#she gets so gentle. claws Away gentle batting slow movements

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

the best thing about having a cat that Fully understands and typically obeys the commands "sit" and "stay" is that when she doesn't obey, you're Keenly aware that it's a conscious decision

[occult-castiel]

The Same Page

This is my @destielsecretsanta2020 gift for @eclypseaf!!! The request was open, but bonus points for Miracle being present. So I wrote some post empty rescue fic!

This one honestly gave me a really hard time and I have no idea why. I hope you like it and have has an awesome christmas!

[Ao3 Link]

The portal spits them out in the dungeon.

Dean stumbles out first, a half step ahead of Cas. Human, malleable, and very much alive with one of the little dude's arms draped over Dean's shoulder.

Cas stumbles forward. Dean shoots an arm out in front of him, places a hand firmly against his chest. He maneuvers his other arms under his trenchcoat, grips his side firm.

His skins almost cool to the touch — much too cold to be safe. Not for a human, especially a brand new one.

And what if he's sick? Or gets sick and can't get better? Without his grace, there's a whole new set of worries. A bad flu that gets worse until he's gone, a hunt going wrong, fucking cancer. Heart disease kills pretty much everyone, doesn't it?

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the gentle thud of Cas' heart against his palm.

The last eight months haven't been easy. Not between the alcohol Sam eventually cut him off from, and the hunts getting sparse, and Jack being terrifying and gone until he wasn't.

Cas lulls his head to the side. His inky heart sticks to his forehead, and his blueberry-sweet eyes are unfocused but still manage to catch Dean's.

It's achingly familiar, and he smiles easy. "Hey there, sunshine."

Cas pinches his brows together as his head swims to stay upright. He slurs through some half-baked, nonsense question about coral reef bleaching, and Dean's so relieved he laughs.

Cas smiles at the sound, dazed and feather-light, but the joy is unmistakable.

It's the best thing Dean's ever seen. Fuck, he missed him. Missed him so much he didn't know what to do with himself.

Cas winces — what little help he was giving Dean in holding him up falls. He makes up the difference quick. Weak fingers curl around Dean's wrist.

"Sorry —"

"S'okay. Gonna —" he swallows hard. Tries to shove away the distinct pin-prick in his tear ducts that always means he needs to man the hell up. "Gonna get you to a bed, okay?"

Cas grunts, a pitiful noise that's mostly air and entirely feeble. "Tired."

"Rest then. It ain't far. I gotcha, buddy."

When he nods, his hair brushes Dean's neck.

It's not well thought out. The lack of work and overload of carbs haven't done Dean's muscles any favors. His joints creak and protest every step, but his room isn't far, and he'd be damned before he let's Cas feel like he has to do anything alone this time.

Miracle hops off the bed the moment the door opens.

Dean lays Cas on top of the bunched up blanket. Once he's down, Dean slowly works the trencoast and suit jacket off, his hands careful as they trail across the thin cotton of his shirt.

Cas shivers, and Dean wrestles to tug the blanket out from under him, Miracle nuzzling the side of his leg the whole time.

She's probably hungry. Or just wants attention. He hasn't exactly been available the last couple weeks, too busy with his nose in piles of research. But it all payed off.

Cas grimaces in his sleep, and it twists the cords in Dean's chest. He reaches his hand out and ghosts his fingers across the sweat-stained hair stuck to his skin, gently pushing it to the side.

He'd said it once, not more than a month ago, in the darkness of his room, Miracle tucked as close as he could get her.

He said he loved me, and I — I didn't say it back. But I do. God I do.

Dean trails his hand from his forehead to the flushed pillow of his cheeks. The other knuckles roughly at his eyes and comes back wet.

He has no god damn idea what he wouldve done without Miracle to talk to. Cause he could never get it out to Sam. Not those last moments. Not what Cas really means to him. Always too close to an edge of something larger than any apocalypse they've ever dealt with.

He traces down low enough to brush across Cas' wrist, the pained look still on his face.

Dean swallows, his heart hammers hard in his throat. Timid even though the guy is unconscious, Dean grabs his hand.

His mind blanks. Turns to complete static — a jumble of half-formed thoughts about every reason he ever told himself not to.

He's an angel. The worlds ending. Always ending. He doesn't feel that way. Can't, the equipment for it's not there. It's why he leaves, isn't it? And what the fuck could ever hope to start when it's all always falling apart? When they could fall apart.

Everyone leaves.

A flash of cold prickles down his back, and he tries to takes a deep breath. It goes down ragged. There was something he read once, about picking out a sense.

Cas' breath, slow and steady. The clink of Mircale's claws on the floor. A muted buzz from the florescent lights in the hall.

He breaths again, a little easier. His fingers curls into Cas' palm, and his finger twitch against Dean in response. The dent in his brows relax, his jaw goes slack.

"S'okay Cas." He squeezes. "Just... be okay."

When his phone rings, dumped and forgotten on the other side of the room, he isn't quite sure how to let go. Like the ligaments in his hand have cemented in place, forgotten the muscle memory to make the movements happen.

When the second call comes through, Cas mumbles something. Dean's shoulder slack, and he pulls his hands back, clammy and with a slight tremor.

It's Sam. There's a small tug of guilt — he should've called him the moment he put Cas down. He knows he would've been worried sick if Sam was the one that had to go.

Sam's relieved too, promises to buy stuff for dinner on his way back from where Dean went in the Empty about fifty miles out. And he must hear something in his voice, because he stresses to go watch a movie or something and let Cas sleep it off.

Of course he's right. They knew Cas would be out cold. But leaving the room is still hard, and he lingers in the doorway until he gets a good look at Miracle's mess of tangled fur.

He hasn't brushed her hair, since that's practically what the fur is, in weeks.

"C'mon girl."

He grabs the brush from the bedside table, casts on last look at Cas, and takes Miracle to the TV room.

She hops on the couch next to him, tail thumping with excitement.

"You wanna get pretty to meet Cas later?"

She nuzzles his hand, sticks her nose against the brush, and a little bit of the stress from today lightens up.

He flips on some netflix show about baking food, and talks to Miracle as he starts in on her snout.

It's ritualistic to touch on whatevers going on with her, at this point.

As her fur smooths, he tells her about the Empty. Its piss-poor lighting, the mind boggling way directions work, how it has this awful burnt-licorice and gasoline stench clung to the nothingness of its everything.

It kinda makes his head hurt.

Almost two full episodes in, he has all her fur neat and tidy, and his little monologue has circled back to Cas. She'd know a lot about him if she could talk.

"It's hard to believe he's really back. And — and maybe it'll be good. We could, I dunno, get you a yard?" He nods, smiles. "Yeah, I bet your spoiled ass would like that. The bunker ain't a place for pets."

Miracle leaps from the couch, and someone clears their throat from the door.

Cas stands in the doorway, hunched in on himself. Dark strands of hair twist up in random directions, and the casual clothes Dean left him fit snugly.

He looks... comfortable. Like he slipped into humanity ages ago, not this afternoon.

"Cas."

He tilts his lips up, tight and sheepish. "I see you have a dog now."

"Yeah. Miracle. She uh — she helped me." He motions vaguely to his head. "Might not be batting a hundred up here if not for her."

Cas glances down at her, and the tense smile softens. "I'm very grateful then."

Almost reverent, he scratches the side of her ear.

Dean shakes his head. Blinks. Two things he never thought he'd see side by side mixed with the insanity of the day make none of this seem real.

Deep breath.

"She can — she can be there for you too," Dean says. "If you need it. Dogs are great listeners. Even the Madonna types like this one."

Cas gives a contemplative hum. "They are both blonde."

He puffs a breath of air. It's easy to forget Cas actually knows what he's talking about now, sometimes. Even if he does still miss the point by a mile.

"It was your turn."

Cas raises an eyebrow.

"To, uh, pick a movie." He motions to the seat next to him. "If you want."

Cas runs his bottom lip between his teeth and doesn't look at Dean. Doesn't say anything either. Just nods, walks over, and sinks into the couch.

It's a respectable distance. Close enough Dean would be able to sense him, far enough away they won't touch.

Miracle curls up on the other side of Cas, head flopped on his lap, right next to his balled up hands.

"Is it over?" His voice is small.

Dean doesn't have to ask. "Chuck isn't aproblem anymore." Cas sighs, slinks down bonelessly into the cushions. "We figured it out, took his powers. Jack's fixing up Heaven with it. Says he's gunna do that, find a way to put Amara back together, and then come home."

"Good. I don't think I'm up to fighting standards." He rolls his head to the side. They're close enough Dean can make out each muscle in his neck when he swallows. "You didn't have to save me, Dean. I'd — made peace with that fate."

It's bullshit. It's bullshit and Cas has to know it. He almost tells him a much, but if he can't have that talk now, then he never will.

He licks his lips. It doesn't help the dryness.

"Did you mean it?"

It's a dumb question, but one he needs answered.

Cas doesn't miss a beat. "That and more." The serenity in his words is endearing as it is cutting when he adds, "But we don't have to address it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

It's Dean's turn to melt with relief. "Good — that's good."

Cas winces. "I understand if you'd like some space —"

He starts to stand up, and panic seizes Dean's chest like a vice grip. He grabs his wrist and Cas freezes.

"No! God no. Cas, it — it wasn't supposed to happen like that."

He looks confused, before some amount of understanding smoothes out some of the worried lines in his face. His eyes flick down to Dean's mouth for an instant. "How was it supposed to happen, then?"

"I thought, maybe on a hunt? Or — I don't know. Just... " some place I could say it back.

Its not good enough, saying it without saying it. Cas gave a speech. He saved Dean's life, saved the god damn world. All without knowing.

He shakes his head. Starts again. He had enough practice between thoughts he couldn't shove away and late night pet-therapy. "I thought you knew. Hell, I've been scared everyone knows. And if they did, you did too, right?"

"Subtly isn't always my strongest suit."

He laughs, and it's almost on the wrong side of sane. "Don't I know it."

He can do direct.

Slow enough that Cas has time to pull back, he runs his hand up his arm, cradles it against the back of Cas' neck. He leans across the small distance and kisses him.

It's clumsy and unsure, and Cas places a skittish hand on Dean's side like he's not sure what he's allowed to have even now, but their lips mesh together in a way that feels better than anything he can remember.

When they part, he's not sure either one of them are breathing. And he can't look at Cas, not when he says it. Not yet. So he presses their foreheads together, keeps his eyes fully lidded.

"I don't know how you could think you aren't worth saving. You — you're it for me."

"Dean —"

He shakes his head, and the tips of their noses brush. "I love you more than I know what to do with. You know that right?"

Bewildered, Cas says, "I didn't."

"Yean, well. Now you do."

He scoots back in place, flushed firm against the cushion. Their hands tangle together, and their knees are touching, and it's too much and not enough. But mostly not enough. Dean dares a glance over. Cas is staring at their hands, a pleased smile on his face.

And they're on the same page.

"I think you said something about a yard when I walked in?"

Instead of answering he says, "We should retire. I'm too old for this shit."

"Entirely?"

Dean shrugs. "A hunt here and there wouldn't hurt I guess."

"We'll talk about it later." He reaches over him, grabs the remote. "I think you said it was my turn?"

Dean grins, full and toothy. "Yeah, just no more romcoms, dude. I can only take so many."

Cas nods, curt and serious. "Of course."

He does anyway, and it's the best shitty movie Dean's ever seen.

[ask-the-riders]

Sweet Little Misfit

An experimental thing I wrote, in which I tried to humanize a bad guy (in a sense) 👀

Slight trigger warning, since some people might find it upsetting: this blurb does contain some flashbacks that involve an animal being hurt (our main character is remembering finding the animal with one of it's legs caught in a trap). There's some blood in said flashbacks and the animal needs a bit of help to make sure it'll be ok, but in the long run, she's totally fine and just as loveable as ever. I avoided going too far into detail, so everything should be alright

The cat let out a soft meow, butting it's head against the outstretched hand that was offered. As the clawed fingers very delicately began to scratch at the cat's fuzzy cheeks, it began to purr, the sound very gradually becoming louder and louder as it leaned into the contact. Watching the animal welcome his touch so openly, the demon's expression softened and his brows furrowed. When he finally spoke, it came as a murmur, "Ah... Sorry for leaving you hanging, Missy. Guess I just got lost in thought again." The cat meowed in response, curling her tail partly around the demon's arm as he ran his hand down her back. The demon couldn't help the tiny smile that crept onto his face, his voice still soft, "I know, I know. I'll pet you as long as you want, alright? Just promise me that you won't leave." 

The cat purred louder as he gently scratched and massaged around one of her shoulder blades, letting out a soft sound accompanied by a thud as she flopped onto her side and began to roll onto her back, exposing the fluffy black and white fur of her belly. As the demon began to delicately rub her belly, she flicked her tail, looking up to meet his vibrant blue gaze with her own golden one, tucking her front paws closer to her chest. The demon chuckled as he watched her, completely unphased even as she began to playfully bat at his hand after a few seconds, "My, my... It looks like you missed me. Am I right, my sweet little Misfit? I think I am." The black and white cat looked up at him and gave a slow blink, and he froze, his eyes momentarily widening in surprise. 

Fighting the urge to get emotional, he leaned down, affectionately nuzzling her head and pressing a gentle kiss to the space between her ears, "...I love you too, Misfit. More than you could possibly understand." He pulled back to look at her, moving his hand to delicately scratch at her cheeks again, "More than I've ever loved anyone else. And on some level, you love me too. Thank you... That makes me happy." The three legged feline meowed, sitting upright and stretching her neck, attempting to reach him. Seeing her struggle, he leaned down, a warmth filling the hole in his chest as she headbutted his face, still purring just as loudly as before. He snorted in amusement, deciding to lay down on the ground beside her, dried leaves crunching under the weight of his body. 

Misfit scooted closer, sniffing at his face for a moment before moving upward and sniffing at his hair. She seemed to pause for a moment before burying her face in the dark, curly locks and inhaling deeply, lifting her front paws to begin kneading at his scalp as her purring grew even louder. As she busied herself with kneading the demon's head and licking at his hair, he began to gingerly pet her again, being mindful of the stump that had once been a leg. He recalled the way she looked a while ago, tiny and covered in dirty, matted fur as she yowled and thrashed, her hind leg caught in a trap. Othni remembered following the scent of blood, only to find Misfit with her fur stained red and with a leg that'd been damaged so badly that he could tell there'd be no saving it. 

He'd used his demonic influence, and although it couldn't have been further from what he'd wanted to do, he'd altered her perception of things. Because of him, her perception of the pain was dulled, and then he'd removed that leg. To finish off the ordeal and guarantee that she wouldn't bleed out, he'd had to cauterize the injury. The amount of stress and pain she'd been through finally got to her, and all of her movement ceased. He'd panicked, thinking that he had killed her, and he spiraled right into another episode of self-hate. Tearing a small scrap of cloth from his shirt and using the water from a nearby creek, he cleaned as much blood off of her as he could, gingerly cradling her in his arms and trying desperately to give her some spark of life. Just when he was about to give up and dig a small grave for her, her golden eyes opened and she blinked, staring up at him fearfully. 

He provided food, water, safety, and affection, and he kept an eye on her injury, making sure that there'd never be even the smallest chance that it could become infected. Because of him… Because of Othni, she was alive and well. It took quite a bit of time and patience, but he'd earned her trust, and now, they'd built a bond stronger than any he'd ever felt before. He was yanked out of his thoughts as she crawled onto his chest, sniffing his shirt for a few seconds and moving a paw as it began to sink into his own injury. Even though he hadn't moved or made any sounds to indicate that he was in pain, she seemed to always be mindful of that particular area, and he was grateful. Gently wrapping an arm around Misfit, he used his other to resume petting her, warmth swelling in his chest again; So what if he was alone now? At least he had Misfit. As far as he was concerned, there was no need for friends or family. Not when the only family he'd ever known were so willing to push him away as soon as they had the perfect child they'd always dreamed of. 

At a point in time, he was their beloved son. They praised him, taught him things, spent time with him, and they loved him. The day he became a big brother was the day all of that disappeared. There was no praise, only criticism, he had to learn things on his own, and all of their time and love now belonged to someone else. No matter what he did, he was never good enough, and when they passed away, leaving him to care for the very person who'd ruined his life, he'd never been more upset and resentful.

