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fanficimagery · 2 years

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Lucky Dog Rescue

After opening up a dog sanctuary and receiving your first shipment of dogs, you're surprised to receive a werewolf- er, well a man stuck in his werewolf form. You're even more surprised when a handsome stranger strolls into Lucky Dog Rescue, claiming to be the wolf you took care of.

Words: 3.8K

For as long as you can remember, you've always had a connection with animals. You'd begged for a puppy growing up, but given what your family was, it wasn't feasible. So, when you were old enough to fly the coop, after many conditions set in place by your family, you decided to open up Lucky Dog Rescue- a sanctuary for dogs who were set to be euthanized because other shelters had run out of space or because they'd been too long on the adoption list.

Just on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, your family had found and purchased some land for you. There was already a house on the property and it wasn't too hard for your family to hire a construction company to build you your very own animal shelter on the back half of the land. It took a year to get the shelter up to code and running, and now here you are waiting for the first shipment of dogs- only ten of them as of now until you could figure out a routine and eventually hire some help.

From sitting perched on your porch swing, you spot the large truck turning down your driveway. Eager to greet your new rescues, you stand and start making your way down the steps to direct the driver where it is he's supposed to unload the dogs.

Then hopping in a golf cart, you drive towards the shelter yourself.

The truck driver is waiting by the back of his truck, clipboard in hand by the time you pull up next to him. He reads something off his paperwork before saying your name as if questioning your identity. "Yep. That's me."

"Cool." As he starts to unlock the door, the dogs inside start barking and whining. "So is this like a rehabilitation for dogs or something?" The truck driver asks.

"It's more of a temporary home. These dogs are some that were set to be euthanized either because the shelters ran out of room or they'd been waiting too long to be adopted out."

"Shit. Really?" As he climbs into the truck, you climb in behind him to check the dogs in their crates. "There's a Cane Corso in here. He's huge for a puppy though. I'd figured he'd have been adopted out as soon as possible."

"Yeah, Cane Corso's are magnificent pets and guard dogs, but most people can't deal with their size or their food consumption. But I have a good feeling about this one," you muse, squatting so you can poke your fingers through the cage. "I just gotta make sure all these boys and girls are healthy and adoptable before putting their pictures on the web in hopes of finding them a forever home."

As you stand back up, you do a quick head count and frown. When the driver catches you doing so, he chuckles nervously. "Oh, uh, when I picked up the dogs there was an extra." He walks over to the very front of the truck where there's what appears to be a big black dog lying quietly in his crate. "It's assumed he's a wolfdog and he was set to be put down, but he seemed too intelligent to do so. The shelter he came from was hoping you could put him up here."

Making your way to the crate, you crouch and look at the wolfdog. But something about him gives you pause, even more so when he lifts his head and starts to scent the air. Then all of a sudden he starts to growl while staring directly at you and it clicks. "Easy, boy," you coo.

"Huh. That's the most noise I've heard him make," the driver says.

"Yeah, well he probably just picked up a scent on me that he doesn't like," you say. "Which is silly because I swear that this is a safe place," you say, making sure the werewolf understands. The werewolf slowly calms and you smile, reaching in to rub a finger along the top of one of his paws.

"Right," the driver says. "Well everyone else is here. "You have three French Bulldogs, two Australian Cattle dogs, one Australian Shepherd, one Siberian Husky, the Cane Corso, one Border Collie, and one Corgi."

"Nice. Well let's start leashing them and escorting them into the shelter," you say. "Each enclosure has a door that leads them outside to their own enclosed space, so don't worry about them not using the bathroom. They can go as soon as you close the door behind them."

"Got it. I'll get these babies first." You watch as the driver starts leashing the French Bulldogs, baby talking at them as he takes them out of their crates.

As soon as the driver disappears, you look back at the werewolf. "Listen, I know what you are. I don't want to leash you, but I can't have you running off before we can figure out what to do with you." The werewolf tilts his head, snuffling, and you gesture to yourself. "Only human in a family full of werewolves. I know a werewolf when I see one, so you're safe here. My family lives an hour away, so you don't have to worry about encroaching on any pack territory. It's just me. Trust me?" The werewolf huffs and you grin. "Excellent. I'm going to open the door now, so please don't run off. You'll have to go in an enclosure, but as soon as the driver leaves you can join me at the house."

You open his crate and he steps out, stretching. He stays by your side and you grin before grabbing a leash and leashing the Australian Shepherd.

Side by side, the truck driver helps you get the dogs situated in their own enclosures. Then after thanking him and sending him off, the werewolf watches as you give the other dogs their own bowls of food and water.

"Come on," you gesture for him to follow you. "Let's head to my house and try to figure out a plan for you. I doubt you want to sleep on a cushion on the floor with your fellow canines."

The werewolf follows you and trots side by side the golf cart as you take off.

Walking up the porch, you kick off your boots before pointing at the doormat. "Wipe your paws, please."

You hold the door open for him while he does so and then he trots into your house without any hesitance. You follow him in, heading towards the kitchen and grab yourself something to drink. Then turning around, you find the werewolf staring right at you. You startle in surprise and then laugh at your own jumpiness.

"Right," you drag out the word. "So, uh, can you shift back or…?" The werewolf barks and shakes his head. You sigh. "Of course you can't." Frowning, you glance all around and try to figure out how you're going to communicate with him. Then an idea comes to you. "I got it! Stay here."

Rushing from the room, you head to one of your storage closets and pull out bin after bin to find what you're looking for. Soon enough, you find several buttons that can be programmed to say different things. Then after finding the USB wire, you take the buttons back with you to the living room where your laptop is so you can program words so the werewolf can answer you.

"So I thought I could use these buttons to train some of the dogs, but I guess I'll be using them on you," you say as you plug the red button in. "Red will be no, green will be yes, and white will be I don't know. Sound good?"

The werewolf sits and you get to work programming three of the buttons. Once done, you set out each button in front of him.

"Okay, so, just to make sure… can you change back?"

The wolf gives you a deadpan stare before raising a paw and stepping on the red button. "No."

"Okay. Do you have a pack?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Do you want me to contact-"

"No."

"What? Why not?" You frown. "Are you running away from them?"

"No."

You sigh. "This would be so much easier if you could actually talk." Then taking a moment to think, you ask, "So if you can't change back, was this done to you on purpose?"

"Yes."

"Wow. Okay." You stare at the wolf, not knowing what to do. "I… I'm at a loss here, man. This was done to you on purpose, but you don't want me to contact your pack. Do you want me to contact mine and-"

"No."

"Do you think this will wear off?"

"I don't know."

You run a hand over your face, rubbing the space between your brows. "I'm probably out of my damn mind, but as someone who knows about pack dynamics, I feel like I can trust you. Can I trust you?"

"Yes."

"Well I mean anyone would say that, but oh well. You seem pretty sane. If you were a crazed omega, I think you would've been thrashing in that crate of yours. Or tried to attack me by now." The wolf sits and tilts his head at you. "Ugh. I might regret this, but screw it. Since you're stuck in this form, I don't want you out there in the elements. I have a spare bedroom you can use, but the second you're back to human status, you're replacing the mattress and sheets."

The wolf huffs and steps forward, stepping on the green button. "Yes."

"Good. And just so you know, I'm giving you a month. If you haven't changed back by then, we're calling your pack." The wolf's ears twitch and you grin, pushing yourself to stand. "Alright, so I'm hungry. What do you think about eating and just settling in? I'll program more buttons tomorrow, but for now I'll keep it to yes or no questions."

The wolf nods, licking his chomps.

As you start heading towards the kitchen, you hesitate. "Oh, wait! I don't even know your name. Or should I just call you Wolfie for now?"

The wolf barks, brushing past you and you laugh as he goes.

Day to day with a strange werewolf is bound to be interesting.

Over the course of the month with Wolfie, you find that you quite like his company even though the only way he can speak with you is through the buttons or tiles of the alphabet that he steps on to spell out something. Of course, getting used to his presence took a few days- days that left you embarrassed beyond belief when you accidentally flashed him your underwear after waking up and walking downstairs in nothing but a shirt and underwear to brew your coffee.

Wolfie, who eventually spelled out that his name was Derek, took to roaming your property while you worked with the dogs. He avoided the veterinarian when she stopped by to give everyone a check-up, and then avoided the two teenage boys who the veterinarian sent your way to clean the kennels since they needed volunteer hours for their college applications.

During the day you took care of your animals with the help of two teenage boys, taking pictures to add to your website in hopes of adopting the little furballs out. You even made flyers which the boys took into town, taping them around town and leaving them at places of establishment.

And then at night, you made dinner for you and Derek who quickly made himself comfortable on the sectional in your living room after promising to replace anything he ruined.

When the month officially ends, Derek is stubborn about keeping mum about his pack. And every time you mention it, Derek trots over to the yellow button to press it. Stay. He won't tell you anything about his pack, so you don't know where to start looking for them and you really don't want to inform your family.

But then halfway into the second month, two men that appear in their early twenties walk into Lucky Dog Rescue and you know Derek must know them by the way he perks up from his position by the front desk.

The paler individual of the two spots Derek, his eyes widening as he makes a beeline for him which forces his brown skinned companion to quickly follow. You smile at them, especially when one of them kneels in front of Derek to meet his gaze and Derek sniffs before turning his head.

"Hi," you greet them, walking over. "Can I help you guys?"

The brown skinned young man suddenly looks sheepish as he smiles at you. "Uh, yeah. Sorry about him," he says. "I'm Scott. My friend here is Stiles. I, uh, I saw a flier for this place at the vet clinic I work for and thought what you were doing was pretty awesome."

"Yeah." Your demeanor softens a little. "I've always loved animals so it was a no brainer about what I wanted to do when I had the means to do it."

"That's awesome." His smile is quite contagious, especially when he glances at Stiles and you see that Stiles is dead set on gaining Derek's attention. Even when Derek doesn't want to give it and keeps averting his attention. "Anyway, I looked up your website and saw some of the canines you had available. We saw the, uh, the wolfdog and thought we might inquire into whether or not he was up for adoption."

"Sorry, guys, but he is not. I'm actually trying to track down his family."

"What?!" Stiles yelps. Scott's eyes widen as he glances between you and his friend, and you shrug. "But- but he's ours!"

You arch an eyebrow at him. "Is that so?"

"Yes!"

"Then why does our furry little friend seem to want nothing to do with you?"

Stiles gapes as he glances back at Derek, gently tweaking one of his ears. "Come on, sourwolf, and let the nice lady know we're family."

Derek yawns in Stiles' face before getting up and trotting over to his mat of buttons. Then staring directly at Stiles, Derek steps on the red one. "No." Now both Stiles and Scott are gaping, and you're left trying to stifle your laughter.

"Derek!" Stiles snaps and you mentally perk up. So they know his name, huh. Maybe they are telling the truth. "This isn't funny. We need to get you home. We've been searching everywhere for you."

The turquoise button is pressed next. "Bitch."

You slap a hand too little too late over your mouth after a laugh has escaped and you shrug when Scott and Stiles stare at you. "He's, uh, he's really intelligent and I've been using the buttons to communicate with him," you tell him. "The bitch button was for shits and giggles. He's never used it until now though."

Stiles' eyes narrow while glancing back at Derek. "I hope she gave you a flea bath," he hisses.

You start to giggle and walk around the counter, giving up the act. "Alright, Derek, game's over. I know you know them because if not, you would have already pressed the purple button until I locked myself back up at the house."

"Purple button?" Scott asks. "What's the purple say?"

Derek refuses to press it, so Stiles does. "Danger."

"He's only pressed it twice since he's been here, but fortunately they were false alarms." Scott and Stiles nod, and you grin. "So which one of you is the werewolf?"

They both freeze. "You know?" Stiles asks.

"Yep. Perks of growing up as the only human in a pack," you tell them. "I could tell Derek wasn't a wolfdog like I was told, so when he wasn't thrashing in his crate or trying to attack me when he was let out, I took a chance on him. However, as a human, I can't tell who's who." Stiles continues to gape and Scott nervously shifts from foot to foot. Then while trying not to appear intimidating, Scott lets his eyes flash red. You smile at him before bowing your head slightly in respect for him. "Welcome, alpha."

"Hi. You don't know how much we appreciate you looking after Derek. It's been hell trying to track him down."

"Well I'm glad you found my flier and website. He says he's stuck, but he wanted to wait the curse out in hopes of transforming back. I gave him a month, but he's been a stubborn little shit and refused to tell me anything about his pack since then."

"Yep. Sounds like Derek," Stiles says, standing up while glaring at him. "So, uh, since he technically can't be adopted out, can we just take him?"

"Yeah! Sorry," you chuckle. And then when you glance back down at Derek, you're hit with a wave of emotion that makes your eyes sting. Laughing at yourself, you squat down and raise a hand to rub at the side of his neck. "So this is goodbye, huh? I didn't actually think it would suck this bad." Derek steps towards you, headbutting you. You smile softly. "Maybe I should have made you stay out here instead of inside my home. I think I got attached."

Derek steps back, but before he leaves he steps over to the buttons one last time. While glancing at you, he steps on the pink. "Friend."

You slowly smile and give him a nod. "Always."

The days drag on after Derek's departure, so you throw yourself into work.

Surprisingly, you manage to adopt out five dogs- the husky, the French Bulldogs, and the Corgi. Those five are quickly replaced and then word must have traveled about Lucky Dog Rescue because you start receiving visitor after visitor, and dog after dog find their forever home.

When you're able to start hiring employees, the number of dogs in the shelter steadily rises. The shelter can only hold up to fifty dogs, yet the most dogs you've had at one time is twenty-eight.

Then when work starts to slow and you settle into an easy routine, your days with Derek haunt you. Especially at night when you grew accustomed to having him join you on the sofa or trotting around your house, and now it's complete silence. Sometimes you missed him so much that you thought about asking around for an alpha Scott to see if they ever returned Derek to his human self, but then you thought better of it. He'd reach out if and when he wanted to.

So instead, you adopted.

You adopt a Basset Hound that had been surrendered to your shelter because the owners were moving and couldn't take Beau with them, and he won your heart over almost immediately.

Beau liked to go on walks every now and then, but he most enjoyed curling up on the couch with you or curling up on his bed under the front desk down at the shelter while you were working.

One day, while it's slow and your employees are taking care of the dogs in the back, you sit down on the floor in front of the front counter to play fetch with Beau. He's enjoying chasing a tennis ball and then playing keep away with it. You don't notice when the front door jingles to signify a possible client, but you do notice when Beau whines and runs behind the counter.

Gaping at your dog, you shake your head in disbelief at him. "Some guard dog you are, punk." There's a deep chuckle and you glance up at the stranger- the very handsome stranger, actually- and quickly climb to your feet. "Hi. Sorry about that. Welcome to Lucky Dog Rescue. What can I do for you?"

The dark haired man shrugs, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "I believe I owe you a new mattress. And my thanks."

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Derek Hale. It's nice to finally speak with you." You gape at the man standing before you before you snap out of your stupor and rush forward. But before you can touch him, you freeze.

"Uhhh… is it weird that I want to hug you right about now?"

"Not at all." He pulls his hands from his pockets, spreading his arms, and you readily latch on to him. He chuckles as you laugh in glee. "So I see the shelter is doing good."

"It is! Yeah."

As you pull back from the embrace, he asks, "Is Beau yours or…?"

"Mhm. Mine," you tell him. You walk around the counter to drag Beau back out, intent on making him greet Derek so he knows he's not a threat. "Kind of got used to having a companion in my house that I learned pretty fast it sucks living alone." Derek squats and holds his hand out, smiling as you coo at Beau and assure him that the big cuddly werewolf doesn't mean either of you any harm. "So did you guys get everything squared away? Did you find who cursed you in your wolf form?"

"We did. Scott doesn't like to use violence, so it took us a while to broker a treaty with some witches that were looking to settle in Beacon Hills."

You wince. "Witches are sneaky. I hope you worded the treaty very carefully."

"We knew exactly what they were after. It's what everyone's after and why Beacon Hills is a beacon for the supernatural," he says. "The treaty wasn't one necessarily for peace. It was a treaty stating that if they stepped foot back in our territory, all niceties go out the window and the pack is allowed to attack."

"Good."

Derek nods. "And on another note, I actually came in to adopt."

You perk up. "Really?!"

"Yeah. I've been checking your website and I saw the Corso was still here."

"Yes." You sigh sadly. "Everyone likes to look at him and get his hopes up. He's just too big for anyone to care for around here."

"Well then I guess it's a good thing I have the means to care for him."

You slowly grin. "Does this mean I get picture updates of him?"

"I will bring him by whenever you want. Or you can drop by my place and even bring Beau along. We can have a… playdate of sorts for the dogs."

"A playdate for the dogs, huh?"

Derek smiles. "And maybe the owners if Beau's mom is up to it."

"Oh. I'm pretty sure Beau's mom is up for it." You laugh. "But before we can go on those playdates, we need to get you your pup."

"Dante. His name's going to be Dante."

"Nice." You then gesture for him to follow you to the back. "Let's go get Beau's new friend Dante then."

#derek hale x reader #derek hale imagine #derek hale fanfiction #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf fanfiction #derek hale #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #teen wolf

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firefirefruit · 7 months

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Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Twenty-Eight

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Sugar and Spice and Everything… Sooty

Raya races all the way up the ladder, her breath staggering in her lungs like a hellhound set on a bedevilled chase. She leans against the door, lips parting for the sharp and successive breaths to leave her system, her arms firmly curling over the heavy crate of alcohol she’s managed to swipe from the kitchen.

A heavy quake stammers across the surface of the crate, vibrations pulsing through the glass bottles like a fissure ready to spill. Almost unwillingly, she cranes her neck downwards to the mysterious assault, and when she realises the source of the ruckus, her lips fold into a heavy grimace.

Across the surface of the box lies the shattered remnants of Kikoku, humming and shuddering in such a startlingly low pitch, that its voice could raise devil spawn to grace human land.

Fuck, she hisses to herself. What has she gotten herself into?

Through the brown strands of her windswept hair, her eyes pierce down at Roronoa who reluctantly grabs the ladder by his firm hands as he heaves himself forward.

This is all his fault, she thinks to herself - a thought she finds herself repeating more and more often as a source of respite.

“I don’t get what you want me to do,” he grumbles out, a tied bottle of sake dangling from in between his teeth. His feet smoothly trace along the next ledge of the ladder. “I don’t know how to make swords. I don’t know how to -”

“Don’t try to weasel your way out of this, Roronoa. You’re guarding me,” Raya instantly replies, leaning over the high ledge of the crow’s nest. Her eyes briefly scan through the crowd of pirates, impatient fingers fumbling over the bannister like a worried mother.

“Guard?” Zoro immediately bursts into a scoff. He climbs the last ledge with one effortless leap, his boots creaking against the wooden panels of the floor. “You’re actually being serious?”

Raya doesn’t look at him - instead, she squints her eyes even harder, trying to filter through the mass of drunken moving bodies. “Look – he’s there.”

You subtly nudge your head downwards to a certain narrow-eyed pirate’s direction. Thankfully, after begging for Nami’s help to keep him distracted, it seems like he’s actually starting to loosen up. You notice there’s a beer curled within his inked fingers, and every so often he lifts that same bottle up to his lips, liquid pouring into his mouth with a sharp swig.

Into a smiling mouth, to be precise.

Raya gapes at him a little, and despite the hellish circumstance she’s in, a little grin appears on her lips as she takes in his countenance.

He’s actually been smiling for more than two seconds so far – isn’t that some sort of new record for Law or what? Raya thinks to herself.

"Look, he's all tipsy right now," she explains, turning back to face Zoro with a frown reserved only for the likes of him. "But we both know he'll snap out of it soon enough. And when he does, he's going to climb all the way up here and beat both our asses up. You're here to make sure he doesn't catch us off guard."

Zoro stares at her, clearly unimpressed with his designated role. "So, I'm the one who has to deal with his whining while you get to…?"

Raya stares back at him, clearly unimpressed with his reaction. “Roronoa, I’m fixing the goddamn sword you fell on. You guarding me sounds like a walk in the park compared to what I have to do.”

And for a moment, they’re locked in a silent staring contest.

Raya's eyes are narrowed in determination, her gaze like twin laser beams boring into Zoro's skull. She looks like a furious wet cat ready to swipe her paws at the source of her irritation - or maybe more like a stubborn toddler refusing to back down from a standoff with a particularly dead statue.

Zoro, on the other hand, looks like he’s trying to channel his inner rock, his expression stony and unyielding. But there’s a twitch in his eyebrow, a hint of something dancing in his eyes, as if he’s secretly enjoying this absurd standoff with her.

But just when it seems like the silence might go on forever, a small, involuntary twitch at the corner of Zoro's mouth gives him away. Raya catches it immediately and can’t help but smirk triumphantly, knowing she’s won this round.

"Glad you agree," she replies, her voice laced with sarcasm. She throws him a bottle of beer, flipping her hair in his face.

With an irritated grunt and a shuffle away, Zoro instinctively catches the bottle and takes a long swig, his gaze fixed on Law as he monitors his movements. For a while, the two of them stand in silence, the only sounds being the distant ruckus of music and voices and the gentle creaking of the ship blending beneath them.

“Whatever. Let’s go inside before he sees us fucking around up here,” he murmurs. And with a swift spin and snatch, the crates of clinking alcohol disappear from Raya’s arms and into the swordsman’s. While he casually strides into the crow’s nest. Raya remains standing there blinking stupidly, completely taken off guard by his quick-handed thievery.

With that, the realisation rises, a growl set on her face as she stomps after Zoro, hot on his heels.

“Don’t forget we’re sharing those!” she hisses.

In response, the swordsman rolls his eyes but doesn't protest, knowing that arguing with Raya will only prolong their time on deck where they risk being spotted by Law. He sets the crates down with a thud, and they both settle into a comfortable silence as they crack open the bottles and down their drinks.

Zoro’s expression is unreadable as he surveys the mess before him. "So, what's the plan?" he asks, his voice gruff but curious.

Raya sighs, running a hand through her thick hair as she tries to gather her thoughts. "First, I need to assess the damage," she says, leaning her elbows over the table above the broken sword. "Then… I guess I’ll get cooking…"

Zoro nods, leaning on the table beside her as he examines the poor mess of Kikoku. The once formidable blade lies in pieces before them, the jagged edges reflecting the dim light of the lanterns overhead.

"Well, it's definitely broken," Zoro says straight-faced.

"Thanks for that insightful observation," Raya snaps, reaching for one of the broken pieces of the sword. “Really, what would I do without your thought-provoking commentary, Roronoa?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” He retorts, laying lazily against one of her stools. “I’m trapped in here, doing fuck-all.”

Raya looks at him indifferently and shrugs. “Sleep?”

“I’m not tired, I’m bored.”

Raya smirks, a sudden mischievous glint appearing in her eyes. Whatever idea she’s cooked up is getting her excited, with the way her teeth are gleaming in their full glory.

"Weeeell, lucky for you, I've got just the thing to cure your boredom," she says, reaching under the table and pulling out a tattered colouring book and a handful of crayons. She sets them on the table in front of Zoro with a playful grin. "Try this. I'm sure Chopper won't mind if you borrow it for a bit."

Zoro eyes the colouring supplies sceptically, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me," he mutters, picking up one of the crayons and turning it over in his hand. Raya offers him a shit-eating grin when he raises an eyebrow at her.

"Come on, it'll be fun!" she urges, nudging the colouring book closer to him, repeatedly pushing it into his elbow like prodding a wad of lettuce on a stick to an unimpressed tiger. "And who knows, maybe you'll discover a hidden passion for art."

Zoro hesitates for a moment, then sighs dejectedly and takes the crayon, flipping open the colouring book to a random page.

"You’re gonna be the end of me," he mutters, leaning back in his chair and starting to colour in a picture of a pirate ship.

Raya watches with amusement as Zoro tentatively starts colouring - his movements, cautious at first before he gradually gains confidence, his strokes becoming bolder and more deliberate. She can't help but snicker at the sight, finding it oddly endearing to see the idiot swordsman engaging in such a seemingly childish activity.

For a while, they work in companionable silence, the only sounds being the scratching of crayons against paper, the clinking of metal and the occasional chug of beer as they take breaks to de-sober themselves. Raya finds herself relaxing as she focuses on the task at hand, the tension of the earlier confrontation with Law fading into the background.

But as they work, she can't shake the feeling of Kikoku's presence beside her, the broken pieces of the sword humming with a furious energy that seems to seep into the air around them. Raya glances at the shattered remains of the once formidable blade, a frown tugging at her lips as she tries to make sense of the strange sensation.

Kikoku seems to be muttering to her, the fragments of the sword vibrating with an intensity that sends a shiver down Raya's spine. She strains to make out the words, but they're muffled and indistinct like whispers carried on the wind.

"Kikoku, what are you saying?" Raya murmurs, reaching out to touch one of the broken pieces of the sword.

In immediate response, Kikoku screeches from underneath her fingertips, making Raya flinch her hand away in shock.

‘What do you fucking think, you incompetent excuse of a human being?’ It screams in Raya’s head, rattling her very bones in her body.

Raya clenches her teeth, anxiously running a hand through her hair. "I’m sorry, Kikoku. I really am. I don’t know how it all… If you let me, I promise I’ll be able to fix you."

Kikoku hums angrily in response, the vibrations of her broken body resonating against the desk. It swirls around on the wooden surface, almost trying to will itself to spiral around into a flurry of blades.

‘Not enough. I seek for revenge. Not enough. Not enough.’

"Kikoku, please," Raya pleads softly, her voice laced with desperation. "I understand that you're angry, but I can fix you. Let me help you.”

Again, the sword vibrates with an almost manic energy, its broken edges glinting ominously in the dim light of the lanterns.

"I’ll find a way to make things even, I promise," Raya continues, her voice tinged with determination. "But for now, I have to focus on fixing you. Once you're whole again, we can figure out what to do next."

‘What are you planning, human?’ she spits, her voice sharp and demanding. ‘Let me listen to your pathetic attempt at salvaging my trust.’

The swordsmith takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what comes next. "First, I need to assess the extent of your damage," she says, reaching for another piece of the broken sword. "Then, I'll figure out a way to repair you. And if that's not enough... well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Kikoku's response was a begrudging silence, the vibrations of her broken pieces slowly starting to calm. Raya took it as a small victory, a glimmer of hope in the midst of uncertainty.

Raya offers a tentative smile to the sword. “I won’t let you down.”

Hours pass in a blur as Raya meticulously fits the broken pieces of Kikoku back together, her hands steady despite the weight of the task. It's slow progress, but with each piece she adds, she can feel Kikoku's energy shifting, becoming less volatile and more... resigned.

"I'm sorry," Zoro blurts out suddenly, the words tumbling from his lips before he can stop them, his voice slightly slurred from the amount of alcohol in his system.

Raya’s head snaps up, surprise flickering in her eyes as she meets Zoro’s gaze. Her fingers pause in the momentum of her work, work now being the last thing on her mind.

"I… For what?" She mutters out.

Zoro leans over the table, his fingers gently spinning the bottle around in his hands.

"For...for breaking the sword," Zoro admits, his voice tinged with regret. "I didn't mean to...I mean, I know that doesn't excuse what happened, but I just...I'm sorry."

