#pelting him w rocks

[lemongogo]

i hate him

[neuvifuri]

the sampo koski experience

[antxnous]

i have 1 more day of regular classes left and I feel like im going to throw up and die so here’s East beat up. blood n black eye n stuff below

with his natural hair and his dye job ,, my pathetic bark bark

[moe-broey]

Adjacent topic, but. One of my favorite things actually is when Alfonse pulls the player aside and is like "Let me think out loud real quick." and when the situation calls for it, "Also what do you think?" Like obviously this happens so much across any game ever, especially ones that have a designated partner character. But it feels so special to me...

Especially with Alfonse, especially when he calls the summoner by name. He didn't used to do that!! In the very beginning!!! And he slips up, as Lif. Trying So hard to take it back. It just feels so personal... 🥲🥺

[ordinrryarchive]

bide — is your muse more patient with some things than others?

I mean , he's relatively patient overall when it comes to most things , but if you're up in his face and touching him without permission then he'll be a little less so .

[chomfoolery]

yayyy radial art ^_^

[stardustsunsprites]

call me crazy n i might get hatecrimed for this but literally what is there to be sympathetic for cdrm ab. literally the definition of all things bad n somehow ppl still feel bad for him on what level. idk man doesnt make sense to me !

[awearywritersworld]

the three times gojo thinks he might be in love and the time he knows for sure

gojo satoru x reader summary: title says it all w/c: 1k tags/warnings: ft baby megumi. fluff, then some more fluff. gumi refers to reader as mom. one curse word. brief reference to canon typical violence. a/n: i am ridiculously soft for this man. he needs a hug masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

the first time it happens, it's the dead of winter and you're both still teenagers. it's the year before the star plasma vessel mission, when everything in gojo's life feels like it's falling into place. he has friends, real friends, for the first time in his life.

you drag him, kicking and screaming (it's all for show, he'd go anywhere with you), out to a snow covered field. you innocently beg him to turn off limitless, and of course he acquiesces, only to be pelted in the face with a snowball.

he throws himself into the snow upon impact, arms flailing dramatically. "i'm dead! you've killed me!"

you join him on the ground, arms out stretched and nudging the fabric of his coat. "hm, then i guess i'll have to drink all the hot chocolate by myself-"

"i have returned to the living realm!!" he shouts, shooting up into a sitting position. "had to fight god for it, told 'im i couldn't bear to leave my (y/n)-chan!"

"oh, you are so full of shit," you accuse with an amused smile.

you gaze at one another as the snow falls around you silently, both somehow feeling warm despite the frigidness of the air. his glasses have slipped down his nose, giving you a glimpse at his eyes. you're thinking about how the flakes blend in with his lashes before melting away entirely. he's thinking that he might be in love with you.

~~~

some time passes before the second instance, which takes place in the spring. gojo makes his way around campus, looking for wherever you and megumi ran off to. the small boy has been attached to your hip ever since gojo brought him home two years ago.

when he finds you, you're both splayed out in the grass and pointing up at the clouds.

"that one looks like a dog!" megumi exclaims excitedly.

"and that one looks like it might be his ball, don't you think?" you question. he agrees wholeheartedly with an enthusiastic nod.

after awhile, megumi sits up, rubbing at his eyes. "can we go inside now, mom?"

there's a split second he doesn't realize what he's said, but when it dawns on him, he looks down right scared. "'m sorry!"

your features soften and your heart soars before you're gathering him up in your arms.

"oh, my sweet boy," you coo.

rocking him back and forth, you hold him for a few passing moments. he hides his face in your chest, his hands gripping onto your shirt as if it's his life line.

you pull away just enough to see his face. you'd do anything to stop the tears swimming in his eyes, just like any mother would. "you can call me whatever you like 'gumi."

"p-promise?"

"yup!" you assure, bopping his nose with your pointer finger. it earns a small giggle.

gojo watches as you rise from the ground, megumi's head now resting on your shoulder and his arms around your neck. you're humming as you walk back toward the buildings.

gojo's legs are like lead and his heart feels as if it's shifted up into his throat. for the first time, he thinks about getting married, about having a family. your face is at the forefront of every image that forces itself into his mind.

~~~

the third time happens in the dead of night. megumi is asleep and the two of you decide to watch a movie, but you're yawning before he even presses play.

you sit so close to him that you can feel the warmth radiate from his body and although you fight to keep your eyes open, you can't help but be lulled to sleep.

he tenses for a moment when your head lands squarely on his shoulder. it seems as if you're both frozen, but then you let out a soft snore as your body shifts and your hand moves to his stomach. he finally relaxes.

your hair had fallen across your face and he pushes it back behind your ear so that he can see you. he tries to ignore the urge to brush his fingers across your cheekbone, or over your bottom lip. he fails.

gojo remains still for hours, and it feels strange to the usually hyperactive man, but he's terrified of disturbing you. terrified that you'll pull away from him and he'll never get to feel like this again.

he lets that stupid movie play through twice, but he spends most of the time stealing glances at you. he does eventually turn the tv off and the only sounds that remain are the trill of summer crickets outside his window and your soft, slow breaths.