Misfit's scratchy tongue could be felt on Othni's skin as she licked his chin, and he let out a deep sigh, both arms encircling her as he kissed her head again, murmuring into her fur, "At least I have you, Missy... At least you could find it in your heart to love me." 

As long as he had Misfit, things would be alright. He didn't need anybody else, just as long as he still had Misfit by his side. He wasn't sure what he'd do if anything happened to her, but if someone were to hurt her again… There would be hell to pay.

[harringtonheartache]

Daybreak | Part Nineteen

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Lab Escapee! Reader?

Summary: Part nineteen of this fic. Joyce is officially roped into things, and her first day of being included is a hard one. 

Word Count: 3,100 +

Warning(s): Cussing, mentions of blood

The back side door of Joyce’s simple green car had a long scratch across it. An accident, most likely. Perhaps one of her kids had walked their bike into the garage and dragged the handle against the paint, scarring it for good, as Joyce wouldn’t get it touched up. The driver’s door hung open, abandoned by its owner without a hand to guide it closed. The old Ford Pinto looked like it could be abandoned completely - a site you’d see on the side of the road after the tired thing crapped out. It wasn’t deserted, however, and it’s driver stood nearby with two teenagers who’d probably end up following the car back to Joyce’s house when their conversation concluded. 

“What are you saying?” Joyce’s voice blurted. Panicked, unnerved, and certainly not understanding. Steve had done most of the talking by this point, and it earned him a great stare-down by the woman looking up at him. She was five-foot-too-short and the kid towered inches higher. It made for a strange dynamic, their silhouettes painting a scene where they swapped ages. 

“I know it doesn’t make sense-”

“None of anything has made sense!”

Steve hadn’t intended this conversation to be contentious. 

“Joyce,” Nine interrupted and she turned to look at the girl. Her chest dropped and she sighed, shaken but paused. “You said you thought that you were communicating with Will. I believe you. I know you're not crazy because I can communicate with him too.”

Her eyebrows dipped down and that wavering in her voice from earlier returned. “N- no you can’t,” she responded. The solution she had imagined for herself involved boxes of Christmas lights and dripping letters written in black paint across her wall. And now this girl showed up. In the middle of all obscurity, how much more was Joyce willing to engage? This girl: baggy clothes and a bandaged arm and Steve Harrington by her side (for some reason?). The solution she had imagined for herself dwindled on delusive. Maybe this girl fit right in. 

That bandaged little arm reached a hand out and bumped Joyce’s. Cold to the touch, it wrapped around her grasp. “Let me show you,” Nine said. 

 -

Joyce engaged. Pulling her little green car into the driveway of her little brown house, she got out and waited for the people behind her, as if she weren’t allowed in by herself. Steve and Nine each closed their doors and met her just a step or two away from the front porch. 

“It’s a little…” Joyce drifted off, a hand behind her back pointing towards her home with despondency. “It’s a mess”. 

“It’s okay,” Steve said, eyes squinting in shield of the afternoon sun. One hand sat in his jean pocket and the other hung awkwardly. 

Joyce’s description was accurate, and Steve almost tripped on wire hanging loose from a socket just a few steps in the door. They each walked a perimeter around the living room, surveying the damage done within the past few days. Smears of black paint — the alphabet as you’d see it on a classroom wall. Arbitrary nails in the wall where Joyce decided she wanted to hang up lights. A few holes, too, where she missed the nail in her craze to get the wires hung. If it weren’t for a few nice furnishings and Joyce’s presence itself, the place would look like an abandoned house some kids got into and graffitied aimlessly. 

“So, um, you say the lights flash?” Nine asked in the simmering silence.

“Well, yeah. Not- not randomly, though. Sometimes I ask questions and he- they blink in response,” Joyce stumbled. 

Nine nodded, head drifting upwards to notice the multi-colored lights draped over other fixtures on the ceiling. 

“How do you do it?” Joyce asked, and Nine returned her eyes to the woman. “Communicate?”

“I can…” her mind drifted, questioning how much she needed to dilute. This mother and her Christmas lights. Her beat-up car and her beat-up house. How much could she know? How much would it hurt to tell?

“I use a power source. Something like a radio or TV. Then I blindfold myself. I can usually see them,” she said. 

“See them? Like, actually see them and where they are? Have- have you done this with Will?”

“I-” Nine stopped again. At this point, how do you even single-out what to dilute? It doesn’t work when everything is the same level of indigestible, the same amount incriminating. Steve had told her that it was okay to trust Joyce, and in Nine’s inherent pull that kept her from being able to do that, she still believed him. She believed him, but that lack of confidence had been sewn into her stitching, triple-knotted and embarrassingly undoable. In that moment of hesitation, that hitch in her breath, she truly contemplated the situation. A contradictory mixture of relief and guilt flooded her body. The whole thing was so un-dilutable, so nonsensical that it was just enough so to protect her. This mother and her Christmas lights and beat-up car and beat-up house and wild ramblings of flickering bulbs she swears aren’t a result of bad wiring. No one would bat an eye if her story expanded to include a strange girl with supernatural abilities. It would be so indigestible no one would even bite. That guilt simmered in Nine's mouth and she chewed it between her teeth. It felt ugly, but no one would believe Joyce if thought to tell, and that was incentive enough for Nine to part her lips and keep talking. 

“I have. I couldn’t exactly tell where he was, but I saw him.”

“Can you do it again? Can you do it right now? We have the television and-” 

The house shook, gentle at first, growing loud enough to cut Joyce off after knocking a cup from the coffee table. And Nine’s arm ached, a pain she only now noticed, looking down to see a long line of red tracing down her skin from underneath the old bandage. She thought back to the newly purchased first-aid that sat still bagged in Steve’s car, a moment later questioning why the hell that was important to her as the walls shook like they wanted the painted letters to fall off. She then traced her vision down lower to the floor, coming to a focus on a single drop of blood that had dripped from her wrist. It was almost effectively disguised by the dark wood flooring, spotable only if you looked closely enough. 

“Fuck.”

Steve’s eyes darted — to the walls, to Nine, to the floor, back to Nine. “What’s happening?” he asked over the rumbles, and Nine looked to him, a gaze that was just waiting for something inevitable. 

There was scratching now, like nails against sandpaper. The three turned to the origin of the sound — the wall — and Joyce took a step backwards despite being the farthest from the noise. The wallpaper, yellowed and floral, began to peel. Around the edges of the wall it dropped in long slices, and after a moment something underneath the paper was visible, something inside. There was movement, sudden, like a person reaching out from behind a curtain. But it wasn’t human; claws so pointed they looked like they’d tear right through the house. Steve, the second-farthest from the chaos, turned to stagger forwards and reached out with a hand like the one inside the walling. He flinched though when the inevitable happened and the wall crumbled, the thing inside coming forward like breaking through the surface of water. Joyce yelped as the drywall fell and scattered across the floor and Nine, the closest, finally teetered backwards.

“Nine!” Steve shouted, and she teetered again, this time backing up against the coffee table. It jabbed her right behind the knees and she stumbled, a hand falling against the table’s wooden surface as she bent backwards to stop the fall. The movement in the wall was breaking through containment, and after one claw penetrated the barrier, the rest came down quickly. 

Steve maneuvered swiftly, sliding in front of the recliner chair with determined pace. He locked his grip around Nine’s wrist and pulled her sideways, towards him, and she knocked into his chest in her daze. The wall was gone but behind it wasn’t the outside. A large hole in the Byers’ living room leading to nothing but darkness. It’s emerged shook its gangly limbs, debris sticking to its slimy skin. A creature seen before only in silhouettes was now illuminated, and it’s presence was ghastly. 

The lights had begun flashing (just like Joyce had told them) at some point during the event, and it burned the witness's eyes enough to bring them back to the present. The house guest erupted from within a sound, something between a lion’s roar and a screech, and all three hosts backed up again as if to give room. Joyce hit a wall first, and yelled out to the two neighbored a few feet away. 

“What the hell — ?” an open-ended question. 

“Why is it here?!” Steve spoke loudly down to Nine, still a tremble against his chest. 

“The blood,” she said, but she didn’t amplify her voice, and Steve asked her again. 

“The blood, it senses blood,” she told him. 

‘It’ screeched again and the house didn’t need collapsing walls to shake this time. Joyce no longer wanted to stand alone. She navigated around empty boxes on the floor once filled with string lights, joining the two outcasts and trying now to usher them down the hall. And they complied, fast steps between glances back towards the living room.

“Wait, Joyce, wait,” Steve said but it didn’t slow her down. “We need a- a weapon. Something to-”

“You think you can fight that thing?” she asked back.

“I’ve seen it before, it won’t leave without a fight,” he said. 

“We don’t keep weapons in the house. Maybe a bat. There are guns in the shed, but I don’t know how to use them. They were Lonnie’s.”

Steve didn’t know how to use a gun either. Sure, his dad had one or two for the sake of authenticating his masculinity. Somewhere deep in his closet, some place he could refer to in conversation when asked if he had one. And he’d say yes, maybe puff out his chest, and sit with the fact he couldn’t recall if he really knew how to shoot. So Steve didn’t know either. No father-son trips to the woods to aim at old beer cans. Certainly no practice on monsters towering nine-feet high. 

He went with the bat. He adjusted his hands around the wood — never really played baseball, either, but it seemed easier than shooting. 

“You can’t kill that thing with a baseball bat,” Joyce said as he did a few practice swings in her older son’s bedroom. 

“I can try,” he said. Another practice swing dangerously close to a bedside lamp. 

“Steve, no,” Nine told him. “I-”

“You can’t. Still in recovery,” he told her right back and made his way to the bedroom door. 

“I think this overrides that — !” she spoke to his back as he swung the door open. 

He advanced back to the living room with a confidence close to stupidity. Nine chased after him and Joyce’s feet dwindled, a few seconds passing before she gave in and followed. The beast came into view and her jog stalled, closing her eyes for a moment in battle of her fear.

Steve wound up, twirling the bat and going in for a strike. It hit the creature loudly, a smack that sounded as bitter as it felt. It roared and Joyce regretted giving him the bat. He pulled it back and gunk dripped from the wood, slimy as the skin it had just hit. His chest heaved and he flung the substance to the floor. Readjusting his feet, he started to twirl his grip again. 

“Steve, wait-” 

It growled again and this time swatted with its long stick of an arm. It’s sloppy punch knocked the bat from Steve’s hand and knocked his feet from the floor. He landed harshly on the ground, and his newly-relieved hands met the floor behind him as he looked up at the creature, a new perspective on the situation dawning on him. “Shit.”

It stepped forwards, Joyce stepped back, Nine stepped forwards, Steve (shuffled) back. Where is the bat, where is the bat, look for it! Fuck! Where is the bat?

Nine decided that recovery was over. A hand in the air, she mustered up the strength; a few heavy breathes to prepare herself before —. It stumbled backwards and knocked into the wall (damaging now a second). Her power wasn’t up to its full capabilities and she pissed it off more than anything. It came forwards again, long strides to land right in front of Nine. By her feet, Steve grabbed at her ankle like a child, pleading her name. 

It went in for its second punch, this time aimed at Nine. It knocked its force into her side and she was swiped sideways, Steve dragged with her for a moment before he dropped his grip on her leg. She landed coldly against the coffee table, her shoulder aching as it took the heat of the fall. Joyce yelped with her, hands jumping up as she flinched at the aggression, tears beginning in her eyes. 

The monster wasn’t done and grabbed Nine this time, by her arm — the bad arm. Nine shouted out, voice muffled by pain as she was pulled from the table. It didn’t keep its hold on her long, slamming her forcefully into the wall just beyond where it had done its damage. She hit the surface with another smack and started a decent down to the floor. 

Steve’s hands wandered the ground, feeling around for the bat until they found it under the table. He took it and stood promptly, officially landing his second hit when the creature reached out for a third attack on Nine. Hit received, it staggering a little at the unexpected strike. Steve, with regained confidence, navigated to stand in front of Nine: protective and tall and fucking livid. 

It didn’t care, though, turning around to whack at this nuisance standing in the way of its real target. Steve swung at the same time and their weapons collided. He only had a second to revel in his win before it attacked again, this time with its other arm, other side. Steve fell to his left, landing awkwardly on a recliner chair, swatted away like a bug. The creature returned to its priority and wrapped its claw around Nine’s leg. It pulled, sliding her across the hardwood and dropping its hold when she settled underneath itself. Bent over now, it opened its mouth. Inches away from Nine’s face, it released perhaps its loudest shout of fury. 

And then it yelped. 

“Fuck you! Get out of my house!” Joyce yelled. The lamp she had launched at its back landed broken on the floor, and Joyce searched around for something else to throw. In defense of itself, it grabbed back onto Nine’s leg. Another item — this time a phonebook — flew at its head and it winced at the impact. 

“Get out!” 

It began a retreat, but hadn’t yet let go of its hostage. Where it had come was still an open hole, a dark void to greet anything that entered it. It kept backing up as it was hit with something else. 

Steve stood now, (fuck! again, where’s the bat?) called to action. It pulled Nine back again, one foot in the void now, and her head rolled against the floor. Abandoning his search for the bat, Steve tossed himself forward to the ground, now grabbing for Nine instead. He threw a hand underneath her shoulder as she was yanked again, and his grip fell to her arm. 

A force from within the wall was awakened at the monster’s retreat. It began to draw things into the void, a powerful wind sucking up debris from the floor, including Joyce’s lamp-turned-weapon. With this the monster stood up, and Nine was lifted with it. Its hold was still tight around her leg, and Steve scrambled for better control of her upper half. “Shit,” he spit, jaw clenched as his feet slid against the flooring. 

Nine floated midair as both she and the thing that held her slowly fell victim to the power of the void drawing them backwards. But then it stopped, and she didn’t drop to the floor. A familiar zap was felt in Steve’s palm — that jolt that accompanied stilled time.

He huffed, a smile creeping onto his face as realization dawned on him. He didn’t let his grip weaken, one hand in hers and the other on her arm. “Yes, I’ve got you,” he told Nine. 

She twisted, lifting her head and yanking her leg forwards from the creature that had been frozen alongside everything else. Everything else but her and Steve, who pulled relentlessly as his feet kept sliding underneath him. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he said anyway, speaking against his lack of progress. 

“Steve,”

“Just don’t let go, I can pull you out. We have all the time we need,” he told her, grunting as he readjusted. He failed to make eye contact, hyper-focused on the task at hand. 

“I don’t know how long I can keep us like this,” she said, voice dispirited. 

“It’s okay, just hold on.” 

“Steve,” she pleaded again but he didn’t hear it, still pulling on her desperately. “Steve, look at me.”

He tugged once more then gave in, looking up. 

“It’s okay, I’ll find him.”

“No, no, wait. No, I can get you out, just hold on,” he said frantically as tears began to brim. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

“Steve.”

“I’ve got you!” he shouted now, teeth raking at his lip and eyes thrown at his feet again as he proceeded with his pulling.

“I’ll find you, too,” she said. And with her words time resumed. 

Steve only had a moment, one last attempted grab at her skin before she was pulled from him completely. The darkness had the stronger hand, and she fell into it roughly. With her no longer there to hold him up and his feet too far in front of him to catch his weight he fell too, but only to the ground. 

When he looked up she was gone, and the wall began to reform around her absence. It sealed up nicely, like it had never been torn down; only a long scratch over top of the wallpaper to signify any abnormality. 

---

A/N: sorry

Tag List: @ggclarissa @gurl-ly @hyp-oh-critical @alewifex @we-are-band-sexuals @cpt-lamby @l0ve-0f-my-life @easvtohate @used-avocado @kwyloz @itzpikapie  @samwise-babeyy @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mochminnie @peterwandaparker @ayamecrevan @lilyhw1 @seninjakitey @lulurose17 @write-from-the-heart @harringtonlr @sledgy14 @stranger-names​ @marvelouspottering​ @crimesolvin​ @pradaxstyles​

[nerdybirdy6602]

ooh i wish you’d write a fic where: lars and sylvester have a “confrontation” of any kind?