Raya pauses, taken aback by the unexpected apology. She stares at Zoro, seeing the sincerity in his eyes despite the haze of alcohol clouding his judgment.

His lone grey eye remains steadfast on her, and although he tries his best to mask himself into indifference, a flicker of something breaks through when Raya really looks at him with her soft brown eyes.

Something breaks within him – or more so, something loosens up within him, and his control over himself - albeit hanging on by fragile and intoxicated threads - has finally been torn apart.

Raya doesn’t know why, but her breath catches in her throat when he does this. When he really looks at her. With that grey eye, intense and relentless with feeling.

In a panic, she immediately disengages from the stare and looks down to her lap, one hand fumbling with a hammer, the other shrouded in a red-hot flame for blade-tempering.

For a moment, silence envelops them, broken only by the faint sound of their breathing and the occasional crackle of flames from Raya's hand. She's not used to hearing such sincerity from him, especially not when it comes to admitting fault. It catches her off guard, leaving her at a loss for how to respond… and now, she doesn’t know what to do.

Instead, she focuses on the task at hand, the broken pieces of Kikoku spread out before her like a jigsaw puzzle waiting to be solved. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her hands as she reaches for another piece of the sword.

"It's... I know, Roronoa," Raya finally manages to say, her voice barely above a whisper. She can feel the warmth of Zoro's gaze on her, his silent offer of forgiveness hanging in the air.

Raya can’t control it any longer. She has to look up at him again, and when she does, her warm brown eyes latch onto his enraptured gaze with such ease, with such naturalness.

And then, Zoro’s stare softens.

Raya doesn’t even recognise this… look on the swordsman, this out-of-place soft glint that consumes his face, like he’s finally uncoiled his hands from the tight reins of his self-restraint.

Zoro doesn’t know what else there is to say. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel at this moment, either. But in his drunken courage, his hand acts out of its own will, lifting up and away from his bottle as his eyes flicker down to her mouth.

Raya’s breath halts as she remains still. Her own senses have vanished away, along with her train of thoughts, and all she wants to do is to lean into his hand.

And they do. Zoro’s fingers press against her jaw, deftly lifting her chin up. He makes her stare straight at him with no room to escape. And Raya is completely breathless. She gives in to the pressure of his fingers, blinking at him curiously, observing the all-consuming focus on his face. His eye flickers down from her gaze to her mouth, his thumb laying idly only a few millimetres away from her skin.

And with no thought in those eyes, his thumb reaches and presses to the corner of her lips, swiping in one circular movement. For a moment, Raya’s lost in the intensity of Zoro's gaze, the heat of his touch lingering on her skin like a brand.

A subtle breath releases from his lips when he touches the corner of her mouth.

He moves his thumb again, unsatisfied with the singular touch, now placing it ever-so softly over Raya’s lips. He looks at her in the eyes, his gaze darkening and unwavering, as he brushes his thumb over her mouth, parting them ever so slightly, so softly, so slowly.

But then, as quickly as it came, the moment passes. Zoro pulls away, his expression once again hardened into a mask of indifference. He picks up his bottle, taking a long swig of sake as if to wash away the lingering traces of emotion.

He shows his thumb to you, a layer of dark black powder coating his skin.

“You had soot on your face,” he mutters out roughly.

Raya blinks in surprise, her heart pounding in her chest as she processes what just happened. She can still feel the lingering warmth of Zoro's touch on her lips, the ghost of his thumb brushing against her skin, the heat of his breath hitting her skin.

And for a moment, she's at a loss for words, her mind reeling from the unexpected intimacy of the gesture. She looks up at Zoro, her gaze searching his face for any sign of what he might be feeling, but Zoro's expression remains impassive. His eye remains unreadable as he wipes the soot from his thumb with a nonchalant air - it's as if the moment never happened, as if he's already moved on from whatever fleeting emotion prompted his actions.

She swallows hard, trying to push down the heat that surges within her. She knows that she should say something, to retort back with a typical Raya joke or simply say something really sarcastic, but all of the tricks in her conversational mind die right at the tip of her tongue, right at the entrance of where his fingers were laying against only a few moments ago.

But before she can do anything – to recover any tiny piece of dignity that still remains within her, a sudden crash from outside the crow's nest shatters the moment, sending them both scrambling to the porthole with hushed breaths.

As they silently peer into the window, they’re met with the sight of Law stumbling towards the door, his movements erratic and unsteady, a wild look in his eyes.

"Shit," Raya curses under her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. "He’s early."

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legend-the-dumb-jock · 1 year

Text

Sam’s pov

“It’s ok boy. You’ll get used to this” Spyke told Samuel as he knelt down beside him. “You’re going to enjoy all the dog stuff I’m sure. Or will once you get used to it.”

It all started when Samual made that Gypsie mad at the fair. He was walking by the adopt a pet station she was working at trying to get him to take one of the dogs. But he shooed her away telling her that he never wanted to own a flea bag fl ridden animal. She pointed at him and the green stone on her ring glowed a bright color “nunc permutem alterius forma. Canina quid eris!” Sam’s world seemed to shift to. Spin even. Everything went dark. The ex thing Sam knew he was in a crate. Every time he tried to speak nothing but barks came out. The gypsy just looked him and smiled. “ I’ll change you back if you are able to learn your lesson. You’ll have three days.” But when his own body woke up, confused on what was going on the gypsie told him, who he found was spyke, the dog he now inhabited , the same thing. Spyke spent some time sitting on the ground. Rubbing his bearded face before he ever looked at the crate where he was before. Tongue still hanging out and drool beginning to drip. Sam could stand what was going on. That dog would never be able to pass for him!

Spyke learned very fast to be a human. It was unreal how good he was at pretending to be a human even though he still had so many doglike characteristics. But it wasn’t fair! He was human !! What was even weirder is the night that he and spyke left the fair the other gypsys were all pointing and laughing ! As if they all somehow knew !!

Spykes pov

Spyke favorite time of day was when he got to take showers. He would lock Sam up in the cage and spend the next few hours in the bathroom exploring his new body. He was catching on quick how to be a human. And he loved every minute of it. And this body was so hairy. It felt like home. Looking down at his feet he giggled dumbly saying “look at my hairy paws bro!” He enjoyed lounging around in nothing but his underwear with hairy body on full display.

Sam would wonder and whine at him and he knew from this sounds that Sam was begging for his body back. The old woman said that it would take three days. At the end of the first day spyke already decided he was never going back to being a dog. But he didn’t want Sam to know that. He wanted Sam to have hope so he could rip it all away from him. So he began to tell Sam how he was working on getting the gypsy to swap them back. It made Sam wag his tail every time he said this. And on the third day he told Sam he was going to pay her a visit. And demand that they be swapped back! Sam barked in excited and even tried to dart out the door to tag along but spyke told him he couldn’t because he would just get in the way and make a scene. Soyke grabbed some things from the counter and left and for the first time sam was left outside of his cage. But and he laid down at the door staring at it. Waiting for spyke the change to be corrected.

When spyke got to the fair ground the gypsys all turned and watched. Making him feel self conscious. For the first time being s human he felt he was a pitiful dog walking with his tail tucked between his legs. When he got to the gypsys hut that swapped their bodies she looked at him and immediately said “Spyke! You’re back…and alone? Why?”

Soyke was nervous. He didn’t know if this would work. “We want to stay like this. Can you do that?” She laughed at the idea. She told him how she never intended this to be a permanent swap. She demanded proof since Sam wasn’t there. Spyke had been playing around with AI mods online. He showed her a video of him saying “Sam. I want to stay like this. In this body. I don’t want to be a dog. Is that ok? Bark for me if it’s ok.” And the video showed Sam barking. “And Sam you know this means you’ll be agreeing to be a dog for the rest of your life right? Bark for me if you agree.” And Sam could be seen barking happily with his tail wagging. “Ok Sam. This means you’re going to be spyke from now on. And I’ll be the real Sam. We are going to swap places for good. Isn’t that great!” And Sam was on the screen barking happily. Tail wagging. The gypsy woman was stunned. “Well. I never expected this. It can be done since this is what you both want. You seen. You’re both in each others bodies but to a person who can see energies and spirits. We can see you soul in how it’s the shape of a dog. The same thing with Sam. So to make this permanent. To make it so you don’t feel that feeling of that body not being yours. We have to change you soul and his. Doing this will make your souls both match the bodies your in. And you’ll not be able to change back. This is a one time thing. So do you still want to be human?” Spyke pretended to thing about this but not for too long before he said yes.

——-

The gypsie said a few words and spyke felt very nauseated. He was bending over and moaning in pain as if felt like his insides were being stretched and contorted. Back at the apartment Sam woke up from his nap and began to whine in pain. It felt like his inside were being compressed. He began to bark out in pain but managed to stop once he heard a neighbor bang on the floor. He didn’t want to get in trouble. He dug the claws of his body in the floor trying to remain lucid. But it wasn’t long before he fell over. Exhausted. Fast asleep. Spyke managed to stay awake for the whole process. When it was ove, he was left sweating. Sweat was dripping from his body as if he just got out of the shower. But something felt different. He wiggled the hairy toes in the sandals he was wearing. He rubbed his stomach with his beefy hairy hands. The body no longer felt foreign to him. Everything felt so….normal. The gypsie said “well spyke. Your soul now matches the exact copy of that body your in. You’ll never be able to swap with anyone again. You are 100 % human now. And the same goes for Sam be 100% dog. Even now looking at you I would never know that you were once an canine.” Spyke hid the immense joy from his face. When he walked out of the fair no one starred at him. And that’s when he realized that the woman was telling him the truth. He was now Sam.

And now we are current.

Back a the apartment. Sam woke up expecting to be human. In his body. But he was still trapped on all fours. In the hairy canine body. The door opened and spyke walked through the door. Smiling like the devil. Sam began to wimper. “Sorry boy. We’re stuck like this forever now. It’s ok boy. You’ll get used to this” Spyke told Samuel as he knelt down beside him. “You’re going to enjoy all the dog stuff I’m sure. Or will once you get used to it.” Soyke got down on the floor. And played the video he showed the gypsy to Sam. And even played back what he managed to record when she explained what happened. “You see SPYKE. You really are trapped as flea infested nut now. Forever and always. And I’m THE RRAL SAM. and it’s going to stay like this for good. “!

“I’m going to keep you on a tight leash boy. I want you to experience ever aspect of the dog life you now have. And I am Going to enjoy every minute of this body I have now.”

#dogtransformation #maletransformation #body swap #hairy

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squigglylinesdotthei · 4 years

Text

Down Time

Pairing: GlennXReader

Warnings: 18+, Fluff, Smut, Oral (Male Receiving), Unprotected Sex, swearing

Wordcount:1898

A/N: Hey there, in this version, Maggie and Glenn were never a thing, they were always just friends. So… Without further ado, this is my first ever posted fic and my first ever posted smut so please go easy on me. I chose Glenn because I feel like he needs more lovin. If you enjoyed, let me know or send a request, I will write smut for 18+ characters only!

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

Glenn couldn't help but stare from his spot in the guard post as his girlfriend y/n bent over to pick up some crates brought in from Daryl and Abraham's run today. He eyed your round ass pulling perfectly at your denim shorts, sweat beginning to soak the collar of your tank top and bead down your chest. 'Shit' he thought, feeling his jeans grow just a tad tighter. ‘Let's hope that’s not an issue’. You look up at him and smile.

You look up as you were grabbing one of the last crates and catch Glenn staring at you from his post, you smile at him and he smiles back sending you a wink as he turns his attention back over the walls of Alexandria making you blush and look down, a small smile gracing your face. Your relationship with Glenn was no secret to anyone; it had started back at the prison with small glances and lingering touches, after a while though (and with A LOT of pushing from Maggie) your relationship came to flourish.

You carried your crate to the pantry, placing it onto the floor before standing back up and wiping the sweat off your forehead.

"thanks y/n" Olivia said walking over to you with a bottle of water handing it to you.

"Of course Olivia. Always happy to help" you responded with a huff, twisting open the bottle and taking long slow drinks from it. Olivia turns to the crates and begins to organize everything into its place. You turn around, recapping your bottle and walk out, spotting Glenn climbing down from the platform. You make your way over to him, smile on your face as he turns around to see you.

"Hey, you" he says winding his arms around your waist and dipping his head to give you a chaste kiss on your lips. You let out a small giggle stretching up to kiss back, dropping your arms over his shoulders.

"Hey," you respond after, same goofy grin on your face "all done for the day?" You question stepping back but keeping his hand in yours, you pass him the water as you lead him towards your shared house.

"Yeah, Rick said I could take the rest of the day off, something about workin myself too hard" he laughs, drinking some of the water, "finally some downtime" he pulls you close before dropping an arm around your shoulders leading you up the porch steps. You push the door open and turn in his arms holding his hands to lead him back into the house.

"Well thank Rick for that," you smirk looking at Glenn through your lashes, god was he attractive, hair and shirt slightly dampened with sweat from standing in the sun, "I think I have a few ideas on how to fill this down time if your up for it" you bite your lip to hold back a grin as he kicks the door shut behind him.

"Oh yeah?" He quirks up a brow, mischievous grin now gracing his face, letting you know exactly what's going through his head. "what exactly did you have in mind, hmm baby girl?" He asks huskily as he tries to pull you closer as you wiggle free of his grasp.

You let out another playful giggle skipping to the bottom of the staircase, "most of them involve you, me, and that bed up there" you turn and start to run up the staircase, hearing Glenn's bootsteps close behind. You almost reach the bedroom before you let out a soft shriek as you felt his calloused hands grip your hips and twist you, pinning you against the door.

"Where're you runnin to huh?" He softly growls, before attacking your lips with his. You let out a moan, letting your arms fall to his shoulders and arching you back to grind on the thigh he had slotted between your legs. He took that opportunity to slip his tongue into the warmth of your mouth, quickly taking dominance. He breaks the kiss only to catch a breath and reattach to your neck, sucking and nipping at your collarbone, surely leaving a mark.

You moaned at the thought, "Glenn please," you breathed, for what you were asking for you didn't know, you just wanted more. He seemed to get the message though as he gripped the underside of your thighs and gave a small tug up.

"Jump," Glenn mumbled into your neck. you obeyed, hopping up and wrapping your legs around his waist softly moaning as his hard bulge brushed perfectly against your clothed core. Once you were secured you leaned over to begin peppering soft kisses across his neck. "Christ y/n," Glenn breathed, opening and closing the door to your shared room and laying you on the bed. He brought his lips back to yours, his hands sliding your tank top up, only breaking the kiss to pull the offending fabric over your head.

You begin to paw at the buttons of his loose gray button down, quickly undoing them and pushing it from his shoulders. Running your hands down his now bare chest you reach the waistband of his jeans, you fumble with his belt buckle for a moment before he grunts and pulls back from you to remove his pants and boots himself. You whine at the loss of contact before pulling your own bottoms off, kicking your shoes off too.

Looking up at Glenn standing by the side of the bed, you sit up and admire him. His brown eyes darkened with lust, his thin but muscular frame, and his smooth chest rising and falling with every breath he takes. Down to his toned stomach before your eyes fall on his impressive cock, long, hard, thick and leaking with precum. Your mouth watering at the sight. You bite your lip thinking of how he tastes, and how good his length feels sliding down the back of your throat.

You roll over onto your front and crawl over to the edge of the bed, making him step closer as you did. Standing there he looked down at you with anticipation as you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, guiding it to your lips. You part your lips and stick out your tongue to lick the underside of his head before taking it into your mouth, sucking on it.

Glenn Rolled his head back and groaned, tangling his hand into your h/c locks. “Fuck y/n just like that sweetheart.” you groan at the praise taking him deeper into your throat, feeling your panties grow even wetter. He lets out another low groan before pulling you off his member with a soft pop of your lips. “As good as you look with your pretty lips around my cock, that’s not where I wanna cum tonight.” he smiles at you, lifting your chin to look into his eyes. “Lay back princess.”

You follow his instruction, sitting up and removing your bra in the process, he climbs over you as you settle onto the pillows, resting his weight on his left arm he brings his right hand up to your cheek, pressing a soft passionate kiss to your lips. He parts from your lips and begins to trail kisses down your neck to your chest before pulling one of your hardened nipples into his mouth. You gasped out a moan as his tongue swirled around your bud. His hands continue down to the hem of your panties. Sliding them down your legs and off your body before bringing one hand back to the bed beside your head, and the other cupping your soaking core.

“Fuck me Glenn,” you cry out as his finger slides through your folds and brushes your clit. You arch your back trying to get more friction, “Glenn please, I need you,” you plead, wrapping your arms around his back trying to pull him closer, desperate for any type of friction Glenn was willing to give you.

“Shit, you’re fuckin soaked,” he breathes, loving the way he makes you fall apart, your small moans all made just for him, made because of him, “I know Babygirl, m’gonna take care of you” he says taking his hand around his length running his it along your folds, gathering some of your slick before pressing into you with one long slow thrust, the two of you couldn't stop the loud moans that escaped you both as Glenn slid home.

He stayed there for a moment, bottomed out, wrapped up in the feeling of your twitching velvet warmth. Groaning you roll your hips urging Glenn to move, his eyes rolled back in his head as he buries his face in your neck and begins to roll his hips.

“Fuck y/n, you’re so tight,” he grunts in your ear, nipping at your pulse point.

“Glenn, harder please” you pant, digging your nails into his back when he pulls almost all the way out before slamming back into you. You nearly scream in ecstasy as he drags across your g spot, his pubic bone brushing your clit with every thrust. “Oh God Glenn, just like that!” you cry as he continues to pound into you. You clench around him, causing him to throw his head back and groan. You take the opportunity to bring your lips to his neck sucking a mark onto his pulse point, nipping down as the coil in your lower belly tightens.

“Glenn, I-I’m gonna cum,” you groan, clenching around him again, he brings his hand down to your clit and begins working it in quick strokes, with a loud moan of his name the coil snapped, sending you tumbling over the edge. Tensing around him he fucks you through your orgasm chasing his own.

His hips falter, and you can tell he’s close. You wrap your legs around his waist and tangle your hands in his dark hair, you pull him down for a kiss, pulling away you look into his eyes, clouded with pleasure.

“Cum for me Glenn, lemme feel you baby” you whisper, rolling your hips to meet him. His hips still against you and he lets out a deep moan as you feel him pulse inside you and his cum coat your walls, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as he rocked into you, not ready to give up his feeling of bliss just yet.

It was the feeling of you pressing soft kisses along his jaw that brought him back down. He slipped his softening member out of you and rolled onto his back, you groaned at the loss before rolling over to lay your head on his chest. His arm wrapped around you as he used the other to pull the blanket over the two of you.

“Thank you y/n,” he says, pulling you tighter to his side, “What did I do to land me someone like you?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“You know I ask myself the same question,” you giggle tracing shapes on his chest with your finger, suppressing a yawn as you felt your eyelids grow heavy. “I love you Glenn” you say, words slightly slurred as you start to fall asleep.

“I love you too y/n,” Glenn presses another small kiss to the top of your head before drifting off himself.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I probably wont post super often but I’ll post when I can. If you did enjoy, lemme know and consider a follow

#twd #twd smut #glenn rhee #glenn rhee x reader #glenn rhee smut #twd fanfiction #Daryl smut #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead smut

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years

Text

Protector

Prompt: if prompts are still open: virgil as an adventurer who keeps accidentally befriending the monsters he’s supposed to be fighting (aka the other sides)? have a wonderful day! (and don’t feel any pressure to do this at all, and if your inbox is meant to be closed absolutely delete this ask)

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: sympathetic remus & deceit, some ptsd flashbacks but nothing super explicit

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic but Virgil’s definitely got some gay panic in there

Word Count: 8153

Virgil’s got a simple code when he’s not on a hunt. Don’t hurt whatever you don’t absolutely have to, and odds are, it won’t hurt you. Now and then there’s a bit of an, um, incident where that doesn’t quite work out as well as they’d hoped, but by and large they get by.

Or: 5 times Virgil helps a monster he was supposed to kill, and 1 time the monsters help him

He sighs as he walks outside, grabbing the pair of gloves from the rickety tray and tugging them over his weathered hands. The front garden isn’t nearly as overgrown as it was when he found this little cabin in the middle of nowhere, but it’s got a long way to go before he can walk through without tripping over at least one overgrown bramble.

There’s a very persistent mint plant that’s slowly and surely trying to choke the flowers. Virgil bends down and starts to toil in the dirt.

“Come on,” he mutters, because he’s allowed to talk to plants when no one else is listening, “let’s stop doing that, you don’t have to be literally everywhere…”

The mint doesn’t protest verbally, because it’s a plant and plants can’t talk, but Virgil would swear it tries to hold onto the dirt as he pulls it up, holding his hand under the roots to catch the dirt.

“Alright, come on out, then, let’s just…put you in here.”

There’s a plot of dirt in a crate resting at his knee. He pats the soil. Fresh enough. The mint plant looks almost contrite as he tucks it into the corner.

“Next time I go see the townspeople I’m sure you’ll make some tea-shop owner very happy.”

The rest of the garden goes similarly. By the end, he’s filled the crate almost halfway when his hand catches something sharp.

The blade gleams as it flashes through the air. The child screams. His eyes widen—

“No,” he grits out, flattening his hands into the dirt, “no, it’s…it’s okay. We’re okay. It’s…hhhh.”

As he exhales, his shoulders slump, head bowing almost to his chest. The sounds of blades swinging through the air fade as the breeze rustles the leaves surrounding the cabin. The faint smell of mint cleanses his nose of blood.

Virgil opens his eyes and carefully moves his hand away from the rose.

“When’d you get here,” he mutters, carefully lifting the leaves to examine the stem, “don’t remember seeing you.”

The thorns snag on the little pieces of dirt hanging from his gloves. He glances around. There aren’t any other roses nearby, not that he can see. And it’s probably not very good for it to be growing in the middle of this choked soil patch.

He stands and makes his way back for the sharper trowel.

Something hisses.

His grip on the trowel doesn’t waver but he turns his head casually to glance over his shoulder.

Something crouches in the garden, just barely visible over the crate. A tuft of hair, not dark enough to be a bear cub, not light enough to be a squirrel. His arm relaxes against his side, trowel snug against his thigh.

“Hello,” he calls, watching closely, “is someone there?”

He blinks in surprise when a cat pokes its head over the crate.

“Uh, hey, there,” he manages, “uh…what’re you doing all the way out here?”

In response, the cat leaps elegantly over the crate. It’s a slim thing, but not underweight. Its fur is bluish-gray, almost like a stormcloud. As Virgil watches, the cat sneezes and its fur turns a dappled brown.

Virgil sighs. “So you’re the mischievous sprite I’ve been told to get rid of.”

The neighboring village has tried several times to make him seek and destroy the sprite’s nest. Apparently, it’s been causing all sorts of problems. Books going missing, glasses breaking in the middle of the night, jars of preserves broken into. Now, that’s not really what Virgil calls a punishable offense, but the villagers were insistent that he find it and fight it. He’s done one of those things.

Well, technically, the sprite found him.

“There’s not much here that would interest you,” Virgil says, gesturing at the unkempt garden, “but if you want to tell me what you do want, then—hey!”

The sprite, of course, doesn’t wait for him to actually finish inviting it inside. Instead, the door creaks as the cat darts between his legs and vanishes.

“Be careful,” he warns, “there are sharp things.”

He pushes open the door to see the cat perched on a precariously high shelf, sniffing at the books. He sighs.

“I can get those down if you want, it might be easier than doing whatever the hell it is you’re doing now.”

The cat ignores him, pawing at the thick leather cover. He sighs and pulls off his gloves.

“Alright, just—wait a damn minute.”

Virgil grunts as he lifts the book of the shelf and carries it over to the table, opening it and waiting. The cat jumps up onto the table and sniffs at the pages. Its tongue laps at a word.

“You want more about that? Okay, let’s just—“

Yes, Virgil is talking to this sprite. He’s allowed to do that in his own home.

He turns the pages until the cat chirps.

“This? This what you want?”

The sprite stares at the page. It goes unnaturally still.

The hairs on the back of Virgil’s neck stand up.

Then it breaks; the cat shakes itself off and jumps down.

“That’s it? You done now?”

The cat’s tail twitches gracefully as it struts back to the door. Virgil rolls his eyes and follows it out.

“Well, I’m glad I could be of service,” he mutters as he closes the door.

Something rough touches his hand. He looks down. The sprite looks back up at him and licks his hand again.

“…you’re welcome.”

The cat sneezes, its fur changing back into the deep bluish-gray. Without another look, it takes off, leaping effortlessly over the crate and disappearing into the woods.

Well, stranger things have happened in Virgil’s life.

Shaking his head, he gets back to his garden. He glances at the rose before deciding that, eh, what the hell, it can stay another day. He finishes filling the mint crate and sets it near the front door, ready for his trip to the village tomorrow.

“Ah, thank you!” The tea shop owner beams as he hands it over. “I’m sure this’ll be plenty.”

“I’ve got more than enough, I promise.”

“Well, since that sprite disappeared, I won’t be running out nearly as often!”

Virgil blinks. “Huh?”

“Oh, the sprite you got rid of!” She smiles. “Thank you kindly for that, it was ever so pesky.”

Virgil just nods.

————————————

Virgil opens his eyes and doesn’t quite reach for the dagger he keeps in the nightstand but it’s close.

“There’s a dog in my bed,” he mutters, “standing on top of me, drooling on my face.”

The dog just barks. And changes color.

He sighs. “Are you the same one from last time? Was the book not enough for you?”

The dog barks again, jumping off the bed and trotting to the kitchen, its nail clicking on the floor. Virgil lets his eyes close for a second before getting up and following it.

“Alright, the book it—whoa.”

The dog is, um. Not a sprite.

A huge mastiff elemental sits in the middle of his kitchen. It looks up from when it was nosing at what remained of a chicken carcass and rumbles. Virgil raises his hands.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says lowly, “even though you did break into my house and wake me up. What do you want?”

The elemental turns and moves through the house, out toward the woods. Virgil stuffs his feet in his boots and follows, tucking a slingshot and his knife into his pockets as he goes. The elemental moves through the trees with an inhuman grace, the very edges of the leaves it passes smoldering. A thin tendril of smoke wafts past Virgil’s nose.

“She’s still inside!” The guard shouts as Virgil wrenches his arm away. “I have to go get her!”

“Sir, you’ll die!”

“She’s still—“

The top of the house crashes down as—

Virgil closes his eyes and brings his kerchief up to his nose. He breathes deeply. Freshly baked bread. Honeysuckle. The slightly tacky smell of leather oil. Breathe in, breathe out.

When he opens his eyes again, the elemental has paused, glancing back at him.

“I’m coming,” he says quickly, “I’m coming. Keep going.”

He shrugs the old ghosts off his shoulders and follows.

The elemental leads him to a clearing. Underneath a large, dead white tree, there’s a small den of moss. Virgil’s breath catches in his throat.

The villagers had sent him a warning about a curse in the area. Fires had been going out. It had been impossible to keep warmth in the houses over the long winter nights. They’d been seeing figures in the smoke, sightings of, well, a mastiff. They’d contacted him to try and get it to leave.

Well, the mastiff elemental is here, under the tree, looking back and forth between Virgil and something he can’t see, buried in the moss.

“Is there something you wanna show me,” he asks softly, coming a little further into the clearing, “in there?”