he has no idea what time it is when he falls asleep, but when he finally does, he dreams about that day in the snow.

~~~

leaves fall at your feet as the two of you make your way down the sidewalk. every now and then, your fingers brush against his and it makes his heart skip a beat. he wonders (hopes?) if anyone has mistaken you for a couple.

you come across a familiar mansion, one that the two of you exorcised together as teenagers. it feels like a lifetime ago. you stop at the gate, a bronze glint on the ground catching your eye.

crouching down, you brush away shades of orange and red to reveal a memorial for all the people who had died on the once cursed property.

"for the lives that were taken here, and for the lost soul who took them... may they rest now in the afterlife."

gojo scrunches his nose, about to make some comment about how pitiful it was to commemorate a cursed spirit, but the words die in his throat when you look up at him with watery eyes.

"this is so beautiful," you remark, turning back to the engraved words.

he shoves his hands in his pockets, peering down to read over the words once more. maybe he'd missed something?

"this community was so fearful, remember? people lost friends and family here." he nods even though you aren't looking at him, watching how your fingertips move across the words as if you're considering them further. "the spirit scared them and it stole from them, but they still regard it with sympathy and kindness.. it takes strength to do that, you know?"

he feels his chest tighten as he registers your words. for a fleeting instance, he feels like an asshole for ever finding it pitiful, but that was the thing. you have such an easy way about you, a sort of gentleness he had yet to find in anyone else. the time he spends in your company seems like the only respite he ever gets from the horrors of the world.

he hasn't answered you yet, so you look back to him expectantly. "don't you think it's beautiful, 'toru?"

god, he could fall to his knees right then and there. he could roll over and die on the chilly concrete and he'd consider it a privilege to have died by your side.

i love you. i love you. i love you. those are the only three words his brain can muster.

"yeah," he finally chokes out. "it really is."

[lokisgoodgirl]

Darkest Night, Brightest Day: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (6) One tiny bed, one tiny brain cell, one breakthrough and one big rock. Warnings: Minors DNI. One bed. Smuttish. Sexual tension. Humour. Sneaky Satchels. Language. Pining. Mild Angst. (w/c 6.2k) Recommended Folklore Track: My Tears Richochet

You held your breath, staring at the wall as Loki lowered himself beside you in the moon-cut darkness.

Lifting, you pushed your pillow further to the side. He moaned gently as his head met the cushion he had brought from the floor with a soft thump. In the single bed, there could only have been an inch between your bodies.

Your eyes were wide open, focusing on a single spot on the wall. The warmth of his skin, a slight brush of his cotton-clad calf against your bare one setting your nerves alight. He lifted his head, raking his hair back as he always did before lying back on the pillow with a sigh. “Comfortable?” he whispered.

You both knew the answer to that one. “Sure,” you whispered back.

Through the wall, the suspicious muted moans of pleasure continued.

A bedspring creaked. “I’m sure it’s not what you think,” Loki murmured. “What you think, you mean.” you hissed playfully. “I can’t believe your brother has corrupted Steve!?” Loki’s abs pulsed intermittently against your back as he laughed, trying to be silent. “At least he aimed high with his first time,” you whispered to the wall. Loki’s snort of restrained laughter blew against your neck. “Aimed high? Agent, I think you vastly overestimate my brother’s prowess.” You giggled against the pillow, and without meaning to, sort of, you inched back closer to Loki’s stomach. But not touching. You made sure of that. “At least they have protection, thanks to you-” you muttered with mock-stoicism. There was a longer pause, this time. The heat from his body nestled close. Infuriatingly close. “You know, I am not sure I wish to take credit for that,” he said quietly. It sounded serious, but you could tell he was smiling.

He shifted. You heard the soles of his feet thrum against the metal bed-frame. The sides of the conjured blanket draped down each side of the bed, mattress creaking beneath his hip.

A dip made you roll back further against him.

“Sorry,” he murmured as your shoulders touched his chest, “collateral damage.” “It’s fine,” you said, as casually as you could muster. “It’s...nice.”

The sharp intake of breath which sucked in his stomach made you clench. Seconds ticked by as you watched shadows dance the wall. A weave of ivy hung over Loki’s window, its outline waving against moonlight.

“I’m sorry I kissed you yesterday,” you whispered. But you weren’t sure why. It seemed necessary, somehow. “Consider it forgotten,” Loki hummed politely. He started to speak again, and then stopped. You ceased breathing as he shuffled closer. You wondered if he meant to. But still, his stomach didn’t touch your back.

“I’m sorry for what I did our second night here,” he murmured unexpectedly. “It was rude, and entirely thoughtless for me to turn up in your door in that regrettable state. I don’t know what possessed me-” “Consider it forgotten,” you repeated staunchly back to him. There was silence. What did you expect him to say, you chided as your stomach dropped; grasping the snug blanket draped over you. You rubbed the pelt between your fingertips nervously.

You knew exactly what you expected him to say.

‘I’m not sorry,’ he would have purred licentiously in your ear. ‘I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss. It was all I could do in the supermarket not to finish what you started-’

And then, he would have rolled you towards him with the firmest intent. The smoulder in his eyes burning through any hint, any inkling that this was a bad idea. His knuckles would have trailed down your neck, between your breasts; his fingers slipping down to the hot mess between your legs.

‘Oh darling,’ he would simper as curls fell sluttishly around his jaw, fingers slipping with ease inside you. ‘I’ve missed you so.’

“Did you ever love me, Loki?”

For a second, you couldn’t believe you’d actually said it.

The moments that you waited for Loki to give any sign that he’d heard you were the longest in living memory.

You bit your lip, grimacing as he shuffled back, just an inch. But the loss of his skin so close to yours made your heart sink. It was cold again. “Yes, I did.” he said curtly.

There was a hint of reproach in his voice, but it was sincere. Your heart dropped at the past tense as he cleared his throat quietly. A fidget of his fingers on the blanket rustled as he considered his next words.

“Did you?” he asked, the words running together. “Love, me?” “Yes,” you murmured without pause. The blanket’s fur twirled between your thumb and forefinger, twisted to a point. The question that had always lingered in your mind came to the forefront in crisp clarity. What the hell, you thought bitterly. Might as well get some answers. You took a deep breath.

“I always wondered, after you said...‘gods don’t love like we do’ and then went all quiet. You never told me what you meant, I thought maybe...because I’m not one of you-” the thought lingered in the air. “I don’t know…” you trailed off.

Each shallow breath was heavy. “Deeper,” Loki’s quiet whisper breathed against your back.

Your teeth chattered. It was real this time. “H-huh?” you shivered. In the silence, Loki’s arm slid over your blanketed shoulders. The flat of his stomach finally met your spine, the familiar rippled surface warmer than a hot bath on a winter night. You sank into the feeling as he drew you close and squeezed. Just once. “We love deeper.” he mumbled nervously. It hung in the air, his heartbeat thumping against your lungs. “Our capacity for depth is not limited to strength, or knowledge, but feeling.” “Why wouldn’t you just tell me that?” you snipped, harder than you had intended. “I was embarrassed. It made me feel-” Loki paused. You held your breath, eyes darting around the sliver of moonlight cast on the wall before settling on the ivy’s shadow.

“Weak?” you whispered softly. “Weak.” he replied.

There was silence.

Rain had begun to beat against the window. The sheet against your bodies rustled. “My brother has shown me some of the error of my ways,” Loki said quietly. “And you, of course.” His fingertip brushed absent-mindedly over the blanket covering your chest. “I am only sorry you had to suffer my worst qualities. You deserved better. Perhaps next time I will be a better...man.” You could feel the effort it took to withhold the alternative.

As his words sank in, your stomach twisted. “Next time?” you murmured earnestly.

“If I am lucky enough to find love again, I hope to deserve it. Appreciate it, not squander it.” Loki said.

With frightening clarity, you realised the idea of Loki with anyone but you was a dagger to the heart. Loki felt you bristle in his tentative hold.

Although he thought he had been doing rather well, something now made him think he’d said the wrong thing.

It had taken all his not inconsiderable strength to keep the words in. He had been honest to a point. Perhaps too honest for his liking. And, so it seemed, yours.

Sheathed desire bubbled between his thighs. Ignored. He had been doing well, he repeated to himself as he felt a quiet sigh escape you. One he was not meant to hear, he was sure. Loki knew that sex was not what you wanted. Not really. One night of mind-numbing passion on this abysmal bed would not go any way to mending the pain he had caused. It would hurt you. The thought made him feel ill. Loki was rather proud of himself at the realisation, but gods, how he wanted you.

Your quiet breaths were a melody in the darkness, the strangeness of this situation made stranger by its aching familiarity.

He re-positioned his head, focusing on the space between your shoulder-blades. The points shifted beneath his t-shirt you wore, hair pooled messily on the pillow. Had you swept it up in that way to expose the curve of your neck to him on purpose? Loki frowned, trying to quieten the thought.

He wanted to crash to your skin with the force of his kisses. Wet, pure, longing. To roll you to your back with a demure sigh from your lips. Loose himself in the scent of you, the earthy sweetness of your heat. He wanted to tell you that he was sorry, that he was wrong, that he would try.

But words were not what was needed. He knew that now. Words had lost him your love. He needed to show you he could change.

But still, Loki allowed himself to to tease the t-shirt up your waist in the safety of his mind, feel your perfect breasts spill into his waiting palms as your legs wound around his hips.

Just for a moment.

He imagined you would pull him to your open mouth, muttering ambrosial words of wistful devotion as your hand searched into the waistband of his pyjama pants. Fingers would wind anxiously around his straining cock, sinking into old rhythms before he sank himself inside your beautiful cunt with a ragged gasp of your name-

Norns, no. Despite furtive efforts, Loki felt himself hardening beneath the silky cotton of his pyjamas. He cleared his throat, screwing his eyes shut, trying to think unsexy thoughts.

Steve Rogers in lingerie, he summoned.

Regrettably, the image was not as tragic as he had hoped. Cursing silently, he scooted away from the curve of your back. The loss of your touch was a rip. He felt you stiffen. Biting his lip, he considered his options. They were few. “I have something to confess, Agent I ” The words stumbled. “You’re getting aroused?” you questioned quietly. If Loki didn’t know better, he would think it was coy. He swallowed, fighting every urge simmering beneath his skin to gather you in his arms and ravage you in a mess of filthy groans and wet kisses. “Regrettably, yes.” he replied solemnly. There was a low giggle. “I would be insulted if you weren’t.” you added quietly. Loki found his hand slipping from its hold around your shoulders and beneath the sheets. “Excuse me while I just-” he muttered, adjusting his cock so it sat against the waistband of his pyjamas. The small touch was electric. Fingers lingered on a pulsing vein, dragging slowly across the delicate skin. Straight up, nestled tightly to elastic; thick and ready to fill her. No, Loki grit. Your hair brushed his forehead as you raised your head from the pillow, craning behind you to meet his eyes.

“Be closer,” you said softly in the darkness. Moonlight crackled in your irises, starlit perfection sent to test the very limits of his endurance. Loki felt his brows slant.

Cautiously his fingers grazed the curve of your waist. The pads of his digits sank against the flesh, velvet sand.Safe. “Are you sure?” he whispered. His breath hitched as you pressed back into him, his chin grazing the back of your head. He inhaled deeply, noting the smallest push of your ass into his crotch. “I’m cold,” was all you said. A small smile pressed against his cheeks, rustling your hair. He wondered if you could feel it. You always used to be so attuned to him. “We can’t have that,” he hummed resolutely in response. Loki felt you inhale sharply, his fingers sinking deeper into your skin. He released them, beginning to graze achingly slowly down the curve of your waist. Closing his eyes, he lingered every inch of its route down your ribs before meeting the dip.

The ascent was tortuous, the slight tremble of your muscles as his digits reached the peak. Loki didn’t think you were breathing.

His fingers ghosted over your hip, tips dancing circles against the skin so light they were almost invisible.

Your whole body shivered. “We’re not having sex,” you trembled unconvincingly.

Loki nodded, dragging his nose against the muss of your hair. “Absolutely,” he replied, holding in a groan. His cock was pulsing, nestled in the middle of your ass. He could feel the drag of your panties, every beat of his lust thrumming against thin pyjama pants. God, it was torture. And it was Valhalla. Your cheeks tensed against his throbbing manhood, a light push of your hips backwards making him release a whimpering sigh. He could see your fingertips grasp against the bed’s edge as his own trailed lazily over the curve of your ass beneath the sheets, down the side of your thigh, catching fine hair against his feather-light touch. Each breath felt like it shook your whole body as you tried to stay as still as possible. Your eyes were closed, memorising every grace of Loki’s long fingers as they danced across your skin in wisping patterns. Runes. The soft flesh sizzled, tickling zinging of nerve endings coming ablaze beneath his impossibly cautious touch. It was the most turned on you had been in your entire life.

His breaths were deep and quiet, the press and release of his solid chest against your back making wetness slide between your legs. You were desperate for him, fallen and utterly gone to anything but him.

And yet, as his martyred cock throbbed against your lower back – you conceded that this was no longer the Loki you had known.

Are you testing him, you thought. The uncomfortable realisation came like a bolt of lightening, timed with another miniscule roll of your hips. Loki released a ragged gasp.

The warm air flooded your ear. It filled your mind with memories of him fucking you gently over the edge in the Tower, the dirty moans and wandering hands while he rocked himself inside your pussy, emptying all he had to give.

You conceded that testing him would be beyond you right now. The urge to slip your hand between your bodies, curl your fingers around that perfect cock and set him alight with the power you held. If a girl finds herself in bed with Loki Laufeyson, you mused as you arched your back, pressing firm against the hard length pulsing against the t-shirt, some things are inevitable.

“Careful, Agent” Loki warned. There was a tremor in his voice you hadn’t heard before. “You might give me the wrong idea.”

“Is it wrong?” you said. Your bodies halted, words hanging in the air above your heads, “I don’t know-” he whispered.

Loki thrust gently. The smooth cotton of his pyjama pants did nothing to hide the ferocious power of the flesh which lay beneath. His length slid against your panties, pressing into the curve of your ass, the little knot of his ties catching on your t-shirt. You would bet good money there was a wet spot.

“Oh,” he moaned gently. It was the sweetest sound you had ever heard. “You’re keeping me warm,” you panted earnestly, as Loki’s fingers began to trail back up your thigh. Firmer, this time. “You’re keeping me..a-uh...warm.” The clenching was methodical now. Each tense of your thighs brought blood rushing to a pussy, plump and wet and mad for his touch. Loki was barely moving, every wave of his hips as they rolled against your ass achingly slow. His restrained, polite pants in your ear were electric. Like a public school virgin. The careful drag of his veined cock caught on the t-shirt you wore. His fingertips dug into your hip suddenly, a judder making Loki’s leg shake against yours. “If we don’t -s-stop, I’m going to...uh, c-cum,” he choked apologetically, accompanied by another devastatingly glacial thrust. “Don’t-” you replied, tapering to a small moan. “Don’t?” he gasped, as you craned behind to look into his eyes. His face was aglow in shards of moonlight, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow. That beautiful stare smouldered with an unplaceable intensity – his breathing shallow. Concern was awash on his features, wet lips parted as he looked at your with unbearable submission. “Don’t stop.”

There were no more words between you as Loki’s body curled to yours, hand shaking with the effort to keep his light touch steady.

His fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to pull you back against him, pull down the pyjama pants and sink you onto his cock. Pull aside your panties and touch you. How you wished he fucking would. The slow, trepidatious roll of his hips continued; each quiet gasp from his lips a melody. With a low groan, his stomach clenched against your back. You released a pant of his name, turning to see a profile you thought you’d never see again.

The god’s face was twisted in pained pleasure, deep lines carved into the expanse of his brow, damp curls winding across the skin. His lips were parted, eyes screwed shut and neck taut as he emptied himself against your back. The spurt of his cum slapped against your skin. He clenched to you, his legs twitching and thrashing against the tight bedsheets.

Loki’s thick tip had come free from its prison, the slick skin grazing your spine. Slow, staggered exhales of desire breezed your ear as he came undone; the thick roll of his seed beneath the t-shirt making it tingle.

Breathy melodies of of his low groans ebbed and silence fell.

Only the tapping of the ivy against the window rustled gently.

“There is something I must say to you,” Loki murmured in the darkness, his spent voice muffled by the mess of your hair. A cool wisp of magic between your bodies hummed. Your heart dropped, realising it signalled the removal of any remnants of...whatever this was. “But first I must understand it, you see.” Loki whispered. “It hasn’t quite...fallen into place.” He paused, palm sliding under the pillow below your cheek. He sighed quietly. You could hear the tiredness in his voice. “I cannot place it. Like a dream, twisting out of reach. A wisp of smoke. Too much has happened, too much-” he muttered. “Just be here, with me. Just for tonight.” you cut sadly, hoping it would quiet him. Loki squeezed the arm holding around your chest. His lips grazed your shoulder, hovering on the precipice. He released a breath he’d been holding against your skin. It sounded like a sigh, and perhaps it was.

“I know that cannot expect to cross the ocean between us.” Loki murmured so quietly you were surprised you heard it.

It sounded like a prayer. “Not an ocean,” you whispered, slurred by the sudden descent of sleep. Self-preservation you were glad of, at last.

Loki inhaled quietly as you continued, shuffling back against his crotch. Muscle memory. “-lake, maybe.” You hoped he could feel the quiet smile that twitched your cheek beneath his thumb. “A lake,” Loki repeated; feeling you drift into dreams in his hold. He hoped you were dreaming of him.

When Loki saw the seconds hand tick past seven am, he slipped cautiously from the bed. It had been a long night.

He pulled on the first thing he could find, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He grimaced, immediately swapping the beige jumper for a slightly less ghastly beige jumper.

Damn that Rogers, he mulled for the hundredth time this week before he cast a last lingering glance at you curled in his bed. Your hand hung off the side, your face tipped up, snoring gently. Loki smiled.