Oooooo! I love this! I made a romantic confrontation between Sylvie and Lars, and decided to make a romantic confrontation set post-canon, after the events of Loam Hall. So, here it is! It's a bit shorter than my usual fics, so I hope that's okay! :) Thank you for the request, Abby!

Sylvester had been in a state that could only be described as depression for days. Lars was starting to get worried. Normally, after a case had been solved, Sylvester was particularly smug and proud, prancing around the apartment and pinning the most recent news clippings to the wall. Now, though, Sylvester hardly left his armchair. His stare, hazy and distant, seemed stuck in the past. In his paws, he clutched an old deerstalker hat.

That stupid fucking hat from the woman who broke his heart.

Lars had tried just about everything. They put on his favorite records, pointed out the most interesting cases with the most fascinating clues, and made his favorite meals. Nothing seemed to shake him from this depressed stupor, and Lars was getting restless. They felt like they were living with a corpse, or a lifelike wax statue of Detective Sylvester Cross. It was heartbreaking and worrying, especially since it felt like there was nothing they could do.

It wasn’t until Lars woke up one dreary London morning to hear the rustle of movement in the foyer. Ears perked straight up and tail wagging, Lars was excited to hear that it was their beloved partner up and out of bed. They ran to the main room to find him with a rather large carry-on bag, as if he expected to be travelling.

“Sylvie!” Lars exclaimed, rushing to wrap him in a tight hug. “It is good to see you up and mobile, my friend. Where are you going at such an early hour? What should I pack?”

“I’m going to find her,” he answered, his golden eyes wide and vulnerable. “There were so many things left unsaid, and if I could just talk to her…”

Immediately, they released their partner and their tail tucked between their legs on instinct, excitement turning to hurt. He was going to up and leave without so much as a farewell? Over Daisy Dumpster, who broke his heart and left him to attempt to mend the pieces on his own? Lars couldn’t understand why he couldn’t see why this was a bad idea, but they were nothing if not supportive.

“Let me collect my things, then,” they said with fake enthusiasm. “I only need fifteen minutes! I—”

“I’ve decided to go this one alone, dear,” he interjected softly, almost apologetically. “Don’t fret! I’ll be safe.”

Lars kept quiet for a long moment, merely staring at Sylvester like he’d grown a second head or just declared Fletcher Cottonbottom his closest friend in all the world. Sylvester merely went to throw on his coat, leaning heavily on his cane as he did. They wanted to be angry at Sylvester, but couldn’t muster the nerve. So, they settled on being angry at Daisy for stealing Sylvie away, even though they knew she didn’t want to be with him any more. Daisy, at least in this moment, could not be blamed. This had everything to do with Sylvester’s skewed perspective and aching heart.

“Why not just write her a letter?” Lars proposed, approaching Sylvester and the front door. “Less commitment that way, yes? And if she turns you away—”

“She will not! She… She can’t. I saw it in her eyes, Lars. She’s just as alone as I am.”

Lars suddenly found a reason to be angry at him.

“Alone? What about me? What does that make me, Sylvester? Nothing?”

Sylvester looked stricken, as if this was a factor he hadn’t considered. He was the type of man to consider all perspectives in his work, so this was a rare moment for them. Recovering, he said, “That’s not what I meant, dear, and you know it.”

“Does what we have mean anything to you?!” Lars shouted, surprising even themself with the intensity of that declaration. Sylvester flinched, but they were too hurt to care. “I give you all that I am, everything inch of my heart, and for what? For you to chase this American woman? For you to just leave me?”

Sylvester opened his mouth to speak, but only silence came. For the first time since Lars had known him, he was speechless. The fox was just staring with wide, sorrowful eyes, and they couldn’t bring themself to pity him, not when he was about to leave and take their heart with him.

“I will be whatever you need, you know that,” they spat the words which, in any other context or tone, would be romantic and sweet. “I can be anything for you. I want to be! But, Sylvester, I can’t be her. I can’t, I’m sorry. I stopped trying a long time ago. Just tell me how to compete with her! Tell me how… Tell me what makes you stay. Tell me what keeps the past in the past.”

Deep, tangible silence permeated the space between them. Sylvester had, at some point during their spiel, let the luggage in his paw fall limply to the floor. A glimmer of fondness entered his gaze as he simply said, “You love me.”

The statement chilled Lars to their core, despite the warmth in his eyes. The finality of those words, leaving no room for doubt, felt like Sylvester rubbing a discovery in their face. It felt humiliating, like they were just another clue in the detective’s romantic mystery. They had been so open, so honest, with Sylvester about what they wanted from the moment they knew they had feelings, which had been years ago. Though it was never explicitly stated, Lars wasn’t exactly hiding the fact from him.

“Ah, yes, stroke your ego,” Lars sneered, trying to swallow the growing lump in their throat. Crying wouldn’t help them here. “I ask for your help, I bare my heart to you, and that is all you can give me? Such obvious statements. How dare you? As you leave me for someone who doesn’t care about you. You leave and claim loneliness when you have someone willing to dote on your every whim right in front of you! What does she have that I don’t?!”

The tears came then, despite their angry paws that tried to bat them away. Now that the dam had burst, the tears came out with a low, pleading whine. All they could do was watch Sylvester’s silhouette through blurred vision as they sobbed, expecting the detective to leave them behind for Daisy, though they knew they deserved better.

“Oh, dear,” Sylvester murmured, reaching up to gently hold their paws away from their face. Lars let themself be guided, despite their best judgement. “I’m sorry.”

An apology was startling, to say the least. Lars could count on one paw the amount of apologies they’d heard come from the old detective’s lips in their time together. The phrase was not lent out lightly, and they could feel the gravity of the words in their chest, grounding them enough to let the tears slow.

“I was not as clear as I should have been,” he continued, his trimmed claws tracing light, gentle circles in their paws. “I meant the words as a revelation, one I should not have been so slow to perceive. All the signs were in front of me, as you said, and I was too… too focused, I suppose, on trying to get back to an old lover when I should have been focused on you.”

Lars sniffled, but said nothing. The frown on their lips had eased into a more neutral expression that was not quite a smile. They were too distraught, too emotionally charged, to process what exactly this meant for them. So, they asked.

Sylvester chuckled weakly, but answered, “To start, I’m staying. I don’t know what I was thinking, really. I was just so desperate to do something, anything, to get rid of this… this…”

Lars cleared their throat before they offered, “Emptiness? Void?”

Sylvester frowned. “Yes, precisely. That’s what I meant, but that’s still no excuse. Not really, anyway.”

“No, it’s not an excuse,” Lars mumbled, feeling suddenly exhausted. Between the energy spent being furious and the sudden bout of tears, they were emotionally drained. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand. I know you’ll always love her. She was your first love, and… that remains, no matter what. That’s fine. I don’t need to be your everything, I just need to be your something.”

Sylvester pondered that for a moment, trailing his paws up to Lars’ forearms before whispering, “My almost-everything, then. I think this battered heart can manage that.”

They couldn't help the small grin that grew on their lips as they said, "And my heart is yours, for as long as you'll have it."

"A very long time indeed, then."

[a-fanatic-fangirl-requests]

Really thirsting for the undertaker today... and almost no one has any smuts written.. are you comfortable with something like that? MAYBE IT CAN BE HIS AND THE ASSASSINS FIRST TIME TOGETHER!!

Here you are Anon! I hope it lives up to what you were expecting. I’m quite insecure with writing sex scenes and such. So…I hope it goes well!

Bath Time (Undertaker x Assassin!Reader)Warning(s): sexy stuff, NSFW (if you’re under 18 don’t read)Word Count: 2,534

A gentle knock on a door rang in the steaming bathroom. “My dear, are you done yet? I’d like to bathe as well.”

Your (E/C) wandered over to the door as you sank further into the claw foot bathtub. “I’m busy.” You replied. It was winter in England and it was bitterly cold. It was your plan to stay in the bathroom as long as possible. Sure, you were extra warm at the moment, but your body needed it after having done an assassination job that made you stay out in the elements for the better part of the day.

You heard a snort on the other side of the door. “‘Busy’ you say?” The Undertaker hummed, his eyes staring at the doorknob. “What can one possibly be doing in there for so long? Bathing is meant to clean oneself, not to sit in there for an hour.”

At that comment, you rolled your eyes. “I’m going to pull the gender card on you, Undertaker. Women like to relax when they pamper themselves. So, let me do that.” As if to emphasize your point, you let out a loud sigh, “Ah, so nice and warm!” You giggled a little and stretched out your arms.

“Hmm, is that so?” The Undertaker grinned before turning the knob of the bathroom and swinging it open. “It’d be a shame if it suddenly got colder in here, wouldn’t it?”

You yelped when the door opened, making you cover your (C/T) chest and pull up your (S/C) legs. “What are you doing!” You screamed, your eyes glaring into his amused ones.

“I’m letting the warm air out.” He stated, fanning a hand on his face. “Honestly, how are you even breathing and conscious? It’s so humid that it’s almost hard to think straight.”

“That’s the point, I don’t want to think. I want to relax.” You growled, attempting to sink further into the warm water. “Now out!” You ordered to which he only stepped closer, beginning to unbutton his long shirt.

“Hmm, no.” He said as he slipped off his shirt. “I want a bath, and you’re currently preventing me from doing that.” His skin had several scars, neat ones that traced lines over his body. However, that was not what made your face flush.

Your eyes followed his hands as they went to his trousers. They seemed to be moving deliberately slow, as if they were putting on a show.

A deep chuckle sounded in the room as his hands paused their movements. “Does my sweet assassin like what she sees?” He hummed, tilting his head to the side and put a hand on his hip. You couldn’t deny, it certainly was a sight. Pursing your lips, you stubbornly turned away.

“Nope, just a normal body.” You said, splashing some water on your face to distract yourself from ‘impure’ thoughts.

“You and I both know that’s not the case.” Was the reply as a rustle of clothes signaled that he had taken the trousers off. Your thoughts seemed to intensify as the Undertaker walked next to the bath, his shadow looming over your (B/T) figure. “It will help if you move forward. I’d like to sit behind you.”  You only nodded, scooching forward a bit so he could fit behind you.

You weren’t sure how to contain yourself as he slipped into the bath, a bit of water splashing out due to displacement. Pale arms slid around your abdomen and pulled you backwards to rest against his chest. “H-hey! Who said you could touch?” You turned your head to look at him, your brows downturned but your eyes warm and nervous. How was it that you didn’t bat an eye at killing a man, but the moment this particular one decided to tease you by stripping down to his bare self, well, apparently that was a different story.

“Well, you don’t seem too upset by it.” He grinned and pulled you to him tighter, his head nuzzling against yours. “See? Isn’t this better? We can both get clean at the same time.” As if to emphasize this, he took the bar of soap nearby and started running it over your arm. His hand kept reaching further up until he hit your shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m very thorough.” His voice got a bit deeper, almost sultry sounding as he muttered into your ear. His glowing eyes were following your where his hand was going as it reached your upper torso.

It made you stiffen a bit, but you let him continue to gently wash you across your collarbone and down your other arm. “I…can take it from here.” You breathed out, your legs squeezing together a bit but you still did not attempt to take the bar from his hands.

You could almost feel him grin at your reluctance for him to stop. There was no way you would admit it though. Sure, the both of you have…played here and there now that you let go of the bounty and had gotten comfortable with one another. But that was fully clothed. And you did not mind if this went a bit further.

You jerked a little as you felt the bar of soap graze one of your breasts, effectively snapping you out of your thoughts. “I did not mean to startle you.” The Undertaker said, his tone genuine as he retracted his hand to go to your back.

Shaking your head, you reached around and guided his hand back towards your chest. “It’s quite all right. I was just in thought.”

“Oh? What about?” He inquired as his hand resumed its gentle massage over your left, and then right breast.

“That, well, we’ve never been so bare in each other’s presence before.” You admitted, wondering what his take on it would be. “But…I’m oddly comfortable.”

That made the man smile behind you, his head coming down to gently kiss your damp (H/C) hair. “I know. Thank you for the privilege.” He hummed, kissing his way down towards your ear. “I am glad to hear you’re comfortable. Because, if you’re amenable to it, I would like to continue where our other…’play’ sessions left off.”

Your body began to warm at the thought of going further than you’ve done before. It was safe to say you were in a relationship at this point. Neither of you would care to admit it though, but great admiration and consideration flowed between you both. And the fact that he was wanting to make sure you were okay, that he’s asking if you’d want to continue, well, what more could you want in a man?

Smiling, you turned your head to look into his yellow and lime green hues. “Yes,” you began, gently pressing your lips against his, “I would like that very much.” It seemed as if his eyes began to sparkle at what was being suggested. Taking a deep breath, you turned yourself around to straddle his lap, your hands going to his shoulders. Tilting your head a bit, your hands began to run themselves along his shoulders and upper arms. “Huh.”

“What is it?” His eyes never left your face, wanting to capture every bit of you in his memory.

“I figured you had some muscle. But…you must be quite strong, aren’t you?” You grinned and looked back to meet his eyes. “Have you been holding back your strength?”

Your grin was matched with his own, although his hands found themselves on either side of your hips, pulling you closer. “Hmm, I suppose so.” He mused before pulling you flush against him, your (C/T) chest pressed tightly against his muscular torso. But, the hardness that poked it’s way in between your legs made you squirm in his hold a bit. “I ought to rectify that, shouldn’t I?”

Licking your lips, you nodded your head. “Most definitely.”

Your lips crashed against his, an almost desperate need in between you. Your arms were wrapped around his neck while one of his hands wandered in between your legs, and the other to one of your breasts. Oh how your body needed this, needed his touch, needed him. There was no way you would let him stop now.

His fingers danced underneath you, the water allowing for a wonderful fluidity to tease your delicate bud and the rest of your core. Your moans were easily swallowed by his own groans as you squirmed against him. His member having quickly welcomed the situation at hand. “(F/N)….” The Undertaker moaned out, dropping his head to kiss and nip its way down your neck to your shoulder.

Your hand went to his head, pulling at his hair which earned a groan from him. “Now now, play nice.” He smirked right before he bit the base of your neck. Just enough to leave a mark and be pleasurable, but not enough to hurt. It made you groan before tugging on his hair, your hips rolling against his hand.

“I’ll play nice as long as you do.” You scolded, but smiled nonetheless.

“Seems as though we’re at an impasse than.” He answered back as he slipped a digit inside of you, making your hips buck against him. “Mmm, that’s it,” he purred, quickly assessing you could handle another one, sliding in a second, “but you got to tell me what you want, when you want it.”

Your hands were clenched onto his shoulders, nails digging into his pale skin. You wanted to just beg and scream at him to lift you up and set you down on his member. “I-I….” You stuttered, your breath getting caught in your throat. As if to help you along, he slid in a third finger, languidly pumping in and out of you with the water’s aid.

“Use your voice, tell me what you want.” He purred, his head dipping to take one of your nipples in his mouth. His tongue repeatedly licking the underside while he sucked gently.

A small whimper slipped past your lips the moment his mouth wrapped around your nipple, making you squirm all the more under his three fingers. “Please, Undertaker, I…I need you in me.” Your finger raked through his hair. “You’re not getting a better answer than that.”

“Hmm, I suppose I shall take it. But we’ll work on your begging later, understood?” He purred, not letting you respond as his lips found their way back to your mouth. The Undertaker nipped at your lip as he slid his fingers out. It seemed both of you figured you were more than ready. His hands grasped your hips, letting you sit up a bit more as he teased you over his shaft.

Both of your gazes looked between you under the water, as if willing yourselves to somehow see what was about to happen. The Undertaker nudged your nose, getting your attention as you both looked at each other. No going back now. You lowered yourself slowly onto him, the sensation of him stretching you making a low moan emit from your mouth. `

“That’s it….” The silver-haired man groaned, His fingers digging into your sides as you both adjusted to one another. “How are you so perfect?” He moaned next, his scarred eyes squeezed shut while the other one was locked onto you.

You could only laugh at that one. “I’m far from it.” Your toes curled as you slid back up only to come back down, setting a slow and even pace. “And you of all people, after living here for so long, should know this.”

