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underground-secret · 7 months ago

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The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f! reader

Description: Sam's nightmare leads the group to Saginaw Michigan. But it's more than a nightmare and it's more than any ol' hunt. Things are revealed about the past as it sends them barreling into the future.

Warnings: Cannon violence, I might have gotten a little too carried away with the beginning scene sorry not sorry! flirtation, banter, mentions of su!cide, gore, mentions of child abuse, mentions of past abuse, guns, a roller coaster of emotions, and a lot of angst (no one can be happy...sorry!)

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara

Word Count: 9,912

Nightmare

(Masterlist, Prev Ch, Next Ch)

I turn over in my bed, burying my head deeper into the pillows to ignore the loud and insistent banging from my door. I mumble incoherently into the covers, sleep having its claws so deep into my brain. “Please open the door, sweetheart. ‘m tryna give you privacy here but if this door isn’t open in five seconds I’m gonna use my key,” Dean warns loudly, his voice raspy. I hum softly into the bedding but make no move to get up, instead snuggling deeper into the blankets. The remains of sleep creep into the corners of my mind, hazing the rest of my brain.

Suddenly a gentle calloused hand is on my bare shoulder, “Come on baby, as much as I wanna let you sleep Sammy needs us to hurry.”

“Mhm,” I hum halfheartedly, digging myself further into the bed if possible. “Alright that’s it,” he says finally. There's some shuffling before the covers are pulled back, a rush of cold air prickling my exposed legs followed by the warmth of his hands dragging up and down my calves slowly before leaving to pull down my slip nightgown further past my butt. That wakes me up. My eyes flutter open, and as much as I loved my little cotton nightgown every time I wore it to bed I woke up to a full tit out and the bottom up at my hips. Luckily this time I didn’t think it rode up so high, it had only felt like it was just barely covering my butt, so at the most, he saw a flash of my underwear which is not the most ideal thing to happen, and also insanely embarrassing but at least I was wearing one of my cute pairs. And at least he didn’t comment on it, except he did pull it down further which means he probably did see…oh god.

“Okay! I’m awake Dean!” I say, my words half mumbled by the bed but if I turned over he would also be seeing a boob today and he had seen enough already. His hands grip my ankles, his thumbs rubbing my skin, oh lord. No. I have to focus…and not on how butterflies are erupting in my stomach, fluttering around frantically, “Not convinced baby, not until I see you get up,” he conceded. He was really playing with my resolve and it was a very fickle thing to begin with.

“Yeah, so if I flip myself around you’d be getting flashed. These nightgowns…just you know…” I admit, my face warm for two different reasons. His thumbs pause and I can practically hear the arch of his brow and that devilish smirk, “By all means, continue…”

“Dean,” I warn.

“I really wouldn’t object to it, wouldn’t complain one bit,” he comments, his voice dripping with amusement. “Dean!” His hands leave me entirely and I suddenly miss the warmth he brought, “Alright, alright,” he gives in, “I’ll go, be waitin’ in the car. I’d hurry though Sam’s freaking out about needing to leave but won't say anythin’ more.”

The initial embarrassment of being woken up the way I was or at least the result of that, as well as being a little “late” had long worn off except for when Dean caught my eyes in the rearview mirror then it all came rushing back. But I needed to screw my head on right, and not get distracted by his playful teasing manner, he was most likely compensating for the fact that he had to say goodbye to the woman he loved again. Ending on good terms aside those feelings don’t just magically disappear especially when it only happened recently. Either way, I was thankful for the nightfall's darkness, because with each gaze my face heated up even if it was against my better judgment.

I needed to focus.

Sam had his ear pressed into his phone, reading from a fake ID to potentially give real information, “McReady. Detective McReady, badge number 158. I’ve got a signal 480 in progress, I need the registered owner of a two-door sedan, Michigan license plate Mary-Frank-six-zero-three-seven…Yeah okay, just hurry.”

Dean glances over at his brother, concern written in his eyes, “Sammy relax. I’m sure it’s just a nightmare.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sam remarks.

“You know considering he was right about your old house I’m pretty much convinced he’s right about this one too,” I add. Dean adjusts his hold on the steering wheel, “It could also just be a dream. Y’know, a normal everyday, naked-in-class, nightmare. This license plate, it won’t check out. You’ll see,” Dean tries to reason though I can't understand why he won’t accept that Sam has been right before and will be right again, my only guess would be fear.

“I mean I suppose,” I shrug, “but even just logically speaking unless you’re lucid dreaming you can’t read in your sleep, as the part of your brain that’s responsible for logic and intellect shuts down. So following that logic, he wouldn’t have been able to read or understand that license plate, that fact must hold some merit here.”

“Alright, maybe he was lucid dreamin’ then,” Dean suggests instead, finding any reason for his brother not to be a psychic.

“It felt different Dean. Real,” Sam shakes his head, eyes focused as he tries to explain, “Like when I dreamt about the old house and Jessica.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. You’re dreaming about our house, your girlfriend,” Dean points out, “This guy in your dream, you ever seen him before?”

“No,” Sam responds.

“It doesn't matter if you've actually seen someone they can still be in your dreams because when you're walking around you're subconsciously watching and cataloging them,” I explain, “Though of course you're most likely to have dreams about people you see or think about more often, but still people you pass in real life can be in your dream.” Dean catches my eyes again in the mirror, gazing at me questioningly, “Why do you know so much about dreams?”

I shrug, “I don't know, it’s interesting so I just go down a rabbit hole of information. Plus there are a lot of psychological aspects to dreams which can make them important to analysis.” Dean shakes his head as if shaking away the information, “So why would he have premonitions about some random dude from Michigan.”

I rub my eyes, tiredness still trying to cling to me to the point of my eyes aching, “Yeah I don’t have an answer to that one.” Dean turns his gaze to his brother, silently asking him the same question, “I don’t know,” he answers. “Me neither,” Dean shrugs with one shoulder though it was more done to prove his point.

“Yes I’m here,” Sam says suddenly, pressing the phone closer to his ear. He goes silent, listening, then throws a glare at Dean and picks up his pen, “Jim Miller. Saginaw, Michigan. ‘You have a street address?… Got it. Thanks.” He moves his phone away from him, clicking a button, most likely hanging up, “Checks out. How far are we?”

“From Saginaw? Coupla hours,” Dean answers. “Drive faster.”

The Impala cruises to a stop, Emergency vehicles lined up followed by two medical examiners pushing a stretcher with a body bag on it just being zippered. We were late and it was hard to know whether it was by a couple of minutes or hours, but it didn’t matter because we were late and someone was dead.

We approach the crowd, a couple of neighbors dressed in their pajamas and a coat watching the scene from behind a line of caution tape. “What happened?” Dean asks a nearby woman.

“Suicide,” she answers, “Can’t believe it.”

“Did you know them?” Sam questions, moving to the woman’s other side.

She frowns, “‘Saw him every Sunday at St. Augustine’s,” she replies, oversharing to a couple of strangers but it was helpful so there was no way we would tell her to stop, “He always seems…seemed so normal. I guess you never know what’s going on behind closed doors.”

“Guess not,” Dean acknowledges, looking straight ahead.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say softly, maybe she didn’t know the guy so well but seeing him weekly still meant something. She nods in thanks.

“How did…uhh” Sam stammers, “How are they saying it happened?” It was a total conversation turn but once more it was necessary. “I heard they found him in the garage, locked inside his car with the engine running,” she answers. Carbon dioxide poisoning from a car makes it hard for it to be an accident so of course the initial thought would be suicide and I doubt it would be easy to prove otherwise with a death like that.

“Do you know about what time they found him,” Sam pushes and I hope she doesn’t think we’re being weird about this and asking a little too many questions. “Oh, ‘just happened about an hour or two ago,” she says. Frick, frick that wasn’t long ago at all. “His poor family,” she continues, “I can’t even imagine what they’re going through.” I follow her gaze to a woman standing on the front steps crying against a middle-aged man. A young distraught man stands behind them. I could imagine what they were feeling and it was horrible. Grief was not pretty and those feelings were even uglier, leaving a permanent mark on your heart.

Someone tugs on my sweatshirt sleeve, I follow the motion watching Dean walk away following his brother who had stormed away. I follow them, making the quick walk to the Impala.

“Sam we got here as fast as we could,” Dean reasons.

“Not fast enough,” Sam shakes his head, a pained look painted on his face, “It doesn’t make any sense man. Why would I even have these premonitions if there wasn’t a chance I could stop them from happening.”

I bit my lips, thinking for a moment before speaking, “Maybe it wasn’t about him exactly, like maybe it’s bigger than that. Sometimes that happens, remember what I said about oneiromancy or using dreams to predict the future? Well sometimes it’s not so literal, sometimes it serves as a warning or pointing you in a specific direction for whatever reason. Now I know your whole thing is different and more detailed than that but do you get what I mean?”

He nods, clearly thinking it over. “I don’t know though, I’m no expert but I’m just tryna say to keep it in mind,” I add. He shakes his head and sighs, “So what do you think killed him?”

“Maybe the guy just killed himself?” Dean suggests, “Maybe there’s nothing supernatural going on at all.”

“Then why would he have such a vivid dream of just some random dude dying?” I point out, immediately realizing my contradiction. “I dunno,” Dean shrugs, “Maybe it’s like you said, it’s pointing to somethin’ else.”

“I watched it happen. He was murdered by something. I watched it trap him in the garage,” Sam explains.

“What was it, a spirit, poltergeist, what?” Dean asks in rapid succession. Sam huffs, “I don’t know what it was. I don’t know why I’m having these dreams, I don’t know what the hell is happening!” He was freaking out, totally and utterly freaking out and he had every right to be. “It’s alright Sam,” I say softly, “We’ll figure this out, I promise. ‘No matter how long it takes.”

He sighs, mumbling a “Thanks.” I couldn't imagine what he was feeling, I always knew who I was even if nobody else did. To know one thing your whole life just to be thrown onto a totally new path with no explanation must be terrifying. “What,” Sam says suddenly throwing a look at his brother who was just staring at him. Dean shrugs, “Nothing. I’m just, I’m worried about you man,” he confesses.

“Well don’t look at me like that!” Sam yells. Dean looks away, “I’m not looking at you like anything,” he retorts, glancing back, “Though I gotta say, you do look like crap.”

“Dean. Really?” I say.

“Nice. Thanks,” Sam replies, pursing his lips. With a small smile, Dean moves to the driver's side of the car, pulling the door open, “Come on, let’s just pick this up in the morning. We’ll check out the house, talk to the family.”

“Dean, you saw them, they’re devastated. They’re not going to want to talk to us,” Sam reasons. Dean pauses in thought, “Yeah, you’re right. But I think I know who they will talk to.”

I scoff, “Who?”

I pull open my motel door, the sun shining brightly behind the man in front of me highlighting his stunning green eyes. His arms are hidden behind his back, “What do you have there?” I ask, squinting at him suspiciously. “Oh, just a little somethin’” he smirks devilishly, gazing down at me.

“You’re scaring me,” I admit, “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” he grins revealing what he was hiding. He holds up a rectangular Halloween costume bag, the classic orange logo on the top, and a blonde woman in a nun costume holding a ruler on the other side. I look between him and the bag his smile never leaving his face a mischievous sparkle in his eye, “Sam and I are going as Preiests so we need our nun,” he explains.

“Tell me you're joking,” I say blankly, my face falling.

“Not at all sweetheart.”

I huff a laugh, pointing at the bag, “I’m not wearing that.”

“You gotta,” he replies.

“No offense to the nuns of the world, but I would rather be shot dead than wear that.”

“‘Cause it’s not cute?” Dean asks though it comes off more like a statement as he knows my answer. “Yes,” I answer flatly, “I’m not wearing that.”

“Maybe I shoulda picked up the slutty one,” he retorts, thinking he got me there. I cross my arms across my chest, wetting my lips, “You should’ve, ‘be good for Halloween,” I counter. Checkmate. He drags his eyes across my frame. my face heats up, “While I’d love to see to that, Halloween is months away and you’re being ridiculous.”

“Still not wearing it,” I say as sternly as I can manage, which isn’t very considering my mind trying to compute what he said. “Come on,” he grumbles, “what am I gonn’ do with a nun costume now?” He pushes past me, stepping deeper into the room. I close the door, turning around, “I don't know, return it? Or use it for one of your one-night stands, I’m sure you’ll find someone kinky enough.”

He looks at me blankly, deadpanning, “You’re wearing it.”

“No”

“Yes”

“No”

“Yes”

“I’ll just sit this one out, wait in the car or something ‘till you’re done,” I say.

“You’re wearing it,” he repeats.

“No”

“Yes”

“You’re not winning this one!” I throw my hands up.

“Y/N come on!”

“No!”

He groans, annoyed, “If you wear it I’ll buy you whatever book you want.”

Oh. I mean it’s only a couple of minutes of embarrassment and ugly clothing, “Okay, deal. Fine.” His wide grin returns, he throws the bag at me and I catch it, looking down at it with disgust. “‘Not gonna bite sweetheart,” Dean says as he heads out.

“Yeah, but I might,” I mumble.

I fixed the Coif on my head for the hundredth time, I should’ve put more bobby pins in my hair. God. How did Nuns wear these? It just digs into your scalp and the most hair you could show was just the very top, probably about three inches, the rest of your hair was hidden along with your ears. It was the least cute or sexy thing to ever exist, faces were not being framed.

“Quit poutin’, you're supposed to be a Nun, be happy,” Dean comments as he rounds the car.

“I look like I'm going to burn myself at the stake,” I huff.

Sam laughs, having to bite back the noise. “You look fine,” Dean says. I look down at myself, the long black dress covering everything down at my ankles and a strange-looking white squared bib thing around my neck, “Who are you lying to right now!”

Dean huffs frustrated, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“At least you guys look good, like really good,” I say maybe a little too honestly. Sam had his hair all jelled back in a cute little hairdo, he was quite adorable. And on the other side, it really must have been the all-black attire, forget about the clerical cuff and that damn silver ring on his finger that made Dean look so good. Otherwise, there was something deeply wrong with me and I’d have to reevaluate my life, ‘cause there should be no reason for a “Priest” to look so damn fine. Lord, I need help.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Dean declares. He leads the way crossing the street and walking right up the porch, he rings the doorbell that silver ring glinting in the light. Sam sighs, “This has gotta be a whole new low for us.”

“Amen,” I mumble.

The door opens slowly and I throw away my pout replacing it with a kind smile. The older man from yesterday stands at the door, blocking our view of the rest of the house. Now that it wasn’t dark out and I was far closer, I was able to take note of him: a round-faced man with dark eyebrows and a sort of buzzcut.“Good afternoon,” Dean starts, “I’m Father Simmons, this is Father Frehley, and this is Sister Kathern We’re new junior priests over at St Augustine's. May we come in?”

The man nods, stepping aside. “Thanks,” Dean says entering first. I give the man a polite nod, “We’re very sorry for your loss.”

“It’s in difficult times like these when the Lord’s guidance is most needed,” Dean adds.

“Look, you wanna pitch your whole ‘Lord has a plan’ thing? Fine. Just don’t pitch it to me. My brother’s dead,” the man spits, his face wobbling with choked emotion. An older blonde woman appears, her soft hair only reaching her shoulders, her eyes etched in sadness, “Roger. Please!” she lectures. Roger moves away, escaping to some other part of the house, “Excuse me.”

“I’m sorry about my brother-in-law. He’s…he’s just so upset about Jim’s death,” she explains.

“You don’t have to apologize, we completely understand. Everyone grieves differently,” I say sincerely. Her eyes soften, a sad smile on her face, “Would you like some coffee?”

“That would be great,” Dean answers.

****

I sit next to Sam on the loveseat, Dean beside him in an armchair. Ms. Miller pours coffee gently into a couple of little white mugs, she hands one to each of us, “It was wonderful of you to stop by. The support of the church means so much right now.”

“Of course. After all, we are all God’s children,” Dean replies smoothly, taking a sip of the black coffee. She stands up taking the coffee pot with her. Dean takes that opportunity to shove a bunch of cocktail sausages into his mouth, he was really taking advantage of her leaving food out on a little platter. “What?” he asks with a mouthful of food, responding to his brothers staring. “Just…tone it down a little bit, Father,” he responds.

Ms. Miller returns then, emptyhanded, she sits back down. Dean swallows his mouth full of food before talking again, “So Ms. Miller, did your husband have a history of depression?”

“Nothing like that,” she answers her eyes already tearing up, “We had our ups and downs like everyone but we were happy,” the tears run rapidly down her face, “I just don’t understand…how Jim could do something like this.”

“I’m so sorry you had to find him like that,” Sam replies sincerely. She wipes her tear-stained face, gesturing behind her, “Actually, our son Max, he was the one who found him.”

“Do you mind if maybe, I go talk to him?” Sam asks.

“Oh thank you, Father,” she musters a sad smile. He rises, following the direction she pointed.

“Ms.Miller you have a lovely home. How long have you lived here?” Dean inquires.

“We moved in about five years ago,” she answers.

“The only problem with these old homes, ‘bet it gives you all kinds of headaches,” he comments. Her face washes over in confusion, “Like what?”

“Well, weird leaks, electrical shortages, odd settling noises at night,” he lists, “That kind of thing.”

She shakes her head, “No, nothing like that. It’s been perfect.”

“Huh,” Dean hums, “May I use your restroom?”

“Oh sure, it’s just up the stairs,” she says. He nods, rising and taking another cocktail sausage before leaving. Now I was left to fend for myself in a social situation I wasn't totally prepared for. What do I say? “Is there anything I could do for you that might make you feel better? I understand how hard it is now.”

She tears up again, “I don’t know.” I lean over placing a gentle hand on her arm, “It’s okay…it’s okay," I say softly.

I enter the boy's motel room, following Sam. We had just come back from researching about the Miller’s house. I close and lock the door behind me, so grateful that I had been out of that nun outfit for more than an hour. “What do you have?” Dean asks, his entire arsenal spread out around him as he sits on the edge of the bed cleaning a gun. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows as he works the weapons, I have to force my gaze away. Men should not be allowed to look good doing random tasks, it wasn’t fair.

“A whole lotta nothing. Nothing bad has happened in the Miller house since it was built,” Sam answers sinking onto his bed.

“What about the land?” Dean questions further.

“Nope,” I say, “There were no battles or graveyards, it’s not tribal land and no kind of atrocities happened on or near the property.”

“Hey man I told you, I searched that house up and down. No cold spots, sulfer scent. Nada,” Dean adds.

“And the family said everything was normal?” Sam checks.

“Well, if there was a demon or poltergeist in there you think somebody would have noticed something? I used the inferred thermal scanner man, and there was nothing,” Dean answers.

I sigh moving to sit at the end of Sam's bed, “Back to square one.”

“So what, you think Jim Miller killed himself and my dream was just some sorta freakish coincidence?” Sam questions.