The door closed softly behind him, glancing to the still-closed entrance to his brother and Rogers room. What happened last night, he hoped, would remain a mystery. Loki picked his way down the stairs, careful of creaks. He needed time to think. To marinate. To review the events of last night, to think on the boulder which blocked his understanding. If he could only match the puzzle pieces which taunted him.

He had slept only in snatches, waking to every breathy moan from your lips and sleep-drunk squirm. Rather pleased with himself that he had navigated the rudimentary alert system of the stairs, he turned into the kitchen with a start. “Norns, brother” Loki gasped, gripping the door-frame.

Thor sat upright at the kitchen table, a mug of tea cupped between his meaty hands and a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Loki tried to ignore him as his brother’s eyes followed his journey across the room. He plopped a teabag in the mug with the yellow bear, the sound of pouring from the kettle deafening in the eerie silence. Thor’s stare burned into the back of his head as he poured the milk.

I’ll bet that buffoon is still smiling, he thought. Loki stirred, tapping the side of the mug twice with the dulled spoon before placing it carefully down. He turned, unsurprised that his deduction had been correct. Thor still sat, smiling, watching, looking pleased with himself as his brother manoeuvred into the seat opposite him. “Sleep well?” Loki asked. “Not really,” Thor said with uncharacteristic cheer for this time in the morning. The smile didn’t falter. “You?”

“Not really,” Loki replied abruptly. They eyed each other. Loki didn’t like when his brother smiled like this. It almost always meant that he thought he’d gotten the better of him. Rarely, however, was he correct. “We didn’t have sex, if that was your plan.” Loki sniffed, picking up a buttered crumpet from the plate in between Thor’s elbows. He took a bite. “Right.” Thor said conspiratorially. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about, brother.” There was a pause. Thor sipped his tea, placing it down carefully before resting his chin in his palm. He blinked several times. “Did you...hear, anything, perchance?” “Not a thing” Loki lied. “Liar.” Thor smirked.

Loki adjusted his feet under the table, socks squeaking against the linoleum. “Where’s your newly minted ‘lover’, anyway then?” he snipped, running a fingertip around the mug lip.

He looked up, jaw set and cheekbones sharpened. “Captain Rogers,” he husked for emphasis, narrowing his eyes. His chin tilted, a silent ooo cutting the air between them.“I didn’t think he was your type,” Loki sneered, studying his brother’s face for tells. Thor shrugged, resting back in the chair which gave a malevolent creak. “People change, remember Loki?” Something didn’t add up.

“What was it then?” Loki snipped, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “A foot-rub? A back massage? You can’t expect me to believe-” “Oh, brother.” Thor rumbled sagely, shaking his head. “So many questions. And yet…” He made a bursting gesture with his fingertips, milking the sparkles, before tapping the side of his nose.

Loki rolled his eyes.

“Is it time to go home yet?” he muttered into his tea.

If you didn’t know what had happened last night, you might have been forgiven for assuming everything seemed normal. There was the usual morning buzz in the cottage kitchen which you had become accustomed to. The smell of eggs and bacon had lured you from your morning cocoon, albeit after you had taken five long minutes to remind yourself what had actually happened in the darkness. Was it a dream? No. If it was, Loki would have fucked you senseless as you gripped the wrought-iron bedframe. But all the evidence that remained was a dried dark patch on the back of his t-shirt. Missed a bit Loki, you mused as you let it fall to the side with a sigh. Thankfully you still had the trousers you wore last night. For some reason, you decided to keep his t-shirt on. It was better quality than yours, you surmised, cum-stain or no cum-stain. Loki won’t mind, you thought optimistically as you tucked it in. He might like it.

Turning into the kitchen, you took a moment to absorb the tableau. Thor and Steve stood at the kitchen sink; Steve washing, Thor drying. They both wore devious smiles, meeting each others eyes nervously as each dish passed between them.

The captain noticed you in the doorway. “Good Morning, Agent” he said with a quiet nod. You returned it. “Morning, Agent” Thor piped, running the red chequered cloth through his fingers with a grin. “Quite the pair, aren’t they?” Loki drawled sarcastically.

He nudged a plate of food dismissively in your direction. You sat opposite him, frowning. He was fixated on the other men, analysing eyes mapping each unspoken word between them like a rifle’s scope. As the seconds passed, it became more unlikely you would be receiving the welcome you’d hoped. The Loki you remembered seemed to have re-appeared. Maybe all he needed was a sentimental dry-hump, you raged silently as you quickly ate a few bites. Running sweaty palms down your trousers, you stood. “Ready in ten minutes okay? Tent packs and all the other usual...stuff.”

All eyes in the kitchen fell on you. Loki looked up appraisingly through a fan of dark lashes, the heaviness of his stare making your stomach drop.

“Ten minutes,” you repeated coldly. ‘What was that?!’ you heard Steve hiss as you made your way up the stairs. ‘What was what?’ you heard Loki snap in response.

The hum of bitchy conversation continued as white noise.

You stood on the landing at the doorway to your decimated room with tears pricking your eyes, realising you had nowhere to go.

Loki watched you stride ahead, studying a superfluous map in your hands. You knew where you were taking them, it was just for show. But Loki could understand why you wanted to avoid conversation. Something was bubbling uncomfortably beneath the surface of his skin. Shifting beneath it like ants, like wet flour straining to exit a sieve. This morning he had clung to the mystery of his brother’s intentions as a mortal would to a life-raft. Avoiding something. But what? It moved whenever he tried to focus. And in the meantime, he’d hurt you again somehow. He’d seen it.

He grit his teeth, nerves flaming at the incessant wittering of hushed conversation behind him. “Will you both desist for one moment?” he growled, casting a scathing look back at his brother and Rogers. “We’re just talking,” Steve snipped in response. “Maybe you should try it with you-know-who.” Loki rolled his eyes. “Please don’t tell me my brother has woven you into his hair-brained charade, Rogers.” Steve chuckled, rubbing his chin. He paced several steps towards the god, eyes meeting before leaning forward to Loki’s ear. “Doesn’t seem so hair-brained to me,” he whispered covertly. “Maybe you should learn to relax a bit.”

Loki pulled away with a horrified frown as Steve’s smug smile widened. “You are telling me to-” The captain cast a glance to your disappearing figure further up the path. “Consider last night payback for Colombia,” he said, cutting in with a wink and slapping Loki’s shoulder before moving down the path at a jog. Loki folded his arms, watching Steve go as Thor sidled sheepishly beside him. “I don’t know what you see in him,” Loki said abruptly. “I don’t like him like this.”

Thor slid his arm over his brother’s shoulder, pulling Loki’s head beneath his chin. His fist mussed the top of his hair. “Get off,” Loki chided, pushing him away and smoothing his parting. “Come, brother” Thor said, his mirth-filled lilt making Loki want to trip him. “Tents require our erection.”

Autumn foliage set the lake view from the hillside aflame.

All around you was the rustle of wind against rock, the low calls of geese in the distance. The blondes had already laid their groundsheet and made a valiant effort at pitching the tent before Thor became trapped inside. You and Loki made headway with your own effort. The site you’d picked was challenging, as intended. But the chill that had descended over Loki made it more so. “Can we be reasonable about this?” you said quietly, eyeing Steve trying to guide Thor to the tent’s exit before looking back to him. Loki released the tent mechanism. It unfurled. “Just because I used to be your girlfriend doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me-”

“-You were never my girlfriend,” Loki snapped, lowering to secure the first loop. “You were my consort.” You stared incredulously while Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Commoners have ‘girlfriends’. Royalty have consorts.” he explained.

‘Did Laufeyson just call her a prostitute?!’ ‘No, Rogers. You’re thinking of escort. Or concubine.’ Thor paused. ‘We really should call it something else, you know…’ They looked up innocently to you and Loki staring at them. Both sat cross legged with the half-collapsed tent slopping to the side. “Don’t mind us,” Rogers drawled sarcastically, waving a hand before leaning it behind him. “We’re just having a conversation, same as you.”

He was very sassy today.

You turned back to Loki, folding your arms. “I know what you’re doing,” you snapped wryly. “You’re trying to up the dick-o-meter again because you were vulnerable with me. It’s not necessary, just forget it-”

Thor released an ill-timed here here. “Shut up, Thor-” “Oh am I?” Loki drawled, rolling his eyes. “Well, many thanks for your analysis, Agent. Now if you could just get back to your area of expertise-” he held up the tent-poles, tipping them towards you expectantly.

You swiped them, glaring as you took a deep breath.

“You’re going to have to move your tent about three feet to the left, guys,” you said to Thor and Steve while not breaking eye contact with your ex. “That boulder is an obstruction for the pole area at the side.” “Nonsense,” Thor muttered. He tugged off his bobble hat and unzipped his puffer jacket. Beneath, his chest was exposed. Steve’s eyes widened as Thor bent over to pick up the boulder with ease. There was a gasp from the right. The four of you snapped towards the noise. A man’s head and shoulders had become visible above the rocky plateau of the hillside. Silence fell as the man scrambled over the ridge; patting himself down as he observed Thor’s elevated boulder with amazement. Steve’s attention floundered back to the tent-poles, wiggling one against the ground. You looked pleadingly to Loki, but he was nowhere to be seen. Oh no, you thought.

“Good morrow, fellow nature enthusiast.” Somehow Thor’s attempt to sound like anyone but himself was the most Thor thing you had ever heard.

The man stopped in his tracks, squinting at the blonde casually holding a boulder. A breeze whipped Thor’s hair, billowing like spun gold around his shoulders. The puffer jacket blew wider, his glistening chest muscles reflecting the low autumnal sun. “Aren’t you?” “No. Definatley not.” Thor released a strained laugh, awkwardly fumbling for a hood that wasn’t there with one hand. In the other, the boulder wobbled. He patted his own back, spinning in a circle and knocking into Steve still looking busy with the tent.

“Watch it-” the captain hissed as the rock fell with a crump to the ground. It began to roll, and when Rogers looked up, the doe-eyed concern in his eyes couldn’t have been closer to his Avengers publicity shot if he’d tried.

The man looked between Thor and Steve with sudden panic – catching you out the corner of his eye. He covered his mouth, pointing as you began to pace towards him.

“Oh my god, oh my god” the man muttered, looking frantically at the sky. “Fuck, are there aliens? Am I gonna die? Is this ground zero?” “Hello friend,” Loki purred, appearing out of nowhere behind the hiker.

One hand slid over the bemused mortal’s shoulders while the other pushed the low hood from his face, uncovering that famously wolfish smile. The man’s catatonic stare became even wider as his gaze tracked from Loki’s chest to his eyes. He let out a girlish yelp.

“You’re-!” With one well-placed squeeze of Loki’s fingers at the top of his spine, the man fell with a graceless thump to the ground. “Loki,” Thor chided. Loki grimaced apologetically. “He went down too quickly, it was my intent to catch him.”

The four of them stepped closer, huddling around the unconscious body on the hillside. “He was going to blow us,” Steve said solemnly, hands on his hips. “It was for the best, thank you Laufeyson.” “You’re welcome?” Loki replied, smirking. He and Thor exchanged a knowing grin as you got on your hands and knees, working towards the passed out bystander.

You felt the man’s pulse, putting him in the recovery position and fishing in your rucksack for a blanket. “Well we can’t just leave him here,” you hissed, looking further down the hill. “What if he was with someone?!” “We’ll tell them he fell over,” Loki chirped. “Mortals fall over all the time.” Thor hummed sagely. “Tis’ true.”

He caught the menacing stare you threw him. “Well it is!” he added, offering a brisk nod to his brother in solidarity. You scrunched his discarded bobble hat in a ball and threw it at his face. “Put this on,” you spat – “you almost caused this guy serious damage with your stupidity. Just do what your told for once.” Thor’s face crumpled. He tugged on the hat, making sure all of his hair was tucked in. You rifled through the man’s pockets, finding a wallet. “Colin Robertson,” you hummed quietly. “What a boring name,” Loki piped. Thor elbowed him in the ribs, shaking his head. “We can’t leave him here, we need mountain rescue” you said as you stood.

The men looked between each other. “Heck no,” Steve gasped. “I’ll be darned if the Avengers have to enlist mountain-heckin’-rescue.” “But Steve, we’re not the Avengers.” you cut with air quotes. Steve’s mouth hardened. “Right.”

Loki sighed, rocking on his heels. “What if we transport the body, and dispatch him somewhere else?” “Kill him?!” “No not kill him, just...deposit him in a more salubrious location for our purposes.”

Thor frowned, resting a thumb beneath his chin. “How many pints of ale does it require to render a mortal man unconscious?”

“Enough!” you yelled. The three of them fell quiet. “One of you pick him up, one of you scout.” Thor and Steve looked at Loki. “Why must I carry him?” “You discombobulated him.” Steve said matter-of-factly. “Oh I see.” he snarled. Blood began to thunder in his ears. “And as recompense for my quick actions which heroically concealed your idiotic field trip to this blasted place, I must carry him like the humble pack-horse I am. Is that it?” Steve arched a brow. Loki’s vision blurred. He raked his hair, chuckling manically to the ground. The air suddenly felt electric.

“I see it now-” he said abruptly. Loki began pacing back and forth, two steps of his long legs towards Colin before he’d turn on his heel.

There was a crazed look in his eyes, his cheekbones popping with every work of his jaw. The open Barbour swung around his thighs, his cheeks flushed. His pupils were wide, dark curls falling over his brow like the sexiest mad professor you’d ever seen. “What do you-” “I see it now, I see it-” he repeated in velvet whispers, stopping. He held out his palms, brows peaking as he looked at them with fascination.

“It’s fallen into place,” he whispered. “Loki, what-” His eyes rose to meet yours, hard features softening under your worried stare. Loki let out another strained chuckle, brows knitting. “Why I’m afraid to be loved,” he said quietly.

Out the corner of your eye, you saw the blondes cover their mouths with a synchronised gasp.

Thor gripped Steve’s shoulder, his eyes beginning to water. They stared. Loki began to pace again, raking his hair away from his face. His lips kept parting and closing, trying to catch the thoughts buzzing in his mind like wasps. “Earthquakes in this realm, they have...aftershocks. Yes?” he stammered, stopping to look between the three of you.

“I struggled to place why the memories of our time at the cabin-with-no-place affected me so, brother-” he gazed at Thor, frowning. “But now I see it was the last time I felt...content. Safe. With no expectation or consequence. Nothing had yet been taken from me,” he murmured. Your heart skipped a beat, twisting and begging for you to run to him. His eyes were manic, voice trembling with wild curls playing against the wind. “No,” he whispered to himself; “that’s not true. I was content with…” he looked up at you. Thor and Steve glanced at each other with wide eyes, then back to Loki. Loki sighed. “Ever since our inaugurations, brother, I have been displaced. My anger, my jealousy, the void, the mind stone...my imprisonment, the deaths-” He turned away, looking out over the steep drop to the lake below.

“When I came to this realm, I was always waiting for another earthquake. Fighting against another aftershock, ready to shake my world apart once more. And when none came…” he trailed off. You could hear the thickness of his voice as he held back tears. “I created them.” It was unbearable. You walked forward, approaching like a horse you were trying not to spook. Fingers brushed the arm of his waxed jacket, urging him to turn. He spun slowly, looking at your hand resting on his arm, your eyes wide and worried. “I’m sorry,” he choked quietly. His eyes were swimming. And yours were, too.

“I was afraid.” he gasped, staggered. “Afraid of the rug being swept beneath my feet as it has so many times. Without my powers, my lineage, my supposed impenetrability...I thought I would be lacking. That you would think me lacking, as all else have.” He inhaled sharply, turning his face once more to the lake.

You heard Thor protest quietly at the last statement, thankfully cut short by a quick yank of the hat over his eyes by Steve. “It was safer to anticipate the ending. Distance myself. Harden myself with the tools which have helped me survive, become who I thought I was supposed to be-” Your hand slid up Loki’s cheek, combing past his temple.

“But I remember now, that is not who I truly am.” he whispered as a quiet tear squeezed from his outer lashes. “I realise, now, that is not who I want to be.” “And who do you want to be, Loki?” you murmured, shallow breaths making your chest rise and fall at alarming speed. He pressed his forehead against yours, warm breath ghosting your lips. “I want to be-” “-I hate to be a bellyache, but our friend is stirring,” Steve chirped nervously. You heard the grind of Loki’s teeth before his light touch on your forearms lessened. “Right,” Loki said, straightening. He smoothed wild hair behind his ears, popping the collar of his jacket. At some point, Thor had propped Colin against a rock. His head was lolling, mouth hanging open. But his fingers twitched.

There was a determination in Loki’s eyes. Suddenly, he seemed lighter. His hand slipped down your arm, toying with your fingers. “Shall we continue this later?” he whispered with a nervous smile. You nodded, returning it. Emboldened, Loki strode over to the limp mortal, catching him as he began to slide sideways down the rock. He lifted him with ease, propping him over his shoulders. “I can carry him, Loki-” Steve said apologetically, edging closer despite Thor’s grasp of his arm. “It’s quite alright,” Loki said, adjusting his grip around the back of the man’s thighs. He looked between the two dunces, smiling.

Thor's face fell.

“It will give the two of you time to work out one of those cunning plans you have such affinity for," Loki said.

Chapter Seven: Harvest - (final)

Tags @lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @brittbax @smolvenger @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @muddyorbs @buttercupcookies-blog @megschaef98

[dreamer-after-dark]

I could see Wally Darling being the kind to sneak into your room/house when you're away and steal your panties/underwear. You figure that maybe the washing machine is eating them at first until a pair you were wearing yesterday disappeared from the top of the pile.

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Side note, I have had my panties stolen before! Anyway, here you go ٭(•﹏•)٭

Part Two

Word count: 1,945

Wally is shameless.

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[Y/N]

It happened again.

[Julie]

What??

[Sally]

Panty thief struck again?

[Julie]

Twice in one week???

[Y/N]

It's not a thief! I refuse to believe it!

[Sally]

How many pairs does that make now? 12?

[Julie]

Close! 15!

[Y/N]

17

[Sally]

I fail to understand why this can't be the doing of a petty thief?

[Julie]

Y/N!

[Julie]

Y/N are you there?

[Julie]

Where did they go? :/

[Sally]

Alas, my darling Juliet! Tis I alone that remains here

[Wally]

Hello

[Sally]

Hi, Wally.

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Seventeen pairs of your best fitting panties have been lost, lost forever. Never to be found with the same elasticity or fit. You stared out into the empty street where the sun parted between leaves. You were too broke to afford replacing them and so you wandered this world commando when the pants offered enough coverage and comfort. Or even if it didn't you still had no choice should you plan around an inviting evening out.