The elemental whines. He walks forward until he catches sight of a stone in the middle of the bed of moss. It’s cracked in two.

“Is this what you wanted to show me,” he calls, shifting into a crouch, “this stone?”

The elemental huffs, nudging his hand. It reaches past him and tries to pick up the stone in its mouth, only for it to drop. It puts its nose down and whines.

“…was this your favorite stone to play with?” The elemental butts its head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry it broke. How’d it happen?”

The elemental points its nose toward a jagged boulder in the corner of the clearing.

“Ah, I see.”

And you know what? Yeah, Virgil gets it. He’s dropped shit where he shouldn’t have dropped it before and it broke. What does it matter that this elemental is so upset over accidentally breaking its favorite toy that its warmth is so low the nearby villagers think it’s a curse?

“Hey,” Virgil murmurs, reaching out to cup the two halves of the rock in his hands, “it’s okay. This rock—good choice by the way, very good choice—it’s part of the Perse Mountains, right? So it’s susceptible to fire magic.”

He reaches into his slingshot bag and pulls out two small rocks. Using one on either side, he sandwiches the two halves of the broken rock together and holds it out to the elemental.

“Now breath on it.”

The elemental exhales carefully, bathing the rock in a steady stream of fire. Sure enough, in a few moments, thanks to Virgil holding it steady, the rock glows a soft yellow and reforges.

“That’s good.” He takes it carefully between the stones and rolls it around the moss, trying to cool it. “Okay. Try now.”

The elemental takes the rock gingerly between its teeth and yips.

Virgil chuckles. “I’m glad I could help.”

The elemental spins in a circle before turning back into the dog and licking Virgil’s cheek, barking excitedly.

“Okay, okay, you’re welcome, jeez.” He half-heartedly shoves the dog’s head away. “You’re getting slobber all over me!”

The dog pulls away and takes the rock into its mouth again, snuffling happily. Virgil shakes his head and gets up.

“If that’s all, then I’m gonna go home.” The dog licks his hand one more time. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

And if a fire is already burning when he gets back home, well, that’s just a surefire way to know there was never a curse for the villagers to worry about.

Get it? Surefire?

Shut up, he’s hilarious.

————————————

“Ah, Virgil!”

Virgil turns. The blacksmith waves at him from the market stalls. Dodging fruit carts and weaving his way through passers-by, he stops in front of the man and gestures to the new wares.

“Good season, Anbel?”

“Oh, the best!” Anbel gestures to the coin chest behind him. “You know how it is, goes in and out of season.”

Absentmindedly, Virgil rubs at the scars on his arms. “I know the feeling.”

“Anyways, I got that dagger you gave me to repair.”

Anbel reaches behind him and pulls the dagger out of a leather bag. He holds it up. The deep gouges in the blade are gone, the handle isn’t tarnished anymore, and it looks…good.

“Thank you, Anbel,” he says, reaching for it, “so how much?”

“No charge.”

“Come on.”

“No charge,” Anbel repeats, “not for you.”

Unbidden, a flush rises to his cheeks as he tucks the dagger into his belt. “Anbel…”

“Alright,” the blacksmith says, holding up his hands, “I’ve got a favor to ask.”

Virgil sighs. “What’d you do?”

“Why do you assume that I did something?”

Virgil just gives him a look.

“…alright but this time it wasn’t me.”

“Uh-huh.”

Anbel smacks his chest. “I’m serious, there’s something wrong in the woods outside of town.”

Virgil sobers, taking a step closer. “What is it?”

“Dunno. But my horses won’t go past a particular stretch of land and I need to be able to make the trip next moon.”

Virgil chews on his lip, thinking. “Did they run away or just refuse to go near?”

“Refused to go near.” Anbel shakes his head. “Don’t know what’s gotten into them. They’re good mares.”

“Have any others reported anything?”

“Cindi had trouble getting through too.”

“Where is it?”

“Just before the bend in the river. Near the trees.”

Virgil sighs. “I’ll have a look.”

That’s how he finds himself wandering down the main road on the next cloudy day. He glances around to make sure there aren’t any other villagers nearby before he starts looking around. There’s a small grove of trees near the riverbank, a mound of rocks next to the bend in the road, and a rapid system rushing just out of sight.

Maybe the horses were scared of the rapids? They’ve been known to spook before. But no, Anbel makes this trip every season. If the horses were going to spook at the rapids, they’ve done it before.

Virgil frowns, coming to a stop in the middle of the grass between the road and the river. What could they’ve been startled by? There’s not enough space to hide anything here. The rocks are on the wrong side of the road. The river isn’t close or loud. And the trees aren’t close enough together to hide anything between them.

…between them.

Virgil holds very, very still.

Out of the corner of his eye, one of the trunks shifts.

He doesn’t move quickly, doesn’t draw his dagger, just lowers his eyes to the grass and turns, facing the trees, and takes a step backward. Then another. Then another. When he’s over ten yards away, he looks up.

“I mean you no harm,” he calls, “I have no wish to interfere. I was told that there was something that scared a few horses and wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

The breeze rustles through the leaves.

“I am happy to leave you here,” he continues, risking a step closer, “but I know that…this is probably not where you’d like to be. This isn’t an especially damp forest.”

The trunk shifts again.

“If there’s something I can do to help—“ he risks another step— “I’d be happy to.”

There.

The trunk shifts and seems to shrink inside as a jaculi unwinds itself from around its base. It blinks lazily at him with amber eyes, golden scales rippling in the faint light from the cloudy sky.

“Hello,” Virgil waves, “can I—will you let me come closer?”

The jaculi hisses and lays its head near the ground.

“Thank you.” Virgil walks forward carefully, stopping a few feet away and crouching down. “Now, what brings you here? You look like you’re an awful long way from home.”

The jaculi hisses again, its head swiveling toward the river. Virgil looks. Across the bank, he can see a much denser forest and what looks like a storm brewing.

“You’ll be hurt,” he realizes, “if you try and stay here…”

The jaculi coils tighter around the tree trunk.

“How’d you get over here,” Virgil mutters, “you’d’ve needed to swim across…and that also won’t go well for you.”

There’s a soft rustling as the jaculi buries its tail in a pile of leaves near the base of the tree. Virgil glances over to see it rubbing its face halfheartedly against the bark.

His eyes widen.

About a month ago there had been a terrible storm. His little cabin had barely held together. He’d heard reports from the tavern owner that it’d blown one of the old trees right over.

“That’s how you got across,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, “you climbed across the tree. And now it’s gone and you’re stuck.”

The jaculi blinks remorsefully at him.

“Okay,” Virgil mutters, “okay, we can…we can figure this out.”

They’ll have to do it at night. There’s no way the jaculi will feel safe enough to move while it’s still light out. There’s an old barn that never finished construction just over the ridge. One of those timber pieces is probably long enough to get over the river. And he can make a bridge wide enough to support the jaculi’s weight.

He explains his plan to the jaculi, feeling a little ridiculous, but he’s allowed to explain what he’s doing to help someone, it’s fine, and says that he’ll be back. Promise.

The landowner gives him a weird look when he asks to borrow the timber.

“It’s too long for you to do anything with it,” he says, still helping Virgil load it onto a sled, “and much too tough for you to cut by yourself.”

“It’s fine just the way it is,” Virgil says, “and thank you.”

He waves Virgil off. “Keep it. You’re doing better than I am with it.”

Virgil’s back at the river bend by sundown. He can’t see the jaculi anymore—it’s probably hidden itself for safety—but he calls out when he arrives.

“I’m going to use these to make a bridge for you. It shouldn’t take me too long.”

The pieces of timber are ungainly, to make a colossal understatement, but Virgil grits his teeth and slides them out of the sled. He wades a little into the river and—

The water is so cold it burns. He has to keep going. It’s gaining on him. He’ll be safe in the water.

The growls get closer and his foot slips—

“No,” he mutters, “no, it’s not that. I’m fine. I’m standing, I’m not hurt, I’m not drowning.”

He blinks down at his boots, the water swirling around his ankles. The timber in his hands shifts as he breathes. He’s fine. He’s fine.

“Okay…okay.”

He grits his teeth again and heaves, bringing the piece of timber with him. He wades further until it’s swirling around his waist. The piece of timber is just long enough to reach the other side. Onto the next one.

He gets the five of them stretched across the river just as the last of the light vanishes. Panting, he struggles back up onto the side of the river bank and splays out onto his back, eyes closed.

A low hiss sounds in his ear.

He just manages to avoid a scream.

“Hey,” he gasps instead, eyes flickering open to see the jaculi coiled up a few feet away, “uh…please don’t do that.”

The jaculi just blinks at him.

“Uh…why don’t you, uh…” Virgil holds a hand to his chest, trying to get his breathing back under control. “…try out the bridge?”

The jaculi slithers closer, flicking its tongue out against the timber. It looks back at Virgil.

“Go on,” he encourages, “you can do it.”

It slithers on, testing the boards against its weight.

Virgil holds his breath until the jaculi vanishes into the trees across the river banks, slipping further and further into the darkness.

Anbel leaves on his trip the next moon.

————————————

Honestly, when the kraken explodes out of Virgil’s well, he just sighs and fetches his bath so he can get the poor thing out.

“Easy,” he grumbles when the kraken squirms so much he almost drops it, “you may be a young one but you’re still heavy.”

Panting, he drops the tentacled beast into the full tub, his arms flying up to shield his face from the shower of sparkling drops. Judging by the happy trills and clicks, the kraken likes it in there. He shakes his head.

“So that’s why I’ve been asked to fight a monster in the sewers,” he muses, watching the kraken’s tentacles writhe giddily in the metal tub, “just how did you end up so far inland?”

The kraken, of course, does not deign to answer. Instead, the tentacles latch onto the side of the bath and threaten to tip the whole thing over.

“No, you idiot,” Virgil shouts, grabbing onto the other side and weighing it down. He winces when more water spills onto him, drenching him head to toe. “Now look what you’ve done.”

What the kraken has done, apparently, is get Virgil close enough so that its tentacles can haul Virgil into the tub.

“Hey!”

Virgil spits water out of his mouth, much to the kraken’s delight.

“That was rude.”

The kraken just chirps happily and wriggles around. Its tentacles stick to Virgil’s clothes and pull him through the water.

Virgil’s chest tightens.

One of the first things they teach you about krakens is never get in the water with them. The second thing they teach you about krakens is do not get in the water with them. The third thing they teach you about krakens is not to get too close to their tentacles so they don’t pull you into the water with them.

And yeah, this is Virgil’s bathtub, not a river, a tide pool, or the open sea, but you can drown in an inch of water.

Virgil presses his back up against the rim of the tub. The kraken seems to realize something’s wrong and settles, burbling softly.

“Hey, bud,” Virgil says shakily, “I, uh, what’re you doing here?”

The kraken twitches a few tentacles and more water slops over the edge.

“Right…” Virgil shakes his head. “Okay, well, uh, I would rather not sit here and soak through all of my clothes, so I’m just going to—“

As soon as he tries to move, the kraken wraps a tentacle around his leg and tugs.

“Okay, okay, not leaving, not leaving, um—“ Virgil reaches down and takes a handful of the grass. Worst comes to worst, he can tip the tub and get the kraken back in the well.

The kraken lets go as soon as he settles back in the water. Virgil looks at the creature carefully.

There’s a mark on its head. Discoloration, probably, but still obvious. As he watches, the kraken burbles to itself and starts making little ripples in the surface of the water with its tentacles. After a moment, it starts gently pushing the water towards Virgil.

The water laps at Virgil’s knees in little waves, not enough to wet him anymore—not that it would matter at this point—but enough to bounce back and make more patterns. The kraken trills softly and keeps doing it.

Does it…want to play?

Slowly, Virgil lifts his hands up and starts to push the water back. The kraken, realizing that Virgil is indeed committing to the idea that he is going to play with this kraken, trills louder and uses more of its tentacles to move the waves bigger.

“Yeah? Is that how it works?” Virgil moves his hands. “Like that?”

The kraken chirps.

He’s not really sure how long they stay there, playing with the water, but it’s long enough for the sun to go down in the sky and Virgil to get more than a little chilly in the water.

When the kraken notices that the water is rippling more around Virgil and he’s not moving his hands any faster, it wraps a tentacle around his ankle and tugs.

“What? You tired?” The kraken leans its head against the side of the tub. “Okay. Well, I don’t know how long you can stay in here—“

He cuts himself off when the kraken jabs a tentacle toward the well.

“You wanna go back in there? It’s so small and cramped, and the sewers in town aren’t much better.”

The kraken insists.

Sure. Why not.

Virgil grunts as he lifts the kraken back into the bucket, carefully lowering the creature down into the well. He hears one more trill before splashing sounds indicate that the creature is gone.

Funnily enough, reports of the sewer beast vanish overnight.

When Virgil wakes up panting from a nightmare of ropes around his neck, the glass of water on his bedside table is perfectly cold.

————————————

Virgil curses as the sole of his boot slips. He just manages to catch himself against the cliffside before splitting his knee on a harsh spire of rock. Gritting his teeth, he forces himself onward.

The cliffs frown over him as he makes his way up the pass. The rocks crumble threateningly as his boots crunch, crunch, crunch. The sword on his hip feels too heavy. He curses, tugging his glove the rest of the way onto his hand.

He never was one for dragon hunts.

The message came in a week ago. Some poor terrified soul had come screaming into the town, ranting about dragons, missing people, curses, the whole lot. Virgil had taken up the call and set off, promising to get to the bottom of it.

He never promised to hurt anything.

Thunder rolls ominously in the distance and he bites back another curse. There’s a cave up ahead, he can see it just over the next ridge, he’ll rest there.

In all honesty—and he can be honest, now there’s no one else around—he hates these kinds of missions. Finding something is one thing. Going to get something is one thing. Rescuing someone is one thing.

This feels like something else.

There’s something in his boot. There’s a wrinkle in the thinnest shirt he’s wearing. The sword belt is digging into his hip. The voices in his head won’t shut the fuck up.

The cave is right there.

He all but collapses to his knees as soon as he makes it inside, just as the first drops of rain land on the back of his armor. He breathes a sigh of relief, heading further into the cave, into the safety, out of the storm.

It’s quiet here.

He takes the knife out of its loop on his belt and sets about setting up a fire. There’s a reasonable stash of dry wood here, probably enough to keep him going throughout the night. He makes a small bundle and lights it, blowing on it until it catches and burns merrily.

Shrugging off his pack, he leans it up against the wall and starts to dig out the dried meat. He tears off a long strip with his teeth and chews slowly, staring into the flames.

There’s something nice about fire. Not all fire—he’s got the burns to prove that—but this fire. Controlled fire. He sits back on his hands, brushing aside the eggshells to lean against the cave wall.

Controlled fire is…justified chaos. It’s strange, to think of chaos as being justified. But that’s what it is. A controlled burn. Snapping and sparking amidst a small mound of wood, warm. Safe. It’s strange to think of fire as safe, too.

Virgil sits back, finishing off his meal and closing his eyes. The fire is very, very warm. Much warmer than he would expect for just a small campfire. And a little irregular, too. It comes in waves, pants, almost.

…wood, eggshells…

Okay, look.

Look.

Virgil’s tired, okay?

It’s not like this is what normally happens to him on hunts.

He knows what he’s doing.

He does!

It’s fine.

This is fine.

This is so utterly fine right now.

But…okay, yeah, maybe Virgil’s not been paying as much attention as he should be. And maybe he’s fighting down a panic attack right now. And maybe he’s frozen in fear to the floor of this cave and not sure how he’s survived this long.

Whatever.

Virgil cracks an eye open.

“…hey, there, dragon.”

Surprisingly enough, his head does not get immediately bitten off. Instead, the dragon looks at him, nostrils puffing hot air into his face. The smell of dank cavern air mixes with what Virgil really hopes isn’t decomposing human.

“Um…fancy seeing you here?”

The dragon huffs louder, still staring into Virgil’s soul. He risks a glance over its shoulder to make sure that yes, this is the only dragon in this cave, there aren’t suddenly going to be five of them. He spies the scales trailing further into the darkness, muscular legs, long, powerful tail. The dragon growls, snapping his eyes back.

“Hey, uh—didn’t mean to invade your cave.” Virgil scoots backward. “That was absolutely my fault. I can, uh—well, I can’t really promise to leave you alone, but I, uh…rain check?”

As if on cue, thunder booms from outside.

Shit.

A lower growl sounds from the dragon as its mouth curls up. Wow, those teeth are long…

“Can you, uh—so I know that this is a pretty big request, considering I just, you know, invaded your cave, but uh—maybe don’t eat me?”

Judging by the growl, that’s a no.

“Okay, I, uh—“ Virgil risks a glance around. His fire is still burning. Maybe he can at least get the dragon to back up before he—

He pauses.

Near the fire, the dragon’s leg looks…wet. Its scales are stained with a dark splotch coming from somewhere higher up. As he watches, the dragon shifts its weight and it gets wetter.

“You’re hurt,” he says softly, “you’re—oh, god, you’re hurt.”

He looks back up. The dragon’s snarl doesn’t quite soften, but its mouth relaxes a little.

“I’ve got salve and bandages in my pack,” he says cautiously, “if you let me get them, I can—I can help?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, he moves his hand to his pack, keeping the other one raised as he opens the flap and takes out the bottle and the bandages.

“Can I have a look, please? I’m just gonna…”

The dragon huffs cautiously as Virgil turns, moving around its body to crouch next to its injured leg. Now that he’s closer, he can see what’s happened.

A shard of metal is lodged in the soft space between two of the scales. Every time the dragon moves, it shifts, spilling more and more blood. Judging by how loud the dragon is breathing, it must really hurt.

“You poor thing,” he mutters, “how long has this been here?”

No response.

“We gotta get it out,” he says instead, looking for something he can use, “if we leave it in you might get infected, or…something else bad will happen.”

He pulls a pair of pliers from his pack and the dragon snorts.

“Easy, easy—“ the dragon’s eyes go wide at the glint of the flame off the metal— “hey, it’s okay, I’m gonna use these to get that metal outta you, yeah?”

It seems an hour before the dragon calms, gingerly stretching out its leg so Virgil can see the shard. Taking a deep breath, he hooks the pliers around the edge of the metal.

“Ready on three, okay?” He grits his teeth. “One…two…three!”

He yanks.

The dragon roars as the metal shard comes out in his hands, the side release almost sending him toppling back into the fire. Quickly, he discards the tools and reaches out to soothe the dragon, petting its scales and hushing it gently.

“Shh, shh, it’s out now, it’s okay, it can’t hurt you anymore.” He runs a hand over the dragon’s heaving back. “I’m gonna help you, okay? I’m here to help.”

It seems to calm the dragon, its breathing slowly but surely calming down as Virgil continues to speak softly to it. Honestly, if it were this easy to calm himself down, he would have a lot fewer problems.

“I’ve got to clean it,” he says after a minute, “just to make sure you don’t get infected. Then I’ll be done, okay?”

The dragon swivels its massive head around, looking at the wound, then back at Virgil. It heaves a great sigh and its chin comes to rest on the floor, staring at him. Guess that’s as close to permission as he’s gonna get.

“Thank you. This, uh, this may sting a bit.”

He barely gets a flinch as he starts cleaning the cut. Dragons. Once he’s wrapped the dragon’s leg as best he can, he turns to peer at the shard of metal he pulled out of the wound. He holds it up, examining it in the firelight.

It looks…wrong.

It’s too thick to be just something that happened to get in there, but too jagged to be something natural. It looks like it snapped off of something, but it’s not the right shape to be an arrowhead or a piece of a building. So what…?

He turns when the dragon starts to move.

It heaves itself to its feet, testing out its weight on all four legs. When the pain doesn’t shoot through, it lumbers off, further into the cave. Its head dips down, out of sight for a moment, before it turns and starts back toward the fire, dragging something in its mouth.

Virgil’s eyes widen when another bag is dropped in front of him.

“Is this…is this someone else’s?” He lays his fingers carefully on its surface. “Did…did you…did someone else come here before me?”

The dragon huffs.

With trembling fingers, he flips open the bag. There’s a good store of meat in here, a change of clothes, something for armor, it’s a provisions bag. One side has a little loop attached with nothing inside.

“…someone tried to stab you,” he realizes in horror, looking back up at the dragon. “Someone tried to fight you but couldn’t. So they stabbed you in the leg.”

His fists clench.

“They hurt you.”

Another huff. Then the dragon nudges the bag toward him again.

“Is there something else in here?” Virgil starts sorting through the possessions. He lays the clothes to one side, the bottles to another. When he gets to the food, the dragon leans forward and snorts, blowing hot air into his face.

“This? This is what you want me to get?” He looks at it. It’s just more dried meat. It, uh, it actually looks a little better than his. “Are you hungry?”

The dragon snorts at Virgil’s pack, then at the food in his hands.

“…are you…giving this to me because I’m still hungry?”

Another huff, longer this time, and the dragon’s head comes to rest on the floor, eyes staring up at him.

Virgil swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “Well, that’s—thank you.”

The dragon rumbles as he starts to eat, eyes blinking lazily. Virgil tries not to mind too much.

And…honestly? It’s not that bad. He’s had worse audiences when he’s just trying to eat. The dragon switches its tail every now and then, huffing gently to keep the fire going. It’s…nice.

Virgil finishes eating as much of the food as he wants and tucks the rest away. He takes a moment to just…look.

“The other person,” he says eventually, “the one that hurt you…they—I think they wanted to kill you.”

The dragon stares at him like he just said the sky is blue.

“No, really, I—I don’t think they wanted anything else.” He shakes his head. “We’re not near enough to any villages for that to be the reason, there aren’t any traveling paths through here, there’s…there’s no other reason. I think they just wanted to kill you.”

The cave falls quiet as the rain pours outside.

“…I think they wanted me to kill you too.”

Virgil’s chest aches. Something in his right hand tingles.

“Why do they always want me to kill you?”

And he’s not just talking about the dragon now.

It’s always the same.

Fight this. Kill that. Rescue us from this. Save us from that.

What if you’re not the ones that need to be saved?

Virgil lets his chin drop to his chest and sighs. His sword hangs heavy at his hip. His hands tremble in the burning light of the fire.

“I hate to impose,” he manages through a sluggish tongue, “but…may I stay? Just until the storm passes?”

A low thud makes him look up. The dragon shifts, its tail curled in a half-circle around Virgil and the fire. It huffs softly.

“Thank you.”

————————————

Sometimes he has sleepless nights. Drifts in blackness and emptiness until it’s time to get up. Or he’ll close his eyes for what feels like an instant before he wakes up the next day.

Sometimes he has restless nights. Can’t sleep, can’t manage to get more than a few minutes of tense darkness before his eyes shoot open and he has to reassure himself that’s he can sleep.

Sometimes he has good nights. Dreams of sunshine and warmth and the safety of a hot drink between his palms. Closing his eyes and just hearing the peaceful hum of his cabin.

Most of the time he has nightmares. The good ones are just mixes of monsters he can’t see coming, kills he wishes he didn’t have to make. Losing someone he should’ve been able to save.

This one’s a bad one.

Jaws close down on his arm. The creature whips its head back and forth, shaking him like a rag doll. He grits his teeth and tries to—

His eyes widen as the burning roof collapses on top of him. A heavy beam falls onto his chest and he can’t move, he’s going to—

The cliff face collapses under him and he plummets, fingers scrabbling for a hold against the crumbling face. He can’t reach, he can’t reach—

“….shut up, you’re gonna wake him up!”

“If you stop shouting, then he won’t.”

“Shh, the both of you.”

“This is certainly working, I think we should all keep talking like this.”

“Oh, don’t you start!”

“Hey, hey, shh! He’s waking up!”

Virgil is waking up, as a matter of fact, and he also has no idea where he is or what’s going on. He does know there are at least five people in this room with him though. That’s either a good thing or a really, really bad thing.

He can feel rocks under his head. Is he still in the cave, then? How other people…here? Where’s the dragon?

“Hey,” one of the voices says, “are you okay? You kinda, uh, well, you weren’t looking very good for a little bit there.”

“Back up, you morons, you’re gonna scare him!”

“We’re not scary, shut up.”

“You’re scary.”

“All of you be quiet,” the first voice says, before it softens again. “Hey, can you open your eyes?”

Well, I’ve definitely made worse decisions.

He wholeheartedly concurs with that thought when the first thing he sees is genuinely one of the most attractive people he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting face to face.

“There you are,” the beautiful person says, “good morning. Is your head alright?”

“Uh—“ not now gay panic— “uh?”

“Back up, Logan,” another person says, “let me see.”

Logan—great name, sure, why not—moves out of the way, and oh god there’s two of them.

“Hi!” The other attractive person leans over Virgil and gods— “are you hurt? You looked a little upset while you were sleeping.”

“You—“ Virgil does not squeak— “you watched me while I was sleeping?”

“Well, you fell asleep and Roman got worried, so—“

“I’m sorry,” Virgil interrupts, “who—who are you?”

The person in front of him tilts his head. “Don’t you recognize us?”

I would absolutely fucking remember meeting you, and I do not.

“Patton,” Logan says, “he’s a mortal. He won’t—we are not as we were when he met us.”

The butterflies in Virgil’s stomach ice.

These…these are creatures. Is he—what supernatural force did he piss off?

Logan smiles at him and winks. First off, rude, but—

Virgil squints. One of the man’s eyes is a deep bluish-grey. The other one—the one he just winked with—is a dappled brown.

Oh.

“…you’re the sprite.”

“I am,” he says, “my name is Logan.”

Something nudges his shoulder. Virgil looks over to see Patton offering him a round stone.

“…the mastiff elemental?”

“Patton, actually.” Patton smiles and gestures over Virgil’s other shoulder.

Why are there five of them and why are they all so pretty?

“Can you guess who they are?”

One of them rolls his eyes. “Yes, that sounds like a perfect use of time that isn’t at all a waste.”

“Okay, so you’re the jaculi.”

He smirks. “Janus.”

The one near the entrance to the cave just cackles and bounces on the balls of his feet. Almost like…

“You made me spill the bathtub over my whole yard!”

He cackles louder. “Yes, I did!”

Virgil rolls his eyes. He’s not fond. He’s not.

“Remus,” Logan scolds, “you said you were just going into the well.”

“He took me out!”

“Yeah, because that thing is cramped as hell.”

“Aww,” Patton coos, “how sweet.”

“Well,” the last one says, smiling softly from one of the darker corners of the cave, “we knew that, didn’t we?”

Virgil turns, looking hard into the darkness. The last person stands, walking over slowly, leaning most of his weight on one leg. As he moves into the light, he sits down on the log and reaches down. Virgil’s eyes widen as he gets handed the last of the dried meat.

“You’re still hungry,” the person says softly, “I can tell.”

Virgil cannot eat right now, thank you very much. Instead, his eyes are fixed on his bandage, still tied sloppily around the person’s leg.

“You’re the dragon.”

“I am. But you can call me Roman.”

“…does it still hurt?”

“Oh, this?” He smiles and moves his leg. “A little. But it’s almost better,” he finishes, reaching over to gently bump Virgil’s shoulder, “thanks to you.”

Yes, hello? Virgil would like for someone to explain what’s going on, please.

“I’m sure you’ve got questions,” Logan says, also sitting down, “and we can do our best to answer them. But first…are you alright?”