The Undertaker’s brow furrowed at your own comment towards yourself. “No, you are. If you don’t believe it, I’ll make you.” He hummed, his eyes glinting with mischief before lifting you up in the water and pulling you back down fast. His mouth found your neck again, sucking and nipping at every inch of exposed flesh he could. His hips started to meet your hips in turn—when he pulled you down, he was lifting them back up.

To say you were overstimulated would have been an understatement. You definitely felt how he thought of you. A hand had snaked its way behind his back, nails digging into his flesh to anchor yourself onto something, onto him. “Holy…I-I get it! Please,” you whimpered, your head starting to get dizzy from the pleasure that kept getting thrusted in and out of you.

The man smirked and bit down on your neck, leaving a satisfying mark there. “Hmm, I still don’t think you do.” He purred, pulling back to kiss up your bruised neck. “Now, let’s hear that perfect scream of yours….”

Perfect scream? What was he talking about? You were about to ask when his hand found its way back in between your legs, teasing and rubbing against your sensitive bud. Your eyes immediately clenched shut, the knot that had been quickly developing in your stomach started to pull and ache, needing release. “I…I need….” You’ve never felt this before with any partner, no one had cared enough to pay this much attention to you. Yet, here you both were, in the throws of ecstasy, with no plans of stopping till you got there.

“What do you want?” He growled, his phosphorescent eyes meeting yours, peppering sloppy kisses on your lips.

Your voice became lost in your throat as his speed began to pick up, the thrusts seeming to blur together to give wave after wave of pleasure. “T-together.” You stuttered out, not able to muster up anything else. It was too much. You needed to let go. And on the next thrust you did just that. Your muscles spasmed around him, making the Undertaker grunted and slammed you back down once more, coming with you.

Dotted blackness covered your vision for several moments, the faint sound of water sloshing around and heavy pants filled your ears. Blinking a few times, your vision focused back on the man in front of you who was looking at you like the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen.

A bit embarrassed by the intense stare, you slowly eased yourself off of him and turned back around, resuming your position from the beginning of your bath. “That was…quite unexpected.” You said after a moment, turning your head to glance up at him.

The Undertaker chuckled and leaned down to press a delicate kiss to your lips. “It was, but it was quite fun, was it not?” He hummed, his light and cheerful tone slipping through as he nuzzled his nose against your cheek.

“It was, but,” your hand found his, lifting it out of the water to reveal his black nails, “I can’t help but notice you cut them.” Your eyes shifted back to look at him to find he was looking away.

“Would you look at that? What are the chances I would have chosen today of all days to do that?” He laughed, trying to play it off as coincidence.

Rolling your eyes, you just shook your head and leaned back, your other hand trailing light patterns over your lower abdomen. “Indeed, what are the chances….” You hummed before reaching for the soap again. “Now, let’s get cleaned up.”

[hallospaceboyy]

Can I request Missy and the reader being alone in the vault together and Missy takes the opportunity to fuck the reader on her piano

Unchained Melody

AN: Loved writing this. Again, I couldn't resist adding a lil tooth rotting fluff at the end lol. I'm sure most of you know the title is from the song of the same name by the Righteous Brothers. One of my absolute faves.

Warning for smut, mummy kink and strong language! Gif not mine x

You lay your head on Missy's shoulder, sat beside her on the piano stool, listening to her play a slow melodious tune. You've never heard it before, but it's beautiful, and you watch her fingers work the keys with fascination and fervour. You’ve been visiting her in the vault almost every day, extremely grateful that the Doctor is letting you do so. You enjoy her company, completely infatuated with the Time Lady, and you'd manage to play on the Doctor's compassion to allow you to spend time with her.

You shift a little in your seat as your eyes remain fixed on her long, slender fingers, suddenly finding them entirely distracting. You don’t want to break Missy's concentration, enjoy when she plays for you, but you're feeling mischievous, and bring out a single finger and press a random key, and then another.

“Stop it.” Missy huffs, batting your hand away, and you smirk, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

She continues to play, so you do it again, pressing your entire hand down on the keys, interrupting her tune. She stops abruptly, gripping your wrist firmly and turning in her seat to face you, her lips inches from yours.

“Why are you being irritating, poppet?” She asks, her voice low, eyebrows raised.

You wriggle your wrist from her grasp, surprised when she lets you, and you gently take her hand in yours, bring her finger to your lips, and suck on it slowly. Your eyes remain gazing into hers, batting your eyelashes innocently when you see her inhale a shuddering breath.

“Ah, I see. Naughty kitten.” She smirks, biting her lip, and her movements are so sudden that you startle. She pulls her hand away from you, grips your waist and hoists you to sit on the piano, the instrument clanging loudly beneath you as your ass hits the keys. She stands between your legs, body pressed against yours, and you whine, wrapping your legs around her.

You lean forward and press a soft kiss to her neck, lick at the shell of her ear, and her grip on your waist tightens.

“Fuck me, Missy...” You whisper, and she growls, roughly pushing your skirt up your thighs, and hooking her fingers into the waistband of your black thong. She tugs it down your thighs, scraping her nails along sensitive skin as she goes. You squirm, watching her.

“Is that all you could think of while I was playing you my lovely song? My fingers inside your cunt?”

You whimper as she licks up your neck from pulse point to ear, and then bites at your ear lobe, tugging on it.

“Answer me.”

“Yes M-Missy. Your fingers are extremely distracting.” She chuckles at that, bites hard on your neck and sucks, sure to leave a dark bruise there. You love when she marks you, so possessive, hot and passionate whenever she touches you. You'd gladly let her mark you from head to toe, proudly be branded by your Mistress.

She rakes her nails back up your thighs, and you moan when you look down and see the long red scratches she is leaving there, part your legs further. She presses a bruising kiss to your lips as her fingers find your core, parting your folds and exploring the wetness there.

“Mm, your cunt is positively drenched. All for me.” She murmurs against your mouth, and you suck at her bottom lip, pulling a low moan from her. She rubs your clit in firm, deliberate circles, and pleasure courses through you, coils in your lower abdomen, and you shift, and random notes from the piano fill the room, chaotic and loud.

“Missy!” You cry out when she rests three fingers at your entrance, and holds them there teasingly. You throw your head back, and Missy brings her other hand to fist into your hair, tugging you forward roughly to look at her. You open your eyes, look into her blown pupils from beneath heavy lids.

“Beg for mummy.” She grins, and you moan at the words, a fluttering of arousal causing your cunt to contract around nothing.

“P-Please. Please... mummy. I need you to fuck me. Hard.” Your words are barely audible, but Missy is so close that she hears, and she laughs, roughly thrusts her three fingers into you and you buck and groan, the noises of the piano falling on deaf ears, for you can think of nothing but her. Her sweet scent in your nostrils, her warm body pressed to yours, her fingers blissfully deep in your cunt.

She pulls her hand back, almost removing her fingers from you entirely, and you whimper in protest, but she thrusts them back in, just as hard, just as deep, curling them within you and the noise that you release is guttural, animalistic, and you can’t help screwing your eyes shut. You claw at Missy's clothed shoulders with trembling hands, and as she continues her movements, brutally rough, and getting faster by the second, you force your eyes open to look at her. You know she loves you to look her in the eyes as she fucks you, drives her wild, and her eyes are lasciviously dark as she gazes into yours, a smirk playing on her thin lips.

You roll your hips against her hand, and her palm grinds at your clit with every thrust, and there are black spots dancing behind your eyes, as hot flashes of pleasure course through your every limb. You can feel yourself tightening around Missy's digits, and you're trying so hard to keep your eyes fixed on hers.

“Come for mummy, baby.” She pecks a tender kiss to your lips, such a contrast to the brutal pace of her hand, and you tip over the edge, a bruising grip on Missy's shoulders as you come hard, spasming around her fingers, bucking and grinding your hips erratically.

“Fuck Fuck Missy Yes!” You know if the Doctor is anywhere near by that he'll hear you, but you’re beyond caring, moaning loudly, and clinging to your Mistress. Her movements stop when you slump against her, panting heavily, nose buried in the crook of her neck. You whimper as she pushes her fingers into you a final time, and then gently pulls them from you. You exhale shakily, wrapping your quivering legs around her waist and pulling her flush against you. She wraps her arms around you and holds you tight, stroking your back. You're vaguely aware of her arm moving, the sound of her sucking her fingers clean, her barely audible hum, but you’re so far gone, mind foggy and sex addled that it barely registers.

When you finally sit up, looking into her ice blue eyes, there's a tenderness there that surely would make your knees buckle if you weren’t already sitting. A soft smile tugs at her lips, and she cups your cheeks and strokes them gently with the pads of her thumbs. This woman is chaotic, addicted to destruction, as some natural disaster that destroys everything in her wake, but slowly, she is changing – her emotions are becoming more readable, she is gentle, she asks you questions and genuinely wants to know the answers, actually shows an interest in you. You recall the first time you saw her cry, tears pooling in her eyes, the shaking of her hands, and your heart swells with adoration for her. She looks almost as if she may cry now, her eyes misty as they flit over your face, and you close the distance and kiss her softly, only mildly surprised when she exhales a soft whimper against your lips. Missy is not accustomed to soft, genuine affection foreign to her, and even less used to letting herself succumb to it, and it still barrels her over, hits her like a freight train each time you gaze at her lovingly, kiss her with the outpouring of love you feel for her every second of every day.

When she pulls away, there are tears in her eyes, but she doesn’t attempt to hide them, allows you to wipe them away as they track down her cheeks, her eyes fluttering closed.

“I love you, Missy.” It's the first time you’ve said it aloud, and your heart suddenly contracts with fear, panic that you maybe shouldn't have done so now. “Y-You don’t have to-"

Missy cuts you off with a salty peck to your lips, and she is smiling, her eyes shining when she opens her eyes.

“Don’t be foolish. I love you too, sweet girl.”

[bensakindofmagic]

Chapter Twenty One

Warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of smut, and possible heartbreak content here folks (i honest to god nearly cried writing this — should not have done this to myself while pms-ing. i thought i would find it really easy to write but i was actually so sad i really struggled)

w/c: 2.8k+

Chapter Twenty One

“Wait, so she’s moving to the States?” Joe bleated through the phone. 

“Yeah man, for three years.” 

“Are you breaking up?” 

Ben groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I think so.” 

“You think so? What the fuck does that mean?” 

“We haven’t really talked about it. She only found out a couple of days ago and she’s been so busy getting ready to go, you know. She’s been sorting her visa, looking at apartments out there, doing all the research and everything. They want her there in less than three weeks. 

“I thought the shoot was a month away?” 

“Yeah, but they want her there early to get settled first, and meet everyone.”

“Christ,” sighed Joe sympathetically. “I suppose she’s gotta pack as well.” 

“Well she only moved in here a couple of months ago, so it’s not too bad. It’s not like she’s got to figure out what to do with all her furniture ‘cause she already did that.”

“Right. Handy,” Joe deadpanned. “And how do you feel about all this?”

“Like shit. Like actual human faeces. But it’s her life, Joe.”

It felt good for Ben to talk things out with someone. More than anything he wanted to talk to you about where this whole thing left your relationship, but you were stressed enough with the move that you barely had a second together. Even when you did, you were always too busy stressing about something or another, some item on your to-do list that took you one step further away from him, to pay him too much attention. It made his heart ache, to see you readying yourself to leave him, but the part that really killed him was the fact that it didn’t seem to upset you.

The days were lonely and seemed to drag, but before Ben knew it you were due to leave in a matter of days. You were curled up on the sofa together, enjoying the way the dying summer sun draped the room in gold. Ben was strumming absentmindedly at his guitar while you rested your legs across his lap, Frankie curled up beside you, ticking off the tasks on your to-do list. Finally satisfied that you had done all you needed before you left, you closed your eyes and hummed contentedly, listening to the soft tune Ben played. It was a rare moment of calm and warmth in what had been an otherwise chaotic and stressful couple of weeks. You had barely allowed yourself to stop because you knew the second that you did you would crumble. The thought of leaving Ben was too much to bear, and you knew if you let yourself imagine your life without him you would unpack everything and stay exactly where you were — with him. So instead, you did absolutely every possible task to keep yourself busy. But finally you stopped, and enjoyed a moment of stillness. You felt the waves of music drifting over from Ben, and in them all the love and light in he world. You watched him, and drank him in, determined to remember every detail; the crease between his eyes as he concentrated, the way the light caught the waves in his hair, the way he licked his lip after every line. You imprinted that perfect image into your mind for safe keeping, knowing how much you would need it once you were more than 5,000 miles away from him. You quickly batted away the sense of loss that came creeping in, but somehow Ben read your mind and sighed, setting his guitar down and letting his limbs fall heavily. 

“Can we talk, Y/N?” 

You stifled a groan, “Do we have to?” 

“We’ve barely spoken for weeks.” You saw the hurt he was trying to hide. 

“I know, I’m sorry love. I’ve just been really busy...” It wasn’t necessarily a lie.

He turned to look at you for the first time, and the look in his eyes made you shatter. “I need to know what’s happening. Are we staying together?” 

“I don’t want to stop you from being happy.” 

“Then stay.” 

You rolled your eyes but he continued, “I know what you’re saying but I don’t want to be with anyone else. I love you.” 

Your heart sank to your stomach: that was exactly what you didn’t want him to say. It wasn’t that you felt differently — he was the love of your life — but you couldn’t bear to not be with him properly for three years. You had struggled enough for three months in Scotland, where you could hop on a plane and be in his arms within a few hours. LA was different. You would need at least a week to make the trip worth it, and you’d be so busy who knew when you’d get a whole week off. Besides, it wasn’t like you had the money to be flying back and forth all the time. It could be a year before you saw him again. No, that would be too hard. You would be tearing yourself apart, the agony was too much to even contemplate. It had to be a clean break. You had to move on completely. If it was meant to be, he would be waiting for you when you came back.

“I know. I love you too, but I can’t split myself in half.” 

“You won’t even try long distance? You’re going to do to me exactly what your ex did to you?”

Your jaw clenched, “Don’t compare me to Matteo. This is different Ben, we tried long distance and it was awful.”

He mumbled, “Not as awful as breaking up.” 

You removed your legs from his lap and sat beside him, “I don’t think that’s true. This way we can both move on. We can have our own lives for the next three years, instead of living half a life, waiting for someone on another continent.” 

His eyes started to sparkle with tears. “I would wait for you.” 

“I know you would, Benny, but three years is a long time. I can’t do that to you. Or myself.” 

“So this is it? We have two more days of you being my girlfriend?”

You nodded, fighting back tears. The thought of not being his anymore stung like a bullet to the heart.

He shuffled closer to you, cupping your jaw, “Then I guess I should make the most of you, while you’re still mine.”

Your voice was weak and feather-light as you whispered, “I’ll always be yours.”

He kissed your forehead softly, “No you won’t.” 

Tears finally tell and you collapsed into his arms. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he hushed, stroking your hair. 

You sniffed, trying your best to pull yourself together, and looked at Ben. You wiped the wetness from his cheeks, and kissed him as fiercely as you knew how, letting him pull your body closer. You were breathless when you pulled away. “Take me to bed.” 

There was no urgency in the way you made love that night. There was no clawing at each other, no chests heaving and moans ripping through throats. It was slow and deliberate, like you both wanted it to last forever. His mouth on yours was warm and possessive, but the way he locked eyes with you was vulnerable in a way you had never seen before. He stripped himself bare before you. Your hands roamed every inch of skin you could find, tracing each ridge and wrinkle, committing every touch to memory. And when he thrust into you, every movement in slow-motion, you shuddered, knowing you might never feel that whole again. Ben’s heavy, ragged breathing was a symphony in your ear, his lips on your neck like liquid gold. Even with him inside you, you didn’t feel close enough and clearly he felt the same because he kept wrapping him arms around your waist, tight enough to make you forget that the thing you’d miss most was the weight of that embrace. When you reached your climax it was poetic; you clasped him to your body, drinking in the warmth of his skin on yours. You buried your hands in his hair and your face in his neck, desperate not to let go, to soak up every ounce of him. 

You understood, in a way you never had before, why they called it ‘making love’.