With a huff you adjusted your basket against your hip, your unfolded clothes flopping a bit. The sunshower surprised you as it pelted against the non opening glass doors of the building's laundromat. After double checking the seats and dryer you headed for the opened door just off to the side. You entered a gray stairwell. Beneath the staircases was a collection of cleaning supplies, a yellow mop bucket, and a locked cabinet.

Your slippers echoed through the stairwell as you jogged up. The door to your floor was propped open with a rock. You used your free hand to open the door fully and slide the rock inside. You pushed it to the side with your foot not wanting anyone to trip over on it like you had. Your phone smacked your face leaving a nasty bruise under your eye. It still hurts to remember.

The door shut behind you with a rusty squeak. Your slippers slid lightly against the tiled floors until you made it to your apartment door. The handle gave way and you were thrilled to find it still open. Music boomed from somewhere within one of the rooms. The smell of weed wafted around mixing with the chilled air feeding in from the windows.

You inhaled deeply, shaking loose your worries. As you walked down your hallway you passed the open bathroom where giggling and hushed whispers could be heard. Julie and Sally were doing their makeup together, facetiming you assumed. Further was the kitchen where you heard the clinking of silverware against wood. The voices from the bathroom quieted.

Wally was stirring a cup of coffee when he spotted your annoyed expression, "Hello, Y/N. Are you alright?"

"Another pair off and vanished," you roll your eyes with a glance at your basket, "It's getting annoying."

"I can see how annoying that could get. Do you think they've all been stolen?"

"No! No. I'm sure it'll sort itself out. Have you got anymore coffee, Wally?"

Wally hands you the mug he was holding, "This one's yours, honeycrisp."

You thanked him as he turned away to prepare his own. His hair cascaded like waves down his back. The vibrant blue shining below the lights. Wally was amazing at coloring his hair. You turn away and head down the hallway where two doors faced each other. You entered the left one silently praying thanks to the great nothingness beyond for leaving it unlocked for you.

You placed your laundry on your bed. You would fold the clothes, but your keys needed to be found. You looked around your slightly cluttered room. The tapestry on your window was tied up letting in the sun. The smell of wet earth rose up as the rain thundered down. By the window was a desk. It was stained with paint and ink. On top was a journal, several colors of paint, and a large bottle of water. A mug with several drying paint brushes propped up within say atop the bookshelf.

Small plushies were scattered among the shelves and on the floor. Your bed was next to the wall by the door. The blanket was a pile on the floor next to the end of the bed. Larger plushies were squished from your tossing and turning. Pillows were crammed between the bed frame and wall. Eyes landing on your newly added laundry basket made you realize cleaning your entire room would help you find your missing keys.

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Hi, Sally.

Hi, Julie.

[Sally]

Wally, you wouldn't happen to know about the Boudoir Bandit?

[Wally]

No.

[Julie]

Maybe it's one of the other tenants!

[Sally]

Nefarious tenant!

[Y/N]

It has to be the machine

Can't be anything else

[Sally]

Perish the thought! The Panty Snatcher must be caught and brought to justice!

[Julie]

Perish the thought!

[Wally]

Perish the thought!

[Y/N]

Who could it be?

[Sally]

I see you've come around.

[Julie]

It could be anyone!

Any of us!!

How scary!!!

[Wally]

It could be anyone?

[Sally]

List of suspects:

Sally

Julie

Y/N

Poppy

Wally

Howdy

Barnaby

Home

[Y/N]

Me??

Why me??

[Julie]

It's a crazy world, Y/N!

We cannot rule out anyone!

Not even you

[Sally]

Julie is exactly right, darling Y/N! We simply cannot rule you out!

[Wally]

I would hate to see you go without, neighbor.

[Y/N]

Ok :/

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You smirked at the messages filling up your screen. Julie's energetic texts became shorter and you could imagine her hot pink nails tapping against the screen of her phone. Sally's text became increasingly verbose in response. Wally was lurking as he always did, chiming in here and there.

The phone slipped into your pocket as music filled the already tidied room. Your keys had been found while sweeping underneath your desk. Along with a few scrunchies and a button, your heavily outfitted keys were dragged out. With such a clunky set up you wondered how you ever lose it to begin with. Work keys, house keys, anime characters, pepper spray, and a stuffed animal. All of it designed to be eye-catching and hard to lose.

You flopped onto your bed opting for rest. Your ultimate goal had been completed and you were horribly drained. Your mind drifted back to the mounting loss of your panty collection. Solid color boxers, high waisted panties, boy shorts, thongs, sick day panties. All of it is gone! Sally was right to call it nefarious, but believing that you were being specifically targeted was a level of fear you wanted to avoid. You turned off your notifications for the next hour and returned to cleaning up.

Soon your room was clean, your clothes put away, and the bathroom was finally open. The glow of the full moon was bright and brilliant tonight. Leaving your desk you grabbed a change of clothes, sans panties, and a towel. You stripped down leaving all of your clothes inside the now empty basket. Stepping out you noticed the room across from you was quiet. There was a note taped to the door reading:

Out for the next three days! Rent is on the table!

Sally and Julie were heading out to New York for a concert. All the more to enjoy a long, luxurious shower. Wally was in the room down the opposite hall. His room was the only one on that side. He had the biggest room in the apartment for all of his art equipment. Aside from his bed you couldn't tell it was his bedroom. The last you had been inside it was filled with disturbing personal works. Each one felt delicate and haunting. Completely unlike his pleasant and sweet demeanor.

The music was still going though not as loud. It was mellow and dragging. You could hear the bubbling of his bong. The sound made your heart race. You quickly stepped into the bathroom. The thick glass ceiling above always excites you. It was such a crummy apartment, but it had its ups with this being one of them.

Julie's stickers covered the thick sides of her movable mirror. Her makeup bag was left open covered in eye shadow dust and glitter. A pack of eyelashes were left open on the top of the bag.

A little smudged message was left on the mirror written in red lipstick, reading:

You're beautiful, starshine!

Julie was a sweetheart. The rain had stopped, leaving a silence in the tall bathroom. With a turn of the faucet cold water rushed out from the shower head. The patter of water against ceramic filled the room. You stepped under the stream shivering as the droplets thudded against your skin.

Stepping out from the shower you dried yourself off and slipped into your change of clothes. You felt rejuvenated! As you stepped out of the bathroom, a voice called for you.

"Hi, Y/N. Would you like a snack?" Wally was standing in the kitchen with reddened eyes.

"What are you having?" You couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"A cut up apple. I couldn't think of anything better," he giggled, "I have a few extra?"

You accept the offered apples, "Thanks. I'm sure I forgot to eat with all the other things I also forgot."

"I'm sorry that's happening, it must be tough. Julie did say you were left without much to wear."

You groaned imagining Julie explaining things in detail as she usually would, "I'd rather not make it into a thing. It's just so weird to even consider what they're saying."

"I have a pack of unopened boxers. They may not fit perfectly, but they should help?" He smiled completely at ease.

"That's.. Ok. I couldn't accept that." As weird as it was to have your underwear stolen, Wally offering you some was even weirder.

"Oh, Ok. I'll hold it until you're ready." Wally walked off into his room leaving you in the kitchen.

You heaved a sigh as you leaned against the counter. The apple slices crunched as you bit into it. Each one refreshing and cold. You rinsed the plate in the sink and switched off the lights. You returned to your room, but stopped just short of the door.

It was cracked open. You were sure the door shut behind you when you stepped out. With a gentle push you opened the door further. When seeing nothing out of place you stepped in and shut the door behind you listening for that click of metal against wood. When you heard it you let go of the doorknob and hung up your towel to dry.

You looked around your room again looking over every little detail. The still tidy room was just as you left it. Plushies put away, paints organized, bed made, and the floor clean. Your eyes glanced over the basket on the floor and your heart skipped. Your head swiveled back as your eyes scanned it once more. Leaning down you picked at the shirt and pants shaking them out. A pair of socks fell from the pant leg, but nothing else. With dread it dawned on you. The panties you had worn not even an hour ago were missing.

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[Y/N]

Wally

[Wally]

Yes?

[Y/N]

Where are they?

[Wally]

Where is what?

[Y/N]

My panties

[Wally]

Stolen, I presume?

[Y/N]

By you

Where are they?

[Wally]

You're welcome to check my room, Y/N

Do you want to come in?

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You heard the music dip low in the furthest room. You heard the door click as the knob turned. Your heart pounded in your chest as you heard him chuckle from deep within his room.

[thlayli-ra]

Trick or treat is such a fun idea!

Could I request a Punkintyre ficlet with the shock collar prompt 🥺 (I would very much appreciate Drew being the one in the collar but I leave the details in your very capable hands)

Ok so, just, let me explain myself here! By the time this prompt came through I had already received the Cody Rhodes 'Shock Collar' prompt and I didn't want to essentially write the same fic so I tried to come up with something different and I couldn't stop thinking about this gifset from Bad Blood and @fantasticalleigh 's tags on it about Punk and Drew being like two beasts mating in captivity, and it made me think of the original Planet of the Apes movie and well... this is the final result. Hope it's kinda, sorta what you were hoping for (I'm sorry!)??? 😬

Trick - 'Shock Collar'

Characters - CM Punk, Drew McIntyre

Rating - Mature (18+)

Warning Tags - Alien Abduction, Drugging, Breeding, Non-Con, Dub-Con, Rough Sex

'Punk! Wake up! Wake up, ye stupid prick!'

A meaty palm slapped his cheek, stirring him from his deep sleep. 'Ow!' Punk grunted moodily. 'What the fuck's wrong with you?'

It was then that he saw the raw terror in Drew McIntyre's eyes. 'Everything is wrong! Everything is as fucking wrong as it can possibly be!'

His vision started juddering back into focus and Punk spied the metal above Drew's head. For a split second he thought they were both in the Cell, and that he'd taken a bad bump and passed out during their match but he soon realised that these were not the zig-zag mesh of Hell in a Cell.

These were bars!

They were both locked in some kind of cage!

Punk sat up like a shot to look around. The cage was large, more like an enclosure, and rich in foliage, wiry bushes, dirt and rocks. Punk was lying on a bed of hay in the top-most corner, under a bamboo canopy like some kind of animal in a zoo.

'Drew?' he stammered out. 'Where the hell are we?'

'I have no idea...'

The large Scot lumbered up to his feet and tentatively stepped out from under the canopy and into the make-shift forest. Behind him, Punk gawked when he noticed Drew's attire. Or lack of it! 'What are you wearing?'

Drew glanced down at the sparse shred of clothing to his name - a loin-cloth made from animal pelt draped around his waist and a metal collar around his neck. 'Same as you,' he shot back and Punk looked down and found to his horror that Drew was right. Letting out a curse, he shoved the front of his loin cloth down between his legs to give himself some decency then moved his fingers up to inspect the steel collar at his throat. It was bolted fast. The panic escalated into full-on alarm! 'What the fuck is going on?'

'Shh,' Drew hushed him, his ears pricked.

'You hear something?' Punk whispered.

'Shut up!'

Drew edged his way forward, reaching out his long arm to swipe through a clump of giant leaves and push them aside to reveal-

'JESUS CHRIST!' Drew toppled backwards with fright, landing hard on his lower back.

'FUCK!' Punk yelled, shuffling further back into his corner.

Quick as a flash Drew rushed up beside him, the two men shaking with terror. 'You saw that, right?' the Scot asked.

'Yeah,' Punk hushed out, trying to process what he had just seen. 'Yeah I saw it.'

Behind the leaves there had been a gap in the bars, filled with what looked like glass. A viewing gallery to peer into their enclosure. And there standing at the window were two figures crafted from their very nightmares. Impossibly tall and thin, something not of his world or the limits of his understanding, something that was completely...

...alien!

Suddenly a high-pitched shriek tore through Punk's head. He let out a wail as the pain screeched behind his eyes, covering his ears to try and stifle the blare.

'-creatures of P-0087453-E,' a tinny voice spoke inside Punk's very skull. 'We believe they refer to it as Earth-'

'W-what's happening?' Drew gritted out through his clenched teeth, tearing at his hair. He could hear it too!

'I don't know, I- GAH!'

'-simple creatures, not highly advanced. They can be prone to acts of violence and aggression, acting purely on their most basic urges-'

'I can hear a voice!' Punk yelled over the static in his skull. 'I think... I think it's them. Whatever they are!'

'I hear it too. How is that possible?'

'I have no idea! AAAGHHH!' The pain was growing, like somebody was blasting a badly tuned radio in his head.

'-but incredibly rare and valuable. Which is why our experts identified these two as a fertile pair and brought them here for our breeding programme-'

Punk froze. Had he really heard that right? Or did he just imagine it? Glancing up at Drew he was shocked to find the Scot looking deathly pale. He was afraid the larger man was about to keel over any second and shook him roughly by the shoulder to snap him out of his stupor. 'Hey, you ok?'

'This can't be happening! This is all some fucked up dream. This can't be-'

'-we will start our programme by activating the pheromones in the dominant male-'

Punk's stomach fell out from under him, wondering what on Earth that meant! Perhaps there was some kind of mechanism in the cage that would spray it into the enclosure? Anticipating it, he grabbed in a lungful of air and held it, waiting, listening, watching for anything to happen.

But nothing did.

He released his breath with a loud gasp, coughing oxygen back into his bloodstream. 'I think we're in the clear,' he told Drew, 'I didn't see or hear anything and I don't feel any different so-'

Drew let out a heavy grunt beside him, cutting him off and Punk turned to find the Scot shaking his head like he was trying to fend off an incoming sneeze.

'Drew? What's wrong?'

Drew's head shot up, his gaze finding Punk and fixing on him. His pupils were completely blown, erasing all the blue from his eyes. Making him resemble some kind of wild animal in the woods, a bear or wolf or... no, more like a shark circling the water, smelling fresh blood. Strong and dangerous. And hungry!

Guess he'd just found out who the so-called 'dominant male' was, and if that was Drew, then what exactly did that make Punk?

'Pheromones activated. Now all we have to do is wait and we'll hopefully see the mating rituals of this fascinating species.'

Shhhhhit! 'D-Drew?'

But the larger man wasn't listening! Settling onto his haunches like a crouched tiger, he began to stalk closer to his prey who scrabbled backwards with a yelp but where could Punk go? They were completely caged in and inevitably his spine collided with the metal bars of the cage, cutting off his retreat. Drew was on him now, mammoth arms boxing him in on either side and trapping him completely.

'Drew! Snap out of- urk!'

Punk's heart twisted with fear when Drew's bear paw found his chin, grasped it and lifted it up like he had done so many times before. The black, lifeless eyes looked him all over, Drew tilting his head slightly and giving that exact same elated smirk he'd worn back in the Cell at the first sight of Punk's blood. The hand at his chin then went for his throat, wrapping around Punk's collar and pushing him back until the base of his skull clattered against the bars.

Eyes clouded. No thoughts, only instinct.

'Drew! Hey McIntyre, listen to me!' Punk tried to break through the Scot's hysteria, tried to snap him out of this trance. 'You gotta fight it, you hear me? Fight it!'

But it was in vain. Punk's mouth was abruptly gagged by Drew's invading tongue, the larger man growling and snarling, rumbles vibrating down his throat and through their chests pressed together, while large, thick hands stroked all over Punk's shoulders and back and chest and nipples then trailed down his ribs and stomach and pelvis to-

'NO!' Punk wrenched his face to the side, freeing his mouth. His hand grabbed hold of Drew's wrist, stopping it in its tracks. 'GET OFF! STOP IT, DREW! THIS ISN'T YOU!'

And then the blue flickered back into Drew's eyes and for a brief moment, his humanity returned, only to be engulfed once again. 'No, no, no, no,' Drew pushed himself off of Punk, stumbling away. Punk, still packed tight against the bars of the cage, watched as the Scot roared in distress, grabbing fistfuls of his own hair, twisting his head from left-to-right and back again, a man trying to evade a swarm of invisible wasps.

'No,' he growled under his breath. 'No, not like this! Not this way!' Drew blinked the blue back into his eyes, holding onto himself again, however fleetingly. Then turned his attention towards the window of terror hidden away at the far end of the cage. 'No!' he spat at their captors, 'I won't!'

'-hmm, perhaps the first dose wasn't strong enough. Activating a second dosage-'

This time, Punk saw the powder puff up from Drew's metal collar, engulfing his face, and like before he struggled and writhed, trying to evade the poison but it was clinging to him, following him around the enclosure no matter how far he tried to run. His roars filled the air, Punk quaking with fear at its feral nature. Too scared to move, he watched as the huge Scotsman bent down and heaved a huge rock right up out of the ground.

'What the hell is he-?'

Drew rushed towards the observation window, the boulder raised high, meaning to throw it right through the glass and shatter it to smithereens.

'Immediate threat detected. Engaging collar!'

A loud crackle and Drew tossed his head back, screaming in agony. The boulder plunged from his arms and his body soon followed, both hitting the floor with a crash.

Punk leapt up to his feet, his heart in his throat.

'There, that should pacify him-'

But their captors grossly underestimated the fortitude of their prisoner. 'I'm no some beast in a cage,' he croaked, dragged his arms under him to push himself up, 'and you won't reduce me to one!'

'Shock him again!'

Another crackle and Drew fell onto his back, spine rigid and arched painfully off the filthy floor, howling through his gritted teeth, until the shockwave released him and all four limbs flopped, lifelessly. From his position by the bars, Punk held his breath, looking for any sign of life.

It all seemed hopeless. Until Drew rolled his hips back.

Unbelievably, he flipped up onto his feet in a perfect kip-up, just like he would in the ring and before they had a chance to shock him again, he grabbed up the boulder and launched it through the air with all his might.

'WATCH OUT! WATCH OUT!'

Drew went down with another terrible shockwave just as the boulder crashed against the glass, not shattering it but creating a crack that almost split the screen in two. Only this time, the gruelling torture didn't stop. The shocks continued, the Scot's body contorted horribly, flailing rigidly in the dirt. Punk rushed towards him, hearing the electricity running through his fellow wrestler, seeing the turmoil on his face. He looked towards that window of terror, and the creatures hidden behind the fractured spiderweb of broken glass.

'That's enough!' he yelled towards it, hoping that, by some miracle, if he could hear those things that they could hear him too. 'You'll kill him! Stop!'

But still the jolts continued, one after the other. And now Drew wasn't screaming anymore and Punk could see froth foaming at his mouth, his blue eyes rolling into the back of his head.

'I SAID THAT'S ENOUGH!'

Still nothing. Punk's head went blank with panic, desperation.