Uh, no. “Why do you think I’m not?”

“You’re breathing faster than most mortals do at rest, your face is more flushed than it was, and you were troubled while you slept.”

…shhh…

“I, um…I was having a nightmare.”

“Ooh,” Remus says, plopping down on the floor with his chin propped up on his hands, “was it a bad one?”

“…you could say that.”

“Remus,” Patton chides, “don’t.”

Remus pouts but hushes, reaching out to toy with a stick. Patton rolls the stone between his hands.

“You did seem upset,” Janus says, “can we help?”

“H-help?”

Janus raises an eyebrow. “Yes, help. Or is that not a thing most mortals do?”

Um. Well. Uh, hang on.

“Are you just going to be mean to him,” Logan sighs, “or are we actually going to make an effort to be friendly with the person we have decided to befriend?”

“Can one of you explain what’s going on?” Patton nods to Virgil. “Before he decides we’re all mad?”

Roman sighs. “Virgil? Are you still hungry?”

“Huh? No, no, I’m…I’m okay.”

He smiles. “Good. This…this might sound a bit strange, but…try and keep up?”

“As weird as it might sound, this isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Roman blinks in surprise, a small smile coming over his face. “Isn’t it?”

“Well, you must have some idea of what I do for a living.”

Roman’s smile only grows. “Yes, as a matter of fact, we do.”

Logan clears his throat. Virgil turns, seeing the book from his cabin appear in Logan’s hands.

“Did you—is that my—“

“I can assure you,” Logan says softly, “that I did not steal your book from you. Rather, this is a copy, generated from the information I was able to learn.”

“What did you want?”

“We were cursed.” Logan closes the book with a snap. “Cursed to take on forms that were hated or feared or simply a nuisance.”

Virgil’s stomach drops. Cursed?

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “that sounds…awful.”

“It was,” Janus mutters, “completely inconvenient and an utter waste of time.”

“You say like it wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh, right, it was absolutely only my fault.”

“You two,” Patton huffs, “enough.”

Virgil’s still trying to wrap his head around everything. “Wait, hang on, so—you were cursed? Were? Past tense?”

“Well,” Janus gestures to himself, “I don’t exactly look like a snake anymore, do I?”

He raises a finger when Virgil opens his mouth.

“Careful, dear.”

Virgil snaps his mouth shut.

Roman rolls his eyes and places a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “You broke the curse, my friend. Or at least…you helped us break it.”

“But how? I didn’t—I didn’t do anything.”

He raises an eyebrow and gestures to the bandage. “You don’t consider this doing anything?”

“Or this?” Patton holds up the stone.

Logan taps the cover of the book. “You helped us. When you had no reason to, past the goodness of your heart.”

“We would’ve been hurt,” Janus says quietly, “or hunted without you. They certainly would’ve killed me.”

“And me,” Remus says.

Patton nods. “And me.”

Roman simply taps his leg. Right. They already tried to kill him.

Virgil blinks. “So…me helping broke the curse?”

“You caring broke the curse,” Logan corrects gently, “and, well, when you...when you seemed to be in need, we wanted to care for you too.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“So,” Roman says, smiling up at Virgil, “how can we help?”

“Help? With—with what?”

“The nightmares.”

“Oh,” Virgil mumbles, averting his eyes, “you, uh, can’t. Not really. They’re not a curse or magical or anything. They’re just nightmares.”

“But there must be something we can do.”

He shakes his head sadly. Believe him, if there were anything five unfairly attractive people could do, he’d tell them. But there isn’t. “They come with the job. There’s not—no one can do anything.”

He can practically hear Patton frowning. “That’s not very fair. You do so much for others, don’t they—don’t they care?”

Virgil shrugs. “Life isn’t fair.”

“So take what it won’t give you.” Janus folds his arms. “They don’t care for you. Even though you care for them.”

“They do care for me,” Virgil argues, “they’re kind. They help me.”

“Not with this,” he shoots back, “not with what you really need.”

“You protect everyone,” Roman says softly when Virgil opens his mouth to argue again, “who protects you?”

Who protects the protector?

“…no one.” Virgil shakes his head. “No one but me.”

“Well, you’re right. That doesn’t seem fair at all.” Logan sets the book aside and it vanishes into the darkness of the cave. “Perhaps we should endeavor to fix that.”

“F-fix it?” Virgil’s head jerks up. “How?”

“Let us protect you.”

“Protect me?”

“Do keep up,” Janus sighs, but he’s pretty sure he can see him smiling over there, “at the very least, we have magic. That should offer you something.”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Roman says quickly, “but…thought we’d offer. Think it over.”

…well, if ‘protection’ involves seeing them more often, Virgil can definitely work with that.

“While I think it over, will you tell me how you got cursed?”

“So it was entirely Janus’s fault—“

“It was not!”

“Yes, it was!”

As Remus and Janus start arguing, Virgil smiles and leans back against the wall of the cave. Roman waves his hand and the cave wall warms, almost cradling Virgil. Logan settles on his other side, weight solid against his arm.

Yeah, he could get used to this.

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#sanders sides #fic #dragonbabbles #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #remus sanders #sympathetic remus

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alfredosauce50 · 3 years

Text

Of beasts and men [Hybrid 2p! America x reader]

Synopsis: And to think that godforsaken animal rescue center was to blame. You were supposed to find a dog to adopt, not a creepy furry who showed up naked at your door! Turns out, his shapeshifting abilities got him in some hot water with the police. And the rescue center owner. It’s pretty self-explanatory. Wordcount: 3, 290 The reader is referred to as she/her.

“You’re fired!” A gruff voice screamed outside a diner a few blocks down. “And don't come crawling back to me when you need my help! Not again!”

The shouts caused his ears to prick up, so he turned his head to the sound and flipped the man off. Though one had to wonder if he was a man. Yes, he stood on two legs, but he was covered head to toe with shaggy brown fur, and he had the head of a bull.

“No, I quit! Nobody fires me. Your loss, baby!” He yelled, baring his canines in a wide smile. When the other fumed in response, a jet of steam shot through his nostrils to blow his gold nose ring forward. Then, they stomped their foot and kicked the dirt below. He froze. “Oh shit.”

“I'll skewer you like a kebab!” They roared, rearing their head back before lunging forward to start charging at him. A single glance of those sharp horns was enough to send him running. So he fled, dashing through the narrow marketplace while gritting his teeth. Pushing past members of the public, he never stopped knocking over random objects in his way.

Crates, baskets, and fruit stalls in his path were bulldozed, alerting nearby swordsmen in blue jackets.

“Hey, you there! Stop running!”

He could hear their paws and hooves hot on his tail, so he lowered himself onto all fours and morphed. Sprinting all the way to the edge of the city, he disappeared into an alleyway. His life was a culmination of terrible decisions, but this probably took the cake. He knew exactly where this system of alleys led to, but he never slowed down to look back.

There was nothing left for him in the beast kingdom.

Dashing out of the enclosure of walls, he rammed into a dumpster and fell to the ground with a heavy thump. “Ah, shit...” He rolled onto his back and outstretched a paw to stare at it. “Maybe it isn't too late to be adopted. Ha!” The thought made him laugh, but it came out as a high-pitched wheeze. “Who am I kidding? I'm not a damn pet.”

“Hey, is that a red Doberman?”

He widened his eyes and sprung up on all fours. Pricking his ears to the two men standing at the street outside, he shook his head in regret. Like a deer caught in the headlights, they shined their torch on him and lit up his black irises with fear.

“Wow, you're right! Look at its fur! It's got a beautiful rusted color to it!”

“I can't believe it's a stray. We should take it back to the rescue center.”

The next thing he knew, he was sitting in a small cell. A metal gate slammed shut and locked him in. A few minutes later, he was still processing everything that had happened. He just got caught by a bunch of humans. “Did I jinx myself?” Jumping up and scrambling to the gate, he pressed his snout against the wires and held it with his paws--a rather human-like action and odd sight.

“Let me out, let me out dammit!” He yelled, pulling the wires back and forth to make it rattle. “This is a beast rights violation! I demand a lawyer!” What should have been coherent sentences left his mouth as a string of violent barks.

An attendant entered the hall and smashed a baton against a pole. “Oi, settle down! Keep that up and nobody will want you!”

The dog pulled away and fell onto his behind. Then, it let out a defeated scoff. “Nobody would want me anyways. Just do yourself a favor and let me rot on the streets.”

Upon hearing those soft whines, the attendant lowered his arm and walked off. “Atta’boy. Now go take a nap or something.”

And nap he did, having given up on escaping--for now. Laying his head on the cold, hard ground, he fluttered his tired eyes to a close. The next morning when he came to, his nose twitched to an unfamiliar scent. It radiated in waves from the fingers on the other side of the gate. Human fingers.

When he glanced up, someone was crouching in front of him and holding out their hand. “What about this one, Jerry? Is he up for adoption?” They asked with a small smile decorating their lips. Sitting up excitedly at that, he wagged his tail. Anything to get out of here. I'll figure out where to go later. “Aw, I think he understands me!”

“Hm, I suppose he is. But he's got a nasty temper, that one. You might wanna rethink your choice.”

He watched the hope fade from their eyes. “Oh, seriously? That's too bad...” Then, they stood up with a sigh. His tail swished to a stop and slumped. That attendant was right in the end, after all.

“And I thought I could get scary dog privileges. Maybe I should stick with smaller sizes...”

The pair made their way down the hall to look at the other species the center housed, much to his disappointment. “Cheer up! We've got tonnes of other big dogs for you to consider. Not all of them will be fussy living in small spaces. You said you lived alone, didn't you?” His ears perked up at that.

“So long as you take them out on walks, they'll be fine.”

“Maybe. But I might have to go home and take some measurements. These dogs were a little bigger than I expected.” Soft laughs echoed, followed by a door creaking open.

“Totally understandable. You come back another day, eh?”

The door clicked shut, leaving him to his own devices. A single thought occurred to him, and it repeated in his head over and over until it drove him mad. He needed to get out of here. Before some other human set their eyes on him. But how? That question was promptly answered when a chill ran down his spine.

His fur shivered and puffed up as he slowly grew in size.

“Oh crap, I'm out of juice!” As his limbs began to stretch, so did his paws. Soon, they began to resemble fingers, and his panic reached an all-time-high when he realized he was standing on two feet again. That wouldn't have been a problem if he wasn't where he was.

He was stranded in the human world in his beast form.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” Looking down to the spot between his legs, he gawked at another unwelcome discovery. Not only was he locked in a tiny cell, but he was also buck naked! It was only a matter of time before the attendant returned and found him like this. Regardless of his appearance, he was more than certain this warranted the police getting involved.

He already screwed up enough as it was. He definitely couldn't afford to get in trouble with the law in the human world too.

So he resorted to escaping by force. Taking a few steps back, he rammed into the lock. After a few attempts, he smashed through the gate and skidded to a stop. Without a shred of hesitation, he whipped his head to the door and charged right through it. Bursting into the front office, the receptionist screamed at his sudden arrival.

Then, they screamed even louder when they processed just what they were seeing. A humanoid dog.

The sheer volume of their shrieks made his ears tremble. “Oh my god, would you shut up already? I have good hearing, you know?”

Upon hearing him speak--a surefire sign he was indeed human--they reached for the phone beside them. Then, they talked frantically into the speaker, mentioning something along the lines of a naked creep in a fursuit. Now, he had no idea what that strange device was, but he was pretty sure they were alerting the authorities.

“Uh oh.”

For the second day in a row, he was chased by cops through a public sphere. That was one thing that didn't change, even if his setting certainly did. Towering buildings and skyscrapers loomed over him from all directions. Strange lights, posters, and moving pictures bombarded him with seizure-inducing colors.

Even then, he had no chance to take it all in when he was too busy fleeing. “Gah, get out of the way, get out of the way!” He barked.

Shoving through the people crowding the edges of the wide street, he stumbled right in front of a heavy-duty truck barreling at him at thirty miles an hour. He had been so determined to get away from the hoard of humans, he never realized where he wound up.

Before he could be sent flying, he gritted his teeth and jumped out of the way while it swerved into a telephone pole.

Briefly turning back to process the damage he'd done, shock filled him to the brim as he processed the scene of devastation that unfolded before him. But he couldn't linger on it for too long.

“That's the guy! Get him!”

He had to get out of here. But where was he supposed to go?

His nose twitched to a familiar scent. It was the person from this morning! And if he wasn't wrong, he recalled that they lived alone. So he followed the smell, finding himself standing outside of an apartment complex of some kind.

Setting down your things after that short and unproductive trip, you flopped down on the couch and turned on the TV. Police sirens wailed in the distance, but you paid them no mind. Whoever they were chasing, the fugitive was sure to be caught soon enough. Little did you know, you were about to become their accomplice.

A few crisp knocks sounded on the other side of your front door. Without tearing your gaze from the screen, you slid on your slippers. “Coming!” You called. Slowly making your way to answer it, whoever it was that decided to bother you on this fine Sunday morning, you peeked through the peephole to see a pair of tall red ears. Dog ears.

“Huh?” Unlocking the door and creaking it open, albeit only slightly, you poked your head out in confusion. Standing there in all his glory, or its glory, was an anthropomorphic Doberman. If it weren't for these circumstances you met them under, you would have noticed they were a spitting image to the red Doberman in the rescue center. Instead, you were more compelled to fixate on other details.

When he realized where you were staring, he covered himself and grinned sheepishly.

“Uh... Happy birthday?”

The color drained from your face until you were paler than a sheet of paper. Then, you screamed.

He reflected a similar panic, and before you could shut the door in his face, he lunged forward into the frame and pried it open. “Wait, just hear me out! I'm in a bit of a tight spot here!” Given his physical advantages, he triumphed rather easily and forced himself into your home. All you could do was watch, but that didn't mean you couldn't keep screaming.

Rearing his head back as he covered his trembling ears, he shot his arms around you and clamped a hand over your mouth. “Stop screaming for God's sake! I've had it enough with the screaming today!” When you felt his fur against your lips, you only struggled and thrashed harder out of fear.

Regardless of his strength and stature, he couldn't do this all day.

So he tried morphing again. Rather than changing into the dog you saw earlier in the morning, he assumed a form closer to yours. His rusted red fur disappeared along with his tail. The long snout that pressed against your face shortened, and eventually, the arms that held you hostage were human. Or at least, they gave off that impression with his tanned, hairless skin.

You could argue that his transformation made the situation a little less bizarre. A little more manageable. So yes, you stopped moving. Now that you weren't resisting, he assumed you calmed down enough for him to let you go. What a big mistake that was.

The second you were freed, you punched him square in the jaw.

“Gh-!” An explosion of pain spread through his cheek. Turning back to you with teary eyes, he gripped the spot you took the liberty to abuse. “What the hell was that for?!” He spluttered.

“For being naked, you idiot!” You fumed through a blush.

“I thought we already moved past that!”

“We'll move past it once you put some clothes on!”

A little less bizarre? Who were you kidding? His sudden change in appearance only signaled to you he wasn't just your typical creep in a fursuit. As you mulled over the thought, a grim expression contorted at your features. Was this karma for changing your mind about that Doberman? A supernatural reckoning you so deserved for walking away? Needless to say, it was something worth discussing over some food.

“Thanks for the sweatpants, by the way! I'll return it to you later.” Kicking back in a chair, he started snacking on what he found in your pantry.

You avoided his gaze. He stood at least five inches taller than you, and he was certainly bigger than you were. And in more ways than one. “... You can keep it.”

Watching a dog munch on chocolate was not the most comfortable thing to see, either. The same could be said for his hands that picked through a candy box. “Wow, these are great! We don't have stuff like this back where I live.” He mused, throwing another chocolate-covered almond into his mouth. You tensed up.

“Wait, are you saying you've never had chocolate before?” Leaning forward and slamming your hands down on the dining table, you darted your eyes over his unreadable expression for any signs of discomfort. “I can't believe I let you eat it! Just because you can talk and everything!”

“Wha'dya mean I can talk? Of course I can talk!”

Maybe letting him rummage through your pantry was a bad idea.

He licked around his snout and huffed. “Anyway, sure I've eaten it before. Just nothing this good. What did you guys do to this, huh?” You breathed out a sigh of relief at that and sat back down. So you didn't accidentally poison your guest. Some guest he was, though. His name was strangely more down-to-earth than his otherworldly origins.

“Well, it's processed.”

“Processed, huh? I have no idea what that means.” He turned the box over and squinted at the label. “Huh? What language is this?”

“Japanese.”

His brows knitted together and he looked deep in thought. “Hm. I don't know what that is either.”

You laughed under your breath. “Duh. From what you've told me, it wouldn't be wrong to say you were born yesterday.”

“Oi, I'll have you know I was born at least a year ago!”

Allen, the runaway beast, had left his homeworld for the human one. Though chased out was the more accurate way to put it. There was nothing left for him back there, and his only hope of starting over was to take refuge in a foreign land. Perhaps not forever, but at least until he figured out where to go from here. That was what he had in mind.

“I'm not too concerned about you learning anything new. You'll be leaving soon, so.” Standing up with a content smile, you made your way to his side and patted him on the shoulder. The action prompted him to glance up at you with a full mouth. What you said next, however, would make him spit everything out. “You can't stay the night, Allen.”

He spewed almond bits all over the table, much to your disgust. “Wait, what?! I thought you were gonna let me stay! And not even just for a night, maybe for a week or two!”

You gawked in disbelief. “Are you crazy?! I'm not taking you in just because of your sob story. I'm not made of money, you know!” But that wasn't quite it, either. You were prepared to raise a dog, a big one at that, for protection purposes. The problem wasn't money.

The problem was that he wasn't human.

His ears drooped and he shot you his best puppy dog eyes he could muster. But you stayed strong. It was what he later added that jabbed at your strong resolve. “Aw, come on. Weren't you planning to adopt a dog like me? What's the difference?” Allen pouted. The sound of him reiterating exactly what was on your mind made you freeze up.

“It'll be the same as having a pet, I swear! Maybe even better--I know how to use a toilet!”

“Of course you know how to use a toilet!” You interjected, pulling away shortly to let out a sharp, frustrated sigh. “You're not a pet, Allen. You're a person, well, a dog person. You're not helpless without an owner! And what if somebody hunts me down and for keeping you here?” As much of a point you had, he didn't stop there.

Everything in his life boiled down to this moment. If he couldn't convince you to let him stay, there was no saying where he would end up. So he would do everything in his power to give you that one last push.

Standing up from his chair, he morphed into a human. Or tried with what was left of his energy. While his red ears and tail remained, there was nothing else reminiscent of the beast he was. “If you're worried about what I am, then I'll stay like this. Without the ears and tail, I mean.” His furry appendage swished at that.

“And I'll help you with house chores. I'm more capable than I look, I promise!”

You furrowed your brows and sighed for what felt like the tenth time that day. You couldn't believe it, but he was steadily chipping away at your resolve. So you turned away. “Mm, I don't know. This is a lot to ask from someone, especially if you aren't helping with the bills.”

Allen lit up, sensing your change of heart. So he jumped in front of you. “I'll do anything to make up for it!” He grinned, his energetic outburst catching you off-guard. There was something about his body language and attitude that perfectly embodied a loyal dog eager to please its owner. It was probably because of that tail of his that wagged with great gusto.

Among other things, you supposed.

“I'll be everything you need! A pet, a bodyguard, househusband, whatever you like!” Your attention was piqued at the mention of bodyguard. But when you processed the rest of his sentence, you lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Who said I needed a househusband?” You frowned.

Allen blinked. “Was that too much?” He grinned toothily. “Then how about a live-in boyfriend?”

With every shred of your willpower, you held back the urge to punch him. You already bruised him enough for today. “If you want me to consider taking you in, make me something for lunch! If it's acceptable, I might let you stay.” Shoving him into the kitchen at that, you pulled your apron off its hook and tossed it his way. “And do the dishes, too!”

“Alright, alright, jeez! Have some faith in me, won't you? I used to work in a diner, ya know?” The man swatted you gently with his tail. But you only pulled it much to his surprise.

“Used to. You probably got fired.”

Allen ignored that comment. “Watch where you touch, babe. You're moving a little too fast, even for me--Ow!”

#hetalia fanfiction #hetalia fanfic #axis powers ヘタリア #hetalia world series #2p!americaxreader #2p america #2p america x reader #x reader #beast #boy and the beast #bakemono no ko #hybrid #inu #allen jones #fantasy

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remmushound · 3 years

Text

Radio Hearts, chapter 3!! @scentedcandlecryptid @digitl-art-monstr

Shelldon woke up.

When the startup faded from his mind, he was able to detect and recognize the faces in front of him. They didn't seem to notice him wake at first, whispering soft words that he was quick to tune into.

“...didn't program him to do any of that!” Donatello was saying.

“You’re saying he did it on his own?” Raphael asked, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head slightly.

“Yes! Unless one of you have been messing with him.”

“The robot uprising is upon us!” Michelangelo gasped, falling back against Leonardo.

“I always knew that Don would be the origin of an apocalyptic scenario. It was only a matter of time.” Leonardo nodded.

“Leo, if I wanted to start an apocalypse, I would have done so already. And if I did, I would make the entire world my slave, not fall into chaos. That way, they can still worship me for my brilliance.” Donatello put a hand to his chest and grinned.

“Thinking ahead, I like it!” Leonardo nodded and laughed, patting his brother's shoulder firmly. “Planning for the future!”

“Boys!” Splinter said, and his voice silenced them all. “The drone is awake.”

“Whaaa?” Donatello’s mouth dropped open as he spun quickly to look at Shelldon, bringing his eye to almost touch Shelldon’s sensor. “What what what what what—“

“Did you wake him up?” Leonardo asked, leaning just as close.

“No!” Donatello declared, looking around at his brothers. His eyes were wide, brows creased, lip quivering.

Scared. Shelldon read the face expression with ease and acted accordingly. “Don’t be afraid!”

All the brothers screamed. Leonardo and Michelangelo both piled onto Donatello and Donatello fell back against Raphael to get away from the drone. Splinter didn't flinch at the voice, however; in fact, he recognized it! He got closer to the drone.

“Dad, no—!”

“He’s gonna eat dad!” Michelangelo yanked on Donatello’s collar, shaking his brother’s head violently. “Do something Donnie!”

“And there goes my ear drum.” Donatello growled.

“Holy shell…” Raphael breathed.

“You’ve been listening to my movies, haven’t you…?” Splinter asked softly.

Shelldon whirled and tilted his head.

“You have.” Splinter smiled and laughed softly. “You’re a very smart little drone.”

His paws grabbed Shelldon gently around the middle, lifting him up in such a way that his belly was exposed, his pulsing, turtle-shaped heart glowing. Splinter’s eyes almost seemed to illuminate the glow.

“Of course you are.” Splinter laughed, then let Shelldon down again. He turned to walk out of the laboratory, addressing Donatello as he went. “Purple, please remove the chain from Shelldon.”

“Whyyyyyy…?” Donatello asked slowly.

“Because I said so!”

***

Shelldon was free. He was free and he wanted to take every advantage of it. He waited until Michelangelo started to play his soccer game before he hovered over quickly, giving a robotic beep to catch the box turtle's attention. Michelangelo caught his ball with a curious churr and looked up.

“Hi Shelldon! Wanna play?”

Shelldon gave an affirmative nod and did a flip to further display his willingness.

“Okay! Go over there!” Michelangelo beamed, pointing Shelldon to the opposite side of the lair. He waited until Shelldon was in place before he held the ball up high. “Okay! Heads up!”

Shelldon was more than ready as the ball came speeding toward him. He gave a wiggle as it neared, and then tucked and attempted a spin-kick like he had seen Michelangelo do dozens of times. Instead of the solid thud that Shelldon had been expecting, all that came was a sharp, powerful bang. Shelldon fell like a rock and hit the ground hard; being a robot, of course he didn't feel it.

Michelangelo gave a sad whine as he ran over, picking up Shelldon and looking like he was about to cry.

“What happened?” Shelldon whirled in yet another recording.

Michelangelo turned Shelldon around and started to pull the remnants of the popped ball from between Shelldon’s flight blades.

“I-it’s alright, Shelldon.” Michelangelo reassured softly, making sure he got every scrap of rubber. “I— I got other balls! But uh… maybe you should play with Raphie instead…”

Shelldon whined and, the minute his blades were free of the restriction, he took Michelangelo's advice.

***

“Ah— oh. Hey Shelldon.” Raphael startled when he lifted the barbell and suddenly there was Shelldon.

Shelldon drifted a little closer to Raphael, floating down to land on the barbell and stare down at the snapper.

“Uh… I… I guess you can chill there.” Raphael tried to continue lifting, but after a few reps of Shelldon just staring emotionlessly at him, Raphael couldn’t take any more. He felt like he was in trouble, and he didn't like the expressionless, unblinking face. “Er— hey uh. Just remembered… I’m hungry!”

Raphael stood up quickly, replacing the barbell and trying to hurry out of Shelldon’s sights. Shelldon pursued him further. By the time Raphael had prepared a sandwich, Shelldon was hovering over his shoulder and watching him again. Raphael gave a soft whine, pausing mid-bite when he noticed Shelldon watching him. He removed his mouth without finishing the bite.

“Uh… hey— maybe you should go somewhere that’s… not here?”

Shelldon cocked his head.

Raphael whined and his head shrunk into his shell. “Please go away…”

***

“You can chill with me all you want, Shelly!” Leonardo said when Shelldon approached him with a questioning beep.

Shelldon gave a happy spin and was quick to follow Leonardo into his room.

“So, what you like to play?” Leonardo asked, “Card games?”

Shelldon looked down at his feet, there only for show without any motion in them, and then looked back up at Leonardo.

“Right— right. No hands. Uh… wanna… watch a movie?”

Shelldon gave an affirmative beep and a flip.

“Great! What you wanna watch?”

Shelldon cocked his head.

“Right, right. Uh. Probably haven’t watched many. Hm. Okay. Open Season it is!”

Leonardo leaned under his bed and pulled out a massive crate filled with movies, selecting one from the large collection.

***

Shelldon particularly loved spending time with Splinter, mostly because the old rat was always home and always watching TV, and Shelldon could just sit there beside him watching the shows and learn new, exciting words. It seemed Splinter really enjoyed the drone’s presence as well, making near-constant comments about the shows to explain certain scenes to Shelldon. When a particularly good show would end, Splinter would pause the TV to discuss it with Shelldon, though it was mostly a one-sided conversation. And, during the movies, when Splinter was distracted and hardly paying attention to the drone at his side, he would reach a paw over to gently scratch Shelldon’s head as if he were a pet. Shelldon didn't know what Splinter was getting out of the interaction, but he didn't resist it. It was okay, nice even, and Shelldon loved the gentle touch.

One night, weeks later, Shelldon returned to the lab like he did every night to charge and spend time with his lovely master Donatello. This night seemed different. Donatello was waiting for him, something the mutant had never done before. When Shelldon saw him, the drone slowed to a stop to watch Donatello, leaning against the door and looking around as if he had yet to spot Shelldon lurking nearby. Shelldon felt something yucky and strange in the pits of his stomach, something he had felt many times before but only now did he have a word to assign to that feeling. Fear.

“Shelldon.” Donatello called out to Shelldon the minute he spotted the drone, then motioned Shelldon over.

