned.

“What...I mean...how the...my Gods,” she breathed, unable to tear her eyes away from the pure gorgeousness she was seeing. Her eyes kept darting to a new part of him, there was simply too much beauty to take in in one go. “Wow.”

“Yes, I am a miracle worker, I know this,” Tanzi preened, brushing a non-existent speck of dirt off his shoulder.

“Is that a wig?”

“Clip in extensions.”

“My Gods,” Selene whispered again. John’s hair was now brushing his shoulders, falling in shimmering red waves that perfectly matched his own colour. His usual side parting had been maintained, the extensions having obviously been trimmed to blend in with his forelock, which somehow made it look less alien on him. Her fingers itched to run through all that silky looking hair and she actually reached out a hand but Tanzi slapped it down.

He was dressed in a black shirt with loose fitted sleeves that laced up across his chest under a dark forest green tunic. His legs were encased in black leggings and dark brown lace up boots that came up to just below his knees. He had a black cloak over one arm and a metal headpiece that encircled his head looking rather like a crown. But it was the pointed ears that peeked out from his hair that really pulled the whole look together.

“Fuck...me,” Selene was absolutely stunned, taking a few steps towards him, wanting to be close, to touch, to kiss...

“Later,” Tanzi ordered. “You two have to get moving, I can hear the drums already.”

Snapping out of her dazzling husband induced daze, Selene grabbed a sword that had been laying on a table in one hand and reached for his hand with the other.

If John felt nervous dressed in his ridiculous costume, it was nothing compared to how Selene seemed to be feeling. He could feel her hand shaking in his and hear the way she kept sucking in a deep breath before letting it out slowly.

He wanted to say something to make it better, but knew that in times like these words made very little difference to her. Instead he repositioned her hand in his, linking their fingers and giving it a comforting squeeze. She looked different tonight, he’d seen her in ritual robes before, but this time she had replaced the dramatic makeup she had been wearing earlier with something much more subtle. She looked younger, less sure of herself, with pale golden eyeshadow, pink blushed cheeks and no lipstick, maybe that was part of the reason that she looked a little less confident than normal.

They waited just outside the perimeter that had been marked out for the circle, around which a ring of people stood, others seated in little huddles on blankets, obviously not part of the actual ritual but wishing to observe. The whole clearing was lit up by the crackling flames of a large bonfire, which warmed the chill air to a more pleasant temperature now that the sun had gone down, taking its heat with it.

The drumming that had been growing louder with each passing moment reached its crescendo and abruptly stopped. He felt her stiffen and heard her inhale deeply once more, holding it for the count of five before letting it out slowly.

“Show time,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “Just follow my lead, babe, I won’t let you down.”

“I know,” he assured her, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

Link to Ao3

[vesuvian-american-fics]

better with time. Ch 9

you're not normal.

Lunch with the scouts goes just about as planned, awkward. A meeting with Erwin leaves you feeling fearful of tomorrow.(AO3)

Words: 1,836

As the comfort of sleep faded away, regretfully you opened your eyes and sat up on your bed. You stretched your weary muscles and groaned at the popping sounds your bones made with the movement. You lazily patted your hair back into its usual form before straightening out your clothes and opening your door. Just as you did you were met with Levi’s irritated glare.

“That’s the last time I go without locking your door.” He said before sighing and walking off. You followed without a word, too sleepy to reply to the man.

“You will sit at the same table as Hange, the other superiors and I. Don’t speak unless spoken to, if you do good today this can be regular. If any scouts come up to you, ignore them. It’ll be hard because those brats are chatty, don’t answer any of their questions. Got it?” He rattled off. Right now, he was seeming like more of the chatty type, more than usual you suppose. However, it's to be expected you imagined. He’s giving you a lot of trust allowing you to eat with everyone as if you were normal. You were thankful but that can go without saying.

“I got it.” You replied, within the next few steps the two of you were standing in front of the canteen you had cleaned just hours before. Suddenly feeling shy and self-conscious your stomach sank. You hadn’t been in a social setting like this since you’ve been human again, to be honest you were scared. No one was expecting you to speak though but you knew all eyes would be glued to the back of your head as soon as you entered. It was nerve wracking.

“Stand up straight...” He snapped before opening the door an walking inside, leaving you to trail after him like a lost puppy. Just as you hypothesized, the once loud and rambunctious canteen had fell silent. Silent save for Hange still tittering off about one sciencey thing or another to the other men at their table, that made it less awkward for you but you couldn’t help but feel a few beads of cold sweat forming at your brow.

Levi cleared his throat dramatically to grab your attention toward the meal tray he had already filled with your lunch for the day, boiled potato and soup again. With that the two of you made your way towards Hange and sat down, you next to them and Levi across. The men at the table, Mike and Moblit, eyed you over in acknowledgement before properly greeting Levi. You gave them a curt nod and lifted your fork to take a bite of your food. Hange roughly hooked an arm around your shoulder before loudly bringing you into the conversation.

“Moblit! This is the one I’ve been talking about! Y/N! Hi!” You winced at their volume and a shy blush warms your cheeks, as if all the attention in the room wasn’t already on your neck, it surely was now. You could hear your name floating about the room as people began talking about you.

“Y/N huh?”

“She’s that titan?”

“Is it safe having her here?”

“I’m sure they know what they’re doing...”

“You think she’s like Annie––”

“Don’t mention that one!!”

That last part greatly disturbed you, but you decided to ignore the voices around you and just focus on the people at your table and your food. Levi looked at you over the top of his tea cup, reading your worried expression carefully. Setting his cup down gently he addressed Hange sternly.

“Shitty glasses... Keep your voice down you’re giving me a headache.”