'WE'LL DO IT! WE'LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT! JUST TURN OFF THE COLLAR FOR FUCK'S SAKE!'

And finally... the crackling stopped. Followed by dreadful silence, highlighting the heavy breathing of both men and the putrid smell of burning flesh in the air.

'Punk...'

Punk's eyes found Drew's weakly fluttering back at him, pain-filled and weak. Ringed by the tiniest sliver of blue. 'It's ok, Drew, it's alright.'

'No... don't...'

Looking around him, Punk found the perfect spot and shuffled over to a large, flat rock. Slumping down to his knees, he bent over and lay atop the cold surface, lifting his hips up into the air.

Nothing happened. He looked back to find Drew where he left him, refusing to move.

'Come on Drew, it's alright. Just do as they say.' The Scot shook his head stubbornly. 'One little fuck isn't worth killing yourself over. Anyway, isn't this what you've wanted this whole time?'

'Not like this,' Drew choked out with a sob.

'If they kill one of us, they'll kill both of us,' Punk protested. 'The only chance we have of getting out of this is by sticking together.'

But still, Drew refused to move.

Punk sighed with defeat. Turning his face away, he placed his cheek against the cold rock and whispered, 'hit him with the pheromones again.'

From behind him, he could hear Drew call 'what did you just- urgh!' Then he held his breath and waited.

It didn't take long for Drew to crawl over, sniffing like a curious beast at Punk's rear. The tattooed man flinched when his loin cloth was ripped up, exposing his open cheeks and Drew mounted him from behind, his hairy chest and stomach rubbing up against his bare back. Two huge fists wrapped around Punk's skinny wrists and held them down, keeping Punk securely pinned on his front to the rock face as Drew rubbed his sopping wet and rock hard dick between Punk's glutes, prodding his head around until it lined up against his puckered hole.

Then rammed himself in. Punk choked on a cry of pain, a terrible burning at his rectum as he was stretched wide and entered. The beast on his back hooking himself into his body, breaking through the seal and into his guts, tearing him open.

No thoughts, only instinct.

And Punk closed his eyes and tried to fight the growing ache between his own legs and Drew's hands shackling his wrists tightly, and his warm breath grunting against his ear and his sweat falling onto Punk's back and pooling in that small hollow at the base of his spine and his huge dick ravishing him again and again.

But soon the blood and the pre-cum lubricated his passage, and Drew began to move easier and the thrusts became long and powerful and struck that perfect little sweet spot deep inside of him and Punk began to hear the crackles in his own skull and see the explosions of electricity behind his own eyelids and in an instant, he forgot the cage, the window, their plight and he became lost in the throes of the delicious mix of pain and pleasure. Opening his thighs up wider to entice Drew in even further, his lips fell open and he moaned, a line of drool escaping the corner of his mouth and dripping onto the stone beneath him.

Drew began to pump in harder, scrubbing Punk's naked chest against the jagged rock and Punk was so helpless, caught in the larger man's strong grip and he couldn't help but love his helplessness, being held down and bred like a bitch in heat, all while being watched, being observed. A thought bubbled to the surface of his consciousness, wondering if he too had been hit with some kind of pheromone to muddle his senses but it fell away again when Drew hit his bundle of nerves head-on with the blunt tip of his dick. His own cock was full to bursting and it was too much to bear and when he let out a strangled cry, Drew obliged him by letting go of his wrist and grabbing him between the legs, pumping his shaft with a taut grip, the pad of his thumb teasing his slit.

'Fascinating! We always wondered how two males of this species mated and now we know it's through the-'

Punk went blind and deaf and even the blaring static in his head was drowned out as warm cum seeped into him and out of him, sopping from his wrecked hole and between his swollen cheeks and down his ragged thighs onto the dirt below. Drew collapsed onto him, nuzzling his face into the hollow between Punk's shoulder blades and kissed his flushed skin tenderly. 'S'you ok?' was all Punk's numb lips could form. Drew answered with a throaty purr.

Later, the pair were up on the hay under the canopy, Punk firmly snuggled in Drew's arms, both of them fast asleep. But something stirred the tattooed man slightly from his slumber, a tinny voice echoing around his skull.

'-a success. But this is only phase one of our breeding programme. Tomorrow we'll prep the submissive male for surgery and move into phase two-'

[sweetbunpura]

All to take down a Dragon....

The sound of rubble falling filled the quiet air as Deuce grunted pushing a piece of the wall off of him, Ace, Grim, and Yuu. The place was destroyed from the fight with Malleus that had Rollo acting as the main force. Others started groaning as they pushed debris off of them. Yuu, with help from Ace, limped to her feet as she looked around.

"W-Where did they go?"

Grim shook the dirt from his pelt. "Last thing I saw was them going over."

Yuu hobbled to the side of the destroyed wall and peered down. Below, she could see where Malleus lay, his clothes torn and pieces of the wall was on his legs. Nearby him, with his shirt gone and rips in his pants, was Rollo.

"I see them!" She shouted to the others and tried to climb down.

"Yuu! Wait!"

She hit the ground with a stumble and moved to Rollo. His eyes were closed, but the rising of his chest indicated he was alive. The sound of falling rocks came behind her as she lifted Rollo out of the pile of rubble.

"Lilia, check to make sure Draconia is still alive."

The sudden use of Malleus' last name was not lost on the group, but no one drew attention to it.

"On it." Lilia spoke.

"Rolls." Yuu gently shook him. "Rolls, come on."

Tired and blurry forest green eyes opened as his head rested on Yuu's shoulder. "Y-Yuu?"

"Hey."

Rollo weakly grasped at her sleeve. "Is...Is Malleus-"

"Yeah, yeah, he's down. You did it."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank the seven...."

Yuu glanced at his mage ring and froze as she saw the stone was completely black.

"Shit. Idia!"

"What... about the others?"

"We're all okay."

Idia joined Yuu's side and she showed him the ring in silence.

"T-The only way I can fix that is at S.T.YX."

"Then let's go." Rollo suddenly went limp in Yuu's arms. "And quickly before I lose him."

[forestclan-clangen]

Moon 4 (Part 2)

< PREVIOUS |

Hopechase leaves on patrol by herself, not thinking properly and forgetting that the woods haven't been fed. She sees a Woodcrawler. And IT sees HER. Hopechase runs. Fast. DONT LEAVE ME

(Hopechase, warrior, female, 86 moons) (Woodcrawler, a mockery of life, ageless) (Rootgrove, ?????, Lightfoot, can you see me. i have become something else)

---

Hopechase couldn't breathe.

Her ears were ringing as blood coursed through her entire body.

She could see, but it was all a shaking blur. All she could sense was the familiar smell of ForestClan's camp, and the tall rock she had seen her leaders stand on. Birchstar. Lakestar. Redstar. Apprentices. New warriors. The focal point of their society.

Camp? Camp. Yes. She was in camp. Her senses started to return to her. The muffled voices of fear and concern around her faded into existence as everyone's pelts suddenly melded into shape.

"Hopechase? What's wrong?"

"Are you alright?"

"Dad - what's wrong with her?"

"Warblerkit, listen to whatever Windfur and Redstar tell you right now. OK?"

"Are you being followed?"

That last one was Windfur. She hated that question. Hated it, hated it. He always asked that. What she hated the most was that she didn't know. She didn't dare look back. The second the leaves in the bushes rustled, the world fell into all-engulfing silence. Long, spindling legs crawled into sight, like weavers threading the air - slowly, gently, with the precision of an owl's talons.

It had no eyes.

But it still saw her.

"Hopechase?"

Hopechase's hackles flattened as a clear, cutting voice pierced through the haze of her mind. Her eyes focused on a bright, white pelt that radiated through the green and brown forest.

"Hopechase, you're alright. You're in camp. You're with clanmates. You're safe."

Iciclepool. It was Iciclepool.

She was wearing a brave mask as she stepped closer towards Hopechase. Iciclepool couldn't hide her fear.

"Hopechase. What happened?"

The adrenaline in Hopechase's veins started to slow. For a brief moment, terror's claws released the molly's heart, and Hopechase seized that moment to fight back. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She took in every scent of comfort and safety in that breath - her clanmates, the sap on the pine trees, the mud and stones, the small cooking fire, the water boiling in a clay pot. She flexed her claws. The grass uprooted itself beneath them. She was alive.

"Woodcrawler," she finally spoke. "I...saw a Woodcrawler. I ran."

Many voices chimed in at once, but Redstar's quickly boomed above the rest as she took her place beside Iciclepool. "Where, and did it follow you?"

"I didn't check," Hopechase said. Her body and voice found their footing as she remembered how to act in an emergency. "Close the gates, now."

"Is anyone out on patrol?" Redstar hissed.

"No. I didn't even know Hopechase was - "

People's voices started overlapping again as the blend of chaos began.

"I'm declaring a lockdown. Iciclepool, Talonpaw, Morningpaw - you three go help Windfur carry Olive to my den right now."

"Barleywave, get your tail up here and pull the other gate rope!" Cloudthunder hissed.

"Yeah yeah, keep your fur on, I'm - WARBLERKIT! What did Redstar just say about lockdown?!"

"Come on Warblerkit, we..."

"NO! Not fair! Dad comes too!"

Hopechase jumped up one of the tall pine trees that the clan's sliding gate was tied to, climbing past Barleywave and telling him curtly, "Go, attend to your kit. I'll do it."

Barleywave's tail flicked with annoyance before he crawled back down, and Cloudthunder looked at the dark grey molly with gratitude.

"Thanks, Hope," Cloudthunder uttered between her teeth as she pulled the bulrush rope off of its handle. Hopechase did the same, slowly bringing the gate of sturdy logs and long branches to a thud. Their camp entrance was now blocked, and their walls were securely surrounded by barricades pine logs, stone and sharpened sticks stolen by Twolegs in their greenleaf place. These walls are what allowed them to survive for countless seasons.

Everyone moved up into Redstar's den, retreating until their backs were as far back against the walls as they could. Iciclepool stood at the den's entrance, looking over the clearing, while Redstar alone stood on top of ForestClan's gate, her ears twitching and her eyes darting. No cat spoke a single word. Even Warblerkit sensed the gravity of the situation, and resigned to hiding under Barleywave's chest fur.

Time crawled as cats waited with held breaths and focused stares. Olive, the newest member of the Clan, glanced at them expectantly. The sheer air of fear prevented her from asking any questions, but they still sat on her tongue.

Hopechase watched Iciclepool wordlessly communicate with Redstar across the clearing as the two kept their vigil. A swaying of the tail every five minutes. A high-pitched chirrup every ten.

By the thirty minute mark, Redstar made a low-pitched, rumbling meow. ForestClan released a collective breath of relief. They were not safe yet. But it seemed the Woodcrawler did not follow Hopechase.

By the time the hour had passed, Redstar announced that the lockdown was over, and that cats could return to their regular duties - but to stay alert and to avoid the paths taken by Hopechase for the next quarter moon. Life breathed into camp once more. Olive finally asked her lingering questions, with a patient Cloudthunder answering her. Windfur received help to escort Olive back to the nursery, and Warblerkit and Shiverkit bombarded Barleywave and Iciclepool with questions, their furs still standing on end.

Hopechase, meanwhile, felt wrong.

She sat in the middle of camp, staring at the fresh kill pile. She ought to grab food and start cooking meals. She...she was supposed to be on kitchen duty with Morningpaw. She was supposed to show her how to remove pelts from their prey. She promised Barleywave she'd do it, because he playfully said he was always no good at it. She even laughed and agreed with him. But she couldn't bring her paws to just pick something from the pile.

She wasn't normally this shaken by Woodcrawler sightings. She was old. She'd seen worse. But she'd also had faith, her entire life, that the world had to be inherently good. Redstar gave her the honor title 'Hopechase' when Lakestar was finally dethroned. For her constant optimism, and faith in her Clan. Even when many cats left ForestClan when Lakestar finally died, even when despair was the only thing in sight, she believed that even in death, things would be okay.

So why now?

"Hopechase."

The dark grey molly turned her head and saw Iciclepool staring at her. The deputy tilted her head and gave her a look of gentle concern. She sat next to her, her fur brushing gently against hers. Iciclepool placed her tail on Hopechase's shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"Aw, are you worried about little old me?" Hopechase said with a forced purr. Clearly, Iciclepool saw through her on that one.

"Hopechase, it's okay if you're shaken."

"Shaken? No, silly. I'm going to teach Morningpaw how to skin pelts. I'm trying to pick out something," Hopechase insisted.

"Ah yes, because you take more than five minutes staring at the fresh-kill pile as a part of that process. Hope, come on, please be honest with me," Iciclepool meowed, her tail brushing against her clanmate's back gently.

Hopechase still kept a forced smile on her face. "Alright, alright. Maybe the adrenaline wasn't good on my bones. You're right that I'm tired - but I do have a promise to keep."

"Then let me take over."

"I thought you were going to spend time with Shiverkit tonight?"

"She can watch Morningpaw and I. She enjoys staring at cats when they do something new," Iciclepool said with a purr. "Those bright blue eyes of hers are always inquisitive. You should see the amount of questions Windfur is plagued with. The poor boy is inundated."

Hopechase felt her heart beat warmly as she spoke about her kit. Iciclepool was so much more like how she remembered her when they were younger - attentive and loving. Iciclepool remembered every little thing she liked about you, and always let others know. It was her greatest ambition in life to be a mother. If fates were different, maybe Iciclepool would've made a great queen and teacher. She knew Iciclepool always had eyes for Cliffstep alone, and she couldn't blame her - he was a thoughtful, empathetic tom, with similar ambitions to Iciclepool's. His death had destroyed her, and permanently changed her for moons. Hopechase was always worried that she'd never get to see her old self again - but she started to see cracks of it more recently, and her heart swelled every time she saw them. The more she thought about Iciclepool, the better she felt. But she knew the deputy wouldn't allow her to rest on that distraction.

"Hopechase, please. Let me take over the lesson today. I don't want to make it an order, but I will if you don't go to your nest," Iciclepool insisted. By the look in her eyes, Hopechase knew that she wasn't going to be swayed by anything else. The older molly sighed, and got to her feet.

"Alright, alright. I can't say no to our lovely deputy."

Iciclepool's whiskers twitched in amused affection. "Get some good rest."

As Hopechase padded away and slinked into the warriors' den, the light comfort that Iciclepool gave her faded. She felt the weight in her heart sink as the world around her loomed. As she curled up in her nest and stared at the wall, her thoughts swarmed like gnats.

Someone hadn't fed the woods in five moons.

The Clan knew that Redstar was trying. She kept leaving at night and returning in the morning. Her eyes were getting more and more sunken, and her fur was getting kinks. Her silence upon entering camp every morning spoke every word that was needed.

Hopechase buried her face in her bedding. Her lips curled and she suppressed the hiss in her throat.

Olive was pregnant. Everyone knew that now, and no one spoke their fears. The woods were not fair. They were opportunistic. If someone doesn’t sacrifice themselves, it’ll be Olive’s kits, or Warblerkit, or Shiverkit. It will take whichever clanmate is deemed the easiest to catch. It was always the greatest tragedy of ForestClan - that kits were extremely vulnerable to the woods. The only time kits were safe, is if the woods were fed recently.

She should’ve fed the woods.

She was the eldest cat in the clan. Every other cat in the clan was young and lively, with their entire futures ahead of them. And kits - it wasn't fair that so many of them didn't get the chance to truly live. She lived a good life, didn't she? Dying wasn't so bad, right? StarClan was waiting to save her soul. Her family was waiting for her. She could finally see her mother and father again. She could listen to her uncle Rootgrove's stories again, and her brother Icypaw - oh, Icypaw - she missed her littermate. She couldn't remember his face anymore. That hurt her.

She didn't...she didn't have any regrets, right? So why? Why did she just doom the children of her clan?

Hopechase quivered like a kit in leafbare, failing to suppress the sorrow in her chest. She buried her face in moss and pelts, and muzzled her wails, desperately pleading that no cat would walk in. They couldn't - they just couldn't see her like this. She was Hopechase now, and had been for months. Not Lightfoot. Hopechase. The pursuer of hope. She brought her clan hope.

Today, she just went out to bring them food. She brought them back suffering instead.

Why didn’t she just feed the woods?

---

< PREVIOUS | NEXT >

[mynamesaplant]

Calm Before the Storm

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Summary: The night before her final trial against a berserk Lord Avalugg, Dawn is spending her time with Ingo, and requires a little bit of a distraction.

Content Warning: Drowning

Notes: Don't want to read it on Tumblr? Read it on AO3! I've been feeling creatively stifled lately, so if it feels like two fics smashed together... I plead the fifth. Thanks to monsoon-of-art for beta reading and all their inspiration for PLA and their Mer AU. Please enjoy!

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“You are never going to build up your muscles by hitching a ride on my cab.”

Ingo tried to point out, cutting through the glassy surface of the water and feeling the tip of Dawn’s tail brush against his left ear. Even without seeing her, he sensed that it was a happy sort of tail flap, each movement rhythmic and languid. She was at ease.

“But this is so much easier,” Dawn chirped, watching the sea bird serenely glide overhead.

She was trying to name them in her head, trying to, in some way, make a learning experience out of this strange situation. She recognized the luminescent orange bill and thin, forked tail of a tern. A few gulls, too high up to be clearly identified, were coasting on air currents, the distinctive W-shape to their wings offering a picturesque feel to the azure horizon. 

Ingo sank a little lower into the water, his eyes almost parallel with the water, a quiet threat to his passenger to vacate. She was a little too distracted with her observations to notice her ride was slowly vanishing into the sea. Dawn tumbled into the water with an objectionable squawk when the chilly water hit her back and, when she surfaced, her pin straight hair clinging to her face. A few meters away, she saw Ingo’s shadow beneath the ripples, and Dawn sighed; she closed her eyes, straightened her back like Palina had suggested, and felt her lungs expand to their fullest before following after the warden.

Beside her, Ingo was chuckling, slowing his movement to a light flick of his tail so she didn’t strain herself.

“Proper maintenance includes running the engines to check for faults.”

“Ugh,” his young companion huffed, and this just earned her a heartier laugh.

Ingo pointed to the ice floes jutting into the water like so many stalactites, indicating to Dawn that if she could swim that far without his assistance then he would permit her to catch a ride.

“You have to admit, I’ve gotten a lot better since I first started out.”

“Yes, that is true.” Ingo hummed, leveling out her back with his hand as it began to bow. “Keep your back straight. No scrunching. It only leads to sinking.”

She straightened, still astounded by just how powerful her tail was as it propelled her forward. Truth be told, she could be very good at swimming, but it was usually under extreme duress – like when Gaeric somehow ended up chasing her. It had taken a lot of practice to get there, with many covert lessons in shallow waters which Dawn knew hadn’t been the most comfortable for Ingo.