Shelldon gave an anxious whine and, head hanging low, drifted over to Donatello. Donatello picked Shelldon out of the air, holding him in the gentle manner he often did. Shelldon knew what was coming before it happened, and he prepared himself for the pinch in his carapace. He was ready when the tunneling vision came to him.

Shelldon went to sleep.

#oh??#whats Donnie gonna do?

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litwitlady · 4 years

Note

Omg I just know you’re gonna write the hell out of these sleepy prompts haha 37 or 3 for Malex :) can’t decide!

#3 - ‘Don’t be nervous, you can come closer.’

On the radio, a twangy country superstar sings about lost romance and broken hearts. Dirt and debris soaking up most of the sound. It’s midday and the junkyard is quiet. Michael is bent over a brand-new Silverado, engine already wrecked. He swears as he cuts his finger on a jagged piece of metal jutting out where it doesn’t belong. Sucks the wound between his lips and wipes the sweat from his brow. It’s only 10am but the day has already gone on for far too long.

He tosses his wrench onto his workbench and reaches down into his beat up cooler. His fingers glance across the long neck of a cold beer before settling around a half-frozen bottle of water. Twisting the cap off, he gulps down the entire bottle, eyes never leaving the beer. The day stretches out even further ahead of him, sober and sun-drenched.

Back beneath the truck’s hood, Michael cranks away at the broken, jangled mess. After all these years, the work is monotonous. Dull enough to let him loose inside his own head. He tries to drown out his hectic thoughts by humming along with the current song floating faintly from the radio. The same twenty-five song playlist in rotation damn near every day. Except on the weekends which are dedicated to decades past – golden oldies Michael considers the soundtrack to his youth. Lonesome melodies haunting the empty, loveless houses he’d once passed through.

He hums through two more songs, getting lost in his work. So lost he doesn’t notice when he starts to sing under his breath. So lost he doesn’t notice when the lyrics no longer match those echoing out from the radio.

Would you meet me in the middle, could we both stop keeping score

Michael sighs and presses his knuckles into his eyes. Alex’s song sneaks past his defenses at least once a day. And he’s found no cure. Not screaming along at the top of his lungs. Not biting his tongue bloody. Not refusing to listen to music for days on end. Nothing has worked. It always finds him no matter where he hides.

Resting on the truck’s bumper, he pulls out his phone and thumbs through his contacts. Leaving grease smudges behind. He stops on Alex’s number and sits staring – wondering what might happen if he actually went through with the call. Behind him, a soft whining breaks through his thoughts. He ignores the tiny noise at first. The junkyard is filled with whines – bad engines, metal signs blowing in the wind, the rickety roof shifting above the makeshift workshop. But the sound continues, and Michael decides to go investigate. He could use a good distraction.

What he finds is a blue-gray pitbull puppy inside a rusty yellow VW Beetle – windows all busted out and flowers growing wild through the wheels. Little paws propped up against the door, tongue swatting up at his nose. Michael approaches slowly – the puppy trembling and clearly terrified at his presence, disappearing into the car’s footwell.

A dog is not what Michael needs. He sighs and turns his back. But the puppy starts to cry again – more desperate now, lonelier somehow. He spins on his heels and yanks the door open, puppy scrambling away.

‘Don’t be nervous, you can come closer. Not going to hurt you, little bit.’ He reaches down and wraps his fingers around the dog’s soft belly. Picking him up and cradling him against his chest. He’s warm and still shaking, but he nuzzles into Michael’s t-shirt anyway.

A dog is not what Michael needs. He finds an unused crate and lines it with newspaper, tossing in a couple of clean shop towels for good measure. Places the pup onto the improvised bed and watches him squirm around, sniffing at his new home. His temporary new home. Because a dog is not what Michael needs.

He tries to climb out, tumbling over backwards. Tries again with the same results. Michael finds himself smiling – almost laughing. And he forces himself to look away. Digging around in his toolbox for the screwdriver he needs to keep working.

But it’s no use. The puppy keeps mewing and Michael’s heart can’t stand the pitiful noises. He hoses off a dusty hubcap and fills it with clean water. Grabs his phone and dials Maria’s number.

‘Guerin.’

‘DeLuca.’

They haven’t talked much since the hospital breakup. Polite hellos and sad smiles whenever Michael enters the Pony. But she’s the first person he thinks of when he considers his current predicament. ‘Do you have any dog food – or something a puppy could eat?’

He hears her whisper something over her shoulder and then, ‘What – a puppy? When did you get a dog?’

Michael sighs. ‘I didn’t get a dog. But there’s a puppy out at the junkyard. He needs to eat and I’m working. All I’ve got is some stale breakfast bars.’

‘Call Isobel. Or a vet. I’m working.’ She hangs up. He supposes it was too early to start asking favors.

But she’s right – he should call a vet. Or, better yet, drop the dog off at a vet and get back to his very simple, not at all complicated mutt-free life.

He calls Isobel instead.

‘Michael, make it quick. I’m at the Women’s Action Committee luncheon and about to give a speech.’ Other people might sound flustered before public speaking. Isobel sounds like she’s at a day spa.

‘Would you mind swiping some leftovers a puppy could eat and heading over to the junkyard after?’ The puppy in question starts to yip. Finally hoisting himself over the side of the crate and splashing headfirst into his new water bowl.

‘Oh my god, Michael. You got a dog?’ He can barely hear her over the clatter of the luncheon.

‘There is a dog temporarily in my care. That’s all. Can you help me or not?’

‘Not until later tonight. I’m meeting with the mayor about the abandoned UFO museum. We’re hoping to start a women’s shelter. Call Max.’ Someone shouts her name. ‘Gotta go, Michael.’ She hangs up.

The puppy’s ears are soaked. Dripping in the sand as he busily noses about. Tail wagging so happily his entire body wiggles. That’s the first moment Michael knows he’s in trouble.

Against his better judgment, he phones Kyle. ‘Valenti, you’re a doctor. Help me.’

‘I’m not a vet! And I’ve got surgery in thirty minutes. How did you even get my number?’ He hangs up.

Michael refuses to call Max on principle.

That leaves him exactly one option. One terrible choice. He scrolls back up to Alex’s number. But he can’t make his finger press the call button. No matter how hard he tries.

He plops down in the dirt and pulls the puppy to him. He nips at Michael’s fingers playfully and chews a hole in his threadbare shirt. Michael likes dogs – he does. Has always wanted one, but never had the ability to properly take care of one. Having barely been able to care of himself most days. ‘Wonder where you came from, little guy?’ He scratches the puppy behind its ears. ‘Where all your brothers and sisters wound up? Probably safe and sound in warm homes.’ He swallows, hating the emotion that has crept into his voice. ‘Snuggled tight in the arms of some little girl or boy.’

The puppy licks his chin and Michael hugs the puppy closer. ‘But you got thrown away. Or maybe your ran away, huh?’

Scrambling out of his arms, the dog hops back to his water and continues splashing about. Michael returns his attention to Alex’s phone number. ‘He probably won’t answer anyway.’ The puppy ignores him. ‘He has a boyfriend now.’ He rolls in the dirt, little feet pawing at the air. Michael leans back against the Chevy and closes his eyes.

He hasn’t seen Alex in weeks. Has worked tirelessly to avoid seeing Alex for weeks. But he has seen Forrest. Fucking everywhere. The hardware store – the minimart – the gas station. Back at the library and even at the grocery store late one night. In the goddamn cereal aisle.

‘Guerin.’

‘Forrest.’ Michael’s heart beating so hard it breaks.

‘See you around. Enjoy the cereal.’ And Michael had smiled tightly. Watched Forrest leave and imagined him driving straight to Alex’s and crawling into bed beside him.

When he reopens his eyes, the puppy is gone. The junkyard far too silent. Sun so hot everything looks hazy. ‘Where’d you go?’ Michael calls, panic bubbling up in his chest.

That’s when he hears the frantic yapping. He climbs to his feet and jerks around the corner of the Silverado. Eyes scanning the yard as quickly as possible. But the puppy is fine. Better than fine, even. Locked safely in the arms of none other than Alex Manes. Barking and licking at whatever bit of skin is closest.

Alex grins down at squirming puppy and then back up at Michael. ‘Hey.’ The dog barks and bites at Alex’s ear. ‘Is he yours?

The sight is overwhelming. Too much for ordinary afternoons at the junkyard. Michael’s eyes soften. ‘He is.’

#malex #malex fic #sleep prompts #Anonymous #more of the cozy side of the prompt lol

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skaryskylar · 4 years

Text

Toss A Coin To Your Witcher

Pairing: BakuDeku, DekuBaku Switch

Type: One-Shot

Prompt: Twin Stars Week/Day 1-Fantasy

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: All the smut, Minor KiriKami, Dubious Consent, improper Use of Magic

Read on AO3

His stomach growled as he settled into the darkest corner of the inn. The ale in his cup had already gone warm, but he didn't dare waste a drop. It was bitter on his tongue, dry and heavy on the hops. Swishing through his jaws with difficulty, it seeped rather than flowed down his parched throat.

But it was all he could afford.

The pouch at his waist was depressingly empty, silent without the jingle of coin. He needed to sit and wait. See if something cropped up. But the inn didn't seem to be overflowing with those in need. No, it was fool's night. The bard atop a table strummed his lute, singing a tale of a honeyed, fair maiden chased down by a horrible beast of a bear. It was a lewd little ditty. If he could, he'd scrunch his face in disgust.

But that would mean he wouldn't look 'approachable'. In this line of work, and with a pocket as barren as his own, he needed to keep an easy going appearance at all times.

He tried to direct his ears elsewhere. Some of those gathered at the bar-common townsmen and farmers out for an evening drink-were whispering amongst themselves. It wasn't hard for him to pick up on the murmured sounds.

"-'s him. I'm sure of it."

"That's not him! He's short! They say that this Witcher is ten feet tall, wide as a bear and twice as fierce!"

"I heard he's got a hound's gnashing canines for teeth and blackened claws on his hands."

"He walks with a peach-colored wolf. It used to be white, but blood stained the damn thing's fur red so many times it started to grow out a strange, rosy color."

Ochako whined at his feet. Her dark eyes peeked up from under the table, ears downcast. Those assholes. Didn't they know she had a sensitive soul? Smiling at her comfortingly, he scratched behind her ears, a silent apology.

"Fool! He doesn't walk with a wolf! He is a wolf! When the full moon hangs low beneath the clouds, they say he transforms into a monster neither man nor beast."

"Shh! He can hear us! Don't you know he has ears large enough to hear for miles? See how they peek out from that head of dark curls!"

"I keep telling you that's not him! What would the Symbol of Strength, the Slaughterer of Shigaland, the Devil's Wicked Right Hand, Izuku of Yuuei be doing here of all places?"

"Perhaps he's come to slay the dragon."

Izuku perked up at that. His stomach groaned in protest but he had long ago learned to pay hunger no mind in the face of work. A dragon's head huh? That would fetch him a pretty penny. Perhaps enough for him to make it to the next town over with a sackful of dried meats, bread, berry...

And a horse. By the gods, how he needed a new horse. He lost the last one in a nasty encounter with some graveirs a while back. Travelling was a royal pain in the arse without a horse.

He stood to his full height, pushing his day-old ale aside as he made to go stand by the bar, leaning some of his hefty weight against the creaking wood of the counter. It was warmer there. Whether it was the heat of their fearful gazes or the warmth of human touch, he didn't care to find out.

He had something better to focus on.

"What's this I hear of a dragon wreaking havoc on innocent citizens?"

He went for a charming smile. The same that had maidens fall over him all the way from Shiketsu to Aldera. It didn't work. Men were less susceptible to his charm. They took one look into his eyes-saw how unnatural the green was with its sheen and flecks of gold, and knew he was not of their same blood and bone.

(No, he was stronger. Faster. More cunning and full of tricks. Without the folly of their emotions to weigh him down. A symbol of strength just as his master had been a symbol of peace.)

Sure enough, the one closest to him with the greasy black hair and gaunt face took one look into his gaze, and immediately blanched, tugging his mug of ale closer to his chest.

"M-M-Mind yours Witcher! Yer not welcome here!"

"It's not the Witcher." One of his friends snorted into the foam of his drink. "Don't mind a fake trying to trick his way into some coin."

Rather than speak to defend himself, Izuku drew his sword from its scabbard. The inn went silent in the wake of its gleam, watching how the silver glinted and shone even in the dim light. It was a beautiful piece of work, made from the finest goblin ore and elven wood, forged by dwarves in the deepest fires of Mount Rocklock.

It had passed from worthy hand to worthy hand till it found its way into his own calloused grip. The feats performed with it granted it a name fitting for its prestige.

"One for All." One of the men breathed. He reached out as if to touch iy, but Izuku was quick to slide the blade back into its sheath.

"Now," He grinned cheekily. "About that dragon."

The dragon, he learned, was terrorizing the farm lands towards the edge of town. It hadn't done much in terms of fire damage, just a few burnt stables here and there. A rabbit hutch for one man.

But it was surely taking its fill. A shepherd had lost half his flock while they were grazing in the hills, and that was just the beginning of it. Chickens, goats and cows had all fallen under the things clutches. There was no blood spilled so it naturally ate them whole.

But to spite the farmers, the thing had even stolen barrels of cheese and crates of milk, just throwing salt into the festering wounds. Slowly but surely, the little bastard was creeping closer and closer to the main villages. It wouldn't be long before it ran out of animals to eat.

Maybe then it'd decide it fancied human thigh instead of lamb.

"Listen, us farmers, we have a pact," The most reasonable out of the bunch, Inasa the dairyman, approached him with a fresh drink and a hot plate of roasted chicken. He was about to descend upon it with vigor, when a paw reached up to settle on his knee.

Ochako stared at him from under the table, brown eyes wide. Sighing, he split the meat in half, offering her the larger share.

"We'd be willing to pay if you can get the damn thing out of our hair. It won't be much in the way of coin, but you'd be guaranteed food for the next month at least. My wife and I can offer our place for you to rest your head for a night upon your return to sweeten the deal."

Izuku's stomach growled in response, the meager meal having not been enough. He willed an embarrassed blush to fly up to his cheeks, painting the backdrop of his multitudes of freckles a rosy red.

"Sounds like we've got a deal." He said, rubbing the back of his neck.

(If the farmer and his wife renegaded on their part, he would leave them out during the upcoming full moon and have Ochako rip them limb from limb.)

Promise of food stuck fast in his mind, he collected his things and began to walk out. The wolf was quick on his heels, gnawing at an abandoned chicken bone as Izuku adjusted his sword at his hip. He was only a few paces from the door when a voice called out,

"Wait! Witcher! Mister Slaughterer Sir! Wait!"

He nearly didn't stop. If Ochako hadn't spat out her bone to growl, he wouldn't have.

Certainly not for the bard. He was young. Mature in human years but his jaw was still smooth with youth. Neither hair nor scar marred his features, boyish grin bright with a fool's bliss as he clumsily stumbled his way over, golden eyes taking the setting sun's last rays into their depths to shine bright as day in the encroaching darkness.

"Let me come with you."

Izuku smiled.

"No."

Turning right on around, he once again set off on his journey. Ochacko huffed at his side as the bard continued to follow them. He maintained a distance just outside of his sword's reach so if Izuku fell prey to the building desire to turn and gut the man where he stood, he'd have to put some effort in.

And that was energy he did not have.

His stomach rumbled. The wolf at his side gave a keen whine.

"-can sing songs about our travels! Of who we meet and what we dare to do! I heard you're setting out to kill a dragon. Imagine what limericks I could reap from that!"

He pulled out his lute, cleared his throat and sang,

'The dragon with tongue of fire and death

Nearly killed us all with one sniff of its breath'

Izuku stopped in his tracks. He gave the other man a long, soul-searching look. The bard scrambled to get back, saying some nonsense about how he'd work on those horrible lyrics. In his haste, his hat ripped from his head, exposing long locks of flaxen hair, a single stray jagged line of black towards the side. But that anomaly wasn't what caught Izuku's attention: it was the pointed nubs of batlike ears that pointed through the matted fray, of a paler complexion from the rest of the man's skin due to the lack of exposure to sunlight. Immediately, his hands left the lute to cover them up, pulling his green flouncy hat low beyond their tips once more.

"You're an elf."

"Half-elf!" The man protested. "My mum's about as human as they come." After a beat of silence, he picked his lute from the ground, inspecting the wood for damage.

Izuku's smile widened.

A half elf. This was perfect. The only thing dragons enjoyed more than sheep was a roasted, honey-eyed elf. The bard would be a useful trap.

"What's your name stranger?"

"Denki Kaminari."

"You may come along. Don't get distracted, nor can you distract me. Dragons are dangerous after all."

It would've been an easy trip if the fool didn't talk so much. He had an easy voice; it chimed like bells. All the masculine grit stuck to the back of his throat, leaving only light melody to flow from his lips. It made him sound naturally friendly and open. Izuku wished for that. Every tone of his own words had to be thoughtfully considered before he spoke, lest he fall into the same gruff, monotone of his kinsmen.

That wouldn't do. He had to be personable to get jobs. Strong to make results come to fruition and cunning to ensure he always had his way.

His master was not lazy with his tutelage. One could not become the Symbol of Peace without accumulating centuries of wisdom, and that same wisdom was bestowed upon him with each lesson; each fletching of an arrow, crushing of yarrow root in mortar with a pestle, and adjustment of his manner of speech came with some kind of warning. It was the warning that made him careful. It was his care that made him great.

But the bard, Denki, wasn't taught. He wasn't raised as he was. He was just...human. Well, half-human.

And fully annoying. So, so annoying.

Like a pest he flew around Izuku as they walked, commenting on his height, how his arms were twice as thick as his own. He was writing songs as they made their way up the hills to the farmlands.

If he had to hear another comparison of his 'wild, curly locks' to a 'dewy clearing on the first morn of spring', he would cut off his ears and throw them to Ochako to eat. At least then one of them wouldn't be starving.

"And your eyes! Cut from the finest jade no doubt! They say Witchers can see in the dark like a cat. They say your kind prowl the forests at night searching for prey from a young age, and that's how they find you, bloody babes wrapped in wolf skins. Is it true?"

"You are not born a witcher," Izuku said idly, coming to a stop. They had arrived at the appointed farm. He could see the burnt rabbit hatch; how meager the gathering of cows was in the field.

But this story didn't add up.

"Witchers are made. It is not a path suited for every man. Be happy you're a bard."

"I'm terribly fond of my profession good sir. There's nothing the fairer sex fancies more than a man who can sing their troubles away."

"Is that so?"

The scent. The scent was wrong. He knew what dragon smelled like and this wasn't it. There was smoke yes. The anger, of course. The acrid scent of soot and all-consuming fire, but there was a sweetness that betrayed its magical origin.

Dragons did not smell sweet. They smelled like a viper pit after a night of rain, like the petrichor seeping off the ground before lightning struck true. They stank of death and doom with the smoky after notes of all-consuming rage.

At least, that's what he knew from his own experiences. Perhaps this one was a runt.

"They quickly find my tongue has many uses. Singing makes it nimble and quick. Easy to fit in, uh, tiny spaces if you get my meaning."

He did, but refused to give any indication that it was so. Humming good-naturedly, he moved towards the main cottage without a word, letting the bard talk him down the stone path.

If it was a dragon, then the bard would draw him out. If it wasn't, he could still use the man as a distraction as he created a better plan. Win-Win situation.

The woman that answered the door was thin. Her head of hair had already started turning gray, and there were dark circles beneath her fearful brown eyes. She spoke in whispers and murmurs, as though she thought speaking about the dragon itself would bring it back to harm her. Izuku ignored the usual talk about the terror the victim felt, how helpless they were in the face of such a mighty beast, and focused on the facts.

The attack happened two days ago, which meant the scent would still be fresh if he tracked it down. They were missing all their rabbits, half their cows, and a barrel of cheese. The first two was nothing out of the ordinary. Dragons weren't known for having a small appetite.But the barrel of cheese was strange. Even stranger yet was the missing cherry pie.

"I remember leaving it on the windowsill to cool that morning, but when I came back it was gone." She said, pressing a hand to her head.

He would've written it off as a common thief taking advantage of a disaster, if the last detail she uttered hadn't set off all his alarms.

"The worst part was its laughter."

"Laughter?" The bard spoke the question on his mind between bites of apple pie. "What kind of dragon laughs?"

She sighed, pressing her eyes to her hands as if she were about to weep.

(Izuku hoped she wouldn't. He didn't do well with females, nor their tears. They made him...unsettled.)

"It was horrible. My husband and I went out to put out the fire and we heard the thing just laugh and laugh and laugh. It sounded almost human, but there was a darkness to it. It was small, but if you heard it you'd notice. No one, not even the worst of the worst sinners, sounds that evil."

Izuku set off with suspicion in his heart and a bit of dried meats in his pouch. The bard kept trying to break into his head, see what plans he was making behind his 'jolly demeanor' but he remained silent, smile locked to his face as if it were an iron mask. Ochako had no such patience. When the bard got close enough to brush Izuku's shoulder with his hand, she barked and snapped her teeth, sending the man running several paces back.

"Control your dog Witcher!"

"She's a dire wolf." Izuku corrected cheerily. The good little pup snarled her agreement. He didn't need to look to see the man was terrified. The sharp scent of a little piss was one of the wafts in the air.

The trail was leading them into the mountains. It would be a day before they reached the end of it. Izuku would've walked through the night with his wolf at his side, but elves, half or not, were prissy about darkness.

They settled at the foot of the mountain. Izuku set a fire with ease, magic crackling electric green in his palm before shooting out to the bundle of sticks and tinder. Ochako took her place at his back, licking her fur for a quick clean before settling on her paws and falling asleep. Her snores rang out throughout the land, imposing and fearsome, letting all woodland creatures know that a direwolf was present and ready to rip out their throats if they strayed too close.

He could sleep easy so long as she kept snoring.

"Witcher,"

But not as long as the bard insisted on speaking.

"This dragon...I've got my reservations about it. Wouldn't we have seen its claw marks in the dirt?"

"Dragons fly bard." The Witcher answered, eyes shut as he lay against the direwolf's back. She was warm beneath him, fur tickling the skin of his neck as he shifted to get comfortable. There were a few moments of darkness and blessed, blissful silence.

Then:

"I can't get that laughter tidbit out of my mind. What kind of dragon laughs Witcher? Will we face a particularly fearsome one?"

"The fiercest." Izuku replied, because he couldn't resist. The bard's 'eep' of fright sparked a distant amusement in his chest.

"Perhaps if you tell it a funny tale or two, you'll distract it long enough for me to take its head."

He felt the vibrations of the bard laying out a bedroll. (Made of fine material no doubt. Ever the prissiest those elves) The ground gave a slight shake when the man threw himself upon it.

Izuku's eyes remained closed as Denki gave a long sigh.

"Hopefully I'll live to see another night."

Izuku did not hope. He had been told he inspired such a feeling in others but he himself was immune to such irrationality. He was a man of facts, of odds and probability, of notes scrawled on paper well into the night, of the smell of ink lingering on calloused hands.

He did not hope. He predicted, anticipated and prepared.

His odds of survival were high. There was an off-chance he would perish: burning to his demise or falling off the face of the mountain seemed to be the top two contenders for the 'final blow'. But the probability of him strutting out of there with a dragon head slung over his back and Ochako gnawing on rawhide at his side was greater by far.

The bard though?

...Hmm.

The man continued to talk to himself through the night, attempting to assuage his own fears. Groaning, Izuku turned his back on him, and tried to fall asleep to the anxious melody.

The first thing he noticed upon waking was the silence. Ochako's warmth was still at his back. He could feel her chest rise and fall with each breath, but the loud fearsome snores that should've been ringing out were muted. He could taste the magic of the silencing spell in the air before he could taste the bitterness of morning. Hand already at his scabbard, he leapt up, only to get slammed back down by a leather boot.

Crimson eyes cut from ruby and forged in flames leered down at him. The wicked, sharp grin of his attacker loomed inches above, teeth sharp and white blotted red with blood, so close he could taste the copper of it.

He thought of the bard. A quick sniff told him the man was still alive. Terrified, if the whimpers and more than subtle waft of piss meant anything, but still alive.

He quickly scanned the attacker. His chest was bare, golden skin not marred with scar nor birthmark, immaculate and smooth save for the rolling hills of his abs and pink peaks of his nipples, stiff in the mild morning frost. A cape the same color as his eyes gave a few flaps in the easy winds. It was clasped by a silver dragon around the neck, white fur lining the shoulders above his defined collarbone. Clearly a luxury, but not a symbol he could put a royal family name to.

His pants were dark, but made of fine material. He had only seen kikimore silk once before in his life: at the royal wedding of Prince Shoto of Endeavour and Princess Momo of Creati. Her dress had been made from two yards of it and a stunning, hand-sewn lace. It was a white so pure it glistened when the sun hit it, rivaling the shade of the snow as it fell upon the pair underneath their wedding arch.

This was that same material, but dyed a black so harsh it absorbed all color, cuffs tucked into his boots. Lined with that same white fur as the cape, they had spikes beneath their soles. Armor was strapped around the man's knees, sharp points tacked on so they could be used as a weapon if need be, Every inch of this man was a weapon. Sharp. Dangerous.

And he smelled nothing like a human. Izuku didn't recognize this scent. Sweet and sultry, like golden ambrosia presented before an altar, or the exotic perfumes of a passing noblewoman. He had to lean away to catch the fresh winds and clear his head from the hazy mist that threatened to settle over him at the smell of it.

But there was something else on that wind. The smell of a viper pit after a heavy rain. He looked to where the edge of the attacker’s cape billowed in the gentle breeze.

Hmm.

Izuku slipped on an easy smile. It was second-nature by that point, but it only seemed to make the man angry. His eyes narrowed into slits, confident smirk morphing into a bitter scowl.

"Don't play innocent with me Witcher. I've met others of your kind. You don't have the heart for kindness."

Smart one. Arrogant asshole. Izuku made a point to smile harder, quirking a brow in what he hoped would look like a playful jest, as if the man were an old friend rather than the next victim of his blade.

"Now, now. I'm sure we can talk about this-."

He saw the dagger coming down before it was even raised. Heaving, he got the man away from him by turning suddenly, rolling across the ground. Grabbing Ochako by her scruff, he tossed her to the screaming bard and went to face his rising opponent.

Izuku reached for his sword, only to find the scabbard empty.

The other man twirled it about in his hand, checking his reflection in the blade. The tip was already stained red. If the beheaded, mangled deer towards the edge of their camp signified anything, it was that his blade was stolen from him while he slept then used to hunt breakfast.

Which meant that this one who appeared in the image of a man, licking the last of the blood from his teeth, was definitely not mortal. Izuku could sense other life forms even while unconscious. No one touched anything so close to him without his fist closing around their neck. This one was...was...

"Who are you?" The bard yelled. He was bound in rope, hands behind his back and ankles together. His cap still covered his ears securely. Izuku angled himself so the stranger wouldn't see the elf's face, lest he catch the spark in his eyes and begin to suspect.

"I am Prince Kacchan."

"Prince of what?" Denki snorted. "Thieves?"

There was that rage from the farm, smelling of soot and ash. It was thick in the air, hot and violent. Sparks skittered up Izuku's skin as those eyes came to meet him again. They looked him over, slowly, with intention.