“I dunno,” Dean answers truthfully, “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing supernatural about that house.”

Sam gets a pained look in his eyes, bringing his hand up to rub his temples, “Yeah. Well, maybe it has nothing to do with the house,” he inhales sharply holding his head, “Maybe it’s just…Gosh,” he clutches his head, “... Maybe its connected to Jim in some other way?”

“Sammy you okay?” I ask, placing a careful hand on his bicep just as Dean says, “What’s wrong with you?” I throw him a sharp glare, way to word it. Sam makes strained pained noises, sinking to the floor, “My head.”

Dean practically jumps from his bed, “Sam? Hey,” he sinks right next to his brother in a crouch grabbing Sam’s arms, “Hey! What’s going on? Talk to me.”

I stand up concern running through my blood, “Sam! Come on!” I've never seen something like this before, it was completely foreign which only made it more terrifying. Dean throws a pleading look at me and I stand not knowing what to do, “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry.” He turns back to his brother, not saying anything as he holds on to him.

Then, Sam slowly removes his hands from his head, focusing back on reality as he warns, “It’s happening again. Something’s gunna kill Roger Miller.”

My leg bounces in the back seat. once more we were running against an invisible and unknown clock, running to save someone with little to no information given. And once more Sams is on the phone trying to get information quickly that will help us, “Roger Miller. Uh no no, just the address, please. Ok, thanks.” He goes quiet with the information before hanging up and reciting it, “450 West Grove, Apartment 1120.”

“You ok?” Dean asks, eyeing his brother in quick succession.

“Yeah,” he answers in the least convincing tone possible.

“If you’re gunna hurl I’ll pull the car over you know, cause the upholstery…” Dean says, not really joking.

“I’m fine,” Sam answers still not convincingly enough.

“Alright,” Dean shrugs, dropping it.

“Just drive,” he says, looking away. He sighs, “Look, I’m scared, alright? These nightmares weren’t bad enough, now I’m seeing things when I’m awake? And it’s painful.”

“Come on man, you’ll be all right. It’ll be fine,” Dean comforts in his own way. I wet my lips, choosing my words carefully, “Whatever these abilities are, they’re advancing which is why it’s breaching into day. And because it's leaning more toward psychic abilities it takes a great amount of will, and concentration, and puts a horrible strain on your mind which is why it's painful. But the more you work on it the better it’ll be.”

He turns around in the passenger seat, facing me, “You have telekinesis, right?” I nod, his eyebrows scrunch together, “It hurt when you were first started?”

“God, yes,” I laugh bittersweet, “It just requires so much focus, more so at first, that I had headaches constantly. I tried not to use too much Advil, but they were definitely making a profit off of me, that’s for sure.” He seems to consider the information, turning back in his seat, “Then what is it about the Millers? Why am I connected to them, why am I watching them die? Why the hell is this happening to me?!”

“I don’t know Sam but we’ll figure it out,” Dean answers, “We’ve faced the unexplainable every day. This is just another thing.”

Sam shakes his head, “No. It’s never been us. It’s never been in the family like this. Tell the truth, you can’t tell me this doesn’t freak you out, Dean.”

Dean looks straight out the windshield silently, he couldn’t lie because Sam and I both witnessed him freak out before over it. Of course, then we’d all been younger, and he lashed out at me and when he left he hadn’t talked to me or apologized for months, I think it was about five. These sorts of things do freak him out, and sometimes I think the things I’m capable of doing still scare him sometimes, and that's just with someone he's friends with. With his brother, that fear must be a million times worse. “This doesn’t freak me out,” he finally says, lying.

****

The Impala pulls up across the street from Roger, who approaches his apartment's entrance with a bag of groceries in his hands. Sam rolls down the window swiftly yelling for the man, “Hey Roger.” The man turns around, the annoyance on his face clear as day, “What are you guys, missionaries? Leave me alone.”

I lean over rolling down the window opposite of where I sit, “Sir this has nothing to do with religion! Trust me.”

“Please,” Sam adds. But Roger is already gone, walking closer to his building. Suddenly the car jerks into motion the engine gunning as it makes a quick turn around, and with a bump Dean jumps the curve hurriedly parking as Sam jumps out running after the man, “Hey. Roger. We’re trying to help! Please! Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.”

I get out of the vehicle, round the black car, and head to Sam’s side, Dean following. As Sam reaches the entrance, Roger closes the door behind him, “I don’t want your help.” He walks deeper into the building and in a last-ditch effort Sam yells, “We’re not priests or nuns, you gotta listen to us!”

“Roger, you’re in danger!” Dean yells after him. But of course he doesn't hear them or if he does he just ignores the warnings. God people are so stubborn. “Come on,” Dean suddenly says looking towards a back entrance, he leads the way as we run around the corner of the building to the back entrance, a door in the way. With a quick look around Dean steps back and kicks it open, the door bursts open with a crack.

Sam jumps for the bottom ladder of the fire escape, using his tall frame to easily reach it, he pulls himself up and starts running for the stairs. Dean turns to me offering me a cupped hand, “You comin’?” he asks. I shake my head, pushing strands of hair behind my ear, “No you go, there isn't enough room for the three of us on that thing, you go. I’ll keep watch. He needs you.”

He looks me over, before nodding and jumping for the ladder, catching up to his brother swiftly. Against my better judgment instead of keeping watch, I look up at them, a hand blocking the sun as they make it up to the second floor. Then all of a sudden there's a heavy squeak and slide of a window followed by a wet squelching noise. Sam freezes, Dean sprints past him and stops looking down at something I can’t see from down here but even so, I know it is Roger’s severed head.

****

“I’m telling you there was nothing there. No signs either, just like the Miller’s house,” Dean informs, once more the three of us in the car this time driving back to the motel. Sam squints his eyes, slightly, in focus, “I saw something, in the vision, Like a dark shape. Something was…something was stalking Roger.”

“Whatever it was, are you sure it’s not connected to their house?” Dean asks, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel.

“You know that argument doesn't really hold up anymore considering Roger died in his apartment,” I answer fidgeting with my fingers, “So it could be the family itself.”

“So you think, like a vengeful spirit?” Sam questions.

“Well yeah,” Dean responds, “There’s a few that have been known to latch onto families, follow them for years.”

“Angiak. Banshees,” Sam lists out examples.

“Wouldn’t you have still picked up on something when you were snooping around?” I ask this time, looking up from my hands. “No, I was thinking somethin’ more like a curse,” Dean explains, “Maybe Roger and Jim Miller got involved in something heavy, something curse-worthy.”

Sam hums, adding to the working theory, “And now the something is out for revenge. And the men in their family are dying…Hey, you think Max is danger?”

“Let’s figure it out before he is,” Dean remarks. Sam sighs, “Well, I know one thing I have in common with these people.”

“What’s that?” Dean asks.

“Both our families are cursed,” Sam says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. I frown, one because he feels that way and two because I dislike when people say that. Dean huffs, “Our family’s not cursed! We just…had our dark spots…”

“Our dark spots are…pretty dark,” Sam nods slowly. Dean eyes him, “You’re….dark.”

I scuff, “Well as dark as it was you don’t have to worry, curses aren’t real.”

Sam turns around in his seat, facing me, “You’re a witch and you don’t believe in curses?”

I tilt my head giving him a ‘really?’ look, “That’s not what I meant, of course those kinds of curses exist they are very real and palpable things,” I wet my lips, “What I meant is that this curse you suggest to be the reason why you suffered misfortune isn’t real and that goes for everybody. Bad things just happen. And I know you probably weren’t being too literal but still blaming bad things on curses doesn’t help you in the long run it just serves as an excuse for you not to face your problems and acknowledge the real issue.”

Sam looks at me with slightly wide eyes and when I look at Dean, his expression is more or less the same if not even more, “What?” I ask eyeing the two of them. Sam turns back around in his seat a small smirk on his face, Dean gives a little shrug, “Nothin’, just someone’s using their psychology degree.”

I snort, suddenly getting shy, “Shut up,” I mumble. The thing was I wasn’t using my psychology degree this was just me, not that I was embarrassed by my degree. I took education very seriously, especially college. So of course I wound up double majoring, one in criminal justice and the other in psychology, but could you blame a girl? Either way, I didn't like when people said things like that, blaming something on a force they didn’t understand and had no real play in any of it.

I pull down the sleeves of the black Nun dress, readjusting the material, “I hope you know this is another book,” I say closing the car door behind me. Dean seems to round the Impala quicker at that, “What?! No, that wasn’t part of the deal.”

I purse my lips, “Yes, but when we made that deal it was under the presumption that it would only happen once in this case. And yet, here we are again.”

Dean opens his mouth to say something more but his brother cuts him off, “Wait, you guys made a deal?”

I smile triumphantly, “Yup!”

Sam frowns a little pout to his lips, his puppy-dog eyes turned down, “Man,” he whines, “I should’ve made a deal.”

“You should’ve,” I respond, thinking for a moment, “You know what? I will extend my second book to you, you are now included!”

He shakes his head, “No Y/N it's okay, have your books.”

Now I shake my head, “No no I want to, nothing would bring me more joy than the three of us going to a bookstore, and while Dean impatiently waits for us and grumbles to himself we get to wreak havoc and choose books!” Sam smiles with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “That does sound like a good idea.”

“You’re an evil woman,” Dean grumbles.

I smile sweetly at him, “I prefer ‘wicked’ but I guess that’s close enough.”

He eyes me for a beat, tongue against cheek as if he is contemplating saying something but ultimately he looks away, “We’re meant to be checking in on Max.”

Oh, “Yeah,” I say leading the way. “See, this always happens,” he states, reaching my side in one stride.

“What happens?” Sam asks.

“Whenever you two are together we get nothing done,” he elaborates. I fake a hurt gasp, “That’s so not true!” I mean we could be annoying, sure, but that was our whole job especially since we’re younger siblings it’s just how it works.

We reach the door and he knocks before anyone can say anything more on the topic. Instead of Ms. Miller answering the door her son, Max, does. He opens the door wider, “My Mom’s resting, she’s pretty wrecked.”

“Of course,” Dean nods, stepping deeper into the house.

“All these people kept coming with like, casseroles?” Max says, making small talk, “I finally had to tell them all to go away. You know 'cause nothing says I’m sorry like a tuna casserole.” I bite back my laugh, very poorly, he caught it giving a smile back to me and Sam who was also grinning at the joke. Max gestures to the seating area his mom put us just earlier today, and just like then we all take the same seats, but this time it's Max in front of us.

A beat of silence goes on before Sam sighs, speaking softly he asks, “How ‘you holding up?”

His face drops a little, answering with a small, “Ok.”

“You’re Dad and your uncle were close,” Sam follows up, stating instead of asking.

He shrugs, “Yeah, I guess. I mean, they were brothers. They used to hang out all the time when I was little.”

“But not much lately?” Sam asks.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…” he shifts in his seat, “We used to be neighbors when I was a kid before we lived across town in this house. Uncle Roger lived next door, so he was over all the time.”

“Right. So how was it in that house when you were a kid?” Sam questions further.

“It was fine. Why?” Max answers, dismissively. He was uncomfortable, something about that old house made him uneasy.

“All good memories? Do you remember anything unusual? Something involving your father and your uncle maybe?” Dean asks this time, skepticism written in his voice. Max shakes his head, slight panic crawling in his irises, “What do yo…..why do you ask?”

I recognized that panic. Knew it well. I remember wearing it, how it crawled over my skin. “Don’t worry it’s just a question,” I nod, noting his behavior.

“No, there was nothing. We were totally normal. Happy,” he replies suddenly more sure of his answer.

“Good. That’s good,” Dean answers, “Well, you must be exhausted. We should take off.”

Catching on Sam nods, “Right,” he looks back at Max, “thanks.”

Max eyes us, something between panic and questioning, “Yeah.”

****

We make it to the Imapla before debriefing, the panic in his eyes burning into my retinas.

“No one’s family is totally normal and happy,” Dean starts, pointing out the faults of Max’s response, “See when he was talking about his old house?”

“He sounded scared,” Sam answers sadly.

A chill runs up my spine, “More than that, he was petrified. And I don’t think it has anything to do with the house…”

“Yeah, Max isn’t telling us everything,” Dean agrees, “I say we go find the old neighborhood, find out what life was really like for the Millers.”

I shift my footing, fixing my pants (which I was glad to be in again) as I watch the older man named Rob in front of us. “Have you lived in the neighborhood very long?” Sam asks him.

“Yeah, almost 20 years now. It’s nice and quiet. Why, you looking to buy,” he answers and I can’t tell if he wants us to be interested or wishes to keep out outsiders. Maybe the earlier, he seems kind.

“No, no,” Sam smiles, “Actually, we were wondering if you might recall a family that used to live right across the street I believe.”

“Yeah, the Millers. They had a little boy called Max,” Dean adds.

“Yeah I remember,” he responds, “The brother had the place next door. So, uh, what’s this about, is that poor kid ok?” That makes me stumble over my thoughts, “He….um, I’m sorry why did you word it like that?”

Rob frowns, “Well in my life I’ve never seen a child treated like that. I mean I’d hear Mr. Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street, he was a mean drunk.” My skin curls up, my fears confirmed. My heart recoils, cowering away from the information and the thoughts. “He used to beat the tar outta Max. Bruises. Broke his arm two times that I know of,” Rob continued.

I take a subconscious step backward. I don’t understand, if he knew why didn’t he do anything? Why didn’t he call the police?

“This was going on regularly?” Sam asks, his voice firm.

“Practically every day. In fact that thug brother of his was just as likely to take a swing at the boy but the worst part was the sepmother. She’d just stand there, checked out, not lifting a finger to protect him. I must have called the police seven or eight times. Never did any good.”

I suddenly feel nauseous. He was finally free now but that was too many years too late.

“Now you said stepmother,” Dean says for confirmation. How could he not be reacting to this information?

“I think his real mother died. Some sorta…accident. Car accident I think,” Rob answers.

Suddenly Sam clutches his head again, grimacing. Rob looks at him strangely, “Are you okay there?”

He winces, “Uh, yeah.” Dean holds the crook of his brother's arm, leading him away as he throws back a “Thanks for your time.”

I blink out of what feels like a daze, mustering a smile for the man, “Have a nice day,” I say before catching up to the boys. But my feet feel heavy, as if cylinder blocks had been tied to my ankles. My intestines seem to twist itself into a knot, wrapped around like a bow. I clutch my shirt where my stomach is, my heart seems to beat faster an unnerving feeling settling itself into the vessels. I could hardly focus on my tense body and anxious thoughts when Sam’s head lulls back, his eyes doing that thing where you can tell he isn’t here with us right now. He’s somewhere else, having a vision.

****

I want to curl into myself and shy away from the current case. But we were in the Impala driving back to the Millers house and Sam still had to tell us about his vision. “Max is doing it. Everything I’ve been seeing,” Sam reveals. I should be surprised but I’m not, maybe it’s because of the newfound information.

“You sure about this?” Dean asks, almost skeptical.

“Yeah, I saw him,” he confirms.

“How is he doing it?” I ask carefully.

“I think telekinesis,” Sam answers.

“What so he’s psychic?” Dean questions, definitely skeptical.

“I didn’t even realize it but this whole time, he was there. He was outside the garage when his Dad died, he was in the apartment when his Uncle died,” Sam elaborates, “These visions, this whole time–I wasn’t connecting to the Millers, I was connecting to Max! The thing is I don't get why, man. I guess—because we’re so alike?”

“What are you talking about? The dude’s nothing like you,” Dean responds firmly.

“Well,” Sam tries to reason, “We both have psychic abilities, we both…”

“Both what? Sam, Max is a monster, he’s already killed two people, now he’s gunning for a third,” Dean exclaims. This was all getting very complicated very fast. “He’s not a monster he’s a kid. It isn’t his fault, he’s a product of his messed up childhood,” I defend, my voice filled with perhaps a little too much emotion.

“With what he went through, the beatings, to want revenge on those people? I’m sorry, man, I hate to say it, but it’s not that insane,” Sam adds, agreeing. I nod vigorously, it isn’t insane, not one bit.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t justify murdering your entire family!” Dean yells, his voice louder than needed.

“No of course not. But clearly, no one else was caring about him. No one made any effort to help him, not even the police! So you must understand why he felt like he needed to take justice into his own hands,” I argue. This was complicated, this was human. And humans, human feelings get messy very quickly.

“You're suggesting he's a necessary evil?” Dean counters, his voice gruff and on edge.

“Maybe, yeah,” I answer, crossing my arms across my chest. The car jerked right, driving up to the curb in front of the Miller’s house. “He’s no different from anything else we’ve hunted, all right? We gotta end him,” Dean lectured.

“We’re not going to kill Max,” Sam and I say at the same time, our voices overlapping. “He’s a kid!” I add.

“Then what?” Dean counters, “Hand him over to the cops and say ‘Lock him up officer; he kills with the power of his mind.’”

I huff, “That’s not the point and you know it. We can talk him down, he isn’t a monster and I highly doubt he would kill just for fun. He’s angry and he’s hurt, he needs help. If we do that then we are just as bad as his uncle and his dad and the cops that refused to help.”

He shuts the engine off, pursing his lips and shaking his head, “All right fine. But I’m not letting him hurt anybody else.” Yet, despite his words he leans over to the glove compartment and pulls out a pistol. He glares at Sam as he gets out of the car. I catch his eyes, “Dean.” He looks at me, challenging me, before ultimately getting out and tucking the gun into the back of his pants. I roll my eyes, tongue in cheek, pissed. I get out of the car, joining the boys but not before slamming the car door behind me.

We run up the porch, Sam in the lead. He knocks on the door, and when no response comes he leans over the railing peeking in the window. He looks back at us and he does not have to say anything for us to know what was happening. Max was going to kill his Stepmother.

Without thinking any further, Dean raises his leg to kick the door in. I stop him, “Dude way to be inconspicuous. Let me.” He backs up a few steps, hands raised in defeat. I grasp the cold knob of the door, not needing to put much effort into getting the door unlocked. We rush into the kitchen, where Sam said Max would do it. Ms. Miller presses her back closer against the counters, her eyes wide and filled with tears and fear as she watches her son in front of her. Her eyes snap to us, “Fathers? Sister?” Ironically enough, we weren’t dressed up instead in normal clothes which I wasn’t sure if priests and nuns ever did. Max spins around, poorly concealing the large knife behind his back, his hair is a mess and his eyes match his stepmothers in fear after all he was caught. “What are you doing here?” he asks, afraid.

“Uhh, sorry to interrupt,” Dean answers awkwardly.

“Max, can we, uh, can we talk to you outside for just one second?” Sam leads, fumbling for an excuse. He eyes us, he doesn’t trust us, “About what?”

“It’s….it’s private. I wouldn’t want to bother your mother with it,” Sam lies, “We won’t be long at all though, I promise” he says directing it to Ms.Miller. Max looks back at his stepmom and then at us, “Ok.”