All of her swimming experience could be chalked up to Ingo’s interventions and/or patience. 

Dawn’s first trip into the water, the completely accidental tumble that introduced her to Ingo, even if she hadn’t known it at the time, had been nearly fatal. Neither of them liked to think about it. Ingo quite nearly let her drown, frozen with indecision, and petrified of such a small creature when it burst into an abrupt and violent coughing fit on the rocks below him. He used his large body to shield her from the rain pelting down, its whole frame shaking violently and as pale as glacier ice. The air smelt like petrichor and iron, it stung Ingo’s nose with its unpleasant mix, and he grimaced as the human fell unconscious again.

Ingo could still feel shame of the white-hot fear that had filled him when he abandoned Dawn there.

How could he anticipate that a few short weeks later that he would see that human again, but she looked remarkably less human than before. Ingo had stuck closer to the shore – he wanted to tell himself that he was doing it in the name of his warden’s duties, but in truth, he was anxious to see that human that spent so much of its time down in the tidal pools. After a week of absence, Ingo was starting to lose hope that the young human had survived, despite his efforts to save her.

He remembered the day everything changed.

-----

Ingo remembered just how heavy his heart felt as he prepared to leave and resume his duties. That’s when he heard music above him. The eerie resonance of a flute seemed to strike something deep within his bones, even if he couldn’t quite put a finger on what. A splash. A small and all too familiar form was in the water before him, about as graceful as all the previous times he had seen it in the surf.

“Whoa!” Dawn floundered in the water, her clothes weighing down her torso as the fabric took on water. She was too busy trying to get her bearings to notice the massive mer only a few meters from her. “Okay. So, if I…?”

Ingo watched, utterly dumbstruck as this… this was a human, wasn’t it? He could not believe his eyes. Turning and twisting like an orbiting planet, the human was able to right itself… with the pearly white tail of a harp seal pup.

-----

“HA! Now you have to carry me!”

The warden returned to the present, finding his young friend excitedly spinning around in front of him.

“A deal’s a deal.” Ingo agreed, gingerly scooping her up and holding Dawn against his chest. “I was just reminiscing about when our tracks first intersected. You’ve made a vast improvement since then.”

“Thanks! All the lessons helped.”

Dawn agreed, her own thoughts straying to the warden’s initial shock after her transformation. Admittedly, Dawn had been shocked too. When she first played the flute in her quarters, the sensation had been… odd, the surveyor would even argue that it was painful if it hadn’t happened in the space of a heartbeat.

Her whole body had broken out into a cold sweat, but Dawn was anything but cold. She felt like she was on fire. Bones snapping and re-fusing. Flesh tearing and smoothing over. The milliseconds of pain had been enough to force her into unconsciousness, but the absence of her legs almost sent her right back into the dark. Dawn had swallowed and focused on the tail sprouting from her torso, trying to admire it rather than being frightened.

Those first couple of days had been… stressful would have been an understatement. Ingo, who Dawn found to be pretty lax in most scenarios, became increasingly anxious about her and her complete inability to swim. Especially when the clans become involved.

“Please, use the handrail.” Ingo had groaned, scooping her up from the tidal pool when she lost her grip on the edge, and setting her down on the rocks, watching her cough and gasp. Were pups always this delicate and awkward? Dawn was just so small and her muscles so weak, her lack of confidence was making the process of learning to swim all the more difficult. “You must get used to the motions.”

He was trying with all his might to be a good, patient teacher, but that, coupled with his anxieties about her true nature, all but solidified Ingo’s reluctance to take Dawn any further than the shore. Which made the day that Mai stumbled upon her all the more panic-inducing as Ingo quickly had to claim her and keep her as enshrouded in mystery as possible. All his cohorts were extremely curious and protective – both instincts brought about in the vicinity to pups.

Sure, they all had questions and concerns and misgivings, but Ingo had proved himself worthy enough to watch over “his” pup. Irida did not assert her dominance and override Ingo’s and Dawn’s wish to remain coupled, for which both were eternally grateful. The warden was also under the impression that his clan mates thought that caring for a pup was doing wonders for his mental health - and it was - but it was also exhausting and nerve-wracking work.

She was one of the best things that had happened to him in his time with Pearl Clan.

“Uh, Ingo?” Dawn murmured, fiddling with the hem of her tunic. A lump in her throat was preventing her from saying the words that were coming from the heart. Something she had been meaning to say for a while now. Ingo hummed his acknowledgement. “Th-… Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

The warden physically had to prevent his grip from getting too tight as he was stung with an unidentifiable emotion that just made him want to hold the surveyor even closer to him. He had not realized until that moment just how much he cherished his time with her.

“Of course, Dawn.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The settlement was relatively quiet due to the lateness of the hour. Dawn had already informed her superiors that she would be out in the field for a few days, so no one on land would grow anxious with her absence. Tomorrow Dawn would face off against Lord Avalugg and Ingo knew she was looking for any distractions so she wouldn’t back out. Not that the other nobles were easy, but Lord Avalugg’s sheer size was the most daunting thing about the trial.

A good meal and a good night of sleep would be better than attempting to coordinate and strategize with the frantic teen. So, Ingo did not even attempt. His sole task was to keep her mind preoccupied and to tucker her out so she could fall asleep, and he took that job very seriously.

A pool leads straight to his chambers from the surrounding water – the clan had taken the time to specifically carve it out for him since the tunnels through most of the settlement were not large enough for him. Ingo boosted Dawn up and told her to clear the way so he could haul himself out, hoisting himself from the chilly sea. A fire on the opposite side of the chamber was toasty against their backs, both mers shaking themselves out to shed any excess water, with Dawn quick to swath herself into a bear fur located next to said fire.

With her help, the fish that Ingo had specifically caught for the two of them to enjoy was roasting over the flame, filling the space with a heavenly aroma.

“I brought you a little something.”

Dawn admitted, revealing the fruit that she had snuck along with her. Ingo had thought her bag had been oddly lumpy, but he had assumed that it had been filled with supplies to craft balms.

“You should not take from your team’s stock.”

Although he was attempting to adopt a chiding tone, Ingo felt a swell of warmth radiating through his chest. Fruits and vegetables were such a rare treat for him; Dawn had remembered that.

“They’ll never notice.”

Dawn said airily, motioning for Ingo to give her his hand and he received a few apples, the fruits feeling cool and refreshing against his palm when they had been submerged for their journey. She leaned against his flank, her presence and touch welcomed more than Ingo would have anticipated as he worked with the fish over the open flame.

The goal was to keep her mind occupied, which meant that he needed to get Dawn to talk - which was a relatively easy task when he was able to target a source of interest. Tonight, he was settling on her most recent, and favorite, topic of research: penguins.

Dawn was currently studying the Emperor penguin when she wasn’t saving the world from its inevitable destruction. Her dedication to her work took her to the coldest parts of the region, sitting for hours in temperatures averaging in the teens with a windchill that made those same conditions dip into negative integers. She would do this for days on end, taking down detailed notes about penguin behaviors and drawing the most exquisite illustrations in her little waterproof field book, which she presented to Ingo now with a glimmer of pride in her eyes as he congratulated her for meticulousness.

She was content to talk all about her studies, about her chats with the man called Laventon about their diet and habits, she told Ingo about the fluffy gray chicks that made her swoon and coo as they tottered around.

“I chucked rocks at the petrels… Even though I’m not supposed to interfere with the colony. Captain Cyllene tells me that I do that because I have a soft heart, but Professor Laventon told me to interpret that as the Captain saying I care a lot about my work.”

“I would have to agree with this professor of yours.”

Ingo replied, balancing Dawn on his tail and, with the control and precision that would demand for such a maneuver, launched her into the air before outstretching his hands to catch her. This game always left her giggling and euphoric, grinning broadly which never failed to make him return her smile with one of his own. This was usually something they did over the water – just in case Ingo missed – but he needed to offer some distractions… and wanted to see that brilliant smile on her face if only for a moment.

This escalated to play fighting something that was less usual for Dawn, but very usual for other pups; Dawn was repeatedly offering him chirps and growls, flashing her small teeth in threat displays that would have frightened a sardine, but not Ingo.

“So scary,” Ingo chortled, allowing for his hand to get pinned which made Dawn erupt into triumphant cheers. He was quick to flip his hand and pin her back, which made the surveyor snarl. “You must be faster than that, Dawn.”

Unbeknownst to either Ingo or Dawn, a pair of eyes was watching from the mouth of the cavern, crinkling fondly while watching the two playfight. Palina’s beatific smile was almost instantly wiped from her face when she heard Gaeric hollering her name down the corridor, she must have been gone longer than she thought.

“Shhh!”

She hissed at his approach, smacking his arm when he failed to conceal an eye roll. He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but she shushed him again. Gaeric frowned, mouth twitching in frustration at the command, and he was about to ignore her when she hissed at him to shut up.

“I will not – where’s Ingo?”

“They’re playing!”

“Who’s playing?”

Palina’s excitement was practically radiating off her in waves, infectious to the point of Gaeric’s brow softened from its agitated slant over his eyes.

“Ingo! With Dawn!”

No way.

He cautiously peered around the corner to the duo obliviously initiating a playfight that Ingo could win in a heartbeat, but that wasn’t the point of a playfight between adults and pups. Ingo didn’t usually play with pups, he had nervously confided in Gaeric that he was afraid of squashing them – which made sense, orca mer pups were probably much bigger than many of the pups of Pearl Clan. However, Ingo seemed perfectly capable of playfighting (Gaeric couldn’t even being to imagine just how much restraint Ingo was exhibiting to make sure there were zero injuries).

“Huh...” That was the only sound that came out of his mouth. He was only struck dumb for a moment, “Hey, wait a minute. She’ll play with Ingo, but not with me?”

It was Palina’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Get over yourself.”

She could feel Gaeric pressed against her back, could practically hear him grinding his teeth in envy with each passing second. She shrugged him off, trying to focus on the nice moment that Ingo and Dawn were sharing… Palina was almost able to forget about Gaeric breathing down her next, almost able to ignore his indignant grumbles about being great at playing.

“Lian loves it when we playfight.”

“Sinnoh above, Gaeric. If you can’t be happy for them, then get out of here.”

That got him to shut up with a grunt, turning to head back to the feast hall to leave Palina to watch the scene in silence.

Yank.

“Let’s go, Lina. Don’t want Ingo to think we're voyeurs.

That was a fair point, but Gaeric didn’t have to drag her by the tail! She stifled her yelp and whisper-yelled at him down the length of the corridor.

In the chamber, Dawn’s face was red with the laughter she was trying to hold in. Ingo was suppressing his own smile, his embarrassment overriding amusement for the time being.

“I can’t believe they didn’t think we could hear them!”

Ingo could only shake his head in disbelief.

With only that minor disturbance, they managed to get to sleep with the embers of the fire providing the only ambient light. Warm and comfortable, Dawn did not worry for the rest of the evening about the looming trial ahead of her.

[princessmisery666]

Live In My Memory, You'll Always Be There.

Summary: Not long after moving to San Diego with your fiancé, Jake, he’s declared missing in action. The Dagger Squad rallies around you as you grieve his loss, and you grow closer to one particular member of the team than you ever imagined.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, character death mentioned, grief, fluff, unexpected love, smut, loss of parents (mentioned).  

W/C: 6.3k - too many to be the drabble it was supposed to be. 

Characters: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, female reader (no use of Y/N), Dagger Squad.

Pairing: Rooster x female reader (you - no use of Y/N, no descriptions of body type or ethnicity). Hangman x female reader.

Notes: No use of Y/N, but the reader has nicknames. Inspired by Pearl Harbor. 

A/N: @justagirlinafandomworld sent me the title for the made-up fic titles. Thank you!!

Betas: the wonderful @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes are mine.

Graphics: made by me.

Master Lists: Top Gun Maverick // All The Fandoms

Live in My Memory, You'll Always Be There

A bang stirs Bradley from his sleep, but he doesn’t move, unsure if he’s dreaming. A growl of thunder rumbles in the distance, and he wonders if that’s what woke him.

He rolls onto his back, pushing the sheet down to his waist, seeking the cooler air of the room.

A second louder knock sounds. He jumps from his bed and rushes out of the room as the rain grows heavier, pelting the windows.

It can’t be work-related. The navy would have called, not sent someone to get him.

He flicks on the light in the hallway, interrupting the urgent insistence of the third knock. Bradley scrambles to unlock the door, finally pulling it open as a flash of lighting breaks across the sky. 

You stand a few steps off his porch, rain-soaked clothes and hair clinging to your skin, but it doesn’t hide the agony behind your tears. 

“I …I,” you hiccup, chin shaking, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

The water dripping from you seems to drag your remaining strength with it, and your legs buckle. Bradley leaps toward you, but he’s too late. You're in a heap on the ground.

He cradles you, rocking back and forth while your throat-scratching roars of pain nearly rival the storm’s rage.

“They announced it,” you stutter, voice shaking, “officially declared it. Jake’s gone.”

Bradley doesn’t tell you it will be okay. He doesn’t promise you that one day it will be. It won’t ever be the same again.

No one truly understands loss until it happens to them. Jake’s officially been missing in action, declared dead, for six months. Search and rescue had found debris from his jet but no body. They made assumptions, but the truth was they had no idea. 

His family held a funeral, a coffin filled with memories. You couldn’t bring yourself to put your engagement ring beside the vinyl record of the song that became yours, the catalyst of your relationship. They’d buried the mementos, but you couldn’t bury him. Not completely.

It was a beautiful send-off, held in Fightertown, like Jake would have wanted, and Penny gracefully offered up The Hard Deck for the wake.

Jake was everywhere in that place, his name on top of all the scoreboards, pictures scattered around the walls from different occasions; birthdays, promotions, retirements, a Thanksgiving that he couldn’t make it home.

Jake had always said there was no family like a found family. But you hadn’t realized the depth of his words until recently. Understandably, you’ve been a wreck, inconsolable at times, but you’ve barely been alone since he’s been gone. The Dagger squad adopted you as one of their own, though they hadn’t known you very long before Jake’s untimely demise. 

You feel close to Jake here, but it is also suffocating, knowing the memories will never be added to, that the life you planned to live with him in San Diego is no more.

You leave his parents to be gracious hosts and find a quiet spot by the ocean. 

Is Jake still out there? Hurt and alone in some foreign land while people are reminiscing about him. It’s possible, right?

You hear his footsteps disrupting the sand before Rooster appears at your side, dropping to the ground next to you. You glance over to see his jacket open, shirt unbuttoned, and a slight glassy shine to his eyes. You’d seen him doing shots with Coyote earlier. If anyone feels the loss as much as you, it’s Coyote.

“Stupid question time,” Rooster sing-songs in a game-show host voice. “How you doin’?”

“Can I give you a stupid answer?” you ask. 

“As long as you give me a truthful one after,” he says, handing over his bottle of beer.

“Like I’m about to kill the next person who tells me Jake’s in a better place,” you admit, taking a drink.

“We all know Jake wasn’t the nicest guy.” Bradley says, nudging you with his shoulder, “Except when it comes to you. If he’s anywhere, he’s making plans with the Devil to open a flying school in Hell.”

Your unexpected laughter shoots beer out of your mouth. Rooster scolds you, “Hey, hey,” taking back the bottle, “don’t be wasting perfectly good alcohol, woman!”

You laugh together for a moment, and when it naturally teeters off, silence descends.

Bradley has been a constant for you in the weeks since Jake has been gone. He’s close friends with grief. He understands it more than most. You are old friends with it, too, having lost your parents, but you never felt like an orphan. Jake’s family treated you as one of their own.

“Can I ask you something?” Bradley asks, interrupting your thoughts as he shifts in the sand. 

“Another stupid question?”

He turns his head to look at you, and his expression is sobering. “A serious one,” he takes a deep breath, “why did you come to me that day? The day they announced it, why me?”

“Coyote was the one to break the news to me, to tell me Jake was missing in action. I think he felt like it was his duty, but he couldn’t face me after that.” You sigh at the memory, hurting just as much for Coyote as yourself. “I think he blamed himself because he was supposed to be with Jake that day, but his jet had some technical fault. The rest of you took turns to ensure I was never alone. Did you work out some kind of rota?”

He chuckles, confirming, “Phoenix’s idea.” 

“Fanboy and Payback tried to distract me with movies, tv shows, magazines, anything but talk about Jake. Bob and Phoenix kept me busy, made sure I was taking care of myself, and helped me with laundry, grocery shopping, and cooking. I guess you got the short straw because you were always on your own,” you laugh, trying to lighten the mood. 

He shakes his head, “I made sure it was just us. I know what it’s like to be surrounded by people and still feel alone. I wanted to save you from that.” 

“And you did. You are the only one who didn’t say stuff that you're supposed to say. You made jokes like the one you just made. You were honest and understanding. You asked me what I needed. Whenever I said nothing, you’d hug me and just let me be. That’s why most nights I cried myself to sleep on you.” 

He says nothing but shuffles over in the sand to put his arm around your shoulders.

You rest your head on him, “With you, I never had to put on a brave face and pretend I wasn’t delusional that I still had some hope he’d come back. I never had to fake it that I wasn’t angry at Jake for leaving me.”

“You never have to pretend anything with me,” he says, kissing your head gently.

It’s a beautiful balmy day. The Bronco is freshly washed and gleaming in the golden sunlight, a cooler full of snacks secured in the back. Bradley, being the seasoned road-tripper that he is, has created an award-worthy playlist. He won’t tell you anything about the surprise he has planned, but a smile has been plastered on his face since he knocked on your door. He’s singing along with the current tune and looks like something out of a beer commercial with his Aviators, bronzed skin, and slight sheen of sweat. 