Then there was the glint of a smirk full of salacious promise and scandal.

"I think you look better beneath me Witcher."

"I think I'm going to need my sword back Prince Kacchan."

He didn't miss the shiver that racked through the man at the sound of the title. The air was heavy with their auras, challenge and intrigue passing between the two of them, neither willing to drop their masks.

Until a pained roar came down from mountain high, sending birds squawking away from shuddering treetops as the ground rumbled. Kacchan leapt up at once, landing on a branch in a show of nimbleness.

He tossed back a wink.

"Come find me Witcher. I have need for some company." He said before taking off. Leaping from tree to tree, he kept the sword still in his grip as he disappeared into the foliage.;

Izuku bit back a curse. Gathering his things, he used the blade he kept within his boot to cut the bard free. Ochako led the charge as they ran, kicking up dust and dirt in their haste. The bard was too slow to keep up so Izuku swung him onto his shoulders, matching Ochako's pace with ease.

"Where do you think he ran off too?"

If the scent that clung to the man's cape was right, then he had run off to meet their dragon. Izuku didn't reply with this, gritting his teeth as he set a faster pace, thoughts of his sword flashing through his mind along with the possible outcomes of the situation.

The higher up they went, the worse the options became.

The scent was thickest at the very top. There was a cave or rose quartz, large enough for a dragon, but decidedly empty of its large hulking mass. There was no camp set up for Prince Kacchan, only a couple large stones here and there.

Izuku knew better than to judge by first glance. He moved to enter the glistening cavern when the bard pounded his shoulder.

"There is no way I'm going into that cave without a battle plan Witcher! What if it drops from the skies and roasts us where we stand?"

"Then we die," Izuku said simply. Though the bard screamed and yowled his protest, he did not release him, edging his way into the dark cave overflowing with the sharp scent of dragon.

And blood. So much blood and death.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly, narrowing on everything in his path. Kicking aside a cow's skeleton, bones white and licked clean, he brought his tiny party further to the back of the cave, where the smell was strongest and the warmth of fire began to trickle through.

"I'm not too sure about this Witcher."

"Just sit up there and smell pretty bard."

"What do you mean by-?"

A deafening roar cut them off. The ground shook beneath his boots, dust falling from the pale pink stalactite above. He leapt back as one of the spikes dropped, bursting into shards in the same spot he once stood. Deeper and deeper he went as the roar continued. The more he listened, the more pained the cry seemed. It was...off. This wasn't anger. It wasn't lashing out. He doubted it even knew they were in there at all.

He crept closer to the scent of fire, inching along the wall of the cave, straining his ears to hear beyond the wail.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. It hurts. Quit wailing you big baby. You're acting like you lost a ball sack."

That was Prince Kacchan. The jackass who stole his sword. Clutching the bard's ankles tight, he dared to creep in further, murmuring a spell to hide his and Ochako's scent.

Bracing himself, he peeked around the corner.

It was a dragon alright. Definitely not the runt of the litter though. It was huge, looming several feet above his own head even in a crouch. Its horns were long, thick as a tree trunk, curling around his head like that of a rams. Its scales were red so dark they were almost black, taking in the light of the fire, each as long as Izuku's hand.

But it wasn't its massive size that drew his attention.

It was its wounds.

A gaping hole tore through one wing, the other folded at an awkward angle behind him. Broken, no doubt. Its claws were long and sharp on all three limbs.

The fourth was missing. Its dark eyes were glued to the spot where it should of been, watering with unshed tears of pain as Prince Kacchan cleaned and wrapped the wound. At the blonde's side was Izuku's acclaimed sword, sitting still and idle, waiting for him to grasp it in his hand once more. The discarded bandage pile was where the stench of blood was strongest. Izuku sniffed, identifying the sour smell of infection in the cloth.

"Whoa," The bard breathed and, immediately, all eyes darted to their location.

Izuku could've killed the man himself, but it seemed like the dragon wanted to take a go first. He let Denki go, dropping him to the ground when the thing raised its head to strike, then rolled to snatch his sword before it was too late.

Two things happened then.

The dragon gave a keen whine, then began to collapse in on itself, shrinking in a blaze of red light till a man stood where the beast once sat. His spiky hair was the same shade of crimson as the scales, and his build more similar to Izuku's own bulk than Kacchan's lithe muscle. There was a bandaged stump where his left hand should've been, a clean cut slicing just above the wrist. His eyes were curious, a light reddish-brown as they fixated on the bard and the bard alone.

He was also completely nude.

The second was that Izuku reached for his sword, fingertips brushing the hilt when lava burst from the floor below, wrapping around his ankles and wrists, pinning him to the ground. He grunted when the familiar sensation of a spiked boot stepping on him came from his back.

"We meet again, Witcher."

His face in the dirt, Izuku dropped any mask, letting a cold fury envelope him as he struggled. He was close. So close. One inch more and One for All would be where it belonged.

But the Fates did not will it to be so. Kacchan gave a savage, mocking laugh as he plucked the sword up from the floor. He did some kind of magic to turn Izuku over so that he was facing the ceiling.

He couldn't see Kacchan, but he could feel his witchcraft. Powerful, it thrummed through the air, enveloping his limbs like a restraining caress till he was immobile.

At least the dragon found the bard. If he could enjoy nothing else, it would be the fact that he could hear the annoying little man being ripped limb from limb before he died.

...But the Fates didn't will that to be so either.

"You're an elf!"

"A-A-And your prick is out sir! I implore you to get a covering. Where are your trousers?"

"Oh! My apologies. I didn't mean to offend."

Izuku sniffed. Sweet and heady. Nervousness. Anticipation. Attraction. Arousal-.

Oh fuck.

"I've never met a real elf before. My mother says your kind are as sweet as honey and have eyes of starlight. If I may see your ears?"

"I-I don't really like letting people look."

"But they're beautiful!" The dragon insisted, as if scandalized. "Elves are the most beautiful creatures in all the land. I should know! I'm a dragon! My kind collect pretty things."

There's the sound of someone shifting. Probably the elf, blushing like a maiden at the flattery. Izuku fought the desire to throw them all off the mountain.

"I have a cousin, Mina. She courted an elf. At their celebration, there wasn't a dry eye on that mountain top. From envy of course. A good half of our family was ready to kill her to take her place."

Gritting his teeth, Izuku made a mental note to rewrite the segment on Elven-Dragon Relations in his journal.

"So I assume you're the one that's been harassing the farmers then," He said, trying to get Kacchan's attention. Maybe Ochako would be able to catch the man by surprise if he kept him distracted. "You need to feed your friend after all, and he's not fit to hunt."

"Hey!" The dragon-shifter's voice was stunned, and a little hurt. "I thought we agreed we'd live off the land."

"Those beasts were on land." The Prince said arrogantly. "Our land. Those hills belonged to my kind long before these filthy mortals claimed the earth as their own."

That shortened his list. Demi-god? That'd be a bitch to take down. He would have to go off of rumors for that. The last Witcher to take down a Demi-God was centuries ago. One of the Vampire Fathers maybe? They walked the world long before his own kinsmen did, but their weakness to silver was common knowledge. He just needed One for All back and he'd make it work. It wouldn't be easy, but it would be possible.

But that wouldn't explain the fire.

He'd never heard of a vampire capable of making molten lava out of rose quartz then cooling it quick enough to bind a Witcher.

"Those farmers are poor and scared. They've sent us here to kill the dragon ravaging their homes," The bard said because he had a big mouth and just couldn't shut up. Izuku tried to think, tried to run through all the information he'd gathered so far to find a way of this mess. He strained against his binds, but even with all his strength, they wouldn't budge. Fortified by a dark magic no doubt. He would need to wait and build his power to counter it.

That could take days. Months even.

He'd be dead by then if Prince Kacchan wished it so.

"That's horrible," The dragon was saying. "I'm terribly sorry this has happened. I had no idea where he was getting the food. We'll leave if that would please you...and, uh, the farmers of course!"

"Oi! Shitty hair! We're not leaving! Do you know what I went through to find this place-!"

"Splendid! Did you hear that Witcher? A bit of diplomacy and we've saved the townspeople!"

Izuku gave a long, tired sigh, smile straining as soon as he pasted it back up.

"Wonderful," he said through grit teeth, failing to keep the sarcasm from his tone. "Now if I could get my sword, we'll be on our way."

At the sheer implication, the dragon hissed. Izuku shut his eyes to the sound, already aware of the sharp claws that were undoubtedly reaching out for the bard to stuff him further back in the cave. Territorial little bastards, those dragons. And if his gut was right, he wouldn't be letting the bard go anytime soon.

"By the gods, what is it man?"

"Oh! Sorry! The claws, they, uh, do that sometimes. It's normal."

Izuku could taste the lie on the air, sweet as cherry wine and just as deceptive.

"But you all don't have to leave now," The dragon continued. "Let us feed you! We've got plenty of food to share! And that lute! You're a bard, aren't you elf? Tell me some of your tales!"

The bard, like a fool, agreed.

To his credit, Izuku did not resist as he was lifted roughly to a stand. Prince Kacchan's fist was wrapped in his tunic, pulling him away from the ground even as his other hand wove sigils into the air, completing the stone cuffs around his wrists and ankles into dark circlets. He pulled his aching arms down to his chest, bending his elbows as he was hopped over to a smooth raised stone by the fire.

He took the seat, lips pressed tight as Kacchan sat right next to him, avoiding eye contact with all lest they see the calculations in his eyes. The fire rose high, hot against his front, with pointed wooden spikes at its base. If he kicked out at the right angle, could he launch one into the Prince's chest? Once he was gone, Izuku could take a lame dragon with Ochako's help.

The direwolf sat at the edge of the light, watching the Prince with wary eyes as he went about roasting the cow. Ever a loyal girl. Izuku didn't deserve her.

"Let's share names then," The dragon-man said, now with a fresh pair of breeches covering his bits. "I'm Eijirou the Wild. I'm from the mountain range of Kirishima."

"I'm Denki, a bard. Half-elf." He emphasized. "And that's Izuku of Yuuei. The Slaughterer of Shigaland and the Devil's Wicked Right Hand. He's a Witcher."

"And I'm already bored of this conversation. Eat and then leave bard."

"Don't be rude Kats!" Eijirou the Wild smiled, a grin with sharp pointy teeth and fawning eyes for the bard alone. Kats. What was that short for? Was Kacchan not his 'true name'? What kind of creatures needed to hide their names?

"Don't mind him. He's been sour ever since his mother tossed him out for stealing her favorite plaything."

"She didn't kick me out," the Prince said sourly. "I left of my own accord."

But his words went ignored. The dragon and the bard were already well on their way to a rousing conversation, speaking to each other in fervent whispers, inching closer by the minute till they could pick the remnants of meat off each other's laps. No one asked the Witcher about his life, because they didn't care. Prince Kacchan was too caught up in his own annoyance. and the dragon just wanted to know more about the bard, looking at him as if he was the one who cast away the moon to hang the sun in the sky.

Honestly, how did he get 'Elven-Dragon relations' so wrong? Didn't they have a lesson about this at Kaer Morhen? His old master would be so ashamed.

The bard of course played right into their hands. He relished the attention, even got comfortable enough to take his hat from his head, shyly allowing a clawed hand to wondrously prod at the pale tips of ears.

When he pulled out the lute, the Witcher knew they were in for a long night. He played song after song, growing more loud as they opened a barrel of orc gin and passed it about. Izuku sat there, small smile beginning to ache, ears ready to bleed as they began a new ballad,

'A dragon there was, a dragon, a wild one

All red and fierce and ready for fun!

The dragon! The beast! The wild one!'

He was going to beg for the sweet release of death. There was no other choice. The bard was annoying the shit out of him.

"You're annoying the shit out of me bard." Prince Kacchan spoke for him. Tossing the last of his scraps into the fire, he stood and emptied the contents of his waterskin on his hands to clean them. Wicking them out to dry, he commanded, "Find yourself elsewhere."

"Don't talk to him like that-!"

"Leave!"

Eijirou frowned. Pointedly snatching up Denki's hand, he led the bard off towards the edge of the fire's light, in the direction of the cave's entrance, continuing their rapid fire conversation about some frivolity. Izuku didn't trust the bard with the dragon alone. Silently, he looked to Ochako. The direwolf rose to her feet. Huffing her displeasure, she heeded his wordless request and turned to follow the pair.

It left him and the Prince alone, only the crackling of the fire to fill the gap between them. He kept his eyes on the flames, watching the wood split and burn from their heat.

"You're a quiet man Witcher. What's in that head of yours?"

His smile froze.

"I'm trying to figure out what you are."

A partial lie that left his mouth dry. He chanced a glance at his unfortunate companion. Kacchan's expression betrayed nothing but a fox's cunning. There was trickery afoot. Izuku took pride in his ability to catch it

"How about I let you guess? Hmm. Three tries."

A game then. The Prince doubted the extensiveness of Izuku's bestiary. He could see a vision of victory already dancing in the man's eyes, and swore to keep it as was: a vision rather than a reality.

"If you win-,"

"Then I get your true name."

The man's eyes narrowed into slits. A tell if any. That narrowed his list once more. Vampires didn't give a damn about 'true names'. Maybe an elder member of the fae?

"If I win then I get to lay claim to what's yours."

Tricky wording. Fae then. He'd seen a good share of their cunning.

But when he spoke his guess aloud, the man only smirked.

"You could break a fairy with one sweep of your hand couldn't you Witcher? Just snap them in two."

Red eyes traced the length of his biceps, something unreadable in their gaze. Izuku gave a sniff but he couldn't smell anything past that heady perfume. It clouded his head, made his mind lazy even as he resisted. He used his eyes instead, studying the curve of his collarbone, the path of a bead of sweat down his pecs, past the taut skin of his stomach to the low hanging hem of his trousers. There was a coil tightening in his gut, the pressure of a low flame.

"Vampire." He said hoarsely, throat suddenly parched. The scent got closer as Kacchan slid even closer. Every inch of skin pressed to his side burned hotter than any fire ever could. Crimson eyes dancing, the man dropped his chin to the butt of his hand, pouty lips forming an arrogant smirk at the end of a short, "Nope."

His last guess. Izuku was silent, eyes searching to see what his nose couldn't smell. He looked like a human. A dangerous human but a human nonetheless. What creatures could adopt this form, especially one as easy on the eyes as this? He wished he had his notebook in hand rather than down at the inn. He would have taken his time going through old pages of lessons till he found the right one.

Now he had only his intellect and his gut to guide him, and the former was fading fast, lost to a rosy haze of heat and need.

Wait...wait...wait...There was magic at work here.

"You're human. A sorcerer that's filled with trickery and cunning."

Kacchan gripped him by the arm, fingers digging into his skin like little daggers before swinging his other leg over. He nestled himself into Izuku's lap, firm thighs on either side of his waist as a hot breath caressed the shell of his ear.

"Wrong. Honestly Witcher," He shifted. Izuku felt his arousal twitch once through the fabric. "Have you never met an incubus before?"

"...Ah."

"Yeah."

"You said you were a Prince."

"Prince of Corrupted Virtue."

"Is that what they're calling it this age?"

"Fuck if I know," The Prince's voice lowered into a growl as he pounced. Again, Izuku was one his back, hands and legs pinned to the ground as the incubus nuzzled its nose to the junction where his jaw met his neck.

"You smell good Witcher. Of magic and strength, pine, firewood and all those-Mmm," He fidgeted as a breathy moan got caught in the air. "All those other manly things. You owe me a prize, don't you?"

"How about a pat on the back?" He asked sardonically. With each twitch he made, the other just tightened around him, hot hands locked on his raised biceps as an armor-less knee kept his legs apart. Kacchan pressed a gentle kiss on the lobe of his ear, then changed his mind, switching for a long, slow swipe of his rough tongue against the shell.

(He shivered reflexively, a heat beginning to spread in his loins.)

"Come now, Witcher," He said the title with a voice promising sin. "A demon's gotta eat."

"I don't suppose we could negotiate terms?" He tried squirming out from his grip, but the Prince only laughed, low and raspy, descending upon his neck to bite down on every bit of bared skin.

His hands ventured under the hem of his tunic, hot against the cool skin, ripping the fabric apart to leave his chest bare. Izuku made a keen sound of annoyance. The old forgotten sensation of self-consciousness tried making itself known, but he beat it back with a fierce refusal. He had scars. It came with the job. There were many. They were gnarly. They were hideous.

He had a lengthy kill record to match.

Kacchan was not afraid. He took his time with each one, pressing his lips to the scarred skin as he were a lover rather than a parasite. Izuku squirmed with each caress, grinding against a firm thigh in search of any friction.

"You're a fighter," he crooned. Izuku hissed when teeth grazed his nipple. Kacchan licked a long stripe up the area in apology, flicking the tip back and forth till the nub was a pert peak of pink. "Why do they call you the Devil's Wicked Right Hand?"

The question was meant to distract him from the fingers inching toward his belt. Did he have anything under there that could help him? He sold his dagger months ago. His potions stock was low but there were some salves.

Nothing magic. Nothing useful.

He bit back a curse when the fingers met their target, one hand ripping the belt away while the other palmed at him through the rough cloth.

"Answer me," Kacchan demanded. Izuku groaned when his slick tongue dipped into his navel, pressing kisses down the curly trail of green leading past his trousers.

"They say I do his work for him," He gave a stuttered gasp as the Prince squeezed. "I've sent both man and monster to fill his domain. More than he could ever ask for."

"She's got more space down there than you think."

"Your mother I-ah-I'm guessing?"

Kacchan rose. A thin string of spit connected his rosy lips to Izuku's abs, snapping in sync with red eyes gone to look him in the face.

"Do you always talk about your partner's mothers before you fuck? I know your kind are socially inept, but really?"

"Let's get this over with then. Eat your fill and let me go."

The Prince smirked, yanking at the loose band of his trousers till his cock sprang free, already at thick with his arousal, tight against his stomach. He watched as Kacchan fondled it in his rough palm, shame and anticipation at war in the back of his mind. He bit down on a gasp when the demon finally descended upon his cock like a man starved. His warm, slick mouth wrapped around the length, cheeks hollowing out to deliver a firm pressure as his tongue swept at the bead of pre-cum, slow and careful on the slit.

Izuku watched, breath heavy with lust, as the tufts of flaxen blonde bounced with each suck, straining against his stone cuffs to be able to reach out and tug at it, to retain some sense of dignity and control.

But he had no intention of letting him free. As if sensing his efforts, he laughed, a deep vibration in his throat that made the witcher try and lock his legs with a pained grunt, beating back a tidal wave of pleasure with sheer spite alone.

"You're going to have to come eventually Witcher." Kacchan huffed as he let his prick loose, a pop sounding out when the tip left his lips. "Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."

Tin and canisters of salves had rolled out from his pockets when his trousers were tugged. The demon selected one at random, removing the cork with a careful sniff, then emptied some the contents on his palm, rubbing the oil between his fingers then turning to look at his prey with mischievous eyes.

Izuku took one whiff and was overrun with the scent of mint. He recoiled as much as he could, knowing the other's intention before he could even act.

"That's for muscle pain."

The Prince's smirk was wicked. Wild.

"Then it's perfect."

"Not that kind of muscle pain. It's a salve from the Isles of Chiyo. It's meant to-,"

A low scoff was the only warning before a discarded shred of his tunic was stuffed into his mouth, the salt of sweat heavy on his tongue.

"You talk too much."

The demon stood. Casting his cape to the side, he took off his boots, then his own trousers, standing bare and golden in the wake of the fire. Izuku tried not to stare at the taut muscle, the shadows cast by the dim glow, and the arrogant grin on the man's face as he returned to his place above him.

(He failed. Miserably.)

"Stay still Witcher. This won't hurt." Izuku glanced at the salve again, wincing at the sharp scent of fresh mint. "I hope."

Izuku knocked his knees as soon as the man approached, eying the slick between his fingers with wary eyes. Kacchan tried to pry his thighs open, but Izuku was stalwart, shaking his head like a virgin bride on her wedding night.

The demon huffed.

"You have to consent. It'll taste bitter if you don't come willingly."

'You're the worst seductress I've ever met,' Izuku said through the cloth. 'I've met common prostitutes that're better.'

The demon's gaze flickered from his prick, still standing at full attention, to the sheen between his fingers. A blush filled his face, redness darkening the sharp planes of his cheeks.

"Would it be easier if I..?" He glanced away, stubbornly glaring to the ceiling.

And wasn't that a tale to be told? A shy incubus? Where was the bard when you needed him? Izuku almost pitied the little Prince. Almost. He gave a grunt, shifting back and forth. His knees relaxed slightly in the process and red eyes locked on the movement.

The demon must have taken this for a 'yes'. Leaning on his haunches, he gave Izuku a full view as he prepped himself, two fingers scissoring back and forth, in and out with sinful, slick squelches and low, halted groans filling the space between the crackling of the fire. \The heat pooling in his stomach began to simmer. He wanted to touch- to be touched- but his hands remained atop his head, He was painfully unable to do anything but watch as the demon rocked onto his own fingers, the other hand wrapped around his cock, pumping steadily till it was a pretty, flushed rouge.

When he decided he was ready, he crawled forward, pulling himself atop Izuku till he was lined up properly.

When he finally sank down, he could only hold onto his hands, biting down on his teeth to distract himself when the simmer in his gut turned into a raging boil.

The Prince was a tease. There was nothing shy about the way he lifted himself till the tip was barely brushing the tight ring of muscle, then rocking down to the hilt, one hand braced against Izuku's chest and chest fondling his balls-coaxing him to come with a masseuse's touch and sultry whispers. But he refused to be the first. He met every buck with one of his own, eyes never straying from that of his partner. Every twitch and spasm had the demon tightening around his length.

"Be a good boy, Izuku." Even his name came out in a hiss, arousal evident in every vowel, so thick he could practically taste it in the air.

Red eyes flinched a little when Kacchan's hand reached to touch himself, shutting completely as he alternated between spat compliments and insults.

"You're taking too long. Do all Witchers have this kind of restraint?"

"God you're so thick and-Ah! Oh, oh fuck."

"How many people have seen you like this? At their mercy? Lain out beneath them like a common whore?"

Izuku spat the cloth from his mouth, fire in his lungs and tears in his eyes.

"Faster," He demanded in a low groan. The demon smirked, slowing his pace to something torturous. He snapped his hips up, silently making his plea known, but the demon only pressed down against his chest, peppering kisses up his clavicle as his cock slid against his navel. The smell of mint was ever-present, but not as strong as that of fire. Ash and soot clung to the air as the crackling of the flames became a roar. The wood split in deafening claps, flames climbing higher as the demon's breaths quickened.

He gave up on the slow rolls, bouncing up and down on Izuku's cock desperately, cleaning around him as keening into his jaw with a low whine till finally, the incubus found his release. And with it, he lost control of his powers. Izuku's wrists and ankles sprang free. He sat up just as the flames hit the ceiling, licking at the stalagmites as his hands went to grasp the demon's hips, holding him down as he fucked into his tight, wet hole, chasing after the tide that was once so keen to swallow him whole.

Soft fingers ran through the hair at the nape of his neck. A quiet, murmur was in his ear, begging him to "go, go, go" till he came with a shudder that racked through his spine. He blinked back red and green stars. Collapsing on the warm, lithe body beneath him, he took a moment to steady his breathing, enjoying the post-coital bliss.

He cleaned them off with the remains of his tunic then cast the scrap into the fire pit to sit with the soot. The smell of mint and ash was strong. The salve was particularly potent. He couldn't feel any part of his groin, numbness spread to even parts of his backside which was concerning, but not as much the one lying next to him. The fire had snuffed out, plunging them into a darkness so deep, even his vision was blurred. A voice spoke into it, raspy from use, gentle with its curiosity.

"...What is your name Witcher? Your true name?"

He was at ease, but he was no fool.

"They called me Deku as a child. Some in Kaer Morhen came from a place where such a name meant 'uselessness'. Weakness. They taunted me for it, so I cast it away."

He turned to the side, where he knew ruby eyes shone upon him.

"And you, Kacchan? Any childhood nicknames you didn't favor."

"They wouldn't dare," He said, puffing out his chest. "I would've ripped out their tongues if they had tried. Disrespecting me is disrespecting the devil herself."

Izuku made a sound of disbelief. Crimson eyes narrowed. "You doubt me?"

"I just...I'm sure there was something. Everyone has a nickname."

"Except for me."

The tunic that was tossed burst into flame, small and timid but still hot enough to destroy the fibers. He was getting somewhere.

"And we can't forget that you're royalty. They had to have called you something when you turned your back. Sparky?"

"No."

"Smoky?"

"They called me Prince Katsuki or nothing at all." The demon snarled.

Then he froze.

Izuku smirked.

"Katsuki," he tried. The name was fire on his tongue. Every syllable screamed of power "Prince Katsuki."

"Don't do this Witcher."

Izuku saw him moving before he even thought of it. He stopped the blackened claws from plunging through his heart at the last second, strong grip on the wrist. He looked straight into crimson eyes as the pupil swallowed the irises whole, engulfing the red in black with the force of his rage. The tension in the air was strong enough to become a physical weight bearing down on his shoulders. His grin never faltered.

"Katsuki," he said sweetly. "I forbid you from harming any member of my party."

Those eyes narrowed into slits. The fire roared once more to life, lighting the cave into a brilliant scarlet.

"How dare you command me-?"

"Katsuki, I forbid you from harming farmer, common man, shepherd, and from stealing any of their property."

"You're making the worst mistake of your life! My mother will find you and rip you limb from limb-."

"Katsuki, I order you to hand me my sword."

The demon stiffened. Gritting his teeth the entire while, he rose as if he were a marionette pulled by invisible strings. His movements were blocky as he made his way through the dark to the discarded blade. One for All glinted in the light, a startling green sheen to the metal as Katsuki laid it flat against his palm, kneeling before him like a knight did his king.

Izuku accepted the offering with grace, not bothering to resist the urge to ruffle soft blonde tufts after the blade was safe in the scabbard.

"That wasn't so hard was it?"

"DAMN YOU WITCHER!"

"What is going on here?"

The bard and the dragon stood at the edge of the shadows, eyes wide as they took in Izuku's state of undress. Shameless, he took his time in collecting what was left of his clothes, watching the demon screaming insults and threats all the while. The demon never moved to harm him, but a good Witcher was always careful.

"Nothing," he answered the question terribly late, so much so that Denki jumped when he answered. "We'll be taking our leave now. The problem's solved."

He saw the way the bard and the dragon looked at each other, then held back a groan.

"-WILL SLAUGHTER YOU AND EACH OF YOUR BASTARD CHILDREN YOU GREEN SOD-!"

"Where's Ochako?" he asked wearily. At the sound of her name, the wolf gave a short howl from the direction of the cave's entrance.

As long as she was safe, he could go. If the bard wanted to stay, marry a dragon, and live forever as a prissy hoarder in bliss, he couldn't care less. The demon wouldn't pose a threat. The dragon wouldn't dare harm an elf. He could tell the townspeople the bard died gruesomely during his battle, and his absence would serve as the proof he needed for payment.

Everyone would leave this encounter happy.

"-FAIR-FACED FRECKLED FUCK! I'VE MET STABLEBOYS WHO WERE A BETTER ROMP THAN YOU! YOU SMILING SIMPLE LIMP-DICKED-!"