“Great,” Sam smiles.

We turn to leave, making it out of the kitchen and to the front door. Dean takes the lead with his hand grasping the doorknob, pulling it open he smiles back at Max awkwardly. Then all of a sudden the doorknob is pulled from his grasp and the door slams shut, followed by the dropping of all the blinds for each window. Impressive. I turn around swiftly watching Max as he backs up, “You’re not priests! Or a nun,” he yells.

Dean draws his gun quickly, but without even moving a muscle Max uses his powers to pull the gun away, it slides across the floor and he crouches down to take it. He stands up tall, pointing the gun at us. Dean nudges me slightly behind him, I want to shove my way in front of him but he holds his arm out in front of me and I don’t feel the need to argue now of all times. Ms.Miller appears in the archway between where we are and the kitchen, “Max, what’s happening?”

“Shut up,” he bites.

“What are you doing?” she repeats, approaching carefully. Removing one hand from the gun he swings his arm towards her, using his power to send her flying back into the kitchen, she hits her head against the kitchen bench before sliding down to the floor. “I said shut up!” he yells at her unconscious figure.

“Max calm down,” Sam says steadily, holding his hands up in defeat.

“Who are you?” Max snaps.

“We just wanna talk,” Sam responds with instead. Max scuffs, “Yeah right, that’s right you bought this!” he motions with the weapon. Sam takes a careful step forward, “That was a mistake, all right? So was lying about who we were. But no more lying Max, okay? Just please, just hear me out.”

He eyes us carefully, “About what?”

“I saw you do it,” Sam explains, carefully, “I saw you kill your Dad and your Uncle before it happened.”

“What?” Max questions.

“I’m having visions Max, about you,” Sam elaborates.

“You’re crazy,” Maxx huffs.

“So what, you weren’t gonna launch a knife at your stepmom?” He challenges, taping his eye, “Right here? Is it that hard to believe Max, look what you can do. Max I was drawn here, all right? I think I’m here to help you.”

His hold on the gun tightens as fresh tears run down his face rapidly, “No one can help me.”

“That’s not true,” I say softly, “I know it feels that way now, and I’m sorry it does. But if anyone can help,” I look at Sam, “It’s him,” I look back at Max, “Please.”

Sam nods, wetting his lips, “Let me try. We’ll just talk, me and you. We’ll get Dean, Y/N, and Alice out of here.”

“Uh-huh. No way,” Dean intervenes. The chandelier above us rattles, “Nobody leaves this house!” Max yells. I want to cut in, I could contain him in a matter of seconds a minute at best. He was skilled, but I certainly knew more than he did. Yet I know I can’t do anything, he’s scared so rushing him with my abilities won’t help. Treating him like a monster won’t help.

“And nobody has to, all right? They’ll just…they’ll just go upstairs,” Sam reasons, but the light fixture continues to rattle.

“Sam, I’m not leaving you alone with him,” Dean mutters.

“Yes, you are,” Sam answers firmly, “Look, Max. You’re in charge here, all right, we know that. No one's going to do anything that you don’t want to do but I’m talking five minutes here man.”

“Sam!” Dean intervenes again. I place a hand on his upper arm, gaining his attention fast and without words, not wanting to scare Max off, I give him a look and a nod silently telling him that his brother will be okay and that he can handle himself. His lip twitches as if he’s fitting off a scowl.

“Five minutes?” Max asks, the chandelier stops shaking, “Go” he nods to his stepmother.

I walk carefully behind Dean, waiting for him as he picks up Ms. Miller, I lead the way up the wooden stairs entering the master bedroom. Dean lays her down carefully, and I find the bathroom attached to the room. I quickly go through the drawers finding a small washcloth, carefully I wet it and ring it out before walking back into the bedroom to find Dean pacing the room, hand by his face. I approach him carefully, he stops his pacing when I step in front of him but worry is written clearly in his eyes, and in the way he hasn’t stopped biting his thumbs nailbed, a habit he exhibited only when he was worried about Sammy.

I raise my free hand to him, pulling it away from his mouth, “He’ll be okay, he knows what he's doing.”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything as he takes the washcloth from me before moving past me, he crouches in front of Ms.Miller, lightly pressing the cloth to the small wound on her forehead. He was distracting himself.

I frown. It’s not that he doesn’t believe in his brother, he was just worried. For as much as this was for Sam it was nearly too much for Dean too, he might not be going through it but he was watching someone else navigate the messy plains of powers and the pain that came with it…that was scary. Especially since Dean has always taken his job as an older brother very seriously, doing anything and everything for him no matter the cost, he was meant to be his protector but with these newfound abilities Dean didn’t know how to help, how to protect his little brother– and that scared him.

I cross my arms across my chest, trying to think of what to say when I hear movement heading towards us. I turn towards the door, it creaks open slowly, Max’s figure standing right at the doorway the gun clutched in his hand at his side. I give him a questioning look, but his face is determined and there’s no Sam.

There’s no Sam.

Panic settles in my veins and before I can react Dean is standing in front of me, pushing me further behind him before he takes purposeful steps towards Max. The door slams shut and suddenly Dean goes flying left, barreling into the wall. Oh, two can play that game.

“Max!” Ms.Miller yells from behind me, having woken up in the short time her son arrived. Max points the gun at me with shaky hands, “Move,” he commands. I bring my powers forward, flicking it on, “Do you want to try?” I warn bitterly. He laughs, shaking, “Do you think you’re like me too?”

I assume Sam must have said something about that to him downstairs, “No,” I answer softly. He raises his other hand at me, flicking it to the left trying to send me flying too but I don’t budge. He looks confused and tries again but once more I don’t move. “Max please just put the gun down, this isn’t the way, I promise you,” I reason.

“You don’t get it!” he yells, shaking. I smile at him sadly, holding up my hands in defeat, “Dad drinks and he gets mean,” I say, “You think he doesn’t mean it, he’s just grieving. But it happens one too many times and you get scared.”

His resolve weakens and tears run down his face, “Your Dad?” He isn’t sure whether he should believe me or if I'm just lying to talk him down. I take a quick look over at Dean, who still lies on the floor looking at me with eyes wide, I never told him and I don’t think he ever knew.

I look back at Max, “Yes. My brother took most of it for me, but I reminded him too much of my mother and she was gone while I lived and that was not fair,” I swallow roughly, “I didn’t think he was capable. My mom loved him and he was never like that when she was around, but they did always say she softened him so maybe that’s why.”

“What did you do?” he asks, lowering the gun just a little. I go quiet and he does not like that, he raises the gun again, “Did you kill him?!” he screams.

I shake my head, “No. He managed that all by himself, he grew very careless.”

His eyes scrunch together in confusion, “Did you want to?”

I shake my head again, “No, I didn’t want to be like him. Didn’t want to stoop to his level. My brother though…he, um, I think he wanted to. But he didn’t. When he died, I didn’t cry at his funeral, I wasn’t as sad as I knew I should’ve been, and that alone makes me feel so guilty…” I take a careful deep breath trying to blink away the tears, “Please put the gun down, I know you're angry, you have every right to be. And I know you’re scared but doing this. It won’t help.”

“How do you know!” he screams, his face red, but it comes out weak.

“He’s dead and I’m still scared sometimes,” I admit out loud for the first time, tears slipping down my cheeks as my powers revert to it’s resting stage, “I think I hear his voice or that I see him in a crowd, and I know it’s not really him. But my heart picks up and I think he’s there, and I know what that means and I get scared.”

He looks at me, really looks at me and it is like looking in a mirror, our pain reflecting in each other. He lets go of the gun, but it doesn’t hit the floor instead it floats in front of him, “I’m not you, I won’t sit back and take it. She has to die, they all had to.”

His words feel like a stab to my hurt but I ignore them, “No, Max, please. It won’t help.” I don’t look away from him but even so, I hear Dean standing up and I can feel him getting closer. He puts himself in front of me again, I try to get him behind me, a gun wouldn’t exactly kill me, but he looks down at me his green eyes hard. He moves me behind him, looking back at Max, “You wanna kill her you gotta go through me first.”

“Fine,” he says. Just as the door busts open, Sam comes barreling in, “No don’t! Don’t! Please. Please,” Sam begs, “Max. Max. We can help you. All right.”

I move away from Dean despite the arm that he holds out to stop me from getting closer. Max is shaking, and sweaty, and tears run down his face rapidly. He looks at Sam with anguish, then his gaze turns to me eyes filled with a familiar pain. But his shoulders suddenly drop, and his face clears, “You’re right. It won’t stop.”

The floating gun points at himself. A loud bang rings in the room. Bits of blood splatter on my face. His body crumbles to the floor, a hole in his head.

I stare blankly at a spot on the floor, a small swirl in the wooden floors. Sirens whirl just outside, and cops stand all around us. His body was brought out in a bag. Yellow caution tape sections off parts of the house. Something light was placed in my hand, something to clean the…

Muffled voices sing near me.

He’s dead. I couldn’t convince him, if anything I made it worse. I should’ve said it gets better because it does and it’s not that common that I get scared, I can’t. Not with this job. But I didn’t want to lie and I made it worse.

I feel sick.

I couldn’t help.

He didn’t want to be like me. He’s dead.

He didn’t want to be like me and I didn’t want to be my father and he’s dead. They are both dead and I live.

I live and Dad would say it’s not fair. He’s dead.

A familiar hand nudges me forward, I walk automatically without hearing the voices. Something about…

He’s dead.

The car door opens and I sit inside, automatically putting the seat belt on. Someone says something and the door closes, voices say something outside, and then doors open and close. The car moves forward, the sirens get further away. Eyes look at me and I look at him.

His body falls to the floor a hole in his head.

His body floats away as it burns like a Viking. He hugs me closer to him and we do not cry. We are free sometimes.

His body falls to the floor a hole in his head.

He said it won't stop and there’s a bang.

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sserpente · 1 year ago

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A/N: Can you believe that I couldn’t bring myself to watch the Loki Season 2 Finale more than once yet? Maybe this little piece of fluff will help us heal a little more!

Words: 837 Warnings: HEAVY SPOILERS FOR THE SEASON 2 FINALE, fluff

Christmas felt off. Yule felt off. You’d set up your tree, you’d decorated, you’d bought all the Christmassy food including half a dozen bottles of mulled wine and you were listening to Christmas music non-stop. None of it worked. Something was missing. Someone.

The promise that had hung from Loki’s lips remained heavy and it had clawed its way deep into your heart. You’d talked about it one night, resting after hunting down an actor-turned-TVA-agent. About your future together. About where you would go and what you would do once all of this was over.

That was before everything fell apart. Before Loki realised that the only way… no, stop.

Right now, you were baking Christmas biscuits—you were forcing yourself to. Christmas music was blasting from your phone in the background, the warm air in the kitchen smelled like vanilla and gingerbread and outside, it was snowing, making you appreciate the warm and flickering candlelight coming from the wreath on the dining table even more. You were supposed to be happy, you ought to be joyful, no? He had sacrificed everything, sacrificed himself in order to protect… to protect… it was all so complex it went above your head. All you knew was that thanks to the cheeky God of Mischief, the multiverse was free.

Thanks to him, you were alive and well, thanks to him you could live a life you’d always dreamed of having. And yet, it meant nothing without him. And yet, all you wanted to do was to break down, ram your fists into the ground over and over, and wail for the loss of your one true love.

Yule, Christmas, whatever you wanted to call it, wasn’t the same if the one person you wanted to spend it with was gone. But you knew he could see you. You knew he was watching over you. And it wouldn’t be fair to let him see your grief after what he’d done for you all.

So you swallowed it down, again and again, and, humming along to the Christmas songs, focused all of your attention on the cookie batter. It was his favourite kind. The only kind you’d be baking this year.

“Hmm… this does smell delicious. I do hope they’re all for me…”

Your heart dropped to your stomach as you flipped around, flour landing everywhere around you in the process like a smoke cloud.

For a moment, you simply stared at him, lips parted, eyes filling with tears. “Please… please tell me you’re real.”

Loki smirked, extending his arms—a smug invitation for you to hug him. “Why don’t you find out, love?”

It was all he needed to say. You all but flung yourself into his arms, face pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. No illusion. No duplicate. Him. He was actually here.

“Loki… oh gods, Loki…” The tears came before you could stop them. Worsening your sight and making you sob, you hugged him so tightly you feared to cut off his air supply. “But… how… how? How is this possible?”

“It appears that not only have I become the new temporal loom but… my powers have been feeding on the multiverse and vice versa. I became stronger and stronger until I realised I would be able to move around within it freely. I tested it, carefully, for what felt like an eternity until I was sure the threads of all the realities wouldn’t snap on me.”

“So… you’re saying the entirety of the multiverse is still flowing through you right now?”

“It is indeed. You just can’t see it.”

“You’re not going to… explode on me, right?”

“And turn into golden glitter?” He lifted your chin up, smirking and you chuckled but when his smile faltered, yours did too.

“W-what?”

“I’m sorry.”

You frowned. “For what?”

“For leaving you. For being the reason you cry yourself to sleep at night.”

Once again, your heart dropped to your stomach. “You… know?”

“Of course I do.”

“I was trying to hide it so hard…” Loki wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb, a gentle smile tugging on his thin lips.

“I know,” he said, pressing you close. “I came here as soon as I could to be sure it would be safe to do so.”

“You… haven’t seen anyone else yet? What about Mobius?”

“Mobius is with his family, setting up a Christmas tree with Jetski decorations.”

You giggled.

“No. You were the most important. And I want to spend Christmas with you just like I promised I would. And I see you have already made sure to set the mood.” He looked around, noting all the decorations around you.

Your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “There’s no Christmas mood without you.”

Loki pulled you back toward the door threshold leading to the living room. You looked up at him, gaze wandering up to where you’d put up the mistletoe. And as far as kisses went… this one was the most magical and wondrous yet.

A/N: I'm really bad at reposting my Insta and Clock App stuff on here too and it's a New Year's resolution to change that next year so that you guys will be up to date as well but basically... I've published too books in my absence in case you were wondering why it got so quiet, lol. Aaaand I'm currently working on an English (my first English series!) paranormal Dark Romance series with demons and witches so if that's something you're interested in, do follow along, yes? ♥♥♥ We're all mad here! :D

PS: Loki becoming the wireless battery of the multiverse is my headcanon, thank you.

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xoxoladyaz · 1 year ago

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AU-gust, Day 5: Pet Sitting

“Nope, no way. Absolutely not.”

Six sets of puppy-dog eyes stared back at her. Lucas, the ham, even pretended to start whimpering.

“Stevie, please,” Dustin whined, “Eddie needs a safe place to stay.”

She stared at Dustin for a few seconds before glancing down at the shoebox in Dustin’s hands. Inside the shoebox surrounded by a few of Claudia’s oldest and fuzziest kitchen towels stood a bat, a small black bat with big black eyes that looked almost just as pathetic as the rest of the kids.

(Almost.)

“I’ve done this song and dance with you before, Henderson, and I told you when you got rid of the alien lizard - ”

“D’artagnan was a cryptid, Stevie!”

“ – alien lizard that I wasn’t going to help you keep playing monster vet. I still haven’t recovered from seeing Mews’ corpse!”

“Mews was my cat and I’m fine! Besides, Eddie’s just a normal bat!”

“Dustin, he has a full head of hair!”

Stevie and Dustin stared at each other before looking back down at the bat (Eddie). Who was running his little claws through his hair and preening. (Stevie could have sworn that he winked at her, but she wasn’t crazy; it was definitely just a trick of the light.)

Dustin’s face started to flush like he was going to argue with her but El (sweet, precious El) cut him off before he could really get going. “Stevie’s right. He is not normal,” El said, stepping forward to run her fingers against Eddie’s head. Eddie rubbed up against her fingers and chirped.

“See, I knew it - ”

“But he is a friend,” El said and fuck, the full force of El-most-likely-a-changeling-Hopper’s big brown eyes was something Stevie would probably never learn to resist. “And he needs someone to care for him while he gets better.”

“Better? What do you mean, better?”

“Bad man,” El replied matter-of-factly and, well, shit. She didn’t need to say much more than that.

Stevie sighed and turned her attention back towards the “bat” in question. “How long?”

/////

Just a few weeks, maybe a month or two, Dustin had said. “I would have kept him myself but Mom was worried that he’d eat Tews – ”

(“Oh, and you don’t care if I get eaten?” Stevie had replied. Dustin had just rolled his eyes and ignored her.)

So yeah, two months tops, just until Eddie was “healed” or what not. (He didn’t have any visible injuries that Stevie could see but then again, she was just a cosmetologist, what the fuck did she know about bat anatomy?) Until then, Stevie was going to have a tiny flying roommate who apparently “only likes to listen to metal music, so I’ve brought a few tapes and oh! He loves fantasy so you’ll have to read him this as a bedtime story,” at which point Dustin handed her The Lord of the Rings, “and he gets lonely at night so don’t lock him out, he likes to cuddle, and he should be able to fit in your jacket pocket when you go to work during the day - ”

“No, nope, no way, none of that is happening,” Stevie argued and she really had been planning on sticking to that – no metal music, no bedtime stories, no cuddles, and definitely no work trips, no way, no how.

(She’d folded by hour two of Eddie’s stay at Casa de Harrington.)

/////

“You get this is weird, right?”

“Hmm?” Stevie was cutting apart some strawberries to blend with whatever “protein drink” Dustin kept dropping off at her house. “What’s weird?” She turned to look at Robin, who was watching Eddie shimmy up and down the dining room table to “Rock Me Like a Hurricane.”

“Stevie. This is not normal bat behavior.”

“So? It’s normal Eddie behavior,” Stevie shrugged. She tossed the berries into the blender and, once it was a fine red concoction, put it in a little cup with a little straw and walked over the table. Eddie slid his way across the polished wood and wiggled when he saw her, chittering happily before going to town on his fruit smoothie.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t also normal Stevie behavior!” Robin threw her hands up in the air. “You’re letting a wild animal sleep with you in your bed!”

(She’d tried to encourage Eddie to stay in the guest room that first night all those weeks ago but she’d barely laid in bed for all of two minutes before a dark shape flew through the dark and landed on her chest. She’d screamed and leapt out of the bed but Eddie had somehow managed to grip his claws into her shirt and no amount of arguing with him was able to get him to let go.

“Fine,” she’d finally growled, “but if I roll over and squish you, it’s not my fault.”

When she’d finally woken up the next morning, she was still lying on her back and Eddie was still nestled onto her chest. They’d been going to sleep every night that way ever since.)

“Hey,” Stevie replied defensively, “he’s not a wild animal, he’s totally tame.”

“Uh huh,” Robin replied queasily, watching as Eddie happily slurped up his smoothie. “Just because you play dress-up with him doesn’t mean he’s tame, Stevie.”