You stop for lunch at a diner on the edge of the Mojave desert, and you laugh harder than you have for a long time when Bradley tells the story of his disastrous first date. The combined laughter and Bradley’s slight embarrassment help you ignore the flutter of nervous butterflies that vie for attention when a fleeting thought that perhaps, in another lifetime, this could be classified as a date and not just Rooster trying to distract you from the significance of the day's date.

The reminder makes you pause. Should you be laughing as much as you are when today should have been your wedding day? 

You drop your eyes from Bradley’s when he reaches across the table for your hand and squeezes it tightly. He must have seen the guilt you feel in your expression. “Jake would want you to be happy.”

“I know.” 

“Actually, he’d make some cocky comment about you settling for less ‘cause there’s no one like him,” Rooster rolls his eyes, “but he’d want you to be happy, not clinging onto the past.” 

You laugh, “Y’know, for someone who wasn’t Jake’s biggest fan, you sure know him pretty well.”

“I’m just observant,” Bradley defends with a jesting tone. “I wasn’t obsessed with him or anything.” 

“I mean, no one would blame you,” you laugh, “he was a good-looking guy.” 

The realization hits you like a slap to the face, and you abruptly cut off your laughter covering your mouth with your hand. You’d referred to Jake in the past tense.

You thought you still had a sliver of hope that Jake would return with that smug smile and a wild tale of survival. It was why you remained in Fightertown, or so you told yourself, but perhaps hope isn’t the only reason you have begun to think of San Diego as home. 

The sympathy in Bradley’s eyes makes your chest ache, and with a featherlight touch, he takes your hand again, stroking your finger, where until a few days ago, your engagement ring had lived. 

“You took it off,” he notices.

“It was time,” you say, feeling the sorrow wash through you, “at least I thought it was,” you shrug, smiling mirthlessly as a warm tear lands on your cheek. 

Smiling softly, Bradley swipes it away. “It doesn’t mean you stopped loving him, but the promises you were prepared to make don’t matter anymore now that he’s gone. You can’t keep holding onto a future you have no hope of living in. Believe me, I tried, and it kills you a little bit more each day.”

A day hasn’t passed that you haven’t thought about Jake, an unwanted memory resurfacing at the worst time, or a fantasy of a lost future playing out while you were supposed to be focused on something else. It happens when you least expect it. Like now, something creeps into your subconscious, and then it’s all you can hear - a song, the song that started your relationship with Jake. 

“Can we leave?” You ask, forcing a smile to your lips. 

Rooster watches you for a second and then shakes his head. “Running from it doesn’t help,” he says.

“This song,” you sigh, “is the reason me and Jake got together.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I can’t-” you choke, taking a breath in an attempt to stop the memory from playing out in your mind, but all it does is steal your ability to breathe. It’s too difficult to remember a time when Jake was so young, full of life, and had a future.

“Breeze,” Bradley soothes, gently lifting your head to meet his eyes. “Breathe with me.” He takes a deep breath, his chest puffing, and slowly releases it when you follow his lead. “Don’t run from it. Embrace it, feel it.”

If I lay here, if I just lay here. Would you lay with me and just forget the world - the song continues, and you take a second to let the emotion wash through you before you explain.

“I don’t know how much Jake told you, but me and his twin sister, Jules, were best friends. Still are.” you correct quickly. Just because you've lost Jake doesn't mean you’ve lost your family. “We lived across the street our whole lives, went to the same schools, then my parents died two weeks before I started college. I had to identify their bodies because we had no other family. Jules was with me the entire time. Before I even had a chance to figure out what would happen to me, the Seresins had already arranged for me to stay with them.”

“So you lived with Jake before you were together?” Rooster asks. “And you still dated him?” 

You laugh along with him. “It most certainly wasn’t love at first sight. But the first spring break of college, we saw each other again, and things kinda happened organically,” you explain, getting lost in the memory of how your relationship with Jake started.

It was soon to be Mrs. Seresin’s 50th birthday, and a party was to be had, much to the dismay of the older siblings. Jules and Jake had complained their first spring break should be spent letting loose with friends and doing what college kids do. Jacob Senior had given one stern speech, and no more complaints had been made.

The Seresin house was always a lively one. Returning from college for Spring Break, you’d expected nothing less. Except the place was dead silent when you left your room after your shower.

“Hello?” you call out, walking to the kitchen. 

A note on the island counter informs you that Jackie and Jacob were out finalizing party arrangements and then meeting friends for dinner. Jenny, the youngest Seresin, was at the mall and then going to a sleepover. You already knew Jules was with Harvey and not likely to be home until tomorrow, seeing as they hadn’t seen each other for a while. Jake was always coming and going, so you ignored his absence.

Peace and quiet were just what you needed. You had a paper due three days after spring break, and you weren’t about to leave it until the last minute and then stress about getting it done.

Bringing a snack and a soda to your room, you left the door open, letting the air flow through while you worked on your paper. You were in the thick of it, fingers flowing across your keyboard, feeling good about the words pouring onto the page.

“S’up, Jellybean.” 

“Geez, Jake!” you jumped, twisting in your chair with your hand over your heart. “Lurk much.”

He laughed, resting against the door frame. Winking, he said, “Though there are better ways to do it, I like getting your pulse racing.” 

His teasing was nothing new, but something in his demeanor pointed toward it being more than friendly banter. College had been good for him, mentally and physically. Being away from the tyrant that was Jacob Senior had done him the world of good. Though he never lacked self-assurance, he now radiated confidence. Well-defined muscles and bulkier physic were an obvious payoff of what must have been many hours in the gym. 

Your eyes dragged down his naked torso, watching as a bead of sweat trickled into the waistband of his shorts. You caught yourself before any drool escaped and feigned nonchalance rolling your eyes and turning back to your computer.

“Please tell me you're not studying!” He leaned over your shoulder, looking at your screen before you could reply. “You do know it’s Spring Break, right?”

“Some of us need to study,” you said, “we can’t all just wing it and still get top grades.” 

Jackie had bragged at dinner last night about Jake being top of his class like anyone had expected anything less.

“You're the smartest person I know,” he countered.

Something had changed. You felt the shift almost immediately upon seeing Jake for the first time in seven months after you’d arrived home. He’d been looking at you differently, like he was now, a softness to his eyes as if he’s trying to say more than his words. 

You cleared your throat and turned away. “With the company you keep, that’s not the compliment you think it is,” you chuckled. 

“Okay,” he laughed, “you got me there. I set the bar too low, but you know what I mean. You need to take a break, let loose, and have some fun.”

“I have fun,” you sneered, “when I don’t have a ten thousand-word essay due in less than two weeks.”

“Okay, you twisted my arm,” Jake said, “I’ll help you, but on one condition.” 

“I don’t need help.” 

He ignored you, turning on the radio and cranking the volume while Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol played. “Dance with me,” he said, taking your hand and guiding you out of the chair.

You followed to the middle of the room with minimal complaint and let him pull you into a dancer’s stance. “You're all sweaty,” you whined, feeling his sticky chest pressed against your thin tank top.

“Sorry,” he laughed but leaned closer to press his cheek to yours. “Went for a run before Dad could start in on the lectures.”

You felt for him. Nothing Jake ever did was good enough. “You know his Navy buddies are coming to the party, right?”

He sighed heavily as he swayed you both to the beat. “I know. I’ve been warned to be on my best behavior. He’s already got my future carved in stone.”

You'd been unsure how to help him, though you desperately wished you could. “It’s not all that bad. You’ll look good in dress whites.”

He spun you away from him, and an incredulous but teasing look cocked his brow. “Please, I will look amazing in dress whites.”

You rolled your eyes as he tugged you back in close and slipped his arms around your waist this time, and you wrapped yours around his neck. The dance continued in contemplative silence until the end of the song.

Still holding you, Jake pulled back to look into your eyes, an earnest vulnerability in his, “You’ll come to visit me wherever I end up, right?”

“Just try and stop me.” 

“After that, we pretty much spent the whole break together, just hanging out and talking, so obviously, my paper was late,” you remember, smiling fondly. “Then the same song came on at the party. He sought me out and took me to the dance floor. When the song finished, he kissed me for the first time in front of everyone.”

“Smooth bastard,” Rooster compliments. 

You laugh. “Jackie was ecstatic, practically in tears. She said everyone always knew we’d end up together.”

“And you did,” Bradley reminds you, “it may not have been the forever you planned on, but it was the time you had that counts, right?” 

You swipe the tears off your cheek, “Okay, enough sad stuff. I thought today was about forgetting.” 

“Damn it, my plan has been foiled.” he rolls his eyes as if it’s the most inconvenient thing but reaches over to catch another tear. “Was it at least working?”

“It was,” you say, “and I’m sure you can make me forget again.”

You pull into the hanger, and it becomes clear what the day's activity is. You take the hand Bradley offers to help you out of the Bronco, and he holds yours so delicately that butterflies dance up to your throat.

“You know I’m afraid of flying, right?” you remind him, taking in the sight of the P-51. 

He does know. It has been a running joke amongst the Dagger squad. The self-proclaimed king of the sky, Jake Seresin’s fiance, is afraid of flying. 

“Do you trust me?” he asks, with such a sincere smile you’d lie even if the answer were no just to keep that smile on his face.

“Yes.” 

“It’s a short flight,” he says, “and I won’t do any crazy loops or anything.” 

You chuckle but give him a skeptical look. “Hilarious.”

“I got you, Breeze,” he promises. 

He does have you, and he’s proven that more than once in the last few months. 

“Are you ever going to tell me why you call me that?” you ask, holding down your skirt as you climb into the cockpit of the aircraft. 

He’d given you the call sign a few weeks after meeting you but never told you why. Jake had claimed he knew but said it was a sacred thing and that the person who bestowed it upon you had to be the one to explain why. It also felt fitting that Rooster had been the one to dub Jake, Hangman. 

“I will,” Bradley shrugs, “when I think you’re ready to hear it,” giving you a bashful grin as he climbs into the seat in front of you.

The flight itself is uneventful, but the sensation is exhilarating. Bradley only speaks a few times to make sure you’re okay and ask if he can tilt the plane to show you the sights below, deep canyons and big horned sheep.

“Okay,” Bradley’s voice crackles through your headset. “I’m gonna set her down.” 

“What! Here?” 

You are still in the middle of the desert, cliff tops and canyons as far as the eye can see. No runway or landing strip unless he plans to land on I-40. 

“Trust me,” he says.

The plane bounces once, kicking up red dust and rolling to a stop. “Wasn’t sure I could pull that off,” he jokes, shutting off the engine.

“Jerk,” you laugh.

He helps you out of the cockpit and onto the wing, turning to help you again when he’s on the ground. You sit on the wing, shuffling to the edge, and Rooster holds his arms out, ready to catch you.

“Don’t let me fall,” you say. 

His smile falters for a brief second, but he promises, “Never.” 

You jump, and he catches you, arms wrapping around your waist as he stumbles back a step. You pull him against you, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he relaxes into you.

Now that you’re on the ground, you can see the makeshift runway that’s been trodden down over time.

“As much as I’d love to stay like this,” Bradley whispers, exhaling the regret from his tone, “we’re going to miss it if we don’t get going.” 

There’s no point in asking what it is. He won't tell you, so you wait for him to reach into the cockpit, take out a backpack and then lead the way up a slim path.

It isn’t far to walk, but you’re out of breath by the time you reach what you hope is the top of the mountain. Bradley sets down an old green-colored blanket, handing you a bottle of water once you’re comfortable.

“Mav used to bring me here,” Rooster explains, breaking a long silence. You turn to look at him, but he’s gazing out across the vast desert. “Before I could fly myself, he’d bring me here, and we’d just sit and watch that.” He points toward the horizon. Your eyes follow his finger, and the sight steals your breath. 

The very edge of the sun touches the horizon, and the sky explodes into an oil painting of pinks and oranges that look close enough to touch.

“I always feel closer to my Dad here.” he twists to look at you, and you reluctantly drag your focus from the sunset to him. “Sometimes, I pretend he’s the one in control of the sunset, to remind me that I made it through another day without him.” He shrugs, smiling mirthlessly, “I come here a lot to talk to him. It helps me figure stuff out.”

Lifting his arm, you shuffle closer to him. He gently kisses your hair as you rest your head on his collarbone, his arm slipping around your shoulders.

“Thank you for bringing me here.” 

“I, um,” he clears his throat, an excuse to give himself a moment to contemplate how to say what he needs to. “I have ulterior motives,” he confesses, but his fix on the sunset remains steadfast when you lift your head again. “And I thought it might soften the blow.” He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, and seems shocked when you slip your hand beneath his.

You grip his hand tight, encouraging him. “Just tell me.”

He stares earnestly into your eyes, and you see the sorrow behind them before he softly says, “I was supposed to be with Jake that day.” Confusion pulls your brow tight, and he interprets it as you needing further explanation. “When Coyote’s jet was grounded, they asked me to accompany Jake instead. We had a stupid argument that morning, and it wasn’t a direct order, so I told them no, that Jake could handle it on his own. Jake got this smug look like he thought I was afraid or something, and I had the thought that hopefully, soon, karma would catch up to him and take him down a peg or two.”

You chuckle, “Sounds like Jake.”

“Breeze,” he protests, “I should’ve been with him.”

You swallow down the lump of emotion, imagining losing Jake and Bradley. You certainly wouldn’t have survived the loss of Jake without Bradley. The emotional trauma of neither of them being in your life is fathomless. “Then I would’ve lost you both.”

“Or I could’ve done something, brought him back to you.”

“Don’t do that,” you warn. “You have nothing to feel guilty for, Bradley. You don’t know what happened. You don’t know that you could have helped him. And maybe in some weird way, you have helped him.”

It’s his turn to look confused, and you smile lightly.

“You’ve helped me survive losing Jake, helped me see that there are still beautiful sunsets to be seen and a life to live, and you didn’t need to bring me here to do that, Rooster. You’ve shown me every day for the last few months. Jake is with me every day, he’s alive in my memory and will always be there, but you’ve shown me that I can keep moving forward. Some days you’ve been the only thing to keep me moving.”

You can’t bring yourself to look directly at him for fear he’ll see right through you. In your mind, it’s too soon to fall for someone else, but there’s no doubt in your heart that you are in love with Bradley Bradshaw. A part of you worries that it's a reaction to your grief, yet it doesn’t feel like a reaction. It feels right.

“Breeze, look at me.”

You're uncertain if it's pity or understanding in his tone, but either way, you don’t do as he asked. You’ve lost enough. You can’t bear to lose Bradley too.

He decides for you, gripping your chin with his fingers, gentle yet assertive, guiding your head upward to meet his eyes.

You expect him to say something profoundly sweet, but he sighs, closing his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to you.”

You don’t want to, but you should put some distance between you. Apparently sensing your withdrawal, he acts before you can move so much as a millimeter, his breath mixing with your own.

“Should I stop?” he whispers against your lips. 

“No.” You move in and make the connection he seems reluctant to, lips tentatively meeting, hesitant to linger for too long.

Bradley pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours, “If this is weird for you…” he trails off. 

“It’s not,” you say with certainty. “Is it for you?”

“No.” His hand squeezes your hip. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw you,” he confesses and pecks your lips again. “And that sounds awful ‘cause you were with Jake, but…” 

You press a finger to his lips to silence him, leaning back to look at him. “I get it. I’ve wanted to do it for a long time too.”

He’s not so hesitant this time, dipping to kiss you again. It’s tender and sweet, how a first kiss should be. You feel giddy with anticipation of something new and unexpected, but simultaneously it somehow feels familiar. Breathlessly, you both pull apart.

“Are you okay?” he asks, concern written all over his face.

“Yes, no,” you shake your head. “Yes. I just…are we crazy?”

He shrugs, “Maybe. But I’m okay with being a little crazy.” 

You laugh and drop your gaze, taking a deep breath. 

“Breeze,” he says softly. “There’s no pressure here. We can pretend it never happened and go back to being friends if that’s what you want.” 

You frown, slightly offended at his suggestion. Yes, you’re friends, but now there’s something deeper - a connection you can’t quite explain. “No, that's not what I want. It’s all a little overwhelming, but I know, without a doubt, I want this. I want you.” 

He smiles sheepishly. “Okay, but I need to know it’s more than a way to forget. I need it to be more than that.”

“It is. It’s so much more than that. It feels…” You're not sure how to describe it, but Rooster finds the word for you. 

“Right.”

The beautiful scenery is forgotten, and all you focus on is each other, the anticipation and excitement of exploring something new. You exchange timid kisses and tender caresses. Rooster leans over you, gently laying you flat to hover above you.

“It’s gonna get cold soon,” he worries, “wanna head back?” 

You shake your head, “Can we stay a while?”

He answers with an eager kiss. His lips are soft, and you hum with satisfaction when his tongue traces yours, seeking permission to deepen it.

He groans at the inviting warmth of your mouth, and your tongues meet, settling into a slow natural rhythm.

He releases you long enough for you to pull his shirt off and growls into your mouth when your nails scrape his stomach and back. Bradley is still cautious but follows your lead, letting his hands explore your body, groping and kneading your breasts through your shirt.

Now that you’ve accepted your feelings and given yourself and Bradley permission to pursue this new aspect of your relationship, a sense of urgency takes over. You need to feel him everywhere. Turning onto your side, you throw your leg over him and use him as leverage to pull yourself closer. You can feel all of him now, and it stokes the flame of your desire.

You roll your hips to rub yourself against his stiff cock. The friction of his jeans against your core is frustratingly not enough. You reach down between your bodies, rubbing over his shaft before popping the button on his jeans. 

Bradley breaks the kiss, panting to catch his breath, and pulls back enough to be able to look into your eyes. 

“We don’t have to,” you say, suddenly slightly embarrassed. “Not here if you don’t want to.” 