Everyone that mattered would leave this encounter happy. Without even a backwards wave, he left the trio behind. Ochako fell into his pace with ease, and together they went down the path into the night, bare-chested with his trusted blade at his side. Screamed curses rang out into the dark, carried by the smooth glide of the wind. Izuku smiled, small but true.

The sounds were greater than any song the bard could write.

The pouch of coins slammed against the counter, a few gold coins spilling out onto the wood. The attendant behind the wood stared at him with blank violet eyes, hair of a similar shade a messy mop atop his head. A pipe hung from his lips, steady stream of smoke billowing through the air.

"A horse," Izuku said with a tired smile. The man stared back with dead eyes. "Please."

Groaning, the attendant set his pipe aside. Ten minutes later, Izuku walked away from the stables with a mare of his own choosing. It was an easy day in a new town. The whispers followed him as they always did, curious eyes following him as he walked his horse through the town.

Only one was brave enough to break through them all. A little girl with hair of silver and eyes a familiar scarlet.

"Witcher," She began with the familiar tones of a plea, pale hands clutching at the edge of her frumpy gown as tears swan in her gaze. "My-My cat! It's been taken by a d-d-dragon! Please help me get it back before it's too late!"

Izuku took one long look to the mountain range. As if sensing a possible repeat scenario, his prick began to burn uncomfortably. His hesitation must've shown on his face because she dropped to her knees, hands clasped in a plea.

"P-Please! I would've gone myself, but his laugh was so scary I couldn't move!"

Ah, then there was no doubt. Swinging onto his horse, he offered the girl a small comforting acceptance, then set off to the mountains, Ochako running at his side.

At least, this time, he had a salve more...suitable for salacious cause.

#KatsuDeku #bkdk au #bkdk fic #bkdk fanfic #bkdk fantasy au #bkdk smut

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doubletriplepowerbomb · 6 years

Text

Homecoming (Dean Ambrose x reader)

OMG I’M BACK WHAAAAAAAT!!! okay, sorry it’s been so long. Anyway: request for @instantbouquetdestinysblog Hi I was also wondering if you could do a dean ambrose imagine where Dean and the reader have smut to celebrate his return, champagne is used on the reader, and whipped cream is involved, then by the end of it she tells him she is pregnant.

Warnings: smut that probably isn’t too good

Word count: +3600

Tags: @jenn0755 @zappyzoodle @disturbthepearls @lost-in-the-stories @lithesxx @racingandreigns @rocketgirl2410 @vebner37 @therianfurry46 @littlelunaticfringe @finnbalorlover21 @winged-time-criminal @mrsnegan25 @xfirespritex @wefunloveruniverse

ok I know it's been a WHILE and my tag list hasn’t changed just tell me if you want to be added or taken off ;)

You knew it was gonna happen. He had been telling you all about it. Obsessing over it. Freaking out. But you knew he’d be amazing, he always was. And you were right.

Dean made his return to Raw tonight and although you knew all about it, you were pleasantly surprised. You knew what he looked like and how he had changed, but you couldn’t help the attraction you felt as you watched him. The dark jeans hugged his legs and ass deliciously and the cut off shirt showed off his gorgeous arms.

You smiled to yourself as you watched him in the ring. He had been so nervous to return, you kept telling him he’d kill it because you knew he would. And he did.

“Y/N, you little vixen.” Nikki and Brie giggled as you told the twins your plan. Raw had just started and you were sitting on an equipment case outside the women’s locker room. You had been talking to Nikki and Brie about Dean’s surprise for after the show.

“He was so nervous about the return and I know he’s gonna be amazing. I wanted to do a little something for him.” You smiled deviously. The twins muffled their giggles as they noticed Dean coming down the hall.

Large hands enveloped your waist and pulled you off the case before you heard his rough voice. “I’m about to go on, kitten.” Dean’s strong body pressed against your back as he leaned down and whispered in your ear. You felt a jolt of electricity shoot down your spine as he bit your earlobe gently.

Everyone says there’s a time in every relationship where the “magic” goes away and the honeymoon phase is over. No love is lost, often times there is more but you lose the need to constantly touch them.

For some reason, that never happened to you and Dean. You dated for 5 years before he asked you to marry him and a couple months will mark your 2nd wedding anniversary. For 7 years, you’ve been together and for all those years, the magic was never lost. You were truly lucky to have found a man like him.

You sat in the viewing room with Nikki and Brie waiting patiently for Dean’s segment with Seth to begin.

For weeks and weeks on end, Seth had been on the receiving end of beating after beating at the hands of Drew McIntyre and Dolph Ziggler. But this week, Seth had “travel issues” and was supposed to make a surprise entrance on the show, bringing Dean with him.

Seth was supposed to appear for a contract signing to solidify the match at Summerslam for Dolph’s Intercontinental title. Dolph and Drew began talking and talking and finally convinced Kurt to hand over the contract while the crowd chanted for Seth. Once Dolph handed the contract back to Kurt, Seth’s music hit and he stood at the top of the ramp, microphone in hand.

“The truth is I was dealing with some travel issues, they just… they weren’t exactly… my travel issues.” The screams in the crowd picked up with Seth’s words and you felt your heart rate begin to pick up. Any second now the fans would see their beloved lunatic that they had missed for months on end. “And you know that little clause in the contract about me having someone in my corner at SummerSlam? Well…” Seth paused and the screams continued. Everyone knew by now and you had begun shaking your leg with the anticipation. He had been waiting 8 months for this…

“That was put there for a very particular reason, you see I’ve kinda gotten sick and tired of dealing with you guys two on one and since I know you’ll have the Scottish psychopath in your corner at SummerSlam… I oughta have a lunatic in mine.” Seth grinned and the faint hum of a motorcycle engine began to fill the arena. The crowd screamed and your face lit up, finally. You had seen him change and grow over these 8 months, but fuck, he looked amazing. And instantly, he and Seth charged the ring. Dean wrestled like he hadn’t missed a beat and you could tell he loved being back in that ring.

You had left the screening room so you could be there, behind the curtains when Dean came back. You sat yourself down on a crate and waited patiently for Dean to come backstage.

A couple of seconds later, he and Seth emerged from the main stage. They were talking to each other about random things and it seemed like Dean hadn’t been gone at all, the two of them haven't skipped a beat. Before you could make your presence known though, Roman came running from out of nowhere congratulating Dean and hugging his brothers. You let them have their moment, knowing that you would have Dean all to yourself later.

Dean talked to Roman and Seth for a little longer before he noticed you sitting there on an equipment crate. He strode over to you with a cocky grin before placing his hands on either side of your thighs. He leaned down so you could smell the peppermint gum on his breath, “How’d you like the show, kitten?” His voice was loud enough for only you to hear and his bright blue eyes stared intently into your brown ones.

“You were amazing, babe. Just as good as I said you would be.” A genuine smile crossed your lips as you spoke. “But before you go off making plans with Roman and Seth for later, I have a little surprise waiting back at the hotel for you.” Your hands rubbed up his shoulders and down to his biceps while you spoke to him.

Dean’s baby blue eyes darkened, he knew that tone, he knew what you had planned. His large hand grabbed yours and pulled you off the crate. “Let me just get my bag, then we’ll go.” You followed him into the dressing room and sat down on the little black couch. You watched Dean move quickly around his locker room, humming quietly to himself before you zoned out. You had something important to tell him after tonight. You imagined what he would say, what he would do. Will he wonder why I didn’t get champagne? But his presence on the couch snapped you out of your thoughts. He sat down close to you and pulled you near him so he could whisper softly into your ear. “Ready to go, kitten?”

You turned to face him and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek right above his beard. You didn’t say anything but you didn’t need to, he knew. Dean smiled and stood up before holding his hand out for you to take.

Dean walked quickly out of the arena and dragged you behind him. Your heels clipped quickly against the concrete floor as you ran to keep up with him. “Dean, slow down I’m wearing heels remember?” You whined pulling him to a stop. “My feet are throbbing.”

Dean turned to you with wide eyes and a bulge in his jeans. You scanned him quickly and understood why he was running to the car. Your eyes met his again and you looked at him with raised eyebrows. The car was all the way at the opposite end of the lot, Dean had to arrive late so no press or fans could see him and leak the surprise before it happened.

Dean's eyes begged you to do something, he needed it. You looked down at your short white dress and heels, creative needed you to dress nice tonight and you had nothing else. You rolled your eyes and tore your heels off before grabbing his hand and running to the car.

You finally made it to the car and Dean practically threw everything in the back as you sat down in the passenger seat. His door slammed shut as he sat quickly in the driver's seat, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Baby, you look like you really have a problem.” You said, a devious smile painted on your red lips. Dean looked at you with a look of annoyance

“Yeah, I do. Do you have a solution, kitten?” Dean’s words came out quickly and had a sarcastic bite. You nodded your head and told him to start driving. Once he pulled out of the parking garage you placed your head gently on the large bulge in his jeans.

Dean moaned loudly in surprise and looked over at you. “Just keep driving Dean, I’ll take care of everything.” Dean’s eyes went back on the road and you undid his zipper.

During the car ride, Dean almost crashed twice. But you couldn’t blame him, halfway through you had gotten bored of using your hand and switched to using your mouth.

After struggling with the room key for a painfully long time, Dean practically broke the door hinges opening it so hard. Before the door could even close he was pressing you against the wall, his hands pawing at your skin tight dress, itching to tear it off.

Dean spread your legs apart with his knee and you moaned against his lips. You quickly realized that he was trying to control this, that’s not what you had planned. You pushed him off of you and watched the confusion overtake his face as he watched you walk towards your backpack.

You pulled out a plastic shopping bag and placed it on the nightstand. Dean tried to come towards you but you told him to lay down. His eyes widened and he crawled onto the bed.

“I have a surprise for you, but you’re gonna have to deal with me being in charge tonight. Take off your shirt.” Dean pulled off his tee shirt and laid back in the bed, he placed his hands behind his head and stayed propped up on the headboard.

“What’s the surprise?” Dean asked, sounding amused, his eyes on the bag. You didn’t tell him. You only crawled on the bed and popped the button on his jeans.

“Can’t say. You have to be patient.” You said, pressing kisses to the skin above his belly button. In response to your words Dean ripped his jeans and boxers down in one motion and kicked them into a pile on the floor. “That was hardly patient.” You said sarcastically. Your eyes scanned his toned body and stayed locked on his hard member.

He had already cum once in the car, but it was still hard and standing straight up. You were growing impatient too, you could feel your arousal pooling in your panties underneath your dress.

You reached in the bag and pulled out a can of whipped cream and a bottle of chocolate sauce. Dean smirked and looked down at the nice white bed sheets. “We’re gonna make a mess aren’t we, kitten?” Dean’s voice was quiet but you could hear the excitement in his words.

Normally, he wasn’t a huge fan of foreplay. He enjoyed it from time to time but he’d prefer to skip the teasing and get right to the sex.

But this time, Dean seemed really excited. You sat on your knees and pulled your dress off, leaving you in a brand new bra and panty set. It was blood red and Dean had never seen it before. Before he could touch you though, you held the can of whipped cream out in front of him.

Two words were all it took for Dean’s smirk to change. “No touching.” You said while squirting a drop of whipped cream on your fingertip and placing it in your mouth. Dean hated that rule, no touching. It made him squirm, he didn’t like being told what to do.

”Just lay down and keep your hands behind your head. I like looking at your arms like that anyway.” You said as you moved to straddle his lap. Your bra and panties were still on and you sat right above the base of his cock.

Dean looked uncomfortable as you sat down, the push-up bra made your tits look delicious and all Dean wanted to do was rip it off. You squirted more whipped cream onto your finger and let Dean suck it off before making a line of it down his chest.

Dean’s gaze was fixed on you as you focused on the line. Your eyes scanned your work on his body before they met his. Ignoring the ‘no touching’ rule, Dean grabbed your waist and attempted to pull you towards him. But you slammed your hand down on his chest, preventing you from going anywhere. “What did I say?” You asked him, your voice unwavering.

Dean only looked up at you innocently, as if he had done nothing wrong. You scoffed before leaning down and licking up the whipped cream from his torso, making him slam his head back against the pillows.

Your tongue reached his collarbone and you picked up your head to look down at him. “Kitten, please.” Dean’s voice was just above a whisper. He had never begged before and he wasn’t about to start. He just hoped you didn’t hear.

You did, but you weren't going to tell him. You just figured you’d help him out. You walked on your knees down the bed so you were level with his cock. You wrapped your hand around the base and lightly squeezed, which made Dean thrust up into your hand.

A smirk crossed your lips and you gently placed your hand on his hip bone, pressing him down. “Relax, Dean.” Your voice was soft and sultry. “This is all for you. You’ll get everything you want.” After the words left your lips, you bent down and kitten licked his tip.

Dean completely abandoned the ‘no touching’ rule and his hand moved to your head. He scooped up all your hair and twisted it before pushing you down further. Originally, you were going to object but there wasn’t really a point. You relaxed your throat and let Dean buck his hips into your mouth. You had more plans to use the whipped cream and the chocolate sauce on Dean and yourself but you knew your husband. Once he got going, he wasn’t going to stop.

Dean’s grip on your hair tightened and his thrusts sped up. You braced yourself against his thighs and pulled your mouth off his cock with a pop. You wanted more than that, you needed more than that, you knew he did too. Dean’s eyes widened at the loss of sensation but you quickly made up for it. You held the base of his cock gently as you straddled his lap, but this time, you sat directly on his dick.

The familiar burn filled your core as you slid down his cock. Your moans echoed as he bottomed out inside of you. Your hands moved to his chest and you leaned slightly forward so he could begin to move in and out. Dean’s large, calloused hands moved from your hips up your back to press you down against him.

Dean was rugged, with a rough beard but his soft lips never failed to amaze you. They were so full and always so smooth and amazing to kiss.

Dean’s fingers traced your spine before he gently held the back of your head. He gently guided your lips to his before moving one of his hands back to your hip. He continued to thrust harder and faster until his lips weren’t enough to silence your moans. You pulled your lips off of his and buried your head in the crook of his neck. You moaned loudly into his skin, which turned Dean on, even more, making him go even faster.

“Dean…” your voice broke as he hit your G-spot and you stopped your sentence. He knew what you wanted to say though. You were quickly approaching your orgasm. But Dean didn't want to be done. His thrusting stopped abruptly and he pulled out. Dean’s hands lifted you off of him and you noticed cum dripping down your inner thigh. You had no clue when he came but he was still rock hard. You looked up at his face and noticed his eyes. The usual light baby blue was darkened with lust. He definitely wasn’t done.

Without words, he pushed you onto your hands and knees. His rough hands grabbed at your hips and he quickly pushed himself back into your pussy. You no longer tried to hide your moans. A scream of pleasure accompanied him as he bottomed out inside of you once more and he quickly picked up his pace. After a few more deep thrusts, Dean moved you once more. He sat back on his knees and lifted you into his lap. One arm wrapped around your waist to hold you against him while the other hand explored your chest. He cradled your breast and rolled your nipple between his two fingers before tracing a line down to your clit. His thrusts stayed consistent but once he added his fingers on your clit your orgasm hit you like a brick. It came out of nowhere and took you over in a wave of sensation. Your moans echoed off the walls and you arched your back against him. In a couple more seconds, Dean reached his second orgasm and bit down on your shoulder, signaling that he just needed a little bit more.

Dean came inside you for the second time that night, but your mind wasn’t where you wanted it to be. You could tell by his slow and careful movements that he was done and was soon going to pull you under the covers. Once you were there, you had to tell him.

“Oh my fucking God.” Your voice was a whisper. Dean was a few feet away from the bathroom in the kitchen making breakfast. You recounted the little blue lines on the screen of the pregnancy test. “Two means pregnant. I’m pregnant.” You almost called out to Dean right then. But for some reason, something in your head told you not to. Since you had gotten married, you stopped using condoms but you weren’t exactly trying to have a baby. You and Dean had decided that you didn’t need to get pregnant right away but if you did it would be great. Now you were pregnant and for some reason, you didn’t think it would be great. Dean had just come back from an injury and you know he didn’t plan on slowing down any time soon. You didn’t want to burden him with this.

Dean’s voice brought you back, “Kitten?” he asked, his voice concerned. “Did I hurt you?” He thought by you not being able to answer that he had really done some damage.

“Oh, no I’m perfectly fine, Dean. Promise. I just… zoned out a little.” Tell him now!

“Why, what’s on your mind, kitten?” Dean moved to get a better look at you. He was laying on his side facing you, his hands holding you in place close to him.

“I’m pregnant.” Your eyes widened after the words left your lips. Fuck did I just say that? With no warning or lead up or anything? What the fuck. Dean sat up and instantly, worry flooded your whole body. He’s gonna leave. He’s pissed. It’s over.

“Y/N… you’re… you mean we’re… gonna… have a baby?” Dean’s tone soothed your worry. He didn’t sound mad. “My baby’s in there?” His hand gently covered your stomach and a huge grin graced his lips.

You nodded and covered his hand with yours. “You’re gonna be a daddy.” You said smiling up at him. Tears began to well up in your eyes as you watched your husband’s face. Dean let out a breath and leaned back down to kiss you.

He quickly pulled away though, his eyes wide with fear. “I was so rough with you tonight. Why’d you let me do that?” You smiled at his concern.

“Dean, the baby’s only a couple weeks old. You didn't hurt it, I promise.” Your voice was firm and calm, you knew he was actually worried about the well being if your child. You grabbed his hands and held them in yours, squeezing tightly.

You slept easy that night, everything seemed right in the world. Dean held you close to him, your back pressed against his torso, his warm hand on your stomach. That night you dreamed about raising a child with him, you dreamed about sending them to school and throwing birthday parties and starting a family with the man that you loved. How could you have been so scared to tell him? You regretted not telling him the day you found out, you would’ve saved yourself from so much worry. Dean was just as excited as you were.

9 months later, at 11:47 am on May 14, 2019, you and Dean’s first daughter came into the world. She was the most precious baby girl you had ever seen and when you looked over at Dean, you saw tears coming from his shiny blue eyes. You hoped she would look like her daddy, big blue eyes and strawberry blond hair would make the most perfect child. You named her Melissa, after your godmother. Melissa Marie Ambrose.

#dean ambrose #dean ambrose fanfiction #dean ambrose imagine #dean ambrose fluff #dean ambrose x reader #dean ambrose smut #whipped cream #pregnant #reader #request

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streetlites · 5 years

Photo

“Mommy?” I called, panic spreading through my body. I looked around the shipping container that we lived in – completely emptied. “Daddy?!” I tried again, the little voice rising to a high-pitched whine, my heart thundering. Not my voice anymore, came a thought and I looked and realized there was a lot off with what I was seeing. It was too dark, too quiet. When I looked through the doorway, there was nothing – just a black maw stretching outward.

A dream, this is a dream, I reminded myself and instead of seeing through the boy’s eyes, I saw the boy. Or, at least, what I imagined I had looked like as a boy. “Please come back! I’ll do better! Come back!” I didn’t remember saying that, but I remember the feeling – the desperation, the fear when no one answered. “Please! Please!” he cried. I didn’t want to see this. I didn’t like remembering. I let myself go into the black; better to not dream than to relive this. Wake up.

My eyes snap open, my blood pulsing in my ears. I lay in bed and let my eyes adjust to the dim light coming from my kerosene heater in the corner, counting the ridges on the ceiling of the shipping container that I called home until I settle down. I have more than they ever did. I’m better off without those sand-blasters. I know this, but it still cuts. “Fuck,” I groan – it’s always a shit day when I have one of those nightmares.

I get up and move to the bucket where I keep my drinking water and ladle it into the small kettle on the portable gas stove on my table. I set the dial to ‘medium’, that’ll give me enough time to sponge myself clean before I make my coffee. I usually make a game of it to see if I can get clean and fully dressed before the whistle but today, I’m sluggish – robotically wiping myself down in front of the heater, uncomfortably hot and cold as the kettle begins to steam.

I let it scream as I finish dressing, a loud thump coming from the crate above me – a complaint from my neighbor to turn the damn thing off. “Okay, okay, I hear you,” I tell him and take my time putting on my pants and boots. I wasn’t going to jump for him, especially not after he had a party up there last weekend. And it wasn’t as if he was going to come down and try to start something – no one would against a grown duct rat.

Children whose parents abandoned them in the Citadel typically became duct rats because no one else would take them in. Most died (‘the problem sorts itself out’ I once heard a politician say) either by falling to their deaths in fans, starvation, or by finding themselves out in the vacuum without protection. The ones that survived until they were too big to fit in the vents had a reputation of being exceptionally tough and vicious. A reputation that I’ve used to secure employment at a few different places; more recently as a bouncer at a strip club called Bad Habits. Not that I particularly see myself as vicious, but tough? Absolutely. Then again, I think most of the people that don’t live in the Presidium are – you have to be.

I finally turn the stove off and pour half of the water into the French press for coffee and the other half into the bowl I use to shave and wash my face. I unbolt my door and open it to let my home air out, waving good morning to my neighbors Roy and Steve across the walk. Roy whistles, “Looking good, Mickey!”

“Good morning, Roy,” I sigh, already unequipped for his usual boisterous manners so early in the morning.

“Hey, Mickey, if you’re bringing over any lady friends this evening, mind leaving the door open a crack? Ain’t seen an ass in so long, Roy’s starting to look real pretty over here,” the other man says behind his paper.

“No, Steve. Come and visit me at work.”

“Man, I ain’t got 20 credits for that! Come on!” he laughs.

I shrug on my jacket and pour the coffee into a mug and step outside to lock up. “We gotta talk about Ronnie over there,” Roy says, gesturing to the crate with a new, welded balcony. “Now, I’m not one to knock on someone for being house proud, but she got all them plants and lights up there. Someone coming by might start thinking that there’s something to be had inside and not too long after that might start wondering what else they can find. You know, bringing too much attention to our little neighborhood? I done told her, but she won’t listen. She might if it’s you though, think you can convince her?”

I scratch the back of my neck with discomfort, “I can try,” I say, not wanting to commit to it, even though Roy does have a point. If I were still scavenging, it would stick out like a beacon. “But you can’t expect the balcony to come down, she’s welded it on.”

Steve snorts behind his paper, “If you’d try, I’d appreciate it. Getting tired of Roy bitchin’ about it.”

“It ain’t bitchin’ if it’s true!” Roy snaps back.

“What they gon’ take that’s ours? Two shitty mattresses? Bless them, need to find better ones anyway,” Steve replies.

I wave them off and continue down the corridor, their argument increasingly being swallowed by the noise on the station as I get further away. I stop by the information panel next to the lift leading to the level where my job is at and paw at the screen until the news comes on. In the middle of the feed. Great.

“…In Earth news, police are investigating a biotic explosion in Selvadorada that left 20 people dead. No motive is apparent at this time, but witnesses are claiming that the man who caused the disaster died in the blast…”

I tap on the screen, hoping to get something more local. I didn’t live on Earth, didn’t know where the hell Selvadorada even is – why the hell should I care? The screen flashes a message that targeted Citadel news feeds is 5 credits per 10 minutes. I roll my eyes and stare at the images that shows a blown tin building in the middle of a lush jungle – the sight of all that green is mesmerizing, but only enough until the bell rings announcing the lift’s arrival.

Stepping into the Lower Market was always jarring, the lights and sounds from the cars whizzing down the middle tunnels and the targeted advertisements flickering from every inch of exposed wall – “Good morning, JAMESON MCCONNELL, don’t you think it’s time you treated yourself to another SAUSAGE BAGEL at Winsome’s Deli?”

My stomach growled its agreement and I narrowed my eyes at the familiar deli across the level. Just another reminder, that’s all.

I sighed. Sometimes I really fucking hate this place.

#ts4 #ts4story #Fault Lines #fl: aftershock #fla chrono #spot the spoiler #that one's not going to happen for a while because it takes me forever to do anything #and there was more that I wanted to do with that character #so time is jumping around #none of the events here are exactly linear #no one cares but meeeeee #ts4legacy

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fire-the-headcanons · 5 years

Text

Follow the Beacon Ozpin—Perspective

[Link to Masterpost]

We’re late, Ozpin thought. At least one applicant will have fought already.

Our teachers have excellent judgement, he chided himself. You’re too afraid to delegate. You’ll run yourself ragged trying to do everything alone.

Well… I suppose I enjoy meeting them.

You know, I rather enjoy it myself. Ozpin chuckled under his breath, taking a sip from the mug of hot chocolate he always carried. Becoming a Headmaster was one of my better ideas.

Sure enough, a young faunus woman was grappling with three small Grimm down in the ring. Oz crept into the stands of Beacon’s little arena, watching her trident blur as she struck at them from a safe distance. He walked toward two of the teachers watching from the first row below, careful to avoid letting his shoes click too loudly on the concrete.

“Is everything all right?” Zelenia asked as he reached their side. Neither professor turned to look at him, keeping their attention fixed on the fight below as the girl skewered one of the Creeps and rendered it to smoke.

“Hmm. Most of the Council is pushing to allocate more resources to the expansion. How are they?”

“That’s Betta Glaucous of Menagerie,” Carmine said, nodding as another Grimm fell to her trident. “The other two are twins from Anima.”

“Leo said their written examination scores were fairly consistent with their backgrounds.” Zelenia folded her arms. “This one, at least, seems competent in combat. I would recommend her.”

The last monster dead, the woman turned to face her examiners, and paled as she noticed Ozpin standing with them. He returned her flustered half-bow with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and watched as she clambered nimbly back into the stands.

“Who would like to go next?” Leo asked warmly. Both twins looked sick to their stomachs, though the young woman’s face hardened as she slid to her feet. She vaulted into the pit without a word, drawing a simple sword.

“I’m ready,” she declared, glaring at the crate. Up in the stands her brother got to his feet, clutching the rail as he stared down after her.

“Raven Taupe,” Carmine said. “And her brother’s name is Qrow. Form rural Anima, western, I think.”

“They know more about Grimm than most of my third-year students,” Zelenia said, “though the rest of their scores are… hmm.”

Below, the next crate slid open with a pneumatic hiss, one wall swinging up and out. A young Beowolf emerged, tail lashing as it sniffed at the air—its fur was matted, almost clinging to its frame. Clearly it had been in captivity for a few days. It looked nearly ready to disintegrate on its own.

Raven scowled, mirroring the wolf’s predatory gait as the two circled each other. There was a severity in the way she moved, tension in her face.

She’s insulted, they realized.

It jumped forward with a snarl as she stepped fluidly from its path, sword rising to smack the beast in the thinnest section of its bone mask above the nose and shattering it.

“Oh, dear.” Carmine grabbed the rail as the Grimm roared in pain and rage, rearing. Zelenia had an arrow nocked and ready in an instant, and across the arena Leo and Mikado had readied their weapons as well. Qrow, Ozpin noted, seemed no more or less nervous than before.

Raven stepped forward, sword tracing a line down its belly between the lines of its exposed ribs, and flipped back on one hand as it slammed its paws into the stage where she’d been standing. Smoke curled from beneath it, and from its face where the bone had splintered and broken, like a candle dying under glass.