The tiny vest was from El and Will, something about how Eddie looked “wrong” without it (whatever that meant. Stevie had to admit it did look really cute on him.)

“He looks adorable, Robin!”

“He’s totally taken over your life,” Robin shot back dramatically. “He goes shopping with you, you take him to work – Stevie, he sits with you when you take bubble baths, for Pete’s sake!”

(Hey, Eddie was a gentleman, he always waited until she was covered by bubbles until coming in and sitting on the little nest of towels she’d made for him on the set of drawers by the bathtub and okay, maybe Robin had a point here.)

“And that’s not to mention that I’ve been trying to get you to read a book for literal years now and this bat shows up and suddenly you’re reading Tolkien to him every night?”

“It’s actually a good book, Robin,” Stevie said defensively.

“I know that, Stevie, I just can’t believe that you’re not seeing this! Like, there are so many red flags! He’s literally drinking blood right now!”

Stevie huffed and leaned over the table, like she was physically covering Eddie from Robin’s criticism. “It’s rude to judge somebody else’s eating habits, Robin. Or did you forget our conversation last month when you tried to go vegetarian?”

“That’s different and you know it!” Robin exclaimed.

Eddie, because he was a little drama king, took the last sip of his smoothie while making eye contact with Robin before letting out an exaggeratedly content sigh.

“See?!”

Stevie rolled her eyes and set her hand down. Eddie scurried onto her palm, letting out a series of happy chirps. She lifted him up and set him on her shoulder where he waddled to her cheek and pressed his little face against it, like he was giving her a little kiss. “You’re being overdramatic, Robin.”

“Fine, whatever, just don’t come crying to me when he makes you his eternal vampire bride or whatever,” Robin huffed before getting up and stalking out of the kitchen.

“He’s just a bat!” Stevie called after her. Robin responded by slamming the front door after he on the way out.

Sighing, Stevie turned to look at Eddie, who was currently making a home for himself in her curls. “You are just a bat, right?”

Eddie turned and shot her a wink before wrapping his little body in one of her ringlets.

“Yeah, that’s probably fine.”

/////

One of the best parts of having Eddie around actually was nighttime. She hadn’t gotten so many nights of uninterrupted sleep in years. He was like some sort of nightmare repellent or something; in fact, the only dreams she’d had recently were of a shrouded figure with long dark hair and a sexy laugh and teasing cool hands and other things –

And when she woke up a month and a half into Eddie’s residency in her home, she probably should have been more shocked at the fact that her bat had turned into a very pale, very sexy and very naked man with long dark hair and cool skin and –

“God, Robin’s never going to let me live this down,” Stevie murmured as the man stirred above her. He opened his eyes and yep, yeah, those were her bat’s eyes.

Eddie’s grin grew sharp as he pressed her further into her bed. “I’m sure I can find some way to make up for it,” he said as he drew close enough to kiss her.

“How do you feel about a Halloween wedding?”

#eddie does make her his eternal vampire bride and robin never lets her live it down #until chrissy does the same to robin that is #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fanfic #female steve harrington #bat eddie munson #absolute nonsense #august fanfic challenge

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kurosstuff · 1 month ago

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Hopefully thos is a good casual talk(not totally idk HELP ?)

HELP- Im still watching so forgive me if I didn't write her wrll I don't remember much from the first time I watched- tell me if I need to change anything from how I write "soft" carmilla(which tbh I don't think would be all that soft given who she is bur she tries)

Warning(s): fluff no angst(maybe a tiny bit? Idk), soft Carmilla, MAYBE ooc carmilla, carmilla is just head over heels for you, CLIFF HANGER ENDING, kinda rushed idk

Carmilla x human! Reader: late night talks

It's not every day or night you get alone time with your beloved girlfriend...or mate? Whatever the proper term would be. Carmilla was always busy doing God's knows what. From being with her sisters and planning whatever they do in that meeting room, going out personally to ensure her plans are working herself. Never allowing herself a break not even the Queen vampire herself is free from paper work.

Just comes with the responsibilities she has on herself

Makes nights like these so worth it- how she wore her sleep wear finally relaxing in bed with you awake this time- a hand gently scratching your scalp- her retractable claws shortened to ensure your comfort and safety- how she pulled you snug into her chest- "my darling?" She spoke softly- making you grin nuzzling into her making her hum softly

Oh how lucky you are- the only one in the universe itself to hear her speak speak in such a soft way- "my mate?" She purred out softly kissing the top of your head smiling softly once you looked up at her "now what's on your mind? So much I had to repeat myself to gain your attention?" She purred softly the usual playful glint in her eyes when she looked at you.

But you knew. Everyone knows how she loaths repeating herself. No matter what it is- but when it's you? She doesn't seem to mind that much...but even she has limits with you.

"You~" you replied, quickly leaning up to kiss your lover softly, making her hum content almost smug at your words "oh of course~ my darling Carmilla adores to be thought about no?" You teased softly moving to sit up stretching

A soft growl followed by a grumble escaped the vampire behind you- followed by rustling "you know your the only one I want to think of me in such a way. Like how you plauge my thoughts and dreams~" Carmilla purred out, moving to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you close, practically dragging you on her lap- you'd call her clingy if you didn't get hissed at before from the 'lies'

"Oh~? I plauge you my dear? Such a horror no?"

"Indeed it is~" smirking softly kissing your lips softly her cold fangs brushing against you in a soft motion "but I wouldn't want it any other way my lovely little human~" she hummed out softly leaning to look out the window- the full moon shining as she huffed

You knew exactly what that meant. That distaste on her face. How irritated she became so fast- so quickly. You prayed you had longer to be with her. In her arms

"I must leave soon"

"Must you?" You cut her off knowing anyone else? Wouldn't have survived much less gotten a half of a glare. "Must you leave? You can stay longer~? With me.. in our bed~ our room? Cuddling more?" Turning in her hold to face her fully as she hummed thinking it over

"..not too much longer. My sisters think I spoil you too much, " making you fake gasp- earning a soft laugh,"but I believe you're not spoiled enough~" staring at you softly in that loving look- how you truly help her unbeating heart as she holds your beating one

"What do you think of marriage?"

The room fell silent as she stared at you- mouth slightly open before she hummed. Automatically, you felt guilty. Knowing from what she spoke before- she doesn't enjoy the idea of it. How she would have to share her status? Share control? Both things she hated the most.

Hated giving control to anyone. Even her own sisters. To the point it would lead to arguments. Rare fights between them all- but as you understood, they did to- so their would always be a condition. Agreements. How Carmilla would have more control then the others even just slightly. It's something no one could blame her for it.

"Oh god i.. carmilla, I'm so sorry for suggesting g the idea i-" you quickly rushed to fix your slip up- something you never wanted her to know. The one selfish(you deemed) thought.. dream to have. To have her as your wife- more then just a girlfriend as you spilled over your apology- Carmilla watched you closely in thought

"Marriage?" She hummed softly, rubbing your waist in an attempt to calm you - which as always did. "I have thought of it," she hummed softly, "marrying you. Making you mine for eternity." Leaning agaisnt the bedframe making you look at her once again flushed- earning a smirk from her "being your wife~ now that. Isn't a bad thought~" she hummed in thought tapping your waist in deep thought of what that could mean

Of what she's saying.

"My gods.. Y/N.. how inlove with you must I be to allow this thought?" She spoke softly speaking parts of her mind allowed. You stayed quiet listening to her as she gathered whatever she had planned "marriage is on equal standings with each other. Of course we are now but. Their was always that control I had fully. I'm a queen- your my human lover." She hummed softly tilting her head furrowing her eyebrows

Had you heard anyone else say that- you'd be upset. Mad. But not her Not at your Carmilla. You understood why she said that- why she saw you as an equal being but not. Your still a human- not even you can make her see humans as more then a pest- but you've always been seen differently in her eyes

"...I think I'd like it" Blinking, you looked back at Carmilla, who almost seemed bashful.. an odd contrast from what you usually see. The usual calculating face. Of someone who planned what she would do. Planned to say before hand

But now- you hear the rare thoughts allowed before she herself thought it through "I would love to marry you one day. Maybe not soon. But one day. When you and I are both fully ready." Holding you closer, not minding the fact you are now too flustered by her words to reply - she already knew the answer - so she smirked, kissing you deeply trying to show her deep love to you in a physical way "so I'll ask you~ my darling human~ my mate~" she purred against your lips leaning back- to hold your hands kissing the finger where a ring would sit

"Will you marry me one day?"

#carmilla castlevania #carmilla castlevania x reader #castlevania #castlevania x reader #carmilla x reader #ENDS IN A CLIFF HANGER♡#what do you guys say♡ 🤭

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maryannecrimsworth · 2 years ago

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You do need a friend

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10

Guide for tormented hearts

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Selectively mute reader

Warnings: I'm going for the slow burn and reader it's really traumatized, prepare for some angst scenes and a whole bullying session. The part two will be softer if anyone likes this.

Summary: You did it, you stayed with your brother — you were finally free from your parents. Everything goes wrong one last time but after all the police investigation and doctor visits, you were back to Nevermore, not to your parents' Lycanthropy camp. You were at school for the very first time in your life and no one would actually speak with you. At least you thought no one would until your brother makes you meet his goth friend.

Some reader's characteristics: R has anxiety disorder, selective mutism, and is a really unique type of outcast. Reader's background it's derived from my Wednesday fic, The Hunt.

You couldn't remember a thing.

No, you remember one thing: laying down and blacking out for once, after spending three nights staring at the bedroom ceiling non-stop. Then you finally closed your eyes and when you opened them again, you saw your own brother painting above you, despair in his eyes and blood covering his red skin.

He shouted questions at you as an animal crawled behind him. You blinked a few times and did not reply, your attention was on the animal, on the beast now standing in front of you.

“Y/N!” Your brother made you sit up, completely unaware of the monster in his back, and asked again: “Who made you sleep? Who guided you?”

Your mouth dried and your stomach crunched as the monster kept getting closer. You knew that monster. The Hyde. Your parents talked about it in the last few months, it was why you came to Jericho in the first place. And it was about to hit you when your brother stood up.

Hank turned his back to you and pushed the monster away, his hands now turned into claws.

You hated when he transformed, and your hatred only grew as you realized what you have done.

While your brother was fighting the beast, you stood up from the ground and looked around the place. You have never been here before but you knew it from pictures. The Pilgrim World, The Outcast Convention. There were bleachers all over the grass and spotlights illuminating the stages your parents were sitting on a few minutes ago. Maybe hours. How long have you been asleep? And why was this place so empty? Where did the crowds go? And there are—Oh. You looked at the person on your feet. A werewolf, you guessed, as she was growling and sleeping peacefully in the grass. There were about five more teenagers in the same state as hers, blacked out on the floor. Then you understood. You understood what you have done.

You have ruined the Outcast Convention.

He covered you with a blanket as the policemen ran through the place. They were after Tyler, your brother told you, not you. You were sitting in the paramedics' triage line when your brother broke out from the mess and noise and sat beside you.

“I need you to answer me this time, okay?” He whispered in your ear before you could see more policemen emerging from somewhere behind you. You heard the alert on their radio. The Hyde was arrested. “Who made you sleep?” You finally looked at him. "Was it mother? You can shake your head.”

You nodded slightly. Yes, you remembered your mother ordering you to go to the bed and then singing a creepy lullaby for you. It was horrible — she was horrible, but it worked. Or maybe the stinky towel in her hand that worked very well.

Your brother’s whole expression stiffened as you replied. He already knew what your mother did to you. He used to help her with it.

“You can’t go back.” Hank mumbled and instantly regretted it. He shook his head before looking at you again. “I freed myself from them, Y/N.” He whispered. “I’m not going back to their camp, and you don’t have to go either. We..we can stay here. You can study and I can work here in Nevermore. I have friends now, they can’t make us leave. Not again.” You saw a tear running down his cheek. “Do you want to? Would you stay with me?”

You felt his strong grip softing around your shoulder, all the intensity in his behavior was clear but he would never risk hurting you. Not anymore. That’s why he needed you to say ‘yes’, he needed you to run away with him.

So you accepted it, you nodded your head convincingly, and you never saw your brother so happy. You never thought he would cry for joy — but he was crying and hugging you even with so many hurt people around him. Hank then stood up and asked you to follow him as he healed the wounded people. The people you hurted, you thought, even though he made no mention of it. Your brother's curse was the perfect risk control for yours: you wounded, he absorbed the wound. No one could ever prove your guilt — your parents' guilt, and the show kept on going. But not anymore.

Now you were a student at Nevermore.

You liked it at first. The school, not the people. Outcast or normie, teenagers were mean in any form. But no one really tried to talk to you after the Convention, and it made things way easier. Everyone knew your name — well, your L/N, but it worked nonetheless — and your brother talked with all the teachers about you. Which meant you didn’t have to sit in pairs nor speak to anyone in class. Even some of your exams were different so you didn’t have to present anything in front of a classmate.

“The teachers and the principal are very comprehensive” Hank told you after you came back smiling from your first day. “But you’ll have to speak to some students at some point. I can help you with it.”

“Why?” You replied immediately. “There’s no need.”

“You are in high school.” You rolled your eyes in response. “You do need a friend.” You walked straight to your room and did not utter another word to your brother for the rest of the day.

Then his schemes began. Well, he was the school advisor after all. And you were now his messenger.

Hank sent you a quest everyday: to deliver a letter, a note, a corrected exam, a chocolate box.

“Chocolate?” You asked as soon as he handed you the box.

“Well, she’s having a really bad time, she needs it.” You rolled your eyes again and walked after the poor girl.

You understood your brother’s strategy: he wanted you to knock on the door, greet the person and then deliver the package. Naive man. You actually only put the package in the hallway, knocked on the door and walked away. No speaking needed at all.

By far, you have barely spoken to anyone.

Some people tried: Xavier Thorpe and Enid Sinclair, your brother’s friends, tried to small talk with you a few times, but you only smiled awkwardly and shook your head until they gave up. There was also this goth girl with them, she was your brother’s friend too, but you could not make yourself look at her. It was hard enough to look at Xavier, who you knew for years, so imagine looking at someone who seems to be a wrong word away from murdering you. Nope. Not a chance.

But Hank — oh, how you hated him sometimes — has this “getting out of your comfort zone” obsession and would never leave you alone.

“No.” It was the first package you refused to deliver. You would not walk to Ophelia Hall to deliver a blank paper note to her. “No, Hank. Please, can’t we just go home? I’m exhausted.”

Your brother looked up from the papers on his desk and watched you with concern. He had noticed how the bags under your eyes had grown, but he had refused to put you to sleep.

“I won't lock you up.” Hank reminded you. “You have to learn to control it.”

“Whatever, Hank.” You sighed, your shoulders and eyes weighing a little more than usual. “Can we go home?”

“Wednesday is with the key to my bike. You have to meet her, wanting or not.”

“Why would she—?” Hank helped her with her creepy stuff, of course, they had a deal after all. You gave up questioning and grabbed the blank note from your brother’s desk. He wished you good luck before you slammed the door.

Yeah, sure, an elf definitely needs luck.

You stomped your way to Ophelia Hall. Ophelia, the girl who was driven mad by her family. How ironic.

The Housemaster didn't even bother with your presence at that point, he just let you pass. You silently strode through the halls, as you were getting used to doing, and no students really noticed you. At least that's what you thought until a shrill voice hurt your ears.

“Pretty L/N!” Was it even a human voice? “Come here, beautiful.” You obviously ignored her. “Oh, wait.” You heard laughter. “That’s the weird L/N.” Oh, fuck, like it's even possible to mistake you for your brother. “Will you reply if we growl?” The voice grew louder on your back. “I think we need to bring a fur to crawl and sniff your ass! This way you will be a good pet, won’t you?” Do not react. Do not react. Do not—you felt the paper scratching the palm of your hand. Your firsts were so strongly closed that your arms were trembling. Your whole body was trembling and they noticed.

The voice finally gained a face and a group of teenagers appeared in front of you. You didn't even notice that you had stopped walking.

“How ugly. You are even worse up close.”

As if you are a beauty.

“It is a pity that you have absolutely nothing to do with your brother.”

Of course I have not, we’re adopted, you stupid bitch.

“Piss off, Gwen, he’s trying to help Hanky. You know, he’s his messenger.”

“That’s why he keeps ghosting our dorm? No, I do not believe that.”

“Come on, you think he’s a perv or something?”

You watched the two girls talking. Did they always have to be this tall? Your neck was already hurt because of your exemplary posture, and looking up certainly didn't help.

“Look at him. He sure is.”

You felt a drop falling into your eyes and winched in reflex. Fuck. Your forehead was totally soaked, as was your clothes. You took a glimpse of the crushed paper in your hand: it was completely wet. You ruined the blank paper note. Pathetic.

“You suck at this.” The voice laughed again. “That’s your message?” The girl grabbed the paper from your hand before you could move away. “You can not speak, you can not deliver a single note, you can not look even me in the eye.” The girl leaned over you. “Is there anything you can do?” You could feel her scoff on your face. “You worthless piece of shit.”

You did not respond. You did not look up. You were barely breathing. Sweat kept running down your face as the girl gave up. She got tired of waiting for a slight response from your and turned back. She was about to finally step away when you moved your foot.

The girl was unexpectedly face down on the ground and her friends gasped at the ugly fall. Everyone looked at you. Oh, how satisfactorily angry they seemed.

“You did it on purpose, you asshole!”

“I can’t believe you’re laughing!” You were not laughing, only smirking a little bit.

“You’ll pay for this!”

A foot kicked your shin, which prevented you from running away. Then a fist hit your face and an elbow struck your back. You stopped recognizing what was hitting you once your knees touched the ground. Your vision turned into a blur and your ears heard nothing but a whirring as they slapped your head. It didn’t actually hurt: you were too numb to describe it as something uncomfortable, and you were used to beatings. But then a boot, somehow, managed to get between your crossed arms and sunk into your stomach. You could feel the weight getting deep in your gut, and the acid taste of your lunch emerged into your mouth. You did not hold it back.

You puked on the girl's shoes and got her socks to be soiled as well. Your throat was burning and dry coughs were already escaping from your dirty lips when you heard the screams distancing themselves.

They had run off.

You crawled on the floor, moving away from the vomit that slipped down the girl’s legs. You do not even know if you have thrown up in the right one.

You growled in anger as you grabbed the dirty paper note from the ground and stood up. Wednesday’s door was only a few feet down the hallway and you needed to go home. You quickly saw her room’s door and stormed in without even knocking.

You were met by a circular window, half colored, half blank. A girl shouted to your left, and a subtle movement came from the right.

You didn’t look at anyone, you didn’t speak to anyone: you simply targeted the key on Wednesday’s desk and rushed to it. You tripped on something on the way — on Thing — but that didn't stop you from taking the key and turning back to the door. You were about to slam the door shut when a cold voice reached you.