“I want to,” he says, “but are you sure this is the right time?”

“Yes. I don’t want to wait any longer. Where has waiting ever gotten us?” You ask bitterly. Waiting is a waste of time and makes the future even more uncertain. You don’t want to wait and miss out on something wonderful. “Let’s make this the right time for us.”

He kisses you again, gripping your hip, tugging you with him as he rolls onto his back, an invitation to straddle his lap that you accept willingly. 

You both get in each other’s way, trying to unfasten his jeans. Until Bradley decides he’d rather be touching you, he pushes your panties to the side to slip his fingers through your folds, coating his fingers in your slick before he breaches your entrance with two, his thumb circles your clit, and you feel the pressure already building.

It’s clumsy and awkward, but he lifts up enough for you to shuffle his pants off his hips while pumping his fingers inside you, pushing as deep as he can go and rubbing your pulsing clit.

“Are you sure about this?” he pants, “I can stop.”

In answer, your walls clench, and you twitch through your orgasm. “Don’t stop.”

You're empty for a matter of seconds before his cock replaces his fingers, and you slide down his length, both groaning out the gratification of a complete connection. 

Stones dig into your knees through the flimsy blanket, but it barely registers when Bradley starts to move - slowly at first, rolling his hips to help you stretch to his size. He takes hold of your sides, and you lift and push back against his thrusts. The rhythm gets harder and faster with every snap of hips, and your whimpers and whines drown out Bradley’s grunts and moans.

“Oh shit.” Shuddering, you bite down on Bradley’s shoulder as you come for a second time. It spurs him on, his movements becoming desperate as he chases his end. 

He wraps a hand under your jaw and holds your head up to look at him. “You got one more in you?” he asks, and you nod. “Then, come with me.” 

Slipping your hand between your bodies to tease your clit, the coil tightens again as Bradley pounds into you. He claims your mouth as his movements stutter, and with one last powerful thrust, your walls clamp around him as he ruts his release inside you.

Bradley can’t stop smiling. It’s not just the residual endorphins coursing through him after a particularly intense orgasm. It’s you, leaning against the Bronco, smiling, almost shyly, back at him.

“Did you plan this, Mr. Bradshaw?” you tease, eyeing him suspiciously as he removes his soiled pants.

“The sex, no,” he says with a smug chuckle, pulling on a clean pair of jeans. “If the moment presented itself,”  he admits, stepping into your space and pinning you between him and the truck, “I promised myself I’d kiss you.”

He fulfills the promise again, kissing you breathless and only pulling away when your phone rings. 

Bradley curses the interruption, reaching into the car to pick it up. “Phoenix,” he says, reading the Caller I.D. and handing it over.

He watches as your thumb hovers over the answer button. You’ve never been able to lie very well, and you're probably worried Phoenix will be able to hear the change in your voice and figure out what happened.

You decline the call and smile up at him. “I wanna stay in the bubble a while longer,” you confess, “we can tell them when we get back.” 

“Fine by me,” he agrees, delivering a swift kiss as his phone starts ringing. He shrugs it off, declining the call, “Bob. They're probably wondering where we are and if we’re gonna make it to quiz night.”

“Not sure we will,” you say, checking your watch. 

“We’ll definitely miss the quiz,” he nods, “but I can probably get us back for last-call.” 

“Show me what you got, Bradshaw,” you wink.

Bradley breaks the speed limit a few times on the way home, but true to his word, you make it with fifteen minutes to spare before Penny usually calls for the last orders. 

The happy haze of the day still lingers, and you don’t want it dampened by a crowded bar and a possible scene. You’ve discussed telling the team, but neither of you is sure how they’ll react to the news, though you both acknowledge neither of you has been subtle in trying to hide your feelings. Bradley doesn’t want to lie to them, and you agree, but you also don’t want to deliver the news with an audience of strangers.

“You sure you wanna do this tonight?” Bradley asks, kissing you softly, still tucked up in the safety of the Bronco.

“We have to,” you say. “It’ll be worse if they catch us.” 

“You say that like we’re doing something wrong.” 

“We’re not, but if they find out some other way, they’ll think we think we're doing something wrong.” 

He nods, “I’ll go get them and some drinks. Meet you on the beach in five?”

The kiss is sweet and tender and lasts long enough that you're bordering on being caught if someone walks by. Reluctantly you part ways. 

Bradley’s barely in the door before Phoenix and Bob are in his face. 

“Where have you been?” Phoenix asks, blocking his path to the bar. 

“We’ve been calling you,” Bob says. “Is Breeze with you?”

Rooster’s guilty tell-all smile takes on a life of its own, and he can’t contain it until Phoenix scolds him with a look.  

“What?” Bradley asks.

“Oh, shit, Rooster, you didn’t,” Phoenix sighs.

“Didn’t what?”

“You know what!” she grits, “You and Breeze.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” he shrugs, trying to step around them.  

Phoenix blocks him again, a firm hand on his chest. “Hangman’s back.”

It’s late, and the beach is quiet. You stand staring out at the ocean, enjoying the calm before everything potentially blows up. 

It’s a siren call, it has to be that or your slight guilt playing tricks on you, but you hear it, Jake calling your name.

“Jellybean!” he calls, and it grows in urgency the closer it gets. You realize it’s not coming from the ocean but behind you, and you spin around. 

Jake runs toward you, thinner and not as toned as he once was, but there’s no mistaking that it's him, flanked by Coyote, Fanboy, and Payback.

He crashes into you, caging you in his arms, but you're too shocked to react, barely bringing your arms up to hug him back before he pulls away to look at you. 

“Jake.” 

“It’s really me, baby,” he says, “I’m back. I went home, but they said you’d stayed here.” His smile grows wide and watery, “You didn’t give up on me. You knew I’d come back. That’s why you stayed. I fought to get back to you, and you waited for me.”

“Jake,” you gasp, “you’re here,” tears laced with shock, relief, and guilt pool in your eyes.

“I couldn’t miss our wedding daycould I?” Jake smirks.

The back door to The Hard Deck bursts open, and you watch as Rooster frantically searches the beach for you. He finds you, looking as shocked as you feel, and before you know what's happening, Jake cups your face and draws you to his lips.

Look a handy reblog button. Reblogs are the fuel creators need to continue creating.

A/N: I do have plans for part 2 but the muses aren't complying at the moment so for now, this is a one-shot. Who would you want to end up with? Rooster or Hangman?

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Master Lists: Top Gun Maverick // All The Fandoms

[sword-brainrot]

Toukentober Day 1: Leader

sword: Hizen Tadahiro contents: angst with happy end word count: 2500K cw: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, PTSD, Scars, Blood, Bad Injury, Mentions of Death

overview: First mission out that Hizen has given the leadership role. An unexpected outcome to the killer's sword but the saniwa put their trust into him, even if he is quite distant from the sage. However, when he arrives back with the first team - things are not what the saniwa had expected and runs to confront Hizen.

“Aruji!! The first team is back!” 

Lightning crashed with the thudding rain droplets, the citadel shook as the silhouette of someone in the doorway to the library that the saniwa was currently resting. Their head rose and looked at the poor sword that was drenched from the heavy rain outside. What weather to welcome back the first team, perhaps they should treat them to some cookies for their hard work and make up from the lousy weather. Most of the swords were huddled together somewhere in the citadel staying warm from the bitter cold, yet the swords that just arrived home had to walk through the raged storm. The saniwa closed their book as they sat up in their big chair near the fire, a smile on their face as they looked at Hotarumaru.

“Lovely. Please tell Hizen to see me to give me the overview of the mission when he cleans up. What a shame that on his first mission he is the leader and he has to come back to such miserable weather.” They clicked their tongue slightly with a fond smile on their lips as they rose to put away their book, “Please tell him to take his time. I don’t want to rush him after he worked so hard.”

“Um…” Hotarumaru started only to fall silent. His hands fiddled with one another as he rocked back and forth on his feet. His green eyes stared at the ground, refusing to make eye-contact as he tried to find confidence to start the next sentence.

Immediately, the saniwa paused from putting the book back into the bookcase and looked over at the small Ootachi. This smile fell as the cold air of the storm swooped in and stole their breath away. Even being so close to the fire, it felt as though winter had come early and threatened to freeze them alive in the very spot they stood. They tried to wait patiently for Hotarumaru to continue but it seemed like they weren’t going to be able to do so without further prompting. Their heart raced as they asked: “What is it?”

The firefly sword snapped out of his nervous trance, his body straightening and his arms falling to their side as his grassy green eyes locked with the sage’s. His eyebrows were knitted in concern as he said the words that the saniwa never wanted to hear.

“He was taken to the infirmary. He was badly hurt and-”

Thunder boomed almost as loud as Hotarumaru’s words. The book that almost made it back to its home in the bookcase crashed to the floor as the saniwa sprinted out of the library, not bothering to hear the rest of what Hotarumaru was about to say or to grab a form of protection against the storm. It didn’t matter how the thunder rattled their bones or how the rain pelted their skin as they ran to where Hizen laid. What mattered was that the sword they chose to lead the mission was now badly hurt and the responsibility rested upon their shoulders. It was supposed to be an act of trust from the saniwa to Hizen. He was always so distant and always reduced himself to just being a killer’s sword. He was there to kill and that was it. It didn’t matter that he liked sake, or sweets. It didn’t matter that whenever he killed, he shook from the action of it.

But it mattered to them. Hizen mattered to them.

It was meant to be a simple mission with no killing. They made sure of it. They did their research so Hizen could see that they could lead a group. That he was more than capable of doing more than just killing and he didn’t have to settle to be defined by his past. Why did this happen?

The door rattled as they pushed it open with a rushed and forceful movement. Their body was dripping wet, their cheeks rosy from the cold, and their body shivered from either the cold or the situation that was presented to them. Inside the Infirmary, Hizen laid in the bed as Monoyoshi dabbed at his wounds and wrapped them in clean wrappings. Hizen’s hair had droplets of rain that was mixed in with his red and black locks. His eyes were painfully closed as new wounds littered his body. He was bleeding from everywhere. Any new bandage was quickly colored red. His left eye opened faintly to look at the saniwa, only to painfully shut once more as Monoyoshi dabbed on more medicine to his shoulder where the deepest wound lay. It was already stitched shut but it seemed like needed a bit more disinfection before he could wrap the bandages around it. 

“What happened?” A ghost of a voice rose in the quiet room that was drowned in the music of the thudding rain. It was shaky and barely recognizable, but it was surely the saniwa’s voice. When did they speak? Their mind was everywhere, yet only in one place at the same time. 

Monoyoshi finished dabbing the ointment on the tender flesh before throwing away the new soiled cotton ball. A normally shining face now only gave the faintest smile as they walked over to the saniwa and brought them to the corner of the room, away from the hurt sword. Hizen’s tired red eyes watched as the duo left him, his eyes trying to focus on them from the bed but quickly his eyelids felt too heavy and closed once more. His breath shaky as he started to drift off ever so slightly.

“He is alright, Aruji. He may not look at it from his wounds but he will make it.” Monoyoshi gently grabbed their forearm and it was only then did the sage realized how much they were shaking. Of course Monoyoshi would comfort them when they look like a leaf threatening to fall off the branch in Autumn. “Hizen was the only one that was hurt in the first team. We were tracking Prince Ōama when suddenly Kebiishi appeared. We were split up at the time but… Hizen told Chiganemaru to find the rest of the team while he ran and held off the Kebiishi. I’m not sure what would have happened to the team if it wasn’t for him but we were able to retreat before anyone broke. I’m sorry to say but we couldn’t meet our mission’s goal…”

“Nonsense. You making it back alive is what truly matters.” They sniffled, bringing their sleeve up to their face to wipe the wet droplets. One great thing about rain is that you can’t tell tears from rain droplets. A heavy sigh left their lungs as he looked at the sleeping figure on the bed. Even so close to breaking, he looked so peaceful. “Monoyoshi, would you mind giving me some time with him? As well as telling Mutsunokami and Nankaitarou about him? I’m sure they will want to rush over to see him.”

“Of course, Aruji.” Monoyoshi gave a small bow before looking over at Hizen. His forced cheery smile left as his brows knitted in concern. “I gave him some medication to help with the pain so he is probably going to be very sleepy for a while as he heals. Please let me know if there is anything I can get the both of you.”

A final smile found its way to his face as he gave the saniwa’s hand a small squeeze of comfort before leaving the room as quiet as he could. With the small rattle of the door closing, they looked over at the sleeping form. His eyes finally were not squeezed shut and looked peaceful. The scowl that normally resided on his face was now replaced with a neutral expression as he drifted into sleep. Their steps were hesitant as they made their way to his bed and to the seat that sat next to it. The heavy blanket to keep him from the cold seemed to hide a good majority of wounds that now painted his body. However, there were still many more shallow cuts on his face and chest. As well as the deep shoulder wound that Monoyoshi was just taking care of. Their eyes gazed at Hizen’s neck, an area of his body that was often covered by bandages. A scar imprinted onto his skin. It surrounded his whole neck. That’s right… Hizen’s previous master was beheaded and now Hizen wears the scar as a reminder. Hizen never talked about his previous master to them or anyone, for that matter. All they knew about them was that they were a killer and had some connection to Ryōma, Mutsunokami’s previous master. 

Staring so earnestly at the scar, they failed to notice that Hizen had shifted and began to wake. It was only when his head fell to the side to look at the sage, did they notice. His red eyes were still barely opened and it seemed like he was struggling to even focus his gaze upon who was sitting next to him. 

“Stop staring…” He groaned as his eyes fell shut once more and he took a deep breath. “I failed. You can leave.”

A deep-set frown was placed upon their lips as they looked at Hizen’s pained, yet forced sleeping expression. Clearly, he wanted to drop the topic and distance himself even more from the saniwa. He was hurt and was not in the mood. All these things were so clear… But they couldn’t help but speak.

“You came back alive and that is all I wanted.But Hizen, you shouldn’t have faced the Kebiishi all alone. I know you were protecting your team but you could have died. Please, be more careful next time.”

“What use is a sword that can’t kill when ordered to? Should of broke on the battlefield.”

A cold air filled the room. Hizen’s narrow eyes turned to the wall, away from his new master. An unsettling silence settled between the two figures as the saniwa bit their lip, hands clenching at their robes on their lap. Their shoulders shook as they tried to hold back tears from their eyes.

“How could you say that?”

“I’m a killer’s blade. If I can’t kill, I’m better off broken. That is the only use I am good for.”

“That isn’t true!” They screamed, making Hizen flinch in the bed and finally look at them. Their head was lowered as they tried to control their shaking body, taking deep breaths as Hizen watched in shock. He always knew the saniwa who was gentle to all the swords and only strict when giving direct orders in stressful movements. He had never heard their voice become this loud that even the thunder outside couldn’t overpower them. 

Their hand shot out and grabbed hold of Hizen’s. His body shuttered slightly from the sudden physical contact and he stared at them frozen. Their head rose to reveal tears threatening to tip over and run down the cheeks as they looked at the sword in the bed. Their hand was firm, yet gentle. Hizen wouldn’t be able to slip from their hold unless he actively tried. Yet, it wasn’t forceful where he felt a lot of pressure. Despite the cold and the shivering of their body, their hand was warm.

“You are alive, Hizen. You can feel my hands holding yours right now, right? You enjoy so many things in the citadel, I see it! I see how much you enjoy sake or sweets I bring home from the market. Why else do you think I always make sure there is something sweet here? Hizen… Your job is no longer assassinating people, I will make sure I never put you in that position. Your job is to protect people. You already proved that you can do that! Today! You took on a powerful foe so you could protect your team like a great leader! Your past doesn’t define you, Hizen. Not anymore if you don’t allow it to. Please… Never talk like that again.”

Their joined hands fell to the soft bedding as the saniwa cried. Their shaking was nearly uncontrollable. Hiccups filled the room and sniffles of trying to catch their breath. What could be said to such words or to make them stop crying? It’s not like Hizen was ever put in such a position before. The drowsiness in his body had begun to fade from the scream. The raising tension in his body lessened and his red eyes focused on their joined hands. He slowly grasped their hand, rubbing his rough thumb over their soft skin. A familiar action that the saniwa once used on him after a night terror. A moment he tried to block out of his mind from how pathetic he thought of himself. Yet, the saniwa said nothing about it. They calmed him down and sat next to him, rubbing their thumb over his hand while holding it. Sometimes even petting his head to lull him into sleep. Even flinching from the physical contact, he enjoyed the soft feeling of it. He never had someone treat a killer so kindly before.

“Sorry.” He muttered softly. So faint that he was sure that the heavy rain outside drowned him out and he would have to repeat himself again, even if he wanted to die from embarrassment from doing so. Luckily, they shook their head softly and their thumb gently rubbed against Hizen’s hand.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled like that. Seeing you so hurt and hearing how you feel about the mission really upset me but I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” 

Another silence fell into the room as the saniwa rested their head against the mattress, exhaustion coming over them from the sobbing and adrenaline rush of the news. The silence was comfortable compared to the one before. Hizen’s hand hesitantly stroked the saniwa’s head, trying to mimic the gesture from the memory yet unconfident in their abilities. 

“I will try… to learn how to… l-live another way.” 

They looked up at Hizen, making his hand freeze in the air unsure where to put it. Their expression was pure shock as they lifted themself up. Hizen never actively spoke to them and they were accepting that the conversation of the night would have ended at the sorries before they left the room. A soft blush could be seen on his face as he looked down at the blanket that covered his body. Part of the saniwa wanted to ask if he was sure and have a further conversation on it. They knew the sword better than they thought and knew that would only make him more uncomfortable.Instead they smiled, and gently patted his head with him flinching slightly, only to lean into it.

“Thank you, Hizen. I will be by your side as you try to learn to enjoy life another way. We will go at your pace, I promise.”