You lay tangled in each other all night. You didn’t speak much, just lay with your head on his chest while he played with your hair, and listened to his breathing, his heartbeat. That steady thud thud thud of life coursing through his veins. It was a cluster of muscle and tissue and blood but it was yours. His heart belonged to you, at least for a little while longer.

You stayed in bed all of the next morning, bathing in the sunlight streaming in through the window, and kissed and cuddled and chatted. Eventually you got dressed and headed out into the city. You bought a picnic lunch and ate it on the bank of the river. Frankie chased the ducks and begged for food, and Ben humoured her, throwing bits of food for her to find. You smiled wide and often. You both lay on the grass, resting your head on his stomach, and watched shapes form and dissipate in the clouds. You sang and skipped and kissed. Usually you hated those obnoxious couples who were all over each other in public, but that day you couldn’t care less because the next day you would leave with a suitcase and a plane ticket and you wouldn’t be together again for three years. So you kissed your boyfriend often and ferociously, and traced your fingers over the back of his neck, and stroked his hair and held his hand. 

The evening was quiet, subdued. Your suitcase loomed threateningly by the front door.

“What time’s your taxi tomorrow?”

“8.30am, not too early.”

“You sure you don’t want me to take you to the airport?”

“No that’s okay.” You didn’t want to say your goodbyes in public.  

He nodded, silent, and you stroked his cheek. You didn’t want to cry, god knows you’d have plenty of time for that once you’d left, but you couldn’t stop a tear from gliding down your face. He wiped it away with his thumb, replacing it with his lips. A gentle smile pulled at your mouth; he always knew exactly how to make you feel better. You supposed that would make the next few weeks all the harder — the one person who could mend your heart was the one person who had caused it to break in the first place.

Neither of you slept much. You could tell from his breathing he was trying not to cry. In the small hours he whispered your name, a question heavy with anxiety and fear. 

“I’m still here Benny,” you purred, and held onto him a little tighter. Silently, he cried. 

You were all too aware of the irony of the rising sun being the marker of the end of you time with Ben, the end of your life as you knew if. You were off to start a new life in a new country, alone. You stretched the lethargy from your limbs and tried to roll out of bed, but two strong arms locked you in place. 

“Not yet,” came Ben’s voice, hushed and raw.

“I have to catch my flight.”

“Not yet.” 

Ben squeezed a little tighter, holding you by the waist. You let go of the tension in your shoulders and sighed into him. He played with locks of your hair and nuzzled his nose in your head. If there was a heaven then lying there with Ben was what it felt like. But when your alarm finally went off Ben didn’t hold you back. He watched as you tied your hair up and headed towards the bathroom. 

When you came back out he had pulled on some trackies and his old hoodie. He looked so soft, so like the man you had fallen for all those month ago. 

“Shall I make you some breakfast?” 

“No that’s okay,” you murmured, “I’m not hungry.” 

He held your arm, “You should eat.” 

“I’ll grab something at the airport.” 

You felt, more than saw his shoulders droop. You could barely bring yourself to look at him. Suddenly your decision felt like a terrible betrayal. What were you doing, galavanting off to America? You should be with Ben in your home, building your life together. 

“How long before the taxi arrives?” he asked. He knew exactly how long. 

“Ten minutes.” 

He muttered, “Right,” and stared at his feet, hands thrust deep into his pockets. 

You had to leave. You had to go before you changed your mind. You made a commitment, signed a contract, but the look on Ben’s face brought you so close to calling up the studio to say you couldn’t do it. You had to get out before he dragged you back in. 

“I guess I should go down, he might be early. I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

He saw right through you, but he didn’t call you out. He understood you better than you knew.

“Can I help you take your suitcase down?” 

“I’ll take the lift.” 

He nodded, and swallowed hard. I guess this is it then.

You went over to Frankie where she still lay in her bed, dozing. She lifted her head as you approached and you stroked her behind her ear. She nuzzled her head into your hand. 

“Bye, girlie. You be good, okay? Look after your dad for me.”

You kissed her nose and stood, heading towards Ben. The hardest good bye was yet to come.

You’d ever seen his eyes look so vibrant. They seemed to shine. You suddenly felt dizzy, and sucked in a breath to steady yourself. Tears started to prick your eyes but you forced them back, clenching your fists hard enough to turn your knuckles white. 

“God, you’re really leaving, aren’t you?” Ben breathed. 

You exhaled sharply, “Didn’t you believe me?”

“I don’t know, I guess not. I didn’t feel it in my bones.”

“And now you do?”

“Yeah… now I do."

For a lifetime you were both absolutely still. You wanted to turn tail and leave, closing the door behind you. You wanted to run into his arms and never let go. You felt like your world was falling apart and you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. 

Ben took a few tentative steps towards you, assuming the strength you didn’t have. “I’m gonna miss you.”

You couldn’t get the words out to tell him you’d miss him too; you let your tears speak for themselves. He took your hand, finally letting the tension in your fingers dissipate and he traced his fingertips along your palm. He fought the urge to tell you that he had wanted one day to put a ring on your finger. That wouldn’t help you leave. 

You choked out, “I love you,” and threw your arms around his neck. He squeezed you tight, holding all the pieces of you together. 

“I love you, too. Always.” 

He tucked your hair behind your ear and smiled, the kind of sad smile that breaks your heart more than it warms it. 

“I can’t leave you.” 

“Yes you can,” he intoned, wiping away your tears, “and you will.” 

“Don’t you want me to stay?”

A slight chuckled bubbled up through him, “Of course I do, with all my heart. But more than that I want you to thrive. You’re gonna go to LA and take everyone by storm, I know it.” 

You didn’t appreciate while you were sobbing, trying desperately to compose yourself, wishing with all your heart that you and Ben could stay together, the sacrifice that Ben made for you in that moment. He bundled all his strength up in a ball and put it in your hands. He gave you the push to do what you needed to, even though it broke his heart. He spent days afterwards thinking that he could have convinced you to stay, and you would still be with him. The thought made him sick, but he knew he had done the right thing.

Still, watching you walk away was agony of the acutest kind. You kissed his cheek, whispering again that you loved him, and picked up your bags. When you got to the door you hesitated, and pulled your keys out of your pocket. With delicate motions you laid them in the bowl beside Ben’s and turned to look at him one more time. You bit your lip to stop the sob that threatened to rip through you at the sight of him. It killed you to know that it was your fault. But you had to put that aside. You had to leave. 

“Goodbye Benny,” you whispered and crossed the threshold, closing the door behind you. 

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[wordynerdygurl]

Costumes & Kittens

Summary: You convince Loki to dress up for a Halloween party and then enjoy a private after party.

Loki x Reader

Warning: SMUT, Funny, Loving Loki

"Are you really going to put on a costume?" Sarcasm dripped from every syllable Loki uttered over the idea.

"Heck yes! And you are too! Right?... Right?" But the look on Loki's handsome face explained exactly what he thought of the idea. Begging him you continued, "Oh, come on! It's so fun!! You get to be someone... or something else for a night."

Waiting for the walk signals to change, Loki looked up and down the street but not at you while saying, "I understand the custom. The appeal of it... but isn't this just child's play? Nonsense?"

You shrugged. "So what if it is? What's so wrong with letting your inner child out to play?"

"My inner child is a miniature frost giant with daddy issues and a desire to conquer... I don't think that's a costume one buys at Target, dearest."

You laughed, he wasn't wrong, really. "No, I guess not... but maybe you're looking at this all wrong. Maybe the question is, 'If Loki Odinson could be anything, what would he be?' Ya know what I mean?"

Shrugging Loki replied, "Anything? I'd be King of Asgard. Or the Universe."

"Be serious for a minute?" It's a tiny bit exasperating trying to explain these kind of things to Loki.

"Serious about a children's fancy dress party?" His eyebrows lifted archly.

"No. Serious about the question. What does Loki want to be when he grows up?" Punching his strong arm playfully, you drive the point home by batting your long lashes at The God of Mischief. He pulls you into a one armed embrace and kisses you sweetly.

"You know I'm over a thousand years old, right? I'm technically over grown at this point." Loki reminds you as he pulls open the door to your favorite restaurant.

"Funny, you don't look a day over 800." Loki nods, chuckling at your quick wittedness. You lean against him, waiting for the hostess to acknowledge your famished existence.

"So, you're going to dress as what, exactly?" Curiosity had Loki caught in its web. Reaching up on tiptoes you kiss his cheek and reply, "That, my dear, is a surprise, unless you want to do a couples costume? Like Doc and Marty... or Westley and Buttercup?" Loki scrunched his nose up.

"Ok. Too soon... so, what about you? Any ideas of what you'd like to be?" The pair of you are flirting like a teenagers as the restaurant hostess finally smiled at you. Leaning into your neck Loki nips your ear gently then husks, "The man who makes your quim quiver."

"How many?" The hostess, slightly put out by your public display, is looking at you with impatient eyes. Your mouth has gone dry with lust so Loki answers, "Just two, dear."

---

"This party is amazing!" You shout to Wanda over the pulsing music. She looked so cute as a rainbow unicorn, her golden horn bobbing in time with the 'Monster Mash'.

"You look so good! Oh my goodness, how funny!" Doubling over, Wanda was in tears at your costume, and you had to admit it was pretty hilarious. "Nat! Come here!"

"Noooo! This is great!! Loki's gonna lose it!" Natasha clutched her flapper's boa closer as she giggled.

"Thank you guys! I worked really hard on it!" You were incredibly proud of your look tonight. Black boots laced over your calves to your knees. The armour you'd pieced together from leather scraps and duct tape hugged your torso in green and gold flaring into a matching skirt. The best part was the flowing emerald cape that had started life as a satin sheet but now followed behind you like a green shadow.

Recreating Loki's horned crown had taken weeks of meticulous papier mache, sand paper and gold spray paint but damn, you felt like Asgardian royalty. Did Loki have this sense of power all the time? You shivered a little at the thrill of it.

Knocking back a long swig of your beer, laughing at Sam and Bucky dressed in those tuxedos from Dumb and Dumber, you realized this party was in full swing. Maybe that's why you were taken by surprise when a low, familiar voice crooned in your ear, "My queen."

Spinning on your heeled boots, you found Loki at your side, hands behind his back, smirk firmly in place. His eyes swept over you, taking in the details of your costume with a raised eyebrow, causing blue flames of excitement to curl low in your belly. You felt a creeping blush rise over you and channelling your inner God of Mischief you defiantly raised your chin Loki's direction.

"Yes... kitten?" Now, Loki called you kitten almost everyday, and it never failed to make you purr. Tonight, you used the endearment because the Trickster was dressed in a jet black three piece suit, black shirt and tie, with two tiny ebony cat ears on his head. His cheshire grin didn't hurt his ensemble at all.

"You look... well, almost as good as I do in that suit." His tone is light but you read a touch of approval in the mix. With a hand over his heart, Loki adds, "I'm honored that you went to all this trouble, little one."

Feeling emboldened by the role you're dressed for, you look down your nose at Loki, just like you'd seen him do countless times before. "Trouble? Not at all. This was something I had lying around. I thought these mortals would appreciate seeing a goddess in all her splendor."

Laughing, Loki replies, "Well you are certainly fearsome, my lady. And may I say, you have excellent taste."

You laugh too, "You may! Come on, let's get you a drink!" Grabbing Loki's hand in yours you pull him towards the bar. The crowd thins a bit as you get further from the music so it's easier to chat. Once you each have a cold beer, you perch on the countertop while Loki leans against the kitchen counter, again looking you over.

"I would be a beautiful woman." He stated wistfully. You snort, almost spitting up your suds. "I don't know about that, but you're a pretty sexy cat, Loki." You reached out and flicked one of the furry ears.

After a sip from his bottle Loki counters, "Of course I am." Curling his free hand into a claw, he does his best feline impression, "Meow!"

With a wide smile you casually say, "You dressed up. I wasn't sure you would."

"You said I could be anyone or anything." Loki's lip lifted into a knowing half smile. Nodding, you concede, "I did." Clinking the necks of your beer bottles together you flash Loki a slow smile. You draw your bottom lip between your teeth as you look at your black kitty cat, practically purring yourself. Loki watched your mouth move, his own lips parting slightly, as he leaned towards you.

You closed your eyes in anticipation of Loki's lip lock when you heard, "Reindeer Games! That is not an acceptable costume!! You can't just wear your battle gear..."

Tony stopped short when he saw your head snap around, golden horned crown bobbing slightly with your movement. Loki peeked at the intruder over your gossamer green shoulder. "Oh. My mistake. Great outfits. Party on." And with that Iron Man, dressed in a perfect replica of Elton John's glitter baseball uniform, swiped a bottle of vodka, and swaggered towards the noise.

"Wanna dance?" You're hopeful that he'll say yes because Loki is great on the dance floor, and he knows it. Grabbing you each a fresh beer, Loki nods, "Yes, my liege." And you laugh again at his deference to your implied title. "Then let's go!" Impatiently you stride back to the waiting crowd of friends singing and partying the night away.

The night passes in a blur of dancing, drinks and laughter. Everyone gets a kick out of you as Loki. You play up the role, ordering people to kneel like he would usually do, cracking sarcastic comments and snide remarks with regularity. You're overconfident and you're high on the bossy bitch this get up brings out in you.

"Kitten, grab me another, will you?" Rubbing under his chin like you'd do to a real little black kitty cat, you stroke one of Loki's velvet ears sweetly before brushing a kiss over his lips. He moans softly at your gentle petting and murmurs, "I think this kitten is ready to call it a night, darling."

You catch his eye and see what he's really saying. It's bedtime, not lights out, something that causes a blush to rise over you. Swaying away from Loki you tease, "You got it, cool cat."

Goodbyes take forever because all of you are well over the tipsy line. Wanda squeezes you for five minutes, unwilling to part from you, trying to tell you a story that she swears is hilarious but you just can't seem to follow. Tony tries to steal your crown but you wrestle it away just in time, blocking Steve from snatching it back again. You wave at Natasha but she's got Bucky pinned under her on the sofa, his orange top hat perched on her head and his hands on her ass.

Loki was waiting for you at the elevator, doors open. "How did you leave everybody?"

"Natasha and Bucky are totally hooking up tonight!" It spilled out of you with a drunken laugh as you stepped inside the mirrored moving cube. Pushing the down button with a skeptical smile Loki asked, "Really? Any other odd couples come out your costume convention?"

Suddenly serious, you step into Loki's space saying, "I'm going home with a black cat. That's fairly odd, since, ya know... I'm allergic to cats."

"I promise you, this tom cat is hypoallergenic. No mangy fur... no troublesome litter box." Boxing Loki against the reflective wall, your eyes lock on his ice blue ones, "And is he well behaved? I don't want a naughty kitty in my bed."

Swallowing thickly, Loki husked, "Maybe just a little." You pushed your body into his, collapsing the space between you, kissing along his throat. Loki lifted his chin with a hungry moan as you nipped his Adam's apple, leaving your mark on his pale skin. Grazing your lips over his strong jaw you make sure to pay extra attention to that sensitive spot just under his ear, where tendon and muscle meet.

"Good kitty." Your whispered praise makes Loki blush faintly, his trousers tighter now, as his body responds to your devious teasing. Pushing away from him when the elevator dings, you clasp his hand and drag an excited Loki into the night air.

With your heavy boots and swirling cape it seems like your stride has widened. There's a power in you that dressing like The Trickster has released and it made you feel other wordly. If you were behaving like your god, cocksure and dominate, then Loki was a mewling furball right now, content to be led wherever you went. You lace your hand to Loki's and start steering you both through the neighborhood, back to your home.

It takes a little bit longer than normal as the streets are full of Halloween party people enjoying the chance to be different for a night. You have your keys ready so it takes no time to slip it into your lock. As you bend over, ready to turn the knob, you feel Loki at your back. His strong hands roam over your hips tugging you into his hard, honed body.

"Uh uh little kitten. It's not time to play just yet." You admonish him while forcing him to release you. "Darling!" It was a whine. You'd never heard Loki beg before and the sound of it made your core clench, unchecked excitement coursing through you. Stepping inside, finally, you didn't pause for a drink or a trip to the ladies room. No, you stomped right into your bedroom, Loki in tow.