“My message.” You were still holding the paper. Fuck. You threw the squashed paper at her feet and left without saying anything.

You felt Wednesday's eyes following your movements — analyzing your soaked uniform, your bruised face and dirty lips, but none of that mattered.

The only thing that mattered was the cold metal between your fingers, the key to your escape, to your brother's motorcycle. Your blood flowed through your veins as the wind cut through your ears, and you ran through the school until you reached the parking lot and the motorcycle.

You started the engine and ran out of Nevermore without looking back.

The cold wind didn't cool your mind, but shivers ran down your skin as you jumped off the bike and left it in the driveway. You barely closed the door and ran into your bedroom. To the glass cell that opened only from the outside. You locked yourself in and threw yourself to the floor as the salty taste of tears mixed with the acidity of everything you had eaten during the day. You were still crying.

And you kept crying until your body got exhausted.

You fell asleep.

@tnnadia @stupendousbananajudgeshark @colezb @aroaceanxietylemon @elduster @iwkaaaaa @mikooooks @chaoticteenagetrash

#wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday addams #wednesday fanfic #selective mutism #original character #wednesday addams x male reader

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seeeuspaceecowboyyy · 4 months ago

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Only Human

Miguel O'Hara x Female Y/N reader (emotional hurt/comfort fic) Wordcount: 2.6k Warnings: brief mentions of blood, loved ones dying, nightmares, crying. Also, Y/N speaks Spanish. Notes: Y'all I need my hurt/comfort Miguel fics so bad that I finally wrote one myself. This might turn into a two-part story? Starts out platonic but that could change if I end up writing more?? Lmk what you think.

Miguel startled awake when his head hit the floor with a thud. Raw panic was clawing through his chest. He scrambled to sit up, confused and disoriented. Where am I?

He stared at the walls of the hotel living room, struggling to put the pieces together. Slowly memories of the previous day came flooding back to him. He was on Earth 267. He was in the middle of conducting a covert recon mission with you, Y/N, to gather intel on an inter-dimensional crime syndicate that was buying, selling, and experimenting on various anomalies.

The two of you were staying the night in a hotel because there had been a malfunction with your watches. For some reason that neither of you could figure out, the watches had lost all contact with other dimensions once you came to Earth 267. You were unable to open up a portal or even talk to Lyla. The only good thing about this whole situation was that you and Miguel were still able to talk with each other through the watches and so far neither of you had started glitching.

Miguel had insisted you take the bedroom despite your protests. You’d argued that he should let you take the couch because of how much bigger he was than you, but he wouldn’t hear it. He’d said he really didn’t mind and wanted you to feel comfortable, but he’d also insisted on this sleeping arrangement for another reason - the nightmares.

Miguel let himself fall back against the sofa with a shaky sigh. There were no explosions, no threats, no one was dying. And yet the images of his teammates collapsed on the floor, pale and bleeding would not leave his mind.

It wasn’t real, he tried to tell himself. Just a nightmare. Everyone is okay.

But what if…? The horrible question flashed before his mind, ugly and unwelcome. What if something happened to any of you while out on a mission that he had assigned you? What if you got hurt during your mission tomorrow and he wasn’t fast enough to save you? What if Peter really did get caught in an explosion one day? What if Miles or Gwen or Pavitir or any of the other younger spiders got crushed under a falling building? What if - and the list went on.

So many things could go wrong in an instant and there was nothing Miguel could do about it. He knew there would always be risks in this line of work, but he couldn’t help feeling like he was to blame if anything ever happened to his teammates.

The disturbing image of you and your crumpled, lifeless body flashed through his mind again and he recoiled.

Your fault. All your fault, the voice in his head whispered.

“No” he mumbled, shaking his head, eyes screwed shut as he tried to banish the thought from his mind.

You failed again. You should’ve been faster. You should have seen it coming. You should have known. It was your fault.

Miguel stood up. Waves of anxious guilt were spreading through him like a tsunami. He walked to the bathroom, desperate for a distraction. As he turned on the faucet to wash his face, he sensed subtle movements behind him in the dark. Miguel whipped around, claws shooting outwards before he even had time to think.

“Oh”, he breathed, coming to a screeching halt.

You were stuck to the ceiling, having barely leaped out of the way in time to avoid Miguel’s razor-like claws. Your long hair hung downwards from your face as you cocked your head to the side, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Sorry”, you whispered. “I thought I heard a noise and came to check if everything was alright”.

Miguel lowered his arms, claws retracting. Embarrassment burned in his cheeks.

“No, I’m sorry”, he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to attack you like that. I was just having a hard time sleeping is all. You can go back to bed”.

You landed lightly on your feet, still watching him. You were wearing a light camisole and cozy pajama pants. You rubbed your eyes.

“Why were you having trouble sleeping?” you asked, yawning while stretching. “Are you not feeling good?”

“It’s nothing” he muttered, feeling even more self conscious by the concerned look on your face. Great now I’ve gone and scared her, he thought. “I’m fine. Just a bad dream, that’s all”.

You stood there still staring at him with searching eyes. What on earth is she thinking? he wondered. Does she think I’m a psycho for lashing out at her like that? Great. The awkwardness of the situation was getting to be too much for him.

“I’m really sorry I woke you Y/N. You don’t have to worry about me. Please, go back to sleep” he said, voice sounding a little gruffer than he meant it to be. “You’ve had a long day”.

He waited for you to go back to your room. You didn’t move.

Maybe it was because you were still kind of out of it with sleepiness, or maybe it was just the look on his face that made you do it. Instead, without really thinking about it, you took him by the hand and led him to the living room.

“What are you-“

“Shh”, you replied, guiding him over to the couch and gesturing for him to sit. He looked down at you, hesitant.

“Miguel”, you sighed, giving him a slightly exasperated look. “Sientete”.

He did.

You smiled gently and then turned to the kitchen. It was a small one - just a stretch of countertop with a stove, microwave, and a few cabinets above. “I’ll be right back”, you told him as you headed towards your room to grab your bag. When you returned, Miguel saw you were holding a small box of teabags.

“My mom always made tea for me as a kid whenever I had nightmares”, you explained in response to his raised eyebrows. “It always helped calm my nerves”.

You set about your task of heating the water, feeling his eyes on your back all the while. For some reason it made the hairs on the back of your neck tingle, but you tried your best to ignore it.

While waiting for the water to heat up, you came back to sit with Miguel who was hunched over, elbows resting on his knees. It was the first time that you really noticed what he was wearing - a black T-shirt and some faded, navy blue sweatpants. It was so different from how you usually saw him in his sharp, bright colored, holographic suit. He seemed less formidable - softer somehow, though you knew that was far from the case.

“What’s going on Miguel?” you started tentatively, watching him as he gazed at the floor. You noticed his fists clawing into the fabric of his pants. “You seem a bit off”.

Miguel wouldn’t look at you. Couldn’t look at you. What would he even say? Hey Y/N I know we’ve never really talked much and I’m supposed to be your boss, but I’m terrified that one day you’ll die and it will have been my fault and every night I have nightmares about my friends dying.

He internally rolled his eyes at himself. Shock, why was he like this? Why couldn’t he just pull himself together? He was supposed to be the leader, the one who always knew what to do, the guy everyone could count on to get the job done. He wanted to be someone you could always depend on, but here he was waking you up in the middle of the night and having you try to comfort him from a stupid nightmare.

Miguel chuckled humorously at the whole situation. You glanced curiously at him.

“What?” your eyes narrowed. “What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing”, he lied. “I was just thinking how this is the first time anyone’s ever made me tea”.

“Really?” This is stunning to you. “In my universe that’s all anyone ever does when something happens. You buy a house? We make tea. You win the lottery? We make tea. You lose your car keys? We make tea. You have a bad dream?-“ You look pointedly at Miguel before continuing. “We make tea”.

He smiles a little at your rather obvious attempt to bring the conversation back to his nightmare. It’s not that he didn’t want to talk about it, it’s just… he’d never talked about his dreams with anyone before, not even Peter. Ever since the tragedy with Gabriella had happened, he’d noticed everyone trying to give him space. No one would approach him about it because they didn’t know what to say, and honestly … he didn’t know what he wanted them to say either.

But here you were, so much care and concern in your eyes, your tone, and your gestures. You radiated comfort and he craved it. It was hard to resist. The walls Miguel constantly surrounded himself with felt weak. Maybe he could be open with you, just a little bit.

“Hold on, let me grab your tea”. You hopped off the couch and brought out two mugs. When you returned you handed one to him and settled into your corner of the couch, sipping and waiting patiently for Miguel to start.

“Ha, thank you”, he said, staring at the white mug that looked ridiculously tiny in his massive hands. Warmth seeped into his palms and he unconsciously began to settle a little as well. He rocked back, leaning into the sofa. Okay, he thought. He would try to open up.

“You know”, he sighed, “there used to be a time when I thought I was invincible. Anything I wanted to do, I could do it. I was smart, I was strong, and I had everything I needed”. He took a sip, trying to formulate his next words.

“But I was selfish and I got …. greedy you could say. I’m sure you’ve heard from the others about the ah…’incident’ I had a while back”, he said, glancing at you. You nodded silently. No one ever talked about it in Miguel’s presence, but you’d heard the rumors. A dimension crumbling into oblivion. The loss of a beloved daughter.

Miguel swallowed hard, feeling an uncomfortable lump in his throat. “Ever since then”, he grunted, trying to clear his throat, “I’ve been….so……” His voice broke off. He turned away, surprised by the tears suddenly forming in his eyes. Shock I’m a mess, he thought.

You leaned forward, scooting a little closer to him, sensing his discomfort but unsure of how to help.

“So what?” you whispered softly. Tenderly.

He took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. Something was cracking inside him. Not the time to fall apart, he told himself. He could feel you next to him, hovering hesitantly by his side. He needed to be strong, for you at least if not for himself. But shock he could not get the words out.

“Miguel”. You reached over to move his mug out of the way and then took his hand in your own. “You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. It’s okay, honestly”. You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “But I’m here for you okay? We all have our struggles. You’re not anymore messed up than I am”.

His mouth was set in a hard line, jaw clenched in agony as he tried to keep the waves of grief at bay.

“I know it’s hard”, you continued gently, “but the best way to get through it is to share it with others. Let other people help you carry the burden. No one’s meant to go through these kinds of things alone”.

Miguel nodded briefly. You squeezed his hand again and this time he returned it. Tears blurred in his eyes and streamed down his face. He couldn’t stop it. The lump in his throat was choking him, forcing him to take a breath. When he let himself breathe the sobs finally came out. First one, then another, and then what felt like a million more.

“Oh”, you breathed, heart breaking at the sight. Instinct took over any previous reservations or awkwardness you’d felt before and you did the only thing that felt right - you got up, wrapped your arms around his big shoulders and held on tightly. He was hurting so badly. You could feel his shoulders shake with grief as he strained to quiet his sobs, putting a hand over his mouth. You just rubbed his shoulders and back, trying to soothe him as much as possible.

“It’s okay”, you repeated over and over again. “Todo esta bien”.

You kept holding onto him, squeezing his shoulders every so often as an offer of comfort while he fought to regain control of himself. After a while, he rubbed his eyes with exhaustion as his breathing began to relax. He could finally catch his breath again.

“Ugh”, he groaned, burying his head in his hands. “Wow, that was ….” He didn’t even know what to say. Pathetic? Pitiful? Mortifying? Although he had to admit he did feel better. Lighter somehow. The chokehold weight that had gripped him for months on end was gone.

“Human”, you answered. He looked up at you, speechless. What?

“It was human, Miguel”, you repeated. “You may be Spiderman, but you’re still human and it’s human to feel pain. To grieve”. You spoke like you knew it for yourself and you did. You’d lost your own loved ones. You’d grappled with fear of the future and regrets of the past. The only way you’d been able to keep moving forward was by sharing your burdens with others.

“In my dream”, Miguel started, “I lost everyone I cared about. My family, my friends, my teammates, you…” He closed his eyes in anguish. “I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t… enough. It nearly killed me to see everyone like that, just completely….gone”. He took a big breath. “I felt so alone”.

You squeezed his hand again and he squeezed back, hoping you could feel how much he appreciated your comfort.

“I’m so sorry Miguel”, you whispered sympathetically. “That must have been so hard to experience all that. But just know that I’m here. I’m right here and I’ll be here as long as you need me. I know it’s hard not to worry about but it doesn’t get us anywhere right? The only thing we can do is try to live as best we can right now. Okay? Me oyes?”

Miguel nodded, the smallest hint of a smile forming in the corners of his lips. It reminded him of his mother when you talked like that.

“Do you want to sleep in the same room tonight? We could bring the mattress out here or…” you looked questioningly at him, rubbing your eyes as a spell of sleepiness started to settle over you. Now this made him smile, albeit a shy one.

“Sure…if you honestly don’t mind”, he said, feeling a bit better about the night. It would be nice to not have to sleep alone with his thoughts for once.

“Of course not”, you yawned, getting up to go grab it. Together you were able to maneuver the mattress into the middle of the living room floor. “Sure you don’t wanna switch?” you asked with another yawn once everything had been arranged.

“I’m sure”, Miguel chuckled as he watched you practically collapse onto the mattress with exhaustion. “Sleep well Y/N…. and thank you. For everything”.

“Ya sabes”, you mumbled, already sinking comfortably into your pillow. Miguel waited until he could hear the rhythmic sound of your sleeping breaths before he lay himself down on the couch.

With the new, light feeling in his chest and the steady lull of your breathing just a few feet away, Miguel let his eyes close and slipped into a peaceful slumber.

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara #atsv #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #miguel ohara hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort

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phantompanties · 4 months ago

Text

The Pact

Relationships: Incubus oc (Lucius) x fem!reader

Tags: fluff, angst, suggestive mentions at points but not super explicit, angsty, mentions of death, sex demon feels emotion for the first time, just soft ooey gooey

Length: 1.2k words

Part 1

It’s been a few days since your demonic encounter, and honestly, you weren’t even sure if it was real or not. When you woke up the morning after, there was hardly any evidence of your exciting night with Lucius aside from being a little sore. However, that could’ve just been from sleeping weird. You didn’t have any other demonic visitors in the past couple of days—not that you attempted to summon any—and you were a little grateful for that. If sex demons were real, what else would’ve crawled out of that summoning circle?

Today, you were doing your normal morning routine, brushing your teeth and preparing to put your makeup on for the day. When you spit the toothpaste foam into the sink, you open the medicine cabinet for the little cup to rinse out your mouth. When you retrieved it and closed the door, the sight in your reflection caused you to drop the cup out of shock. Standing there, in all of his horned glory, was Lucius. Admiring your shower curtain.

You whipped around with a gasp, but he didn’t look at you. He just rubbed the plastic curtain between his fingers. “This is a nice design, darling. You have excellent taste.”

“L-Lucius! Wh… how did you get in here!?”

“Slipped under the door,” he says matter-of-factly, turning around with his handsome grin. “It’s nice to see you again, love. You look just as beautiful as the night we met.”

You couldn’t contain your blush at his compliments but shook your head. “Th-that doesn’t matter! Why are you here? I didn’t summon you!”

“Oh, darling, you don’t need to summon me now that I’ve caught your scent. I can locate you anywhere by following your delectable pheromones.”

“Pheromones…? N-nevermind… why um… why are you here…?”

Lucius bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut and turning around. “Oh, sweet Asmodeus you’re so cute… like a little bunny… my heart…”

“Lucius?”

“Excuse me!” he says, straightening up and getting himself together. “I’m… here because of a little… mistake,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck.

You tilted your head. “Mistake?”

“Yes, um… heh… this is so embarrassing… I forgot to collect what I was owed on our night of passion, love.”

“I thought you just ate sexual energy…”

“Well, yes. That’s part of it… But I am also owed your soul, darling.”

“...huh?”

“I am owed the energy and the soul of whoever summons me, as are the rules of the summoning ritual you performed.”

“W-wait I don’t remember this…”

“It was in the incantation, darling. The one you recited?”

You stared blankly, like a deer in the headlights.

“You… you did translate the incantation before you recited it, right, love?”

“Oh… oh my god…”

Lucius looked as if he wanted to curl up on the floor and scream from just how adorably clueless you were. His grey cheeks dusted a light blue as he clamped his lips shut.

You, however, were freaking the fuck out. “Y-you’re going to take my soul? W-what happens when you don’t have a soul?”

“Well, for humans it’s like… you slowly lose your sense of self, in a way.” Lucius hums, stroking his chin with his clawed finger. “You become dead-eyed and mechanical, becoming more grey as the years go by. Eventually, you’ll be nothing but a husk and wither away, hollow and unfeeling. Basically, you’ll rot young.”

Your heart dropped like a boulder in your stomach, and tears welled in your eyes. “W-what have I done…?”

The sight of you shaking and sobbing like a child made Lucius panic, and he rushed to your side to comfort you, only to be met with you pushing him away. “Don’t touch me!” you cried as you curled up on the floor. “I can’t believe I did this to myself!”

For the first time in his ancient life, Lucius’s blackened heart did something he didn’t think it could ever do. It ached. It ached with sorrow seeing a human mourn their poor choices, wishing they could stop themself from summoning a demon of the night to satisfy their selfish urges. Lucius never felt his heart pang so hard for a human before. He wracked his brain, trying to think of a solution to ease your fears.

He couldn’t just not take your soul. You were bound by contract, and as far as he knew, contracts were unbreakable. Think, Lucius, THINK!

After a moment of rubbing his temples, Lucius had a lightbulb go off in his mind, and he smacked his fist to his palm. “Aha! (y/n), darling, I may have a solution!”

You hiccuped, wiping your tears. “W-what are you talking about…?”

“Although the contract binding us cannot be broken… there is a way for you to keep your soul until your string of fate gets cut.”

“What is it…?”

“You form a pact with me,” he says, taking your hands and grinning widely, his bright teal eyes glowing with excitement.

“Wh-what’s a pact…?” you ask, fear evident in your shaky voice.

“Basically, you bind your soul to me,” he says. “For the rest of eternity, our strings of fate are intertwined, meaning that I will watch over you and protect you for the rest of your mortal life, and will claim your soul when your time comes. After that, I will absorb your soul, granting myself higher power.”

“And… what’s the catch?” you ask, wary.

“Ah, well… since you’re making a pact with an Incubus, you’ll suffer the inability to satisfy yourself on your own or with any other mortal being you decide to lay with… in short, only I can make you cum. I don’t mind, though, darling… I had lots of fun being your first.”

You blushed and bit your lip. “Is… is that the only alternative?”

“It is. But I promise, I will protect you as my master for as long as you live until your time comes, darling.” he took your smaller hand, kissing it gently. I’ll do whatever I can in my power as a demon of hell to make your life comfortable, angel.”

Your heart began to flutter in your chest, and you subconsciously curled up into his larger frame, resting your head on his chest. “Do you promise…?”