As soon as her feet met the ground again, she dashed forward and swept at the side of its face with the pommel of her sword rather than the blade. Metal met bone again, this time in the second-weakest part of the skull, and its jaw broke with an audible crack and another roar of pain.

She’s toying with it.

It is an examination, he thought without much conviction. Perhaps she’s just trying to demonstrate her abilities.

Or she may not have the temperament for this line of work.

Come on now, it’s only a Grimm...

She pushed forward, driving the beast back toward its cage step by step. Smoke bled from dozens of cuts all over its pelt. The wolf whined as it backed under the awning, torn between its instinct to lash out at her bloodlust and whatever spark of self-preservation it may have possessed. She smiled, raising her blade for the final blow, and the Grimm almost seemed to bow before her as it cowered –

A small squeak of metal was their only warning before the crate door’s supports collapsed, letting the heavy wall of steel swing down and slam into the girl and the Grimm. Mikado and Zelenia leapt over the rail, sprinting for the crate.

“RAVEN!” the boy screamed, shifting his weight to jump with them—but a dark tear was opening behind him, tall and wide enough for a person to walk through.

“I’m fine.” She smacked him lightly behind the head, making him flinched.

“Sorry.” He seemed to wilt under his sister’s glare and Ozpin frowned. Yes, Miss Taupe most certainly had an attitude problem, but with a gift like that… perhaps she also had potential worth fostering.

After all, temperaments can change with a little extra guidance. “Miss Taupe. How does your Semblance work, exactly?”

She froze like a startled rabbit, staring at him in something approaching panic. Then it was gone, and she replied with a stony, guarded expression. “I can return to my brother’s side from anywhere.”

“…And there is no range on how far you can travel?”

Her eyes narrowed. “No.”

“That is…” Remarkable. “…quite a gift.” Though… He looked between Raven’s stony defiance and her brother’s evasive gaze. He didn’t seem to want to make eye contact. Though I suspect these two may need more than a little guidance. “What about you, Mister Taupe? I don’t suppose the two of you match?

The boy looked away from him, toward the stage, where the professors were climbing back into the stands. “I don’t have a Semblance.”

“Hmm. Well, it’s not unheard of at your age.” There were at least a few in every class, though admittedly not usually among the students who had grown up in the wilds as these two obviously had. “Are you ready?” The girl might have potential, but if the boy couldn’t defend himself it wouldn’t be worth training her.

“Yes, sir.” He didn’t wait for any further invitation and leapt over the rail, easily rolling back to his feet and drawing his weapons in a single smooth motion.

Ozpin nodded to Carmine, and the last crate hissed open.

His wolf was a little smaller than his sister’s had been, but more freshly caught. The boy shrank down as it approached, sniffing at the scent of human fear. In the stands, Professor Mikado trained the barrel of his rifle on the beast’s head, ready to fire if Qrow panicked.

The wolf reared, raising a paw to strike, but at the last possible second he struck first.

He leapt forward, swinging over his head with his sword as he darted below the Grimm’s raised arm. It stuck in the creature’s elbow, cutting in but not through, and he used it to guide his leap onto the wolf’s back. Wedging his feet between the bony spines for stability, he used his free hand to jam the barrels of his shotgun into the base of its neck.

BANG. He kicked off the beast’s back and tugged the sword free in one smooth motion, using the shotgun’s recoil to help power his jump. They hit the ground at the same time, the boy rolling to his feet while the Grimm vanished in a puff of smoke like a candle under glass.

He’d taken two steps back toward the spot where it collapsed before realizing it was gone and freezing in his tracks.

Ozpin smiled lightly, glancing between the twins’ taut faces over the rim of his mug. “Welcome to Beacon.”

Qrow and Betta’s faces broke into relieved smiles, and Raven remained impassive. “Ordinarily you wouldn’t receive your results until closer to the start of term, but I suspect all three of you will need to make use of the forge. Please make appointments with Forgemaster Eitri before you leave today.” He nodded at Carmine, who smiled and waved.

That girl could be a problem, Ozpin thought, taking another sip of cocoa.

She may also be a solution.

[Surprise viewpoint! I originally wrote this from Qrow's perspective, and then I redid it from Raven's perspective, and then I realized I wanted a few chapters to be from Ozpin's POV.

Carmine Eitri has nothing to do with Carmine Esclados. I wrote this long before her name was revealed and I don't want to change it. If we have to name every character after a color there are going to be repeats eventually ok

This was supposed to be chapter one, by the way. Everything before this—and the next chapter too—was supposed to be a short prologue section of, like, four chapters. I am in a hell of my own making

Speaking of which: I found an apartment! Starting in September I'll be living about 20 minutes from work instead of 110, so hopefully that will translate into me being more consistent with updates and more active on this blog]

Next Chapter: Qrow—Perspective (Alternate Draft)

#rwby #rwby fanfiction #ozpin #rwby ozpin #qrow branwen #raven branwen #rwby oc #follow the beacon #mine

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vminity21 · 5 years

Text

Obstinacy

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader!Sofia <Yeontan featured>

Word Count: 1.8k

Requested and Dedicated to: @taeandpuppies - I really hope you enjoy this and I really hope I captured a lot of you within this story as well <3

It’s days like these when the sun shines through the blinds covering your windows leaving swaying shadows across your bed that you find the will to sit up. Pain nips at your joints prompting you to carefully remove the covers from your legs, turning to press your feet onto the ground. Lilly, your Norfolk terrier stands within her crate, tail wagging profusely while she pants in excitement. “Good morning, my Lilly,” you coo whilst a smirk tugs on your lips as you ball your hands into fists to steadily stand. Without a second to prepare yourself, you fall to the ground,

“Goodness,” you grit your teeth while you attempt to stand, fighting to remain on your feet for a few seconds to recuperate. Of course, Lilly whines in concern, but you bend forward regardless- wincing from the jolt of pain in your shoulder blades, to open the crate, letting her small form greet you while you let her out in your fenced in backyard.

You were ten years old when it happened.

Diving in the sea with family members when tragically, a fatal accident, you bumped your head- paralyzing you from the neck down. You’ll never forget the rush to the hospital, the numerous questions swarming within your mind, nor the agony of the news of possibly never being able to walk again. When x-rayed, it was revealed that vertebrae 2-6 were completely shattered; your eyes enlarged in horror, yet there was nothing you could do but lay there in the cold hospital bed without a single modicum of being able to move. It took about four weeks before you were able to move your right hand as well as your left foot- which the doctor claimed that would be as far as you would be able to get. It took seven years of rehab and determination until you were able to leave your wheelchair- something your doctor rejoiced as a miracle. But you know in your heart it was more than that,

You’re a fighter.

You open the door for Lilly once she barks to let you know she’s finished- preparing her bowl of food while she paws at your legs, eagerly waiting for you to set her food down for her to dig in. It’s your typical morning routine, while Lilly eats, you rush to the restroom to brush your teeth and freshen up for the day, throwing on a casual outfit- deciding it’s a pretty day enough to take a long stroll. Gathering Lilly’s leash, you hook it to her collar, packing a water bottle and a small book you’ve been reading, and head out toward the nearest park. The pain in your limbs subsides, for the time being, your mind focusing on the path ahead until the familiar rows of green-leaved trees meet your vision. White flowers bloom across numerous branches, the sun rays protruding onto the pavement while the soft petals sway to the ground from the subtle wind breezing along the trail.

You smile at the scenery, appreciating every bit of it, Lilly tugging on the leash ahead while she sniffs at the grass poking at the asphalt on the sides. It’s been a few years since you were able to officially rid of the wheelchair now, the only thing you struggle with is maintaining balance at times along with aching bones around certain areas of your frame; not even to mention the fifth cold you’ve gotten over within the last three months. Sometimes, trying to build your immune system is hard to do with it being so weak since the accident.

Deep in your thoughts, you’re so caught up in the way the trees sway, you hardly notice the sound of a deep, panicked voice nor the black and tan, fluffy coat of an animal flashing toward Lilly in glee.

“Yeontan! Yeontan, no!” The sound of the voice snaps you to reality, your eyes finding the wagging puff of a tail while two little, black noses sniff along each other’s bodies in introduction.

“Oh, my word!” You say in awe, the Pomeranian, a breed you’re already familiar with, pounces backward in an attempt to play; Lilly raising her paw slightly while she watches the dog’s every movement. You realize then the large hand shuffling frantically to retrieve the Pomeranian’s leash; your eyes trailing to reveal a face that nearly knocks you off your feet.

“I’m so sorry! I promise he’s friendly!” The man, brown hair wavy upon his forehead fluffing over the tips of his ears, has a hand towards you in assurance, though you can’t help the soft laughter escaping your wide smile. “He’s a fugitive, I tell you,”

“It’s okay,” your tone is timid, but your smile leads his expression to soften just enough to show his eyes clouding in relief. When his pink lips fall into an anxious line, he clears his throat, “Taehyung,” he offers his hand, you reach forward to shake it; your peripherals of Lilly keeping your focus while the two dogs continue to play.

“Sofia,” you nod.

Taehyung turns to glimpse at the two dogs, “And, this is Yeontan. May I ask what your puppy’s name is?”

“Lilly,” you feel bad for being such an introvert in this moment, but you can’t help the light of attraction burning within you- it’s been a while since you have seen someone so alluring- a jawline sculpted to perfection for a model, a tall frame toned as if he does nothing but dance for twelve hours a day, to the small freckle decorating his nose. When your stare lingers, you catch yourself enough to prevent an awkward tension, “Do you come here often?”

When small talk turns into the two of you continuing on the path, both your dogs walking ahead side by side, you can’t help the notice of his arm brushing yours every now and then; or, the way you catch him in the act of glimpsing at you to avert his gaze back to his shoes scraping along with the concrete- him stunned by the beauty you withhold in your soul. There’s more to you he has yet to learn, and from that day forward, he makes every way possible to do just that.

Days turn into months of spoiling your dogs, cuddling on the couch at the start of winter to watch the sports channel, to adventuring onto new paths at parks in other areas, scoping out the scenery the two of you share a passion for. One day, in particular, nearly half a year spent every waking moment the two of you could obtain, you’re in the process of dressing for another date, asking Taehyung if he can hook the necklace, he had surprised you with moments before, behind your neck.

That’s when he notices for the first time.

The tip of a thick scar where they had performed your operation for your spinal injury over a decade ago. It’s a story you haven’t fully opened about; though Taehyung has been aware of your sensitivity due to nerve damage, you always mask it by toughing through it; him right by your side in preparation to catch you if you are to fall. His fingers brush along the part of the scar that’s visible; tears brimming your eyes when he moves to place a gentle kiss upon it.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” he whispers, the warmth of him embracing you from behind tenderly in caution of any pain he may cause by the gesture. He doesn’t even know the full story, yet he knows that you conquered the trial by storm; refusing to accept any negativity that is thrown your way. That’s the night you happen to tell him everything- his eyes widening with so much inspiration for the accomplishment you achieved because you never gave up the fight.

A couple more months pass, you fall asleep on the couch, Lilly curled behind your legs- Taehyung and Yeontan passed out in the bed. You awaken in the middle of the night, pain causing hitched breaths at the back of your throat, Lilly whining in a panic as she jumps to lick at your face. Taehyung hears the commotion, jolting from the bed with Yeontan scurrying suit.

“Sofia,” Taehyung reaches you immediately, guardedly placing his hands upon your cheeks. Just that small act of love brings a peace you can’t explain- the sensation of your joints dimming to an elusive throbbing that you’re able to bare just enough to maneuver yourself to sit up.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, “I didn’t mean to wake you,”

“No,” he whispers, “Don’t say that. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Taehyung rests his forehead on yours, his frilly hair tickling at your skin while the tip of his nose presses to yours. “I would have carried you to bed, but you looked so cute, I didn’t want to wake you,“

“Oh, hush,” you can’t help the smile finding its way to your parting lips, your body relaxing from the tension of trying to retain comfort, “Why are you so perfect,” your voice is hardly audible, and the words roll off your tongue before you can even catch yourself.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Taehyung tilts his head while his eyes flicker to investigate yours. With furrowed eyebrows, you can’t help the confusion pouring from your expression,

“Me?”

“Sofia,” Taehyung says incredulously, “You are a warrior,” he refuses to avert his gaze from your eyes- the ones he gets lost in every chance he can, “Optimistic, intelligent, loving, extraordinarily beautiful,” you’re in disbelief at the flood of compassion waving from his lips that are now kissing every inch of your face, the pain that had been plaguing you vanishing completely while Tae’s voice soothes you, “A conqueror, determined, goal-oriented, need I say more? Yes-”

Tears pang your cheeks- you’re so in love with him you can hardly contain it. His kisses moving to your earlobes and your shoulders, his hand still tangled in your hair while he professes even more words to define the soul that you are.

“Sofia,” he returns to face you completely, his lips just a few centimeters from yours, “You are my soldier,”

Tears blur your vision, though you bring your hands to cup his face- you’re speechless- never in your wildest dreams did you ever imagine a man as beautiful as him would enhance your life to what it is now. You’ve always been a fighter- but he reminds you of that every single day. You kiss him then- getting lost in the sensation of his warmth while he hovers above you- bodies tangling together while he captures your kiss so passionately with his own.

Yeontan and Lilly cuddle off onto the large dog bed Taehyung had bought- the two oblivious to the love that was said minutes prior. And there’s nothing else that can complete you so perfectly- just Taehyung, Lilly, and Yeontan-

The three souls that take all the pain away.

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5am-the-foxing-hour · 6 years

Note

Prompt: Virgil gets out of the house at night. Some person sees him and takes him home. Logan notices he's gone once it's too late. Thomas gets up and searched for hours with Joan, talyn, Logan and Remy. Queue Virgils POV of his escape.

Virgil escaped. Logan is panicking and won’t calm down no matter how hard EVERYONE has tried. Thomas and his friend have looked everywhere but they can’t find him. After a day Logan has finally calmed down but he’s just super sad and won’t eat or do anything. A day after that they see a FOUND poster that has Virgil on it. They call the number and get him back-Animal Au- Anon

Virgil…you’re gonna make Logan become grey feathered from stress.

Virgil had gone with Remy n another nightly travel, only this time they had gotten split up and Virgil found himself on a square with people screaming for the possum as he pressed close to the wall fur fluffed up and body tense.

“REMY! REMY! WHERE DID YOU GO! REMY!” Virgil cried, but the possum was nowhere to be seen.

“Kitty?!” a person suddenly called and before Virgil had time to react he was suddenly scooped up from the ground. he screeched at the suddenness as he found himself face to face with a human he didn’t know, Virgil hissed, teeth bared and ears flat against his head and he puffed up for another reason, he spread his claws and dug them into the persons hand and bit their thumb.

“PUT ME DOWN!” Virgil snarled but the human only winched and held Virgil in the scruff instead. Virgil twisted in the hold, hissing and spitting.

“Man, you are one wild kitten, it’s a wonder you even have a collar, how much do you beat your owner up?”

Virgil hissed loudly in reply, but the person then put him in their bag and Virgil shouted angrily at them.

Remy scurried along the night looked around in a wild panic.

“VIRGIL!?” He screamed before he groaned “Logan will kill me!” Remy whined before as he ran around trying to find the kitten, but cam up empty handed.

Remy placed his paws on the glass of the backdoor and screamed for Logan. it didn’t take long before the lights turned on and both Logan and Thomas came down, Thomas opened the door with a yawn.

“What is it Remy?” he asked before he blinked “Where’s Virgil?”

“I LOST HIM! I DON’T KNOW WHERE HE IS! WE WERE LIKE NEXT TO EACH OTHER AND THEN HE WAS GONE!” Remy screamed as he ran to left and right on the porch. Logan stilled before his feathers rose on end.

“W h a t.” he ground out before he hopped down before Remy who cowered back “YOU LOST VIRGIL!?” Logan screeched slapping Remy with one of his wings.

“Hey, Hey!” Thomas said quickly getting hold of the furious raven. “Now Logan, tell me what’s going on.”

“REMY. LOST. VIRGIL!” Logan shouted as he tried to get free from Thomas hold to teach the possum a lesson, Remy pressed close to the porch as he backed away to get time to run if Logan got free.

“What?!” Thomas cried out before he stared at Remy who whimpered giving him a apologetic look.

“Then we better find him, unless he lost his collar the tracking device should still be on there.” Thomas said as he walked inside, Remy slumping against the porch in relief as Thomas closed the back door. But Remy stiffened when Logan landed on the handle to the door and sat there glaring at him, Remy stiffly turned his back to the raven and lied down, ready to wait.

On Virgil’s end things were a bit more stress full, Virgil had stopped hissing in the backpack, but only after having torn the papers and binders the person had in the backpack to shreds as revenge.

The backpack suddenly moved and then it was put on the ground. before it was opened. Virgil hissed and growled, swatting angrily at the hand who grabbed his scruff again.

“Cat…” a young man said, who stood at the door to an office “WHY DO YOU HAVE A CAT IN YOUR BACKPACK?!”

“It was outside all alone, so i took it.”

“”IT HAS A COLLAR! Oh for crying out loud!” The man placed their hands over their face and groaned “You can’t just take cats or kittens of the street if they HAVE A COLLAR! YOU IDIOT!” the man shouted throwing their arms out. “You will go back and leave it where you found it.”

“Uh, dude? No way in hell. it is like 5 blocks away and i’m tired.”

“We are not keeping it.” the man said.

Virgil growled before he twisted in the hold and bit the person hard in the hand making them cry out in pain and let go, Virgil landed on the floor and ran into the living room and scrambled under the sofa and snarled.

“Good job you let the little devil loose in our home.” the man said before they turned around on their heel “This is your problem to deal with.” the the door to the office closed with a slam. “MAKE SURE IT EATS SOMETHING! I DON’T WANT TI DYING!” the man shouted from the other side of the door. the person groaned. But Virgil ignored them as he tried to figure out how to get out of this place, he watched the windows and flinched when a clink was heard and he turned to find how a small plate that you put under coffee cups was on the floor with some liverwurst on it. the person then walked away and the lights were turned of before the a second door closed.

Virgil slowly sneaked over sniffing at the mushed liverwurst before he took a test lick, before he ate it, he never denied food. once the plate was clean did he sit down and got a better look at the room.

Virgil silently sneaked over to the window and looked around, he didn’t recognise any of the houses nor trees. Virgil huffed before he looked around for a way out. one of the windows out to the fire escape had been left halfway open, and Virgil trotted over and pawed it open until he got his head out and then his whole body, he looked down at the fire escape before he started to try and get down the steps, only to yelp and roll down to the next platform, he sat up and shook himself before he looked down to see just how far up he was,, 3 more levels did it seem like he had to get down before he got to the ground.

A Dove gave away a startled coo when he scrambled down the next level, it looked at him before tilting it’s head.

“I haven’t seen you around here before?”

“I’m not from here.” Virgil grunted as he got back to his feet and started to get down the other levels only to growl when the dove followed.

“Then we’re ya from kid?”

“None of your business.” Virgil hissed

“Feisty are we?”

“Buzz off!” Virgil snarled as he jumped down from the last step onto the ground. the dove only chuckled before they landed on the ground next to him.

“You’re a people cat, or is that just for decoration?” the dove asked making a peck at the tag that hung from the collar, Virgil hissed and swatted at the dove, making it clear he didn’t want the bird to touch it.

Virgil hissed at the dove before he started to move, he neded to find his way back home, he didn’t have time to fight with a bird.

And to his annoyance, the dove didn’t leave him alone.

“Okay so let’s see the gps and the tag… okay, let’s see where Virgil’s disappeared to.” Thomas said as he tapped away on the keyboard of his laptop, Logan had left the door to watch Thomas, the google maps was brought up and from the blue dot that showed Thomas’s position, did a purple and red dot appear as well, the red one was pretty much on top of the blue one. “Well, Roman is still here so let’s ignore him for now.” Thomas said as he clicked away the red one, before he put his attention on the purple dot. Thomas blinked before he made the map bigger. “How in the world did he end up there?” Thomas asked in confusion. “Well we better go get him.” Thomas said as he brought the map to his phone instead and then took on his clothes, Patton came down the stairs giving him a confused look.

“Virgil’s lost, i’m gonna go out and get him, keep the other in check okay, Pat?” the dog only smiled tail wagging.

Virgil walked along the alleys keeping away from the high roads in risk of getting picked up by humans again, he did not want to be put in a backpack again. the dove still followed him.

Without warning it suddenly flew up and away, Virgil looked after it in confusion before he heard the sound of some growling cats and he looked down to see how a gang of stray cats had appeared on the fences, and trashcans.

“Well~ what do we have here~?” a big orange cat scared and ruffled asked as it walked over, one eye gone along with a scar clearly inflicted by another cat. Virgil hissed as his hackles raised and he tried to appear bigger than he really was. the Orange cat only snorted as it walked around him. “You smell familiar, little one.” the orange cat growled.

“It’s the ‘Prince’s’ kitten! I’ve seen them play.” a cat shouted from the back of the group. The orange cat stilled.

“Ohhh the prince huh? well he owes me an eye, and since he’s not here right now, you will be the one to repay the deed.” The orange cat then lunged. Virgil scrambled out of the way, having played with Roman, Remy, Patton, Emile and Logan Virgil had honed up his reflexes and speed, he was one fast kitten, and he used that to his best ability now, running from the orange cat who snarled and took up the chase, the other cats stayed out of the way, clearly not wanting to get between the orange cat and Virgil. Virgil caught sight of a hole in the net fence that split the alley in two. Virgil squeezed through as the Orange cat snarled and hopped up on crates and boxes to chase after Virgil.

The alley ended and opened up to a smaller square, empty of people, Virgil ran the best he could only to squeak out in pain and fear when the orange cat caught him, Virgil struggled managing to use one of Emile’s trix and stomped the orange cat right in the face, making it let go and Virgil managed to get free from the hold, not noticing how the collar was ripped from his neck.

The Orange cat stumbled back and hissed, before noticing that the collar was stuck in his teeth, he pawed at it before it fell to the cobblestones. the other cats came up to him a green eyes one stopping at his side.

“So… are we gonna chase after him or let him run?”

“Let the runt run. but next time we won’t.” the orange cat pawed at the collar before snorting and the gang went back to the alley.

The purple flanell patterned collar lied town as the two tags one with Virgil’s name and Thomas’s info on it and the tracking tag glimmered silver in the street lights alone and forgotten on the cobble stones.

Virgil ran the fastest he could before he fell over his feet and rolled into a bush panting for breath before he looked back not seeing the cats. he slumped in relief at being safe. He stayed in the bush for a while to catch his breath and calm down before he got to his feet and started to move trying to figure out where he was and how to get home. the moon looked down at him from the night sky. Virgil sniffed the air to try and see if anything smelled familiar but nothing stuck out. Virgil huffed as he started to move along the walk way and into a empty park.

Thomas looked around as he got to the place where the tracker showed, Logan was on his shoulder looking around as well.

“Virgil?!” Thomas called as he looked around on the square, but no black kitten came running. Logan tilted his head and suddenly flew ahead. before landing on the ground and poked at something with his beak.

Thomas moved over and gasped when he saw that it was Virgil’s collar.

“Oh no…” Thomas picked it up from the ground and looked around, feeling panic grow inside him. “VIRGIL!” he called but nothing happened. Thomas looked down at the collar and sighed dejectedly. “Come on Logan, let’s go back home…” Logan snapped his head up to stare at Thomas as if he was crazy

“No.” he croaked out “Virgil.” Logan looked around hopping up on a fountain to get a better view.

“Logan… he’s not here.” Thomas said clenching his fist around the tags on the collar.

“No!” Logan shouted looking around a bit more frantic.

“Logan. Please.”

“NO!” Logan screeched at Thomas as he spread his wings clearly agitated and stressed.

“Logan, Virgil isn’t here, we can’t do anything else but go back home and hope he finds his way back.” Logan gave away a wounded noise and fell of the statue, Thomas caught him and Logan blinked up at him giving away a sad croon. “I know… i hope he’s okay.”

The days passed and Logan didn’t move from the pillow on the couch, wings spread to the sides as he gave away sad croons from time to time, staring at the backdoor as if Virgil would miraculously appear. Remy had looked so sad when Thomas had gotten back without Virgil, and a sadness fell over the house and all of the animals, Patton tried to keep them happy, but in the quiet moments his tail would fall and he would sadly look at the backdoor.

Thomas had kept telling himself Virgil would come any day, but as they day kept passing by with no sight of the kitten he started to lose hope. Talyn was the one who came up with the idea to hang something outside with their scents on it since animals had a better sense of smell then humans.

Thomas placed a towel on the floor and made sure all of them even Remy and Deceit got their scent on it before he walked out and hung the towel on the tree

Patton gave him a look as they moved back inside to get some water to place near the towel as well.

Virgil looked around and gave away a tired and hungry whine, he had lost count on how long he’s been gone, but he was cold and tired and wanted Logan and Thomas and Patton and Emile and Remy even Roman and Deceit would make everything better right now.

Virgil walked with his head hanging to tired to keep it up when a faint scent reached his nose causing him to still, he recognise that mixture of smells, Virgil lifted his head and sniffed the air as he’d seen Patton do, walking in a circle to try and figure out in which direction the smell came from.

Virgil started to run when he was sure of the direction and soon found himself at the start of a forest, he ran along the path uncaring about the humans who saw him as the scent only grew stronger and then he recognised himself from all the walks Thomas had taken him on and his own adventures with Logan or Roman.

Virgil ran faster and soon saw the tree and then Thomas home, Virgil didn’t care for the towel nor the water at the tree.

“GUYS!” Virgil shouted happily. Remy had been on the porch and he jerked his head up giving away a happy shout before he lunged at the kitten to lick and sniff him.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!? YOU HAD ME SO WORRIED! OMG GURL! DON’T DISAPPEAR LIKE THAT AGAIN!”

The sound of the backdoor opening was heard and then lots of scrambling.

“VIRGIL!” he heard Thomas cry as Remy backed of Virgil who instantly was greeted by black feathers and happy croons, Logan was to happy to even bring forth a coherent sentence.

Virgil just cuddled close to the raven as Patton and Roman moved over along with Emile who greeted him happily Roman hissed when he smelled the orange cat on Virgil before asking if he was okay. once the animals had greeted him back home did they move and Virgil looked up at Thomas who was crying, he laughed as he picked up Virgil from the ground pulling him close, Virgil mewed at him before he licked away the tears and then licked Thomas hair to try and sooth him.

“I’ve missed you buddy, I’m so glad you’re okay.” Thomas laughed wetly as he started to scratch Virgil behind the ears earning a happy purr. Thomas blinked when the purrs died down and saw how Virgil had fallen asleep in his arms. Thomas kissed him on his furry forehead before he walked inside followed by the others expect for Remy who stretched out on the porch letting himself relax fully with the knowledge that Virgil was home again.

And if a few hours later saw Virgil drowned in love in the form of a cuddle pile with all of them, even Deceit then, no surprises there.

(That Orange cat is the cat Roman beat up out of scene in this story)

Tag list: @ruuworld, @tree4life25, @unicornllamabunny, @team-free-squiggle, @strangegaycandy, @virgil-the-virgin, @nightmaresides, @fillyourteacup, @random-name-here

#sanders sides #animal au #Janus #sympathetic deceit #logan #virgil #patton #roman #thomas #talyn #sleep #dr. picani #text #the fox writes #anon

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