There's a moment right before snowflakes start their fall when all the world waits in quiet silence for the flurry to begin. A beat, maybe two, where the balance of nature breathes before being tipped one way or another.

This night, when you faced Loki across your soft carpeted floor, dressed in a replica of his armor, you felt that peaceful pause. Loki stood beside your closed door, eyes snapping with unreleased heat, looking sweet as homemade sin, in that black double breasted suit with pointed pussy cat ears and a hungry grin.

To him you looked like a vision come to life. Where Loki was long and angled hidden in that leather and steel, you were curvy and soft. The corseted costume accentuating your bust, those tall boots lengthening your legs, even the helmet looked sexy and dangerous framing your sweet face.

"Loki..." Reaching out a hand to him, you felt the world tip into frenzy as the flurry started.

It took him two steps to reach you. One hand wrapped around your waist, tucking you into Loki's side, the other curled around your neck, supporting it, as your mouths met. Feasting on your lips like a starving man, Loki deepened the kiss when he buried his hand in your hair and pulled your head back firmly. You felt his other hand brush over your ass cheek before Loki squeezed down hard.

Moaning, "Loki... Loki..." you were being driven out of your mind by his talented tongue. His hand followed the hem of your skirt and you moaned when you felt Loki's fingers slide under the elastic leg of your panties.

Placing a flat palm against Loki's chest, you push away from his embrace. He lunges for you once more but you wiggle free of his grasp, cheeks enflamed and breathing hard. You stop to straighten your helmet before asking, "Little kitten... your goddess has a question for you. Why is no one licking my thighs?"

Loki growls, sounding like an actual rabid animal, as he stalks over to where you're standing by the bed. He shoves you down to the mattress, following you into the soft surface, and kisses you deeply again.

"Be gentle, little kitten..." You teasingly remind the dark prince who is laying between your parted knees. Looking down at you like a cornered mouse, your black cat promises, "You're going to find out that kitties have claws, lovey."

Without pausing, Loki's palms push roughly over your long leather boots. You sigh when his rough skin connects with the smooth satin of your inner thighs. He follows the path blazed by his hands with his moving mouth. A lick, teeth tasting, thumbs kneading, trailing closer to your apex, warm and wet and waiting. Loki switches sides, searing his route to your molten core into your memory.

Reaching for him, you run your hands through his long dark locks, fingers connecting with those little furry triangle ears. You groan when Loki yanks down your underpants, pulling them free over your footwear. Echoing your need, Loki chuckles, "Look at this... my queen, wet and writhing before me. Being me for a night did this?"

Eager to get Loki back to business you counter, "Yes... it feels... amazing."

Rich laughter bounces around your bedroom as Loki says, "It certainly does! Listen, I really like this suit, so give me a moment, won't you darling?"

Sitting up on your elbows, cape bunched beneath you, legs open obscenely you stare at Loki, already loosening his tie. "Um... your queen is NOT ok with taking a break. Get over here and finish what you started!"

One arm free from his dark coat, Loki freezes. "To do that I need to be unencumbered by these clothes, my lady."

Huffy now, you grumble something about rotten timing and shimmy your skirt off without leaving the bed. Loki's shirt buttons are abandoned as he watches you, naked below the waist, corset and cape still shrouding you, helmet on but askew. It's ridiculous and righteously sexy.

"I'm just gonna do it myself. Don't worry Loki, I've got it." You move your hand down your soft tummy, closer to your throbbing clit, anticipating the firmness of your arousal.

"Wait! That's not fair!" He has one leg out of his trousers, hopping around, trying to get them off so he can get back to getting you off.

"Fair schmair, kitty cat." Your fingers spread your lower lips, sweetly dipping into your wetness, the friction making you shiver. Loki, naked except for those ears, locked a tight hand over your wrist. "Allow me."

You try to shrug him off but Loki is able to bring your hand to his lips. Slowly he draws those tasty fingers into his warm mouth savoring your flavor. Blue eyes piercing yours, Loki drops your hand, saying "Now... my troublesome little dictator, this kitty thinks you need a tongue bath."

It's your turn to growl. Loki's strong hands fan over your hips, sliding seductively over your legs. You gasped when he jerked your booted knees over his broad shoulders bringing your liquid center closer to his hungry mouth. Exhaling a hot breathe against your aching cunt, Loki chuckled lowly as you thrust forward, searching for his touch.

Your sigh of frustration turned into a squeal of pleasure when Loki licked firmly through your drenched skin. Flicking his tongue over your clit with tiny licks, like a cat lapping at milk, Loki had you near to climax in minutes. His cat ears tickled the rarely touched place where your pelvis meets your thigh, sending shivers through you. With a rough bite to your straining nub, he pulled away. "Loki! Keep going!", you practically shouted.

But you needn't have bothered. Slowly circling your fleshy pearl, Loki drew it between his soft lips, sucking lightly. You bucked against this delicious torment but Loki's grip on you tightened. His thumbs opened your dripping slit, giving him full access to plunder your depths with his articulate fingers.

Rocking your hips against Loki's hand, his mouth still taking nips and nibbles of you, your orgasm gains power. Your breathing catches, happy hums streaming out of you, as your inner walls tighten around Loki's driving digits. "Loki...... I'm going to cum..." It's a warning and a promise.

"Oh, sweetling, let go. Let me feel the power of your pleasure!" When Loki pressed down on your clit while curling his fingers against your velvet walls you lost your battle with control. First your muscles locked together in glorious, bone cracking tension, then you fell apart like a puppet with cut strings.

Loki stroked your silken skin through your climax, easing your body back to earth. Instead of stealing your energy, your release made you want more. Rolling up onto your knees you reach for your little kitten, tangling a hand in his ebony locks, before forcing your lips together.

You rush your hands down Loki's strong core, over the corded muscles of his abdomen, stopping at the heavy length of his cock. Through gritted teeth Loki sighs, "Careful darling."

"Would you be careful, my kitty cat? I don't think so." Sliding your soft palm along his steel length, you add a touch of pressure, and rub your thumb across his glistening head. Stroking Loki, you kiss him again, your tongue working against his mouth to the same rhythm as your hand.

Loki breaks your grip with a strained groan. "Inside you. I have to be inside you.", he whispers as he drops his forehead to yours, staring into your eyes.

Tenderly you sigh, "Fuck, Loki. That's hot."

Smiling broadly, he nods, "I know, Right?"

Before you can respond, Loki's laid himself on your bed, back resting upon the headboard, his erection proud and ready. "Come here!" Patting his lap, excitement evident, he's in a rush for you to join him.

Pausing to unzip the restricting corset you've been in all night, you let it and the satin cape slide off your shoulders but you keep the boots on. Loki's eyes drink in your gorgeous body, his bottom lip held in anticipation. You reach up to remove the paper helmet hugging your brow only to stop when Loki hummed, "Keep it on."

Giggling softly you nod. There's something carnal about your near nudity which makes you feel emboldened. It's that same power you had in Loki's costume, the feeling of infinite possibilities, all uniting for you. The thrill of it makes you slick with need for the wicked man you're straddling between your thighs.

Your pelvis streched over Loki's, his straining cock pressed between your bodies, those large hands of his molded to you hips. Stroking his length once more, you raised up on your knees and guided him into your tunnel. Loki pushed down on your curves, driving himself inside of you with glorious purpose in one stroke.

Stuttering out a curse word, your head fell back, exposing your neck to Loki and his ravishing lips. With his strong arms pulling you tighter, you rolled your being onto his, taking more and more of Loki's body each time.

When his lips found your breast you groaned. Out of instinct you gripped Loki's head and pulled him closer. His hands drifted down your spine, over your ass cheeks, and hugged you tighter than you thought possible. Your nipples were covered in wet kisses, faint impressions of Loki's teeth were red on your skin, and still you wanted more from him.

Grinding together, your sensitive bud rubbing so deliciously against Loki, your body nears the peak of its passion. His grip on you drags you down, harder and harder, spearing your spiral of desire. Your tender walls shudder around the hard heat of his member. "You're going to cum, little one. I can feel it. Please, please cum for me."

The humid breath of his broken whisper in your ear sends your body into bliss. Shuddering around Loki's bones, you hear him grunt and hold your hips wide over his own as he spills his sexual release into your receptive skin. Gripping him hard enough to bruise, you're locked together, sharing a single body... a single breath.

It takes you both a long while before your breathing returns to normal. Never taking his precious blue eyes off of yours, Loki brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I hope my queen is satisfied..." he teases.

"Hmmmmm... yes... yes she is... and my scary black cat?", you ask as you flick one of the flocked ears, now slightly askance. "Oh, he'd purr in pleasure... if that were possible."

Loki stirs inside of you making you jump. "Wait... please. Just a little longer, Loki." You're not ready to let go of his body, his spirit, his heart, just yet. Wrapping your arms across his shoulders, you rest your chin in the crook of Loki's neck and idly play with a lock of his hair.

"Loki?" You murmur, drowsy and still a teeny bit tipsy.

"Yes, darling?" He turns his bright eyes to yours.

"Next year we're going as Westley and Buttercup, from The Princess Bride..." You yawn and slide off Loki's lap, wrapping the comforter around you both.

With a gentle smile, Loki answers, "As you wish, little one."

[xxpadfootxx]

Night Terrors & New Beginnings - Part 15 (Bitter Discoveries)

Dakota moved soundlessly through the woods, her paws barely even leaving imprints in the moist forest floor. Her ears were rotating constantly, listening to the sound of the birds whistling their merry tunes into the early morning sky and the rush of water over rocks in a nearby creek. The sun was bright and warm, the rays splattering her black scales with little gold spots as she walked beneath the canopy of tree leaves. Her crystal blue eyes scanned the foliage as she walked, not really sure what or who she was looking for, only that she was searching for something. A small red fox darted in front of her and she paused to watch it, her heartwarming at the sight of the signs of life all around her.

She had never felt freer, she realized as she watched the animal scurry through the underbrush. Her injuries no longer plagued her, her mind felt clear, and she felt totally safe for the first time in her life. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth slightly as a cool breeze danced along her scales and kissed her face lovingly. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open as a familiar smell drifted toward her. The smell was smokey and warm and familiar. Dakota turned her head to see an old familiar face.

Her eyes widened and her mouth parted into the Night Fury version of a smile as she recognized her childhood best friend, a slightly lighter black male Night Fury with bright green eyes that made the foliage around them jealous. Dakota roared in an excited greeting and ran toward her friend, her tongue hanging out of the side of the mouth as she galloped. The male dragon roared back and bounded toward her until they met in the middle, tails wagging and eyes shining.

Dakota had met this dragon when she was just a pup, the two becoming good friends because he was the only Night Fury pup in their pack who was not afraid of her quirk, the only dragon she knew, besides her parents, who did not see her as a monster. He was all grown up now, his wings reaching almost 48 feet long and his body having lengthened to a solid 26 feet long. Despite his growth, the kindness in his eyes still shone through like they always had when he was with her. He purred softly as they nuzzled one another, his ears relaxing against his head and his eyes closing. Dakota also had her eyes closed as she rubbed against his side, her tail swaying gently on the ground so that the short stalks of grass barely tickled her scales. The calming atmosphere was so refreshing and she felt as if she were going to stay there forever, resting with her best friend and never fearing the wrath of man again. The stinging cold of a metal chain wrapping harshly around her back legs and wings yanked her back into reality as she was wrenched to the ground with a yelp. Her best friend cried out and charged after her only to be caught up in the same trap, another set of chains coming out of the shadows to strap his wings to his sides and his legs to his belly. Dakota called out to him in concern before turning to the source of her chains and snarling in fury. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw who held her chains, her eyes widening in complete fear and shock. A man of average height, grayish hair, and lean stature stood at the end of her chains, his hands gripping the metal so hard that his knuckles turned white. His entire body, including the center of his face, contained many different human hands which were all connected by red tube-like straps. He was the one they called Shigaraki. She yelped as he pulled on her a bit, all of the pain from her injuries flaring up all at once at the invasive touch of the metal that constricted her lungs.

“Great catch, Shigarki, these two will be amazing additions to our arsenal, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I think they will prove very useful in the future, Grimmel,” Shigaraki said as another man, the one holding the chains of Dakota’s friend, stepped up opposite the decay villain, his hand running through his graying hair as his face broke into a sinister smile.

“Quickly! Lock them in their cages!” The man named Grimmel called out as a large group of hunters broke through the tree line and marched toward the dragons. Several of them latched onto Dakota’s friend’s chains and began to pull, dragging the poor Night Fury deep into the forest. Dakota cried out to him, her eyes wide as she tried to stretch her wings, break free of her binds with her claws, anything to reach him. Shigaraki suddenly appeared in her line of vision, his face broken by a wicked smile. He leaned down just far enough to keep out of biting range but close enough that Dakota could feel his rancid breath on her face.

“You may have escaped once my precious dragon, and you may have helped your little friend to safety,” Shigaraki said, motioning in the direction where Dakota could still hear the male Night Fury’s roars and cries. “But you can’t stay away forever. You’ll slip up and when you do, me and my buddies will come for you.”

Dakota’s eyes widened and she tried to break free of her restraints by struggling even harder but all she felt was her body start to slide painfully across the unexpectedly sharp forest floor. Dakota turned her head to glance over her body to find that the same people who had taken her best friend were now dragging her to the same fate. She whipped her head around to glance at Shigaraki one last time. The man merely stood with his head slightly tilted, his fingers bending just at the knuckles in a mocking wave. Grimmel came to stand beside Shigaraki and although at first he merely smiled wickedly and watched them go with eyes that almost shone with excitement, he suddenly rushed forward, stopping the efforts of his men to drag Dakota to her prison. The gruff man kneeled down on one knee and held out one hand to cup her cheek. Dakota struggled but couldn’t move much under the control of the chains. She was about to lunge forward at an attempt to bite the man when his eyes grew soft.

“Hey, shhh, shhh… what’s wrong? Dakota?” Dakota shook her head. How did he know her name? “Hey everything is alright, get up, come on Dakota, you’re scaring me.” Dakota didn’t know what to make of Grimmel’s sudden behavior change when she realized that the forest background was starting to blur and fade.

Dakota awoke a panting mess. Her eyes were blown wide and her breathing was much faster than it was supposed to be. She launched into a sitting position, keeping her head down and her tongue out as she tried to calm herself down.

“Dakota? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Dakota flinched involuntarily as a gentle hand rested itself on her shoulder. That same hand retracted just slightly when she flinched but then resettled on that spot of her shoulder, the fingers lightly stroking her fur.

“Hey, it was just a bad dream, you will feel better in a moment! Do you want some water?”

Dakota turned her head slightly and felt her body relax a little once she saw Izuku, his eyes shining with worry as he studied her. He raised his hand up from her shoulder and moved it to her head where he was able to scratch behind her ears.

“Take it easy, okay girl? I know we have been doing a lot and I’ve been stressed about the Sports Festival but soon all of this hectic scheduling will start to even out a little, okay? I promise, but in the meantime, I need you to stay healthy which means getting quality sleep.”

Dakota felt her breathing begin to move back to normal, her heartbeat starting to slow as she listened to Izuku. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax into the movements of his gentle touch as he stroked her soft black fur.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Izuku asked in a soft whisper.

Dakota hesitated. She didn’t know if she wanted to relive her dream, but the images from her dream were already starting to fade and she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to share a piece of herself with the boy that she was finally starting to trust.

“It’s alright,” Izuku said after a moment of her hesitated silence. “We can talk about it when you’re ready, I don’t want to rush anything, especially if it is a scary topic. I have to leave for school but do you want to meet up at Fumihiro’s place after school?”

Dakota nodded and nuzzled his hand before following him out to the kitchen to get breakfast.

____________________________________________

Izuku, Ochako, and Iida all decided after their difficult training and classes to spend their lunch sitting, just the three of them, outside on a solitary bench in the courtyard. They just wanted to catch up and pretend, for just a moment, that they are just normal teenagers rather than students competing to become the best heroes. The three friends joked around and talked, the conversation coming to a peak when Ochako said a joke just as Izuku took a swig of his water, resulting in a flustered Izuku apologizing profusely to a laughing Ochako who was covered in water.