“Of course, darling…” Lucius whispers as he kisses the top of your head. For the first time in his ancient life, he felt his blackened heart beat with emotion other than lust. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but he craved more. He craved it almost as much as he craved raw lust. It felt so… good. So right. He removed one of his silver rings on his slender fingers, placing it on your left ring finger. He kissed your hand. “This is going to hurt for just a moment, darling. I promise it’s necessary for the pact.”

Against the skin of your smaller hand, Lucius whispered an incantation in a language that sounded far more ancient than Latin, you felt shivers crawling up your spine as he spoke into your hand, caressing it with his thumb.

Suddenly you cried out as a burning pain wrapped around the finger he placed his ring on, and you looked in shock as the ring was burning into your skin. It was over fast, though, leaving a ring of ancient-looking runes around your finger like a tattoo. Amazingly, it glowed teal, much like Lucius’s own tattoos.

Lucius kissed your finger. “I’m sorry, darling. I know that must have been horrible… but now we’re bound together. I look forward to being by your side until the day you die, love…”

And so, your life as the master of an ancient incubus began.

#incubus x reader #oc x reader #incubus oc #lucius x reader #fluff writing #lucius the incubus #monster lover

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bouncybongfairy · 1 year ago

Text

Wild Night

Summary: You are convinced by your best friend Stacey into having a wild night at the club where you met Rick Sanchez.

TW: Drug Use | Smut | Alcohol | Rough Sex.

Rick Sanchez x Reader

Word Count: 3k+

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

You rummage through your purse, trying to find your lanyard to unlock the door. After what seems like an eternity, you finally get the door open. You set your bag on the island in the kitchen and check your phone. Today was your Friday, and you were looking forward to your three-day weekend from work. With school, work, and your social life, you only want to sleep when you get free time. This was something your inner circle was noticing and pointing out more often. Your phone rings with the collar ID of Stacy. You met her in statistics class and really hit it off.

“Hey girl,” you say into the phone while walking into your bathroom to take off your jewelry.

“Y\N! What are you doing tonight? Novah and I planned on going to The Wormhole tonight and we really want you to come.” She said into the phone, the faint sound coming from the background.

“I don’t know Stacey, I have a ton of homework and I worked today,” you say, taking your earrings off and your claw clip.

“Please, just come out. You told me yesterday that you have a three-day weekend.” She remarked while Marina played quietly over the speaker.

“What does that have to do with anything? My free time isn’t your availability.” You said leaving the bathroom and going to sit on your bed. Stacey sighed and switched her tone before speaking,

“Look, I really miss you. I know you’re working and have a life and I admire how dedicated you are. It just can’t be healthy to be going so non stop. Please just come out with Novah and me, have one or two drinks and if you really are not feeling up to it we can Uber you home. I’ll come over and we can get ready together.. please..?” Stacey at this point was begging.

“Be here in like, an hour okay?” You say while turning the shower water on the heat up.

“Yay! I’ll be there soon girl, I promise you won’t regret this.” Stacey sang into the phone before hanging up. Once you thought more about it, you began romanticizing the idea of going to the club. Getting all done up, breaking out the lashes, extension, heels, mini skirt.

The last time you went out with Stacey you damn near blacked out. Dancing with the strippers on the pole, body shots, the looks you got when you started grinding against Stacey. Once the water was warm, you stepped into the shower and started washing your body. The Wormhole is the sickest club you've ever been to. The bouncers do a great job of keeping creeps out. Some of the bottle girls sell molly and they have strippers.

"What did I get myself into tonight?" you mutter to yourself and you rinse the shampoo out of your hair.

Once Stacey got there, they began doing their makeup in front of the mirror built on your closet door. You were clipping your extensions into your hair while she was applying power to set her foundation.

"So.. are you planning on getting laid tonight?" Stacey asked, shifting through her make-up bag. You chuckle while grabbing your curler and wrapping your hair around it,

"Honestly yeah, I haven't gotten dick in like, three months." You said finishing up your hair, teasing it a bit to give it some volume.

"Oh my gosh, are you serious? Yeah, it's a good thing that I convinced you to come out tonight because that's some grandma shit right there," she said, spraying setting spray on her face.

"I don't know, I'm just tired of the ending. It's like the buildup is great. We're all taking shots and smoking, dancing the night away. The end of the night begins to approach and you start looking for the guy you're gonna take home. The sexual tension is like so electric when you're dancing with said dude or on the car ride home. You get in bed, he'll dig into your hip for a while and then when you do start having sex, they last like 45 mins then collapses after they finish. Then sit there in award silence for 10 minutes before getting dressed and mumbling: mY uBeR iS hErE and run out the door. It's just too much." You said while fixing your eyelashes and grabbing a couple bobby pins to secure your bangs to the side, "do my eyelashes look even?" You ask Stacey who had just finished lighting a blunt, handing it to you so she could answer your question.

"Yes, they look even and yeah I get that. It's hard to find guys our age that can play that mind game. Like, the cat and mouse game. You know, like flirting and teasing but I would settle for a guy who could find the clit without help!" She said, bursting into laughter. "That is setting the bar low, even for you." You joke back while exhaling your hit before turning back to finish getting ready.

After about another 30 minutes you both were leaving your apartment to get down to The Wormhole. Novah was going to meet you both there and you were really excited. After pre-gaming with the blunt Stacey had rolled, you were feeling so optimistic about the night. Especially compared to how you felt before the invite. You're wearing a jean mini-skirt that pretty much looks like a tube top. Pink, chunky pumps, and a white long-sleeve crop top that left your mid-section bare. Your platinum blonde hair blown out Farrah Fawcett style resting on your shoulders and back. Of course, the Juicy bag that you stole from your sister in high school. It really wouldn't be a complete outfit without it. Once you guys walk into the club you immediately find Novah, who saved a table for you guys.

"You know Y|N, when Stacey texted me that you were going to meet us here I can't say that I believed her but I'm so stoked you came out!" She said playfully pushing you on the shoulder. You laugh and nod your head, "Yeah it's been all work no play but I'm here tonight and I'm trying to get fucked up." You giggle which makes both girls laugh. "Let's drink to that whore," Stacey says, walking away to order a bottle.

It was somewhere between the fifth shot of GreyGoose and the second joint you smoked in the bathroom that you became more open-minded. Stacey was behind you, grinding her pelvis against your ass. Novah was dancing in front of you holding their mixed drink in the air. You were really starting to feel drunk at this point, especially when you started wanting a cigarette.

"Our bottle girl has molly, are you down?" Stacey whispers in your ear you immediately turn around and flash her a devilish grin which causes both of you to break out into laughter. You guys track down the bottle girl and buy 60 dollars worth of molly.

That was when you first noticed him, it honestly was a bit embarrassing. You had dipped the acrylic nail on your pinky into the small baggie of powder and brought it up to your nose. Right as you snorted the molly is when you locked eyes with him. His hair was so blue, like seriously blue. He had on a lab coat which at first struck you as weird but it really goes with his whole vibe. One of the first things you notice is that he's alone or at least you were hoping he was. Without breaking eye contact with you, he grabs his glass and takes a couple of swigs.

"Hello, Y|N are you good?" Stacey asks while stroking your hair. "Um, yeah but, do you see that guy over there who -hiccup- who is that?" You ask, referring over to the blue-haired man.

"Oh, that's Rick Sanchez or Smith or something like that, uhh, I think I went to high school with his granddaughter. He's a drunk but also like a crazy scientist who has this weird-ass car airplane hybrid vehicle thing. I don't know tho." Stacy slightly slurred while still dancing to the music that was blaring, "Are you thinking about getting at him?" She asks you while pulling you in to start dancing again.

"Well yeah, I mean like I said I'm tired of clueless men so maybe I should go after an older man, try something new." You said but you couldn't help but giggle the entire time while you said it.

'God this molly is so strong you thought to yourself.

"I support Y|N on their journey to getting space man dick," Novah said, grabbing Stacey as showed you away in an encouraging way to go interact with him. Under different circumstances, it might have taken you more of a pep talk to be so direct but with the liquid and powder courage took away any anxiety. You had to admit it was a bit nerve-racking when you first approached Rick. Most people change their facial expressions and body language to acknowledge the fact that you are approaching them. He just stared at you with the same facial expression from when you first locked eyes. Once you were standing directly in front of him you smiled and greeted him.

"Hey, your name is Rick right?" You asked, fixing your purse strap. "Are you trying to make small talk?" Rick asked sarcastically.

"Sure looks like it doesn't it." You snap back quickly, grabbing his glass and taking a sip out of the black straw. You quickly realize what you thought was a glass of water was indeed pure vodka. You bite down on the straw to keep your face from grimacing.

"What's your name?" Rick snickered, taking the glass back and taking three large gulps.

"Y|N, my friends said that you're a spaceman. Are you?" You ask, becoming impatient on trying to find a good opportunity to ask him to dance.

"How does that concern you or your little girlfriends?" He asked leaning so she could hear him over the speakers.

"Oh, that doesn't really concern me, you know what really does worry me? The fact that you aren't grinding against me on the dance floor. Don't you find that concerning?" You ask sarcastically, grabbing his belt loops and using them to pull yourself closer to him. This causes him to stand up from the bar stool he was sitting on. That was when you realized how tall he was, he was literally towering over you. Your neck was bent completely back to look up at him whereas his head was hanging down to see you.

"I'm not going to be your parent for the night, I don't want to deal with daddy issues." He said which made you throw your head back and laugh. You felt his hand on your back catch you in case you lost balance.

You grab the bag of molly out of your cleavage and scoop a fair amount of powder onto your nail. You bring it up to his nose and whisper in his ear as he snorts it, "I don't need a daddy, I need a dick that lasts longer than an hour and doesn't need GPS to get to its destination." You giggled as he pulled you in closer, almost causing your feet to lift off the ground.

"I think we're gonna make a great pair." He said as he led you to the dance floor. You had been standing with Rick for so long that when you began making your way to the floor, you really began to feel inebriated.

The energy you felt between the two of you on the dance floor was unreal. To be fair, being intoxicated could be clouding your proper judgment but feeling Rick behind you was making your legs feel like it was burning. Such a warm feeling in the bottom of your stomach. As you were grinding against him you couldn't help but try to size him up.

"Your dick feels so fucking big." You said after turning around to face Rick. He was smirking at you, his body slightly hovering over you so he could squeeze your ass. Which is when a bottle girl walked passed and asked what time she would be meeting Rick after the club closes.

"Back the fuck up." You sneer, shoving her back causing a couple of the drinks on her tray to spill on a couple of people around you. Immediately the bouncers come to remove you but Rick grabs you by your waist so that your back is pressed against his chest.

"I got it, alright buddy calm down j-just calm down I'm taking- I'll take her." He said while you were trying to get out of his grip. Your feet were dangling and you eventually got your hand loose and immediately slid your hand down his happy trail as he walked you over to his ship which was parked out back instead of in front of the club. Once you get close enough to the ship he turns you around and slams you against the ship door. He pressed his body against yours making you pinned in between him and the metal.

"You're fucking mental. I'm not one of these frat boys who can't look past you. If I want to hook up with her or whoever the fuck I choose. Control yourself," Rick growled into your ear, moving one of his hands to grip your throat. You pull your legs up and wrap them around his waist and smile at him.

"Mental for your dick." You mumble against his lips which were chattering slightly due to the molly.

"Fuck it," Rick said pulling out his portal gun and creating the bright green gateway. It opens from behind you, Rick's face becomes illuminated by the green light.

god he looks so powerful

You both fall through the portal onto a bed. It took you a while to notice but the bed you were both on was your own. You run your hands down his back, digging your nails into his lower half. He groans as he grinds against you. You bring your feet up and try to push his pants off of him. He chuckles as he pulls away from you and sits up on his knees. As he began undoing his belt you couldn't help but admire his body. The T.V. was glowing behind him creating a halo of light behind him. He pulled a condom out of his lab coat. You sit up so that you are on your knees as well.

"Can I put it on you?" You asked, scooting closer to him and reaching for it. He looks down at you and smiles and hands it over. He pulled his pants down and you were pretty impressed. You rip open the condom with your teeth and slowly start rolling it on.

"I knew it was big," You say as you start stroking his dick. "I don't think anyone would disagree with you on that." He said crawling back on top of you. You pull your thong down but leave your skirt on. He trails his hand up your thigh and uses his thumb to rub your clit.

"Fuck you're already so fucking wet," He moaned, dropping his head onto your shoulder. You caress the back of his head with one hand and with the other, you reach down and line up his dick to your entrance.

He starts kissing your chest as he slowly slides into you. Rick is bigger than average so it was a bit uncomfortable. It really turned you on that you didn't have to ask him to take it slow at first. He puts his elbows by your ears and slowly starts to speed up. You run your fingers through his hair and arch your back.

"Fuck yeah feels so good to have you wrapped around me." He moaned out while picking up speed. You start bucking your hips up to meet his thrust. You bite down on his neck and let out a loud groan.

He flips you over so that you are on top. You move your hair out of your face and start rocking your hips back and forth. He threw his head back and bucked up into you which encouraged you to go faster. You could feel your heart rate speed up as you rode him. You become more winded and put your hands by his head to support some of your weight. Rick uses this to his advantage and bites down on your nipple. Beads of sweat were starting to form on your forehead, the only thing you could think about was building up to your climax.

You throw yourself back and rest your hands on your knees and start moving your hips in a circular motion. He sits up with you and looks up at you while you ride him. He runs his hands down your back and grabs your ass all while making eye contact. His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was slightly agape. His pupils were so wide that his eyes looked black.

"Mmhm, can you feel me tighten around your cock?" You ask, picking up your pace.

"Fuck I can't take it," You hear Rick mumble to himself as he flips you both around for the second time. This time you were on your stomach, he quickly inserted himself back into you. You let out a loud cry, not expecting the intense amount of pleasure so quickly. He shoves his hand underneath you and starts playing with your clit as he pounds into you. "Holy fuck I'm about to cum!" You scream out, and he bites onto the back of your shoulder. You both cum at the same time, Rick doesn't stop biting your shoulder until after he is finished. He quickly pulled out and tied off the condom, tossing it in the trashcan next to the bed. He collapses on top of you and soon after you both drift off to sleep.

Hello! This is the first fan fiction that I’ve ever published. Looking forward to writing more. Was thinking of making this a slow-burn fanfic but want to get public opinion before doing so.

#rick sanchez #rick and morty #rick sanchez x reader #rick sanchez smut #rick c137 #fanfiction #fanfic writing #slow burn

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gipitothefrog · 5 months ago

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Whump

@wolfstarmicrofic

Word count: 796

Tw: blood, injury, self harm (kinda)

***

It was the full moon, and for some reason, it was worse than usual.

The night started off normally, with Remus heading down to the shack and the rest of the marauders following after him. When the transformation started, though, they immediately knew something was wrong.

Remus still cried out in pain, but the cracks of his bones seemed louder than normal, and as a wolf, he was far more vicious. Not to the rest of the marauders, but to himself.

His claws gashed into his stomach and back, leaving scarlet trails that leaked red for a long time after he had been torn up. Nothing the stag, rat, or even dog did persuaded the wolf to stop, and the torment continued the whole night.

When the morning came, and Remus turned back, he simply lay on the floor, unmoving. Sirius, James, and Peter all rushed to his side, and tried to heal him the best they could, but the wounds were too deep. Reluctantly, they threw the cloak back on and hurried up to the castle.

Sirius paced back and forth in their dorm.

“Do you think Pomfrey’s gone down to get him yet?” Sirius asked the two other boys.

“I don’t know, mate. I hope so.” Was James’s response. Peter simply let out a small, sad squeak.

“I’m going to the hospital wing to check,” Sirius decided after another moment.

“We’ll come with you,” said James, jumping up at the same time as Peter.

“No, it’s early. You two get some sleep. I can go by myself. Besides, you two might not fit under the cloak.”

“Pete can be wormtail, it’s—”

James was cut off by Peter’s hand on his shoulder. “Let him go alone,” the shorter boy said.

Sirius made eye contact with Peter, silently thanking him. Pete simply gave an understanding nod.

Grabbing the cloak, Sirius made his way to the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey was used to the boys showing up early in the morning, before they were supposed to be out of bed, but this was earlier than normal by at least a few hours. Sirius knocked. No one answered, so he tried the door. It opened, and he made his way into the room, hoping for the best and expecting the worst.

It turned out to be in the middle. Madame Pomfrey had gotten Remus, but he was still in critical condition from what Sirius could tell. She was currently leaning over Remus, around twelve different potions on the table beside him. Sirius rushed over and kneeled near his head on the floor next to the bed.

“Will he be okay?” Sirius asked desperately.

Madame Pomfrey looked up, only seeing him just then. “Yes, he will. He may be out for a few days, though. You never know with werewolf healing, sometimes it helps out, sometimes it doesn’t. We’ll see.”

Sirius spent the next couple of days at Remus’s bedside when he wasn’t in class. When he was in class, though, he was diligently taking notes, much more thorough than he ever had before, to give to Remus when he woke up.

When Remus finally did wake up, it was the middle of the night. Looking around, disoriented, the first thing he saw was Sirius. Slumped over in an armchair, asleep, with a half-done potions essay in his lap.

“Pads?” Remus croaked out.

Immediately, the other boy sprung up. Awake and alert.

“Moony! You’re awake!” He exclaimed, relief flooding through him.

“How long have I been out? And can I have some water?”

Sirius immediately conjured a glass of water, while saying, “A couple of days. It was really bad. I was- well we were all so worried.” Piping down for a minute, he asked softly, “Is something wrong, Moons?”

Remus took his time, gulping down the glass of water and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before answering. Looking down at his lap, he said,

“It’s nothing much. Just… my mother is sick, and I’ve been really worried. I didn’t realize that it was taking such a toll on me until, well…”

“Oh, Remus, I’m so sorry.” Sirius gingerly embraced the other boy, making sure not to hurt him in any way. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I just, I didn’t want you all to worry.” Remus sniffled. A few stray tears fell down his cheeks, which he tried to hide by looking away. Sirius gently guided his gaze back to him by his chin, then cupped his face and brushed away the tears with his thumbs.

“You can tell us anything, my Moon. You don’t need to worry about us worrying.”

Remus gave back a watery smile, before burying his face in Sirius’s shoulder and having the first proper cry he’d had in months.

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #microfic #marauders #july 5th #july 5 #july 5 microfic #whump #whump prompt #idk i wanted to write fluff so i turned this into fluff #kinda #it's also sad tho #so #you're welcome #it's late i should go to bed #but i'm tagging this instead #oh wow that kinda rhymed #ok goodnight #i hope you enjoyed

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clumsiestgiantess · 6 months ago

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Just for y’all, a short that became a little two-part story (next part coming soon) inspired by this post by @tinyascanbe

@thetinylittlespider @entomolog-t @tinyundercover y’all seemed interested in this unforgiving angst, so here you go!