Hange being as intelligent as they are quickly realized Levi said that more for your sake than his made-up migraine. Hange gave a short glance your way before quickly giving you a squeeze and lowering their voice as told. Instantly a bit of your anxiety ebbed away though the gossip didn’t die down much.

The rest of the lunch period went without much incident, Hange did well to distract you from the background chatter and made you feel normal. Moblit was a sweet fellow, the only person you imagine could handle Hange on 100% at all times, Mike was quiet but from time to time he would chuckle at the commentary. Levi remained stoic and unchanging, sipping his perfectly brewed black tea, and picking away at his meal. It was a nice change in pace in contrast to eating alone in your room with your nose in a book.

Your thoughts were interrupted when a boy you recognized instantly came stumbling up towards Levi. His large teal eyes staring into yours. However, this time, two others followed after him. A taller girl with brilliant black hair and a soft red scarf over her shoulders, and a timid looking blonde boy with even bigger baby blue eyes.

Without taking his eyes off of his plate Levi addressed the three scouts coldly.

“And what do you brats want?” His voice made the blonde jump, and to make him feel a little less on edge you returned your gaze back to Hange and Moblit, watching the two interact and trying to ignore the scouts and whatever they needed to give them a semblance of privacy.

“C-captain, we were just wondering-–” Eren was interrupted by Levi speaking over him.

“If you’re wondering anything about Y/N, its none of your business for now. Dismissed.” With the mention of your name, you jumped a bit and your shocked yet confused eyes met Levi’s even and dark ones.

“It's dangerous having a titan at the base with Eren. What if she’s after him like Annie was?” The girl responded, she had a confidence about her that told you she was strong and not to be trifled with. Almost on par with Levi, however, she lacked the outward intimidation.

“Do you think I can’t do my job, Mikasa?”

“But for Eren–”

“Do you think I can’t do my job?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then you’re dismissed.” Levi ended the conversation once again with a tone of finality. After a moment of tense silence, the three of them walked off as the blonde pulled tirelessly on their sleeves away from the table.

“Also, the three of you have kitchen duty for the week.” Levi called after them, you could hear the three kids bickering amongst each other as they got back to their table. Eren and some taller boy teasing one another as soon as he sat down.

You looked back to Levi but he was already standing from his seat, taking your tray and his to be disposed of. Before he could make it back to the table the door of the canteen opened, you couldn’t see who was on the other side but Levi went to them quickly.

He was gone for just a few minutes before Erwin stepped through the door. Everyone stood and saluted to him, and you felt awkward for sitting.

“At ease.” He said, everybody retook their seats as his eyes scanned the crowd for yours. He gave you a small smile before he spoke again.

“Y/N, come with me.” Your eyes widened just a fraction before darting towards Hange, they nudged you and waved you off.

“See you later Y/N!” With that, you stumbled towards Erwin and he opened the door for you. Outside you were met with Levi and the three of you walked towards what you imagined to be Erwin’s office at the base.

You were nervous, they must have decided what to do with you. Or maybe they want to conduct another interview now that you could talk, but you don’t remember anything new yet. Anxiety pricked at your skin; you weren’t prepared to be berated with questions.

What if, because of your lack of memory they thought you were lying? What if they didn’t trust you? What if–

“Go inside.” Levi said, ripping you from the cloud of your invasive thoughts. You stepped inside the office and took a seat, Levi remined standing by the door. The large wooden desk was decorated with a name plate reading Erwin Smith.

The man in question cleared his throat before shuffling a few documents before him and addressing you.

“Y/N...”

...

Experiments? Are they serious?

“I can see the distress on your face. I assure you; the experiments will be nothing invasive, and all led by Hange and Moblit.” Still, you were unsure about the prospects of being tested on like some animal to the slaughter. Your lack of response urged Erwin to continue explaining.

“We need to test your titan abilities, if you can shift like the other titan shifters we’ve encountered. What are your strengths, are you a unique case? Things of that nature, and if we’re to trust you to the best of our ability, we need to know these things. I’d like to ask for your consent, however, if you’re to stay with us there is no other way, I’m afraid.” He rested his chin atop his clasped fists and we patiently awaited your reply.

Levi however, was never one for such pleasantries, and gave you no extra time to think it over before he spoke.

“If you don’t want to stay, we can always drop you off outside the walls and watch you fend for yourself against your friends out there.” He commented, pointing his thumb out towards the windows. The thought unnerved you, and you wouldn’t put it passed him to stay true to his word.

With a defeated sigh you gave the men your answer.

“I’ll do anything. I can’t lie I’m afraid, I don’t want to be a titan anymore. I don’t want to be a shifter. This is all so confusing but I’ll do what I have to to gain your trust.”

“Well then that settles it. We’ll start tomorrow.” Levi said, quickly heading out the door and leaving you and Erwin alone. Your shoulders dropped; this was all so sudden but you could understand their dilemma. They needed to have answers and quick, you’ve already been here for quite some time inconveniencing them with your silence and memory loss. This is the least you can do.

It’ll give you the answers you’ve been hoping for yourself, can you even turn again? You prayed to whatever god that was listening that you didn’t have the ability to shift. You signed your name on the pages that Erwin slid across to you.

He gave a knowing smile, before dismissing you. When you exited, Levi was there waiting to lead you back to your room. The walk back was silent as expected, and when you entered your room he lingered in the doorway before speaking.

“Rest up. I’ll bring your dinner here later.” You nodded weakly before falling over into your pillow. He stayed just a second longer before you heard the soft click of the door shutting, and the quiet jingle of his keys locking you inside.

The uncertainty of tomorrow scared you.