“I am so so sorry!” Izuku said for the hundredth time, trying to wipe his friend down with a small cloth Iida had passed to him. “I can’t believe I just did that!”

“Deku, it’s totally fine! It was my fault for saying the punch line just as you took a drink! Are you okay?” Ochako said, batting his hand away.

“Am I okay? I’m fine, mortified, but fine! Are you okay? I just spit water all over you!”

“It’s just water Deku,” Ochako laughed and finished wiping herself off as much as she could.

“Do you want to splash me with water? Here, I have my water bottle with me! Why don’t you get me back!”

“How would that help anyone?”

“Just do it! I feel so bad!”

“No, Deku, that will only make things worse!”

Suddenly both flustered teens shrieked in shock as water splashed over the both of them. The pair looked up to find Iida watching them with a stern look, his own now empty water bottle sitting in his hand with the opened top pointed right at them.

“Well, you two wouldn’t stop arguing so I decided to settle it myself,” Iida said in complete seriousness. Izuku and Ochako stared at him owlishly for a moment before all three of them burst out laughing. Ochako then launched behind Izuku and grabbed his water bottle, turning and tossing water onto Iida in return.

“Gahhh!” Iida cried out as he shot into a standing position, flailing around in some kind of dance to get rid of the water that was sliding down his arms and legs and dripping off of his hair.

Izuku and Ochako couldn’t stop laughing even when Iida playfully glared at them, readjusting his glasses and attempting to reorganize his uniform. That was when Izuku noticed his phone was ringing in the side pocket of his backpack. He leaned down and answered it, motioning to his friends that he’d be back in a moment. It was Fumihiro.

“Midoriya?”

“Yeah Fumihiro sir, what’s going on?”

“Did something happen with Dakota last night?”

“She had a nightmare but other than that she seemed fine. Nothing happened to my knowledge, why?”

“Because she has been acting all skittish and strange today. She has been outside in the sanctuary with all of the other dragons, and she seems to get along pretty well with them, more than I thought to be honest, but she is starting to worry me. I’ve already contacted the school to have you signed out, do you mind coming over here to check on her and figure out what’s wrong? She won’t come anywhere near me.”

“Uh, sure! Of course, I’ll come over! Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be there soon!”

“See you in a bit, kid.”

His phone beeped as Fumihiro hung up the phone. Izuku stuffed the device in his pocket and jogged up to his friends. He hated lying to them but knowing he could never tell them the truth, he started to formulate a story in his head.

“Hey guys, my mom called and said that I have to come home for something urgent. She wasn’t clear on what it was but I have to head home, I’ll see you guys tomorrow, alright?”

“Oh, okay Midoriya,” Iida said, his face tilting slightly in concern. “I hope whatever it is isn’t too bad of news.”

“Thanks, Iida, I promise I’ll be back tomorrow to update you guys! Bye!”

Izuku jogged off in the direction of the school to leave and both Iida and Ochako watched him go. Iida sighed and turned to pick up his things but Ochako continued to watch Izuku, her eyes slightly narrowed as she observed her friend.

“Iida, do you maybe get the feeling that Deku is hiding something?”

Iida sat up and thought for a minute, turning the idea around in his head.

“Well, I do think it is rather sudden that he had to leave but it makes sense if it is something wrong. I don’t think his mother would lie to get him out of school unless it was something super serious and I don’t think Midoriya would either. He wants to be a hero more than anyone, I don’t see him as the kind of person who would throw away his dreams for playing hooky or something.”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right,” Ochako said, glancing at the doors that Izuku had disappeared through just moments ago. “I don’t want to believe that he’s lying to us but something just feels weird about his behavior.”

“Really? I don’t feel anything strange about this. Maybe you just aren’t feeling very well today, just trust him,” Iida said.

“Alright, I’ll do that, thanks, Iida.”

“Of course! Now come on, let’s get back to class before we are late.”

“Iida, we have like fifteen minutes before class starts again!” Ochako argued light-heartedly.

“I know! But remember, being on time is late and being early is on time!” Iida said brightly, grabbing his bag and marching towards the doors with Ochako following a little less energetically behind him.

Even as she made her way to her desk and waited for the bell to signal the start of class, Ochako could not shake that weird feeling about Izuku. At first, she had thought that she was just feeling strange due to her crush on Izuku, that despite her tireless efforts to shove them deep down into the depths of her mind, her feelings were just resurfacing and causing trouble. But then after today, she just couldn’t let it go. Something else was going on and she was going to figure it out.

_____________________________________

Ochako tried to cool her nerves as the train pulled to a stop at the station. She was not usually one to meddle in other people’s affairs but she just couldn’t let this one go. Her friend had seemed so distressed and it had been like that for weeks, she just couldn’t take it anymore. She had already gone to his house with a basket of muffins she had made at home, just to cheer him up to find that he wasn’t there. His mother had kindly given her an address with a beaming smile, telling her happily that Izuku was out training. Ochako didn’t know what to make of the situation, the fact that his mother either didn’t seem to know that something bad had happened or if she was playing dumb, but Ochako shook off her weird jitters and thanked her with a smile. The address that Inko Midoriya had given her had taken Ochako to the outskirts of town, just past the hero school. She had never even known this was here, so she looked around her in interest as she stepped off the platform and made her way to a huge forest of pines.

The paths were long and winding, the huge trees spreading out above her like a spotted blanket, the sunspots dotting her hair and warming her skin. She walked for a long time through the forest, eventually starting to doubt that she was even going the right way. She glanced at the sheet of paper again, carefully tracing the diagram Inko had drawn for her, with her finger. Ochako then looked up and glanced around her, searching for the little cottage that was supposed to be nestled in the trees.

“Where..?”

A loud, sharp roar made her jump out of her skin and dash for the nearest tree, her back pressed against the bark and her hand covering her mouth to keep her rushed breathing from being heard. She closed her eyes tightly, forcing herself to gather her courage.

“W-whoa!”

Ochako’s eyes flew open as Izuku’s familiar voice sounded out across the area. Her friend was there. He was being attacked out here all alone. Her skin paled and her sweat seemed to freeze on her skin. The dragon. She didn’t have to look to know. The dragon that had attacked her friend those few months ago had come back for its prey, to finish what it had started. Ochako had completely forgotten about the need to keep Izuku from being out on his own due to the dragon. The hero course had just been so demanding, and he never talked about the dragon so it had stopped crossing her mind. She was reminded of it now though as she heard a sickening crunch. She squeaked as the sound resonated in her ears, Izuku’s groan of pain following soon after. She internally screamed at her legs to move, to do something to help her friend. She was a hero in training, she could do this. Leaning down carefully, she set down her basket of muffins and grasped a particularly sharp stick from the ground. She knew she wouldn’t be able to do much damage, but she could at least distract it.

“AH! Shit!” Ochako heard Izuku cry out as another thud made her heart drop.

“No, no, no, no, you need to work harder!” Ochako froze as she heard the sound of a deeper, older male voice from around the tree. “You won’t do more than tenderize the boy if you keep going about it that way! You need to get him as high up off of the ground for it to effective, stop holding back!”

An accomplice. A god damn accomplice. That dragon was conspiring with a man to kill Izuku.

“Come on! Get him to stay where he is!” The man yelled and Ochako heard the dragon growl low in its throat before Izuku let out another pained squeak.

Finally, making up her mind, Ochako took a deep breath and darted from behind one tree to behind another one, making sure to remain undetected as she moved. She held her breath for a moment but nobody from the clearing made any indication that they had seen or heard her.

“Help! Ahh!” Izuku suddenly called and Ochako heard yet another loud thump on the ground.

“Nobody is coming to help you, kid. You are on your own in this, not even she can help you,” the other man’s voice said. Ochako, who had moved down two more trees since the conversation started, froze, fearing that the man was referring to her. There was no way, who else would he be referring to? She waited with her eyes tightly closed, waiting for the inevitable sound of wings flapping and an angry roar. She waited for the feeling of teeth sinking into her flesh. But nothing came. She opened one eye slowly, and then released a breath she didn’t even know she had been holding when she found the forest looking back at her rather than the inside of a dragon’s mouth.

Another thud.

They were toying with him. Throwing him around like a rag doll. Even if they knew she was there, all that stupid lizard cared about was playing with her prey until he died a painful, torturously slow death. Anger boiled in her blood and her vision blurred until all she could see was red when she swung around from behind the tree and leaped onto the man, her stick clutched in both of her fists so that she could bar his throat with it.

“What the-!” The man choked as the stick hit his jugular. Ochako ignored the pain she caused him and released the stick with one hand, using her finger pads to send the man into the air but only after she had managed to wrench the sword he had been holding from his grasp. The man floated into the air with a confused yell but Ochako didn’t even look at him as she made a mad dash for her friend who was laying bruised on the ground.

“DEKU!” Ochako shouted as she skidded to a halt at his side. She knew that the dragon would reach them quickly so she didn’t hesitate to press her fingers to her friend’s body, making him weightless. Once gravity released its hold on her friend, Ochako snatched his arm and pounded toward the trees, her legs screaming as she rushed for cover, dragging her friend through the air behind her.

“U-Uraraka!?”

“Hold on, Deku! We are almost there!” Her hair whipped her face and the rate of her breathing was beginning to burn her throat but she kept going, forcing herself to run as fast as possible through the foliage.

Ochako didn’t even hear the sound of beating wings, didn’t even know the dragon was there until the beast dashed in front of her, its wings raised above its back menacingly and its jaws parted in a vicious snarl. Ochako managed to scramble to a halt before she landed right in the dragon’s mouth but her traitorous feet slipped on the foliage below her shoes and sent her sliding back onto her butt. She leaped to her feet and faced the beast, her arms held out to protect Izuku, who was still floating behind her.

“Deku! I’m sorry, I tried, I really tried!” Ochako now berated herself. Nobody else was coming to help. She should’ve at least called someone once she realized how bad the situation was. What the hell was she thinking trying to take down a dragon all on her own?

“Ochako! You need to let me down!” Izuku said in a panicked voice.

“But you’re hurt!”

“I’m okay, I promise! But you need help, please let me down and let me explain.”

“Expain…?”

The jet black dragon suddenly let out a loud roar and Ochako jumped to place her fingers together, leading Izuku to drop down with a thump behind her, landing on his feet. Ochako got into a fighting stance, waiting for Izuku to do the same beside her when he did something she did not expect. Izuku jumped in front of Ochako and sprinted toward the dragon, halting just in front of it and holding out his palm to its muzzle. Ochako went to charge after him but Izuku’s other arm shot out and he held her at bay with his palm out toward her. The dragon growled and tried to move toward Ochako, raising up so that it was standing on its hind legs, but Izuku moved his body in the way, his gaze piercing.

“Hey, hey! Dakota! Shhhhh, easy girl, calm down, it’s just Uraraka! She won’t hurt you, I promise! Remember? She was the one who got you to warm up to people. She was the first one to pet you!” The dragon’s eyes widened and she lowered back onto all four paws, her growl dying on her tongue until it was a low, rumbling purr.

“Yeah, that’s it. Good girl, nice and easy,” Izuku reached out and touched his palm to the dragon’s nose as he spoke. The dragon closed her eyes and purred as soon as his hand touched her, her wings lowering and resituating until they were tucked neatly at her sides. After a moment, the great beast even sat down on the forest floor, her purrs getting louder and her tail even beginning to wag as Izuku moved his hand to scratch under her chin.

Ochako’s breathing was still ripping at her throat, her eyes wide and her mind spinning. What the hell was she seeing right now!? The dragon who tortured and attacked her friend was now sitting here like a dog, and Izuku wasn’t running away or screaming in terror! He was sitting there scratching her and looking at her as if she were his pet.

“Wh- Wh- Wh-” Ochako cleared her throat and closed her eyes, forcing herself to clear her mind. “What is going on, Deku? Wh- When d-did you learn how to do this? H-how did you-”

“Oh! Um, U-Uraraka, um, I can explain, I promise-”

But Izuku never got through his sentence. Ochako looked up at the huge dragon before her and made a decision. Izuku had been brainwashed by this beast and although she knew she had to help him, now was not the time. She had no back-up, no weapons, nothing. She also knew that she couldn’t fight them on her own. Izuku maybe, if she got close enough to make him float, but the dragon as well? Her quirk would be useless to a creature who could use wings to push itself around through the air and she had no idea if this giant lizard had a quirk which was entirely possible. Secretly, behind her back, Ochako pressed her fingers to her clothes, making them weightless on her body. As soon as she was sure her quirk was in effect, she bolted, sprinting through the forest and zigzagging through the trees so that the dragon could not swoop in and catch her from above.

“Uraraka!” She heard Izuku call out, but she ignored him and kept on running until she was far away from the cottage in the forest and headed toward the train station.

“Shit!” Izuku whispered and made to run after her when a hand gripped his shoulder.

“Fumihiro, sir!”

“Leave her be. She won’t listen when she is panicked like that. She probably thinks you have been brainwashed or something. She will only see what she wants to see if you chase her. You don’t want her to be scared of her, do you?”

“Of course not,” Izuku said dejectedly.

“Good, then maybe figure out with your dragon a better way to talk to your friend. Preferably sooner rather than later, we don’t want her creating some sort of resistance to “save” you. She is a strong girl, she could be a valuable asset if you manage to convince her that you are not some sort of demon dragon puppet.”

“Alright, I will. Thank you, sir,” Izuku said, bowing to his teacher.

Fumihiro nodded, a slight bruise beginning to bubble up onto the surface of his skin where Ochako had choked him. He then spun on his heel and made his way back into his cottage, the door shutting loudly behind him.

Izuku sighed and turned to face his dragon who was sitting on her haunches with her head tilted to the side.

“Well? What do you think we should do?” Izuku asked with a sigh. “I really don’t want to mess this up, she is my best friend.”

Dakota moved back onto all four paws and stood up, moving beside Izuku to nuzzle his shoulder affectionately.

“You won’t,” Dakota said softly through their bond. “I have an idea.”

__________________________________

Ochako slammed the door to her apartment shut as soon as she had gotten in unlocked and shot inside. She leaned against the cool wood, her heartbeat practically vibrating and her breathing tearing at her throat like claws. She was starting to get light-headed, she knew she had to calm herself down but her nerves were alight with adrenaline.

“D-Deku…”

Ochako finally managed to slow down her breathing after closing her eyes and forcing herself to count five slow seconds in between each breath. She didn’t open her eyes until her breathing was relatively back to normal and her heart was no longer hammering like a hummingbird stuck in a cage.

“Deku is stuck w-with a d-dragon,”

For the first time in a long time, Ochako was glad that she lived alone, her parents living on the other side of town due to their jobs regarding their construction company. She was able to focus on the issue at hand rather than having to explain herself to a bunch of berating questions. Ochako finally pushed herself away from the door and made her way to the couch, pulling out her phone in the process. She dialed Iida and held the phone up to her ear, but as soon as he answered, she hung up. She couldn’t call Iida, she realized. She couldn’t call anyone. 

If Izuku really was trapped by this thing, she had to keep it a secret, just like he has up until this point. Otherwise, they might try to kill the dragon, injuring or even killing Izuku in the process. She had to think of a solution on her own. She stood up and paced in front of the couch, going through a variety of solutions as they popped up in her head, each one more ridiculous than the last. She ran her hands through her hair, her fingers scratching at her scalp absentmindedly as she thought. 

After almost half an hour of thinking, Ochako collapsed back onto the couch with a groan, her list of discarded ideas increasing by the minute. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to form at least some kind of plan. She wanted so desperately to call someone, to tell them what was going on but she knew she couldn’t do that. And if she was being honest with herself, she normally would have called Izuku for this sort of thing which was obviously not an option. 

She was about ready to scream in frustration when a bout of loud, hurried knocking on her front door halted her train of thought as if it had hit a brick wall. Ochako froze and watched her door with bated breath and wide eyes. The knocking sounded again, more persistent this time.

“Uraraka! It’s me, Deku! I know we had a rough start a little while ago but I really need your help!”

Ochako placed a hand over her mouth and bit her tongue to keep from responding, tears pricking at her eyes and her heart longing to reach out to her friend.