Blood trickles down my arm for.. I don’t know, maybe the fifth time? Sixth? I’ve only been like this for three days. Already the threat of bleeding to death is a common occurrence for me. It’s not like I have much blood to bleed out anyway. I’m.. I don’t know how small I am. The grass is taller than my head, and bugs can be anywhere from forearm length to larger than myself. I really just want to go home.

I was jogging through one of the nearby neighborhoods like I always did, when something felt wrong. Lightheadedness clouded my thoughts, so I’d stepped into a lawn beside myself to avoid getting hit while I recovered — perhaps I hadn’t drank enough water. However, by the time my head cleared, I was standing below the grass I’d previously been stepping on.

At first it was just confusing. How could something like that just happen? For a while I had myself convinced that it was some weird dream; I hadn’t even woken up and started my day at all. However, things got real rather quickly once my search for a clearing in the forest of weeds and blades of grass landed me at the edges of an anthill. I’d been chased out of there — hounded down and nearly bitten to death.

Their jaws.. mandibles.. whatever the hell they are.. nearly tore my limbs right off my body. I had to beat at their eyes and heads relentlessly until they were forced to let me go. I just wasn’t strong enough to get out of their grip. To think I once flicked them off me without a second thought. Now, after managing to get far enough away from them to stop and look at my injuries, I found that all it took was a few hard bites to put a limb out of commission for the day. Thankfully, I hadn’t gotten many more than that, or I would’ve lost a limb permanently.

It was like I’d been dropped on an alien world. I’m all for a good hike, and I know a decent amount about camping out in nature, but no survival guide had ever told me how to kill a beetle the size of my torso for a meal, or warned me that said beetle could then turn and try to make a meal out of me. That was about all the hunting I was up for once I was left with large gashes torn out of my back and arms.

Every day and night since then I only became more and more aware of just how awful life had become. I’d gone from believing it was a dream, to begging for it to be a dream. Though if anything it’s a nightmare.

My only hope is getting to the house that this yard is connected to. If I could just get someone who isn’t a bug to find me — someone who wouldn’t try to hurt me on sight or stare at me with an emotionless terrifying face as I pass by. I’ve barely drank anything the last three days, and I know I haven’t eaten. Sleep is basically an afterthought. Everything starts shrieking at night, and even if it were silent, something might come and drag me away the moment I doze off.

By the dawn of the third day, I start hallucinating. I- I swear I can hear my friends voices. They’re here somewhere with me, right? They came to find me, right?! I can’t.. die out here alone.

There! Oh my god there’s someone here! “HELP!” I screamed, stumbling blearily through the endless stalks of grass. They’re running from me; why are they running?! “PLEASE! COME BACK!”

I.. might’ve fell? Scrambling upright, I rushed through the grass and weeds that seemed to have grown denser with each step. I couldn’t run through them anymore and begun clawing at their stalks, desperately trying to carve a path through. How did they get through so easily?!

Sobbing angrily, I shoved and pushed and clawed- and passed out. It could’ve been an hour or a few seconds later when I came to. I was in a ditch of dirt, grime coating my arms, shoulders, and especially fingers — everything I’d used to make my way through the strangely dense plants. For a brief moment I sat in silence, then bubbly laughter began to wheeze uncontrollably from my parched throat. “I was clawing up dirt the whole time!” I gasped through almost manic laughter. “It was pointless! I- There wasn’t anyone there!”

And that’s where I’m at: bleeding out from the wounds I tore open yet again — curled up in a ditch I’ve dug for myself. It’ll most likely be my grave. My stomach growls angrily and my insides start to burn. The acid inside it jumps up my throat, and my uncontrollable giggling quickly morphs into a sob. “Please… I- I can’t do this anymore…” I whimper, clutching my stomach only for my atrophied muscles to spasm and ooze blood from my cuts.

“JUST KILL ME!!!” I shriek into the void, “IT HURTS!!!” One moment I’m laying there in my own blood and tears, the next I’m being dragged away by something. Some large and furry creature starts dragging me across the ground with one of my legs in its mouth. I let it. At least I’m going somewhere.

I.. think I fell asleep? More accurately I probably just slipped out of consciousness. But I wake up once pain begins tearing freshly against my back. I’m no longer being dragged over dirt, but rough concrete. The front step. Holy hell, I made it. Forgetting about wanting to give up, I kick the creature as hard as I can with my other leg. It squeaks, drops me, and runs off.

Slowly and agonizingly, I drag myself to the first and only step. If it were day one or maybe two, I could’ve managed getting over it, but now, starting up at the top from the ground… it’s impossible. I’d die trying to make it up. “Someone h- help..” It was supposed to be a scream, but I couldn’t even manage that. Panting in pain and sobbing in desperation, I silently beg someone — anyone — to come find me. No one does.

I wake up in complete darkness, unable to move. Terrified that I’d died, I cry out. “H—?” Well, I try crying out. I hear rumbling, like distant thunder. If it rains I think I should drown myself at this point. There’s a scraping around me. I’m inside a box or.. some kind of container. Sudden light flashes into my vision and I yelp, closing my eyes as they painfully adjust.

“Y- You woke up?” A voice echoes through the air — far too loud to be normal. I blink through the new lighting and stare up at the person towering over me. A middle-aged woman looks down from above, baffled. “You… I- I thought you were dead!” I flinch at her exclamation and turn away, only to find myself at the bottom of a small box made to fit a bracelet or necklace. The perfect size to become a makeshift coffin for something my size. “I-” I cough as my throat closes up for a few seconds. “I’m sorry?” the voice from above asks. They lean closer in time to catch the tail end of my coughing.

“Oh! Here, I’ll get you something to drink. I- I’m so sorry I sealed you in a box; poor thing! I.. thought you were already dead, but I was too fascinated to bury you quite yet.” I’m not sure whether to be thankful for that or be terrified by it. What do you mean, ‘fascinated’? I didn’t have the strength to get up so I just sorta.. lay there, staring at the ceiling way too high above me.

When she comes back, the giant- ..human. Human, not giant. I’m just.. small. She tries to sit me up, but my whole body tenses in pain and I cry out in agony. I’m released as she flinches, and I fall back to the bottom of the box with another sob. “Oh honey, I’m sorry!” she apologizes hastily, “I- I didn’t mean to do that. You- You’re hurt! Here, let me help you.” She dresses my more obvious wounds, gently moving each limb as she cares for it. Picking up my hand, she gently turns it over — pressing it between her fingers as she scrutinizes it.

“You’re.. so small,” she says in awe. “You aren’t a fairy-tale creature, are you? You’re wearing.. normal clothes.. so I’d think you aren’t. Those shouldn’t even be that small…” I briefly glance down at my under armour tee.

“Are you…? Did you…?” She keeps pausing, unsure what to say. “Were you normal-sized before?” I nod weakly, and she gasps. “Oh no! How long have you been out there for?” With a shaking hand I manage to hold up three fingers. “Three hours? That must’ve been awf-” I interrupt her with a head shake. “Three.. Three days?” That time I give a nod. “No wonder you’re in such awful shape! I can’t believe it… I found you curled up at the bottom of my doorstep. I thought you were my youngest’s toy at first, but when I picked you up you.. started bleeding.” Her voice grew hushed, mind wandering.

“Do you have anyone at home to look after you?” she asks me. I begin to shake my head, then pause as the realization dawns on me. I.. can’t even go home. I won’t be able to get anything to help myself. The gigantic person leans down over me to check my understanding and I quickly shake my head so she’ll get back. “Oh.. that’s alright, honey. I’ll take care of you in the meantime. Do you need anything now?”

“Wa— Water-” I manage to choke out. I desperately wanted to talk to her — to ask her if she could bring me something more comfortable to lay on, or at the very least feed me. The woman nodded, “Of course! I forgot I even brought this. You’ll have to sit up, though. You’ll choke otherwise.” I knew that. I want to sit up. However, I can’t even move without severe pain stopping me. “Here, let me.” Fearfully, I watch her fingers slide down to the sides of my head. I cry out, trying to duck to get away from the massive digits. Her squeezing and pressing my hand was terrifying enough; I was nearly convinced she would accidentally twist it in the wrong direction. But my face.. my head?! One strong grip will be enough to cave my skull in.

“No, no, no! Shh, it’s ok! I won’t hurt you; I’m just trying to help.” “I -n— th-t!” I squeak out, nearly incomprehensibly. My muscles sting while I try in vain to cover my face. As her fingers nudge my head upwards, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to force away the horrible dark thoughts. This is what I wanted — someone who can help me... So why is this just as terrifying as being outside?! I nearly scream as the pad of a gigantic finger rests at the back of my neck. I can feel the strength wavering just behind it. I can feel just how little pressure she’d have to apply to get it to snap.

My head slowly gets pressed upward, and I can’t help but sob slightly. “Aww, you’re alright little one. I’ll be very gentle,” she tells me sweetly. With tiny crumbs of food, and an oversized cap of water, she feeds me — right out of her hand. It’s.. the only way I can eat without awful pain, but it’s humiliating! After the first few bites to save my stomach from eating me alive, I debate going hungry rather than letting this happen.

After letting me eat for a while, the woman places a torn-off piece of a cotton ball beneath my head where her finger used to rest. I want to ask: ‘you couldn’t have done that earlier?’ but hold back. Mostly because my voice still sounds awful and unrecognizable, but also because I need her. I can’t yell at her to get away from me, unless I want to try surviving on my own again…

“Alright,” the woman sighs, startling me from my thoughts, “I’ve got to get to bed. Will you be fine, or do you think I should stay up to watch you?” “I’ll be f-ne,” I rasp. She nods slowly, “Ok.. I’ll come check up on you a bit later, alright? Should I leave the light on?” I shake my head. “Just call for me if you need anything; my name’s Kristine.”

Stepping away from wherever she placed me, I watch her hand reach up to somewhere beyond my view and click off a lamp to the side of me. For a long while I lay there in complete darkness with nothing but my thoughts and the dull throbbing of.. basically everything. It was only then, in the middle of the night, when I actually needed to call her, that I realized I couldn’t. My throat was too scratched up. I fall back asleep with my stomach roiling.

The next morning, I wake up to an empty room. Without a gigantic person hovering around, I feel brave enough to test my injuries. Things finally seem to work again. I can get up out of the little box I’d been placed in; I can speak properly. Wandering the dresser where I stand, I use the free time to stretch my muscles — figure out what I can and can’t do. The food and water I was given still sit beside the box, so I help myself to it. I’m practically starving again.

After filling myself to satisfaction, I notice a cord running down the back of the dresser. It’s such a tempting idea to slide down it to the floor… Surely I have enough time to explore and come back. She might not be back for hours. The logic seems sound enough to me. I head for the space between the wall and the dresser and cautiously slip between them, shimmying downward. It’s not so bad of a journey, but then I get to the opening at the bottom. The place where the dresser stops and I can’t wedge myself between the large walls to stop myself from slipping. With all the horrific events prior, my spent muscles can’t keep up with the sudden weight, and I tumble what must be the equivalent of eight feet to the floor.

Oww. That wasn’t the smartest thing for me to do directly after recovering, I’ll admit. Standing wobbly to my feet, I look around the vast space. Every piece of furniture, no matter how small, looks like a skyscraper to me. It’s simultaneously terrifying and incredible at the same time. Dust hangs in the air — reflecting sunlight like ambient lighting. The carpet flooring nearly reaches my waist like an open field of high grass.

I get about a quarter of the way across the room before the gigantic door to my right swings open. My heart thunders rapidly in my chest as I watch the giant person step into the room. I try my hardest to convince myself I’ll be alright. This isn’t an actual giant — just a person who looks like one from my tiny perspective. She won’t try to hurt me. Yet, I rethink my decision to stay instead of hide once she steps directly towards me while completely unaware of where I am.

“Wait!” I cry out fearfully as her foot approaches, “I’m down here! Don’t-!” My words cut off as I brace myself for an awful weight to crush me down from above. “Oh! Oh my gosh I nearly stepped on you, little thing! Why are you on the floor?” Little thing? “I- My name is-” A hand the size of a large truck descends and snatches me into a fist before I can finish speaking. Did she even hear me speaking?

Now I really am frightened. I writhe in the giant woman’s grip, but to my horror, she only giggles. “Oh stop it! That tickles!” Trapped on all sides by warm skin, I try kicking at the walls but it’s completely useless. Seconds later she opens her hands and I fall ungracefully back into the little box where I’d woken. I yelp in pain as I hit the bottom. “Hello?!” I cry in outrage, startling the behemoth who dropped me. “Could you be a bit gentler!? I could barely move yesterday; I’m lucky just to be able to get up and walk around!”

I’m given a pitying glance, which only makes my resentment stronger. “Aww, even if you do get hurt again, I can always fix you up! Besides, I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to be wandering around the place, anyway. Who knows what other ways you might get hurt. I almost stepped on you just now!” “And who’s fault is that?” I mumbled. “Here, I’ll be right back,” she tells me, slipping easily out of the room. As if she hadn’t completely skipped past the point that I wasn’t getting hurt — she was hurting me.

With Kristine gone for quite a while, I expected her to bring back fresh food for me, maybe something comfier to line the box that’s now my bed. Instead, she comes back with a large plastic container with a snap-on top that’s lined with slits and features a little magnifying glass window — a cheap creature container. A horrified chill seeps through my skin and clings tightly to my bones. “No… No! What do you think you’re doing with that?!” I scramble out of the little box and make a run for the electrical cord, but my muscles tense with pain and I stumble across the counter.

My bruises scream agonizingly as I fall against a wall of flesh. “Wait-!” I’m scooped up into a palm and deposited on the cold surface of the plastic container. My voice cracks as I realize what’s going to happen to me. “Please! I- I just want to go home! I have a life! I have a family! You can’t keep me here!” My captor smiles softly at me, then begins filling the container with various items for me: a few blankets cut out of fabric scraps, some cotton balls, a little container of food and a bottle cap of water. “Honey, I’d love to take you home, but you’d have no one there to take care of you. I’m sorry, but keeping you here is the safest thing for you. You’ll be fine; I’ll get you whatever you need!”

I blanch at how calmly my captor tried to soothe me. As she reaches to place the lid over the top of the enclosure, I make another attempt at freeing myself. “B- But.. Can’t I at least stay out there?” She shakes her head and my heart drops into my stomach. “I’ve been meaning to hide you somewhere, anyways. I don’t want my kids finding you small like this, and I don’t think you do either.” “I can hide from them! I can-!” I’m cut off as the cage lurches forward into my captor’s arms. I watch through teary-eyed vison as the container is brought into a walk-in closet and shoved onto a high shelf. Moments later, an old shirt is thrown over the top of it. “There,” I hear Kristine say satisfactorily, “That looks perfectly hidden!” Then, her footsteps begin to fade. “NO! WAIT! COME BACK! Please, you have to come back! I can’t live here like this! PLEASE!” I desperately hit the side of my cage — banging on it to call for her return. My desperate voice echoes around me now that everything’s covered. I fall to my knees and cringe awfully as pain ricochets up my arms and legs. Panting in pain and sobbing in desperation, I silently beg someone — anyone — to come find me. Still, no one does.

#horrible transition from field to cage for this tiny character…#hopefully the next part will treat them a bit better #g/t #giant/tiny

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itsjustbell · 2 years ago

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Sleep

Summary: After a long day at the studio, you decide to pay your favorite scientist a little visit and maybe convince him to get some much-needed rest.

Lol, I did end up putting this on a separate blog. This is the first fic I'm posting to Tumblr. I had to hype myself up for this, but I hope y'all like it. Please let me know if y'all would want more of this kind of stuff haha I totally didn't redo my whole blog just to post this, so I could keep my art and writing on separate accounts

Oh and thanks to @bruh-anator3000 for the confidence boost, i love you _______________________

You could see the blue glow of HexTech from under the lab’s door before you even entered the room. Familiar piles of blueprints and scribbled out calculations lay scattered across desks and floors alike. You made special note of the ones that bore black burns on their borders. You’d reckon that the lab was almost as messy as your studio back in the arts and design side of the Academy, splattered with paint and littered with tools strewn haphazardly on tables. Mess was the calling card of a creative you supposed, and at the center of this particular one, bathed in blue light and golden sparks, was Viktor.

Despite the echoing clack of your shoes against the floor, he stayed seemingly unaware of your presence. Not that he usually acknowledged the presence of many while he was working, but you still thought that perhaps the sharp sound disturbing the relative peace would have caught his attention. Even as you stood behind him, peering over his shoulder, he kept working. If he knew you were there, he made no show of it.

He flinched as you placed a hand on his shoulder, cursing. A part of you almost felt bad for spooking him, and you would’ve if he wasn’t wearing those stupidly adorable blue goggles. He looked over his shoulder at you with what you could only fathom was a glare through those thick blue lenses.

“You’re lucky I didn’t drop anything,” He scolded, setting down whatever it was he was tinkering with. It looked to be some sort of mechanical…claw with one of those hex balls he and Jayce had been troubleshooting. “You should know better than to disturb a scientist when he is working. This is—” He picked up the blue orb– “dangerous stuff I’m working with!”

“Mhmmm, and what would you have done? Beat me to death with this contraption of yours?” You gently removed his goggles, holding back a laugh. He grumbled as you did, but the pout that had formed a tight knot on his face all but melted away as you started to smooth out his goggle-hair. His hair was soft, though slightly slicked with grease.

“Is it so late that even you have stopped working to grace me with your presence?” He asked.

“I think I could hear the morning doves as I walked here.”

He hummed, slinking deeper into his chair as your fingers carded through his hair.

“You’re going to tell me it’s time to sleep, aren’t you?”

“It’s important,” You say as you work out a particularly unruly knot, “and I think your back could use the break from all the times you’ve passed out at this desk just this month.”

You slid your hands down the back of his neck and gave his shoulders a light squeeze. He shuddered under your hands. You leaned down to his ear.

“You’re turning into a shrimp,” You mused. He gasped dramatically, turning around in his chair with a hand to his heart.

“How dare you!”

You laughed, a smirk playing on your lips, “If it hurts so much, you must know it’s true.”

“Who said things have to be true to hurt?”

Despite the oh-so-scornful look on his face, he didn’t move when you placed your hands on his cheeks. “Are you going to sleep or not, Vik?”

He hummed, meeting your eyes with a playful smile. “Ehh… With all these insults of yours… I don’t think I’ve been properly persuaded yet.” His hands found their way to your hips, drawing you in close. Half-lidded amber eyes suddenly turned to alluring whiskey, and you eagerly drank them in.

“And what would you suggest?”

His eyes flicked down to your lips.

“A kiss, perhaps?” You chuckled, but fulfilled his request nevertheless.

You could feel the warmth of his red flush bloom under your fingertips as your lips met his. The hands on your waist wound themselves tighter into the fabric of your shirt, inviting you to rest a knee on the edge of his chair, so you didn’t have to lean down quite so far. His lips were rough against yours, but the abrasion only seemed to make you dizzier with desire. You had to steel yourself in order to pull away, lest you get lost in your lustful daze. An amused hum resounded through your chest when you saw his lips try to follow yours as you leaned back.

“Will that suffice?”

He raised an eyebrow. His pupils had nearly eclipsed his whole iris.

“Surely I can’t convince you into something more?”

“Nice try, mister,” You grab his tie out of his shirt and pull lightly. “You can have more when you’re in bed.”

He sighed in mock annoyance. “Well, if you insist.”

You handed him his cane, which he took begrudgingly, and helped him go through the motions of closing down the lab for the night— or morning, you guessed. The sound of his footsteps and cane alongside yours made for a lovely orchestra for the doves as you walked back to his room.

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #arcane #arcane viktor x you #arcane viktor x reader #viktor fluff #viktor arcane

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synnthamonsugar · 12 days ago

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Synnth’s Fic Rec Friday ….......... #3!

Inspired by the fic rec listed started by @a-driftamongopenstars and the Friday fic rec series by @flowers-of-io. I thought I would throw my hat into the ring with my own weekly(ish) whenever I feel like it series. (Tag: Synnth Recs)

Newness of Breath

By @scribonia-art

Read on AO3

Fandom: Destiny | Rating: General | Characters: Original Hive Lightbearer & Original Hive Ghost | Word count: 4,043 | Warnings: No archive warnings (see chapter notes for additional CWs)

A Hive Wizard awakes from the thoughtless sleep that had been death and she experiences the world for the first time. A Ghost is panicking because she had not been expecting an idle experiment to work.

If you've followed this series so far, you know I love Destiny fanfic that engages with the conventions of Destiny storytelling — most notably the venerable lore book, backbone of Destiny narrative, unparalleled for its ability to establish wide swaths of world-building, poignant character pieces, and memorable standalone works of fiction in short-form.

Newness of Breath leans into the style of Destiny grimoire to brilliant effect, delivering an unforgettable study of the Hive Lightbearer, Melammu, in around 4k words and 8 chapters.

There is sun on my skin. Dappled by thin scrub and short trees that grow on a rocky brown crag above me. Smears of white against the incredible blueness of the sky and the hot white orb that stings my eyes but delivers such sweet warmth that soaks down into my flesh. I close my eyes and turn my face to the sun. I feel its embrace. If this is what Being is like, I am glad to Be.

I'm a sucker for newly-revived Lightbearer stories. As someone who enjoys the narrative arc of the bildungsroman, but cannot stand any of that teenage angst stuff, Guardians, as a concept, are tailor-made for me. Imagine: An adult who has to figure out their identity and place in the world ... and they have an enigmatic little companion and cool powers. It's perfect.

I love the way this fic handles being newly born into a strange new life, the way it delivers the perspective character's inner monologue and the physicality of existence. Even something as simple as breathing or enjoying the sunshine is elevated from Melammu's point of view.

"I can't believe I just did that," says the thing as it frets above me, spinning in its many smooth chitin parts around its little core of silver and luminosity. It darts to and fro as if the motion would help it find its answer. I watch it from my rocky perch, blissful in the sun's warmth, claws folded together in my lap as I wait for it to speak to me. With no teeth or tongue I wonder how it speaks at all, but maybe its words are also new things like sparks struck from between unseen ineffable objects.

But the story of a new Lightbearer is never only that. The Ghost is always the second half, or should be. The terrified surprise felt by Ghost as their decision to revive a hive wizard settles in, pit against the curious naïveté of their ward makes for a fascinating dynamic.

"... what if I don't defend myself?" "They'll just kill you anyway." I look down at my claws and the Ghost cradled in them. "Oh."

Loss of innocence as the main character comes to terms with the reality of their station is a staple of every "coming of age" story and this one is no different. I love how this fic grapples with the injustice faced by hive lightbearers, who, as with any other, are born with no inherent agendas or loyalties, and casts a spotlight on the hypocrisy of those who judge Guardians by their pre-Light lives.

Still, Melammu and Ghost care for each other, despite their strange and frightening circumstances and the acknowledgement that a mistake was made. I love the tenderness and compassion with which they treat each other, despite - or because of - their hardships.

We move at night. Fewer of my estranged cousins-in-the-Light are present in the darkness and, though the crisp moonlight shines brightly on the white of my frilled carapace, it is harder to see us.

The proceeding chapters are vivid and heartwrenching, and build to an emotional culmination that I dare not reveal here because it should only be experienced firsthand. (This is your cue to go read it now.)

Destiny is very much a story about devotion, duty and sacrifice, played out on cosmic scale but also in the interpersonal relationship between every Guardian-Ghost pair, and this story is exemplary of that most tender and bittersweet dynamic. As well as larger questions of what it means to exist, the meaning of life, and what to do with the life one is given.

Final rating: Will be thinking about this one forever/10

#destiny 2 #the witch queen #lucent hive #hive oc #synnth recs

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girldragongizzard · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 2: Ethical human contact

When the woman stands behind Harold, peering over his shoulder from the inside of the camper, she freezes too.

I find myself doing the transfixion dance, of course. It’s part of keeping them still and compliant with my instinctual wishes to kill and eat them. But, I don’t actually want to do that, and my alternative urge is to flee. Which I also don’t want to do.

Instead, I visualize the outcome I want and, while focusing on Harold’s eyes, I settle myself down into a loaf, tucking claws underneath me, and folding my wings up tight. And then, ever so slowly, I do a cat smile, closing my eyes gradually and relaxing my frame.

And, just as I’d hoped, it’s the woman’s eye contact that is broken first, and she says, somewhat shakily but not truly stirred, “Harold, put that damn thing away! You’ll shoot your fellow camper!”

Through heavily hooded lids, I see him lower the gun slowly and blink at me. I’m obviously not a threat, after all. At which point, I turn my head to the side so that I’m looking at him with only one eye, a prey expression. Very much not a threat.

He tentatively steps down and out of the doorway of the camper, letting his gun drop fully to a one handed grip aimed down, while he steadies himself on the door with his other hand. And then he says, “I could swear I heard it talk, Ginnie.”

Ginnie slaps him lightly on the back of his head, and says, “Of course she can talk, Harold! Don’t you know the girl dragons can talk?”

I have no idea where she heard that. That’s not remotely true. From a certain, bioessentialist perspective, we’re probably all girl dragons (except we’ve got the genders, if Joel and I are indications), and I’m the only one I know that can imitate words, so far. And I can’t even reliably imitate the ones I want when I’m flustered.

But I can talk with AAC, if I have that. Which I don’t.

I turn my head the other way, and tilt it to the side, as an inquisitive expression about her statement, but that also fortuitously causes my radio tag to swing from its piercing through my horn.

“Land’s end!” Ginnie exclaims, stepping down from the camper. “Who did that to you? Why –” and as she gets closer to me she apparently gets a better look at me, because she exclaims, “Oh! It’s you!” She points at me and turns to her husband, “Harold, that’s Meghan! From Fairport! We’ve only been staring at her photos all day! She’s talked to the Mayor!” Turning back to me, she demands, “What in Heaven’s name are you doing all the way out here?”

How the heck do I answer that? The best phrase I can come up with, pieced together in two different voices, one of an AI generated posh British lady that I consider my voice now, and the other being Caleb, with enough of a pause between the two words to make it more confusing, is, “No. Shit.”

Then, to emphasize what I care about, I use my left wing claw to scratch at the radio tag in hopefully obvious irritation and impatience.

“Hold on,” Harold says. “I’ll get that off of you. That’s not standard, in any case.” His gruff, nasally voice fades and is interrupted by heavier breathing as he climbs back into the camper, but he keeps talking, “I wager the government did that to you, didn’t they? That’s no Green Peace collar or whatever. And drilling through your horn like that. That’s not ecological. Can’t have that. I think we can patch that with Bondo, which I definitely have!”

Ginnie smiles as he’s doing this.

—

The man has industrial grade bolt cutters, Bondo, and a metal grout spatula in that camper.

And they agree to let me sleep on the roof.

They also offer me food that I don’t need to eat.

And then, as I’m having trouble falling asleep, I overhear them arguing with each other about both Presidential Candidates and how they did during the debate, and how they won’t vote for either of them, and I feel conflicted.

Not that I blame anybody for being jaded and cynical about both parties. Just that, in this case, the debate was about the issue of us dragons, and the Candidates came down squarely on either side of it. And I don’t like what Harold and Ginnie’s argument implied about what they think should be done with me.

They’ve treated me with more hospitality than I expected from anybody. Once the gun was put away.

But, at the same time, they’ve forgotten that I’m legally a citizen, and they don’t seem to care about whatever my rights are.

They talk about us dragons like we’re animals that need to be respected and protected, but also not exactly people.

It’s unsettling.

At home, in and around my coffee shop, I’m a person. Because I’m a person.

These two may be from Fairport, or the neighboring city of Jam, and I’m wagering they’re either basic boomer liberals or recently-ex-conservatives, but they’re not my people.

—

I’m awoken in twilight by the whining scream and shuddering thud of that fucking helicopter flying overhead, and I don’t feel all that loyal to Harold and Ginny such that I want to bother saying goodbye in a way that I can’t even articulate.

I’m pretty sure the camper rocks and shakes as I leap off of it to take to the air after that chopper.

It’s fast, and I’m not as fast, but I can definitely follow it. And I know it’s gotta be landing for more than a few minutes temporarily, because it’s headed right back out where I came from, and it’s not circling me.

It’s not tracking me, especially as I dropped the tracker into the lake. It’s probably got another Fairport dragon tucked away in its hold, tranqued and tagged, and headed for release into the wild. Such as the wild exists anymore.

Getting any kind of altitude without the sun up is such a drag and a chore. But I’ve got a gizzard working on an owl now, which it’s been doing all night, and I don’t feel all that weak and hungry. A little sluggish, at first, but my body gets the idea as I push it.

I end up having to weave between mountains for a bit, before I’m high enough to go over the passes, and then the peaks. And I almost lose track of the helicopter.

But once I’m high enough, its running lights catch my eyes and I zero in on it.

In the light of the rising sun, it’s setting down on the same mountain where it deposited me the night before. They doubtlessly know I’m not there anymore, and have decided it’s the easiest place for them to land.

And as I work my way closer and closer, I can see them, in the distance, dragging a large bundle from inside the machine as its blades are winding down to a slow spin and then stop.

I’m right.

They’re disposing of another dragon.

It’s literally legally kidnapping. They are choosing kidnapping over murder, for some reason, maybe because they think they can get away with it. But it is kidnapping.

And I wonder if the tracking is to make it look more legitimate somehow. But also, it’s definitely to know where we are and to make sure we’re still out here for as long as the trackers work.

My long range eyesight is really sharp, but even now I can’t really make out the details of who they’ve got trussed up. But I’m convinced I’m seeing Joel. A.K.A. Whitman. My nemesis. Whom I have a truce with, and to whom I conceded two thirds of my territory back home.

If it is indeed Thursday morning, as I believe was confirmed by an offhand comment by Ginnie last night, then Joel has had that territory for two whole days. And now he’s going to be stuck out here, with me.

I’m more angry for him than worried about what he thinks of me right now. And I decide right there and then that I’m not letting the chopper take to the air. I’m going to render it unflightworthy.

Because if I let that thing go back to Fairport, it’s just going to come out here with another dragon, and another, and another, and another, tearing people like me away from their homes and their families. And not only is that not right, but it’s undoing all the work I’ve spent the last week building myself.

Joel and I could be networking with other dragons online right now, developing stronger truces and agreements, and coordinating to turn around and help our humans achieve what they want to achieve, whatever that might be, somehow.

But no, we’ve got some trumped up, pseudo-liberal, eco-performative land owning billionaire Daniel Säure, I think, using one of his companies to “humanely” purge Independant County of its dragons.

And if I let them take another dragon, it might be Astraia, who can’t fly. Getting her back home will be hard.

I’m idly wondering how they plan on attaching Joel’s radio tag to him as I dive toward the helicopter. I should probably be thinking about how I’m going to disable the machine, but I think I’m going to start by relying on my fire.

After hitting Joel with it twice, I think I’ve stopped using it directly on living beings. Even though I have to wait quite a while before I can use it again. It’s my wave motion gun. I have to be careful and responsible with it, lest I do the unconscionable or also leave myself too vulnerable.

It’s a terrible burden. A terrible napalm burden.

It’s not like I’m actually as powerful as Godzilla, or anything like that. These things scale both up and down.

Down, mostly, in my case.

But I’m thinking that the complex workings of the swash plate and nearby air intakes are vulnerable to liquid fire. So, if I can belch up a whole stream of it to all land right there, that should make it unsafe or even impossible for the machine to take off.

The trick is to pull up fast enough to prevent myself from slamming into the helicopter myself.

Which.

Nope.

I was thinking too much about Joel’s radio tracker to time it right, and the morning air is still too cold to provide a useful thermal on the shadowy side of the mountain.

I at least manage to extend my feet and swerve enough to make a humorous attempt at landing on a rotor blade. Which is a great way to disable a helicopter!

Rifles get fired in my direction as I crash to the ground clutching my groaning and shrieking helicopter part, but the tranq darts hit the chopper and shatter instead. Fired in desperation, they went wide, or flew through a spot I’d already left.

I pull my wings in tight and hit the ground, rolling like a tipped cow and letting go of my newest prized possession. My tail whips and lashes, and I’m climbing to my feet injured far, far less than I expected to be.

Joel did something like this when he crashed through the brick outer wall of my apartment to attack me a week and a half ago.

We dragons are not quite normal. It’s like we operate by movie physics or something.

We’re still fairly vulnerable to each other, though. I have stitches from when a dragon I nicknamed Waits scraped my left shoulder mid flight with their beak. And Joel has burns along his back and all over his mouth and face from the two times when he got too close to my biggest front hole.

A dragon named Astraia has some really gnarly gashes on her shoulders from a dragon I nicknamed Loreena, and I haven’t seen Loreena yet, but I’m sure they’re hurting pretty bad, too.

We can also be pierced by tranq darts, and I’m guessing that bullets penetrate our hides pretty readily, too. Traditionally, mythologically, most dragons don’t do all that well against pointy things.

But, blunt impact? It definitely hurt a bit and rattled me, but I feel like a Super Ball. I’ve bounced right back up, growling.

Humans scatter, but the other dragon remains limp. It’s Joel all right. He’s probably still very drugged.

He doesn’t look quite as burned as I expected.

I’ll consider that later.

Glancing around, I take stock.

There’s a definite high ground and low ground here, a slope to the mountain with the helicopter parked on the most level place, and very sparse trees. But there’s no apparent military training nor space monk here to take advantage of the terrain. These people are truly panicked and scattered. Probably also despairing over their maimed whirly bird.

Guessing the dart rifles have to be loaded again before firing, I galumph a bit like a giant ferret over to Joel and grab the webbing that binds him and tear at it with claws and teeth as I barrel over him and tumble and roll and bound back up to run further away before turning around.

Mostly, I jostle him enough that he stirs.

My next move is to pick an agent that looks like they’re about to pull their gun up and fire at me, and charge them.

The way they panic just before I lock eye contact with them makes me think they’ve been warned about that, but that panic doesn’t save them from getting transfixed and then tackled.

Other guns fire.

My personal challenge is to not tear this person’s throat out and just keep running over them without puncturing them, either. I don’t think I’ve been hit by anything, but the possibility of it has me anxious enough that I’m having an even harder time reigning in my violent impulses.

If this was winter, I could probably look back and see blood in the snow, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything immediately lethal.

I turn and wheel at the others as they fumble to reload weapons, and I start to growl my challenge cry. I’ve already picked my next target.

That target freaks out so much that they drop their gun by accident, reaching after it briefly with both hands, but looking up at me to make sure I’m not about to eviscerate and eat them.

My low, infrasonic rumble rises steadily in pitch, hitting weird harmonics in things like rocks and bones that causes pebbles to vibrate and humans to blanche. And then, just as it can be heard, instead of continuing to my usual morning routine, I cut it off with a spoken word, “Stop.”

Everyone freezes.

It’s so gratifying to have their attention like this.

I stomp my foot, taking a step forward, and glance to the North. I know there’s a trail that way, because I saw it from the air. It might take them a couple of days to hike out of here, but if they can find water, they should be fine.

“Go,” I say. I wish I could make it forceful, but I only learned how to say it like an emotionless computer illegally imitating Angelina Joli’s voice.

It is enough, however.

These “Wildlife Management” agents are clearly rattled by their helicopter being disabled by a plummeting fire breathing dragon who can endure a crash landing, dodge their darts, and talk, while also worrying the half trussed other dragon that they’d kidnapped who is now stirring. Being armed with rifles that need to be reloaded isn’t helping the situation. They weren’t equipped for my attack.

There are seven humans standing, and one bleeding one being helped to their feet. I watch carefully, tense, twitchy, as they collect themselves and move off in the direction I’d indicated. Still carrying their guns.

“Stop,” I say. “No. Okay.” That was uncharacteristically cogent of me. But how do I tell them to drop their weapons?

They’re watching me.

Ah, there’s two guns on the ground, dropped by the person I attacked and the one I threatened. I go over to one, pick it up and then drop it, looking at them as meaningfully as I can.

The two remaining armed individuals drop their guns, too, and back off.

“Peace,” I say. Then, “Go.”

They go.

While waiting for Joel to rouse himself, I gather the guns one by one, picking them up in my mouth, and delivering them to the burning helicopter, heaping them just inside the open sliding side hatch.

The agents can dare to come back to their chopper once we’ve left. I don’t care.

I do also quickly search the interior of the helicopter for anything like a phone or a tablet I could commandeer for my own purposes, but it’s as futile an effort as I suspected it would be. I just have to try in order to know I haven’t passed up the chance. I pause at the radio, wondering if I could use it to contact anyone meaningful to me, but I can’t think of how.

Besides, if we can get Joel some food, we can probably both fly out of here just fine. I think. I found and got to Ross lake in less than a day. We can follow a road out, or the river, if Joel can’t make it over the mountains like I can.

I decide to leave the radio and battery functional, so that the people I’m going to leave stranded here can call for help. It’s probably a bad idea, because they could also let whomever is in charge of them know that I’ve freed Joel and am on the rampage. But, while they might not have ethics that I like, I do. I really do. I’m trying to, at least.

But I fucking wreck everything else I can about the chopper, even slashing its tires. In the process, I learn just what I can bite through with my jaws. It’s pretty impressive.

When I’m done, there are no rotor blades left operable and any cable I can reach is severed. Panels and bits are strewn all over the mountain side.

#original fiction #dragon #serial fiction #transformation #transgender #writeblr #sorry this one's late - I hadn't realized I did put it in the queue!

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