“I-I know you have no reason to trust me right now but I really care about you and so I want to explain. The dragon that you saw earlier is good, she never meant to hurt me and has been a friend of mine for a while now. I know you probably won’t believe me but right now, that dragon is in serious trouble!”

Ochako stumbled backward a few steps, her hand reaching behind her for the back of the sofa. She was trying to stabilize herself, to keep herself from falling for what was probably some sort of trick to get her to walk within capturing distance of Izuku’s possessed grasp.

“Ochako.” 

Ochako gasped slightly at the use of her first name. 

“Please. I know you probably think I am being controlled or something but in reality, this dragon is the most compassionate creature I have ever met. I really need your help, she is in serious danger and you are the only one I can go to right now for help. Please, you… you are my only hope.”

Ochako didn’t even realize she had moved until she found herself at the door. In her right hand, she held a knife that she had grabbed from the kitchen table and with her left, she held the doorknob, her muscles tensed to open the door. Even with the knife, Ochako knew she wouldn’t have very much of a chance if this was a trick but something about Izuku’s plea had struck a chord in her. She took a deep breath, shoved down the last of her doubts, and opened the door.

[officialleehadan]

(I see a mouse.)

“We’re not looking for mice.”

(Now I see a grasshopper. I like grasshoppers.)

“We’re not looking for grasshoppers either.

(How about foxes?)

“The human kind?”

(The furry kind.)

“Focus, Barre. We’re out here for a reason.”

(SQUIRREL! I love squirrels!)

“We are not here for squirrels.”

(I want it.)

“We have a job to do!”

Lancel watched his familiar through his scope as the falcon folded her wings and plummeted for the ground, the image of elegant control, perfection on the wings. She was beautiful, barely a spot against the nearly-cloudless blue sky as she caught the thermals off a wide field, well below Lancel’s perch in the undergrowth.

Well, to anyone who didn’t have to wake up to half a dead squirrel on the face. The perils of having a peregrine falcon for a familiar. Oh, Barre wasn’t so bad. He heard the stories from others in his same predicament. As far as things went, he could deal with her occasional inclination towards food.

But she had a full stomach right now. He fed her before they left their base camp. She was just bored and looking for something to distract her. In a way it was good; if she was bored, she wasn’t seeing any movement nearby.

On the other hand, he really did need her to focus.

Dammit, they were supposed to be doing a scouting run! He was a sniper! His job was to see the things no one else did, so their platoon didn’t get ambushed in enemy territory!

(I angered the squirrel. You can have it.)

Wait.

What?

Lancel didn’t have time to regret his life choices, as an absolutely furious squirrel dropped out of the sky, directly into his comfortable little sniper nest.

There really wasn’t time for anything actually, as the squirrel, outraged to have been grabbed my a falcon, and then dropped onto a human, went on the attack.

“I’m gonna turn you into a feather pillow!” Lancel cursed at Barre as the squirrel charged, chicking at him, tail flagged. “I’m gonna stuff you like a turkey!”

The squirrel darted in and he tried to bat it away, only for it to fasten its’ teeth into his glove, sharp little teeth finding skin underneath. He grabbed it by the tail, and it released his glove only to scramble madly for the dark sanctuary of his sleeve.

“Oh hell no!” he snarled, and tried to sling the squirrel away, only for it to wrap itself around its own tail. No less furious for the offense, it propped itself up on tiny, clawed paws, and screamed in his face.

Lancel screamed back.

So did Barre.

Before he could process the shriek of his familiar, she was there, shooting through the trees like a knife, all gray-barred wings and extended talons.

Barre was not a large bird, but she looked much larger when she was aimed directly at your face.

Lancel screamed.

So did Barre.

So did the squirrel.

They went down in a pile of feathers, fur, and leather.

So much for being stealthy. There was no such thing as stealth with an angry squirrel in your face.

In a remarkable display of athleticism, the squirrel untangled itself from its tail and screamed at Barre, who was on her back and flapped furiously to right herself. Lancel still had the squirrel by the tail, and did the only reasonable thing left to him.

He lofted the angry rodent into the air, not even bothering to see which direction it flew, only that it was away.

For a moment, there was silence in the forest. Slender white-barked birch trees rose up around him, leaves golden as autumn came in, the air crisp and fresh. The undergrowth danced in a gentle breeze, still flush with full growth.

Lancel dared to take a long, slow breath.

Screams erupted from the nearby bushes, punctuated by the shrieks of a still-raging squirrel.

Lancel froze in the middle of scooping his familiar onto his wrist. Barre stilled with him and immediately focused on the now-thrashing bushes with barely a rustle of feather as she settled on his wrist.

“Uh,” Lancel said, and gathered his rifle onto his shoulder just in case. His caution turned out to be wise, but unneeded as two enemy soldiers tumbled out of the bushes, grappling desperately to catch the squirrel that had, by now, drawn a good deal of blood. “”That… doesn’t seem good.”

(We should go,) Barre whispered into his mind, a bundle of puffed grey feathers on his wrist as he backed away towards the scant cover of the forest, and the rest of his platoon beyond. (They haven’t seen us yet.)

“They’re definitely busy,” Lancel agreed as he crept into the bushes and away from his sniper’s nest. If there were already soldiers here, his job was moot anyway. He was a sniper, not a trooper. If the enemy could see him, he had already failed. The soldiers, however, were not paying the least attention to them, and he made his getaway into the bushes without detection. “Next time, stay away from the squirrels while we’re on duty!”

+++

Beastly Familiars:

Animals will be animals, no matter how intelligent. Sometimes animals will be… well… Beastly.

Nothing but Trouble

Bad to the Bone

Oil and Water

Master of All

Hunting Practice

Under the Desk, Up on the Bookcase

Mouse Hunters

Hooter

Bandit

In the Walls

Stone’s Throw

Fish Bucket

Caterwaul

Tilting at Windmills (Subscriber Only!)

Blue Rings and Crabs

Pounce (Free on Patreon!)

Fruity Fruit

+++

MORE STORIES!

+++

[angelcfdvth]

🔪

🔪 - A memory about a dangerous situation

September  30th,  2000.......

It  was  faint,  at  first.  A  far  off  echo  that  felt  like  a  wisp  on  the  wind  tearing  across  the  football  field,  whipping  up  the  voices  of  the  team  breaking  up  from  practice.  The  solid  sound  of  car  doors  closing  as  they  cleared  out  breaking  thoughts  of  certainty  that  something,  misplaced,  tangled  it’s  way  through  the  treetops  as  the  football  left  her  fingertips  and  soared  towards  her  brother.  Reasoning  told  her  it  was  probably  one  of  the  guys  girlfriends,  awaiting  the  end  of  practice  and  though  her  gut  feeling    might  have  been  a  far  stronger  inclination,  there  was  truly  no  reason  to  believe  otherwise.    

A  much  better  thought  would  have  been  the  one  that  brought  them  here  in  the  first  place.  The  first  of  many  stops  on  their  way  to  spending  a  night  doing  all  the  things  Jaida  loved  doing  most,  with  her  brother  and  father.  The  cultivation  of  all  of  her  hard  work  over  the  years  might  have  been  yet  to  pay  off,  but  it  was  undoubtedly,  now  within  reach  after  finishing  her  shift  at  the  diner  the  night  before  hand,  her  tips  for  the  night  pushing  her  over  the  goal  line  for  the  cash  amount  she’d  set  herself  in  order  to  pursue  something  bigger. 

“Dad  should  be  here  soon,  I’m  starving..”  her  younger  brother’s  deep  timbre  calls  out  across  the  field  and  though  she  knows  it’s  coming,  the  worn  football  soars  right  past  her  and  hits  the  ground  with  a  softened  thud  in  the  grass.  “You  think  she’ll  show  up?”  All  words,  long  forgotten  as  Jaida  finds  herself  fixed  to  the  spot  in  the  wake  of  an  ear  piercing,  blood  curdling  scream.  It  crawls  across  her  skin  and  embeds  itself  so  deeply  she’s  certain  it  might  live  forever,  an  algorithm  carved  into  the  very  marrow  of  her  bones  that  would  undoubtedly  promise  that  she  never  forgot  it.  Again,  like  a  banshee,  the  unsettling  sound  sends  shock  waves  from  the  trees  and  though  she’d  heard  a  lot  of  people  screaming  in  her  life,  she’d  never  heard  anything  like  this.  It’s  thick  and  damp,  like  trying  to  breathe  through  water  and  before  Jaida  can  even  think,  her  brother  is  tearing  past  her  to  his  car,  pausing  just  long  enough  to  grip  her  arm  and  heed  a  sharp  warning,.  “Wait  here,  Jay.”  He’s  heard  it  too,  right?  He  has  to  have  and  if  she  cared  to  look,  she  might  have  spotted  the  baseball  bat  he  pulled  from  the  trunk  of  his  car.  Caution  is  already  too  far  gone,  slipped  through  her  fingertips  like  smoke  as  she’s  reached  for  her  phone  and  dialed.  The  softened  grass  beneath  her  bare  feet  feels  as  though  it  doesn’t  exist  as  the  screaming  somehow  reaches  a  new  octave  and  she  takes  off  towards  the  edge  of  the  football  field.  

The  shadow  that  clings  to  the  edge  of  the  trees  holds  a  far  more  daunting  air  than  it  ever  has  before  and  the  last  breath  she  takes  before  she’s  left  the  field  feels,  lifeless  and  perhaps  if  she  could  hear  beyond  the  beating  of  her  heart  between  her  ears  -  she  might  have  heard  those  calling  out  to  her,  she  might  have  heard  her  brother  telling  her  to  stop.

((  “911,  what’s  your  emergency..” “I’m  at  the  school,  there’s  someone..  I  don’t  know..  I  don’t  know..--  someone’s  screaming.  I  don’t  know  who  it  is.  Just..--  send  someone.” “Hello?...  Hello?  This  is  911,  can  you  hear  me?”  )) The  crackle  of  debris  underfoot  is  so  loud,  it’s  all  just  so  loud  and  the  screaming  has  stopped.  Her  breath  falls  heavy,  footfalls  halted  in  some  attempt  to  pinpoint  something  beyond  her  own  existence.  Standing  there,  no  longer  able  to  see  the  field  and  far  enough  in  that  she  knows  it  would  take  only  a  few  minutes  to  get  to  the  hideout  if  she  keeps  running.  ((  “Hello?  Miss?  Can  you  tell  me  where  you  are?”   )) Her  phone  illuminates,  once,  twice..  No  Service  and  the  line  dies.  

“No..  no  no  no.”  Jaida  mutteres,  dialing  again  -  and  again,  to  no  avail.  Panic  sets  in  and  every  question  of  what  the  hell  she  was  doing  has  now  settled  in  against  her  spine  and  left  her  lips  dry  as  she  turns  every  which  way  in  the  hopes  that  she  might  hear  something  -  anything,  that  could  lead  her  to  whoever  was  attached  to  those  screams,  but  there’s  nothing.  Utter  silence.  No  birds  -  nothing  in  the  trees  above,  the  wind  is  non-existent  here,  bustling  across  the  treetops  above  and  unable  to  touch  a  damn  thing  below.  She  swallows  thickly,  tries  to  even  out  her  breathe  before  she  calls  out,  “Where  are  you?  I  can’t  hear  you!” Perhaps  it’s  foolish,  unequivocally  so,  but  something  in  her  gut  feels  off  -  heavy  and  sickening.  The  forest  feels  sick,  and  it’s  not  a  moment  before  a  flash  of  blonde  hair,  blood  and  silver  catches  her  by  surprise.

It  falls  through  the  air,  never  quite  slow  enough  for  her  to  react  as  it  slices  through  the  palm  of  her  hand  and  something  cold  ripples  in  her  throat,  calling  out  as  white  heat  tears  through  her  and  she  stumbles  back,  feet  catching  the  deep  roots  of  a  nearby  red  maple.  The  dark  figure  obscured  by  the  shadows,  she’s  turned  around  and  suddenly  too  frantic  to  know  north  from  south,  east  from  west.  Tears  sting  the  corner  of  her  eyes  and  she  scrambles  to  her  feet,  dirt  and  blood  smearing  across  gooseflesh  skin,  the  onyx  depth  in  her  hues  searching  for  something  beyond  the  trees  -  anything  that  might  lead  her  out  of  the  silence  of  the  forest.  

Don’t  die  here..--  

Don’t  fucking  die  here..

It’s  a  moment  wasted,  she  should  have  just  ran,  the  piercing  agony  that  tore  through  her  side  is  enough  to  cripple  her  vision,  the  mask  worn  by  her  attacker  a  haunting  image  as  it  casts  itself  to  memory  among  her  own  screams.  Her  leg  kicks  backwards,  uncertain  of  what  she  intends  to  do,  it  matters  little  as  her  foot  catches  the  kneecap  and  forces  the  masked  figure  to  tumble.  Leaves  crumble  between  her  fingertips  as  she  catches  the  low  hanging  branch  to  keep  herself  on  her  feet,  the  seeping  crimson  at  her  side  coming  away  on  her  already  bloodied,  shaking  palm,  “Someone  he-..help!”  Choked  out  and  barely  audible  between  every  wrenching  sob  and  scream  that  mottles  like  crashing  waves,  too  deep  to  pry  apart.  There’s  no  real  knowing  -  at  least,  she  has  no  idea  if  she  can  be  heard,  if  anyone  beyond  her  attacker,  the  masked  assailant,  can  pinpoint  her  between  the  trees.  

Footfalls  grow  heavy  and  she  can’t  pull  herself  along  without  stretching  the  fresh  wound  at  her  side  and  crying  out  in  agonising  pain.  Bleary  eyed,  she  searches  the  space  behind  her  and  wonders  how  much  she  might  regret  it  -  but  she  finds  nothing.  No  one..  More  silence  and  the  erratic  beating  of  her  heart  as  she  stops.  Through  every  short,  sharpened  breath  she  takes,  hues  frantically  search  for  movement  for  that  mask,  the  knife..  And  the  sound  of  sirens  in  an  echoed  distance  call  to  her,  promise  another  day,  another  moment  of  time  if  she  can  find  them  -  if  they  can  find  her.  And  she  thought  she  knew  pain  -  knew  the  sting  of  a  skinned  knee,  the  shatter  of  broken  bone  but  it’s  suddenly  clear  to  her  -  painstakingly  clear,  that  she’s  never  actually  known  it  at  all.  The  blade  that  sinks  itself  into  flesh  and  muscle  just  beyond  her  navel  is  enough  to  rip  the  air  from  her  lungs  as  she  stares  blankly  into  the  face  of  ..--  no  one  at  all.  The  mask,  so  hauntingly  indifferent  that  it’s  almost  entirely  difficult  to  believe  there’s  someone  behind  it  in  the  first  place.  They  say  nothing  -  the  cant  of  their  head  almost  inquisitive,  callous  in  a  way  that  Jaida  finds  even  more  alarming  as  she  steps  away.  From  them  -  from  the  knife.  The  ooze  of  blood  seeping  out  across  her  abdomen  a  stark  parallel  to  that  which  bubbled  up  in  her  throat.   Another  step  has  her  falling..  Slipping  through  the  air  as  the  incline  and  gravity  pull  her  down,  crashing  through  the  brush  of  leaves  and  broken  branches  for  what  feels  like  forever.  Her  mind  wanders  between  an  infinite  darkness  and  each  and  every  scream  that  erupts  from  her  throat  in  the  hopes  someone  else  is  near.  It’s  not  until  she  settles  at  the  base  of  the  incline,  hair  tangled  body  weak  --  but  she  hears  voices.  Those  scattered  few  that  hadn’t  yet  left  the  school  grounds,  the  authoritative  demeanor  of  what  she  could  only  assume  were  police  ordering  people  to  back  away,  and  she  knows  that  she  can’t  stay  here.   She  can’t  be  so  near,  and  yet  entirely  out  of  reach.  It  feels  like  death,  already  signed  and  sealed,  delivery  delayed.   Teeth  grit,  Jaida  pulls  herself  to  her  feet,  supporting  her  weight  on  the  widened  trunks  of  the  trees  that  separated  her  from  view  so  easily,  while  the  glaring  blue  and  red  lights  cast  a  harrowing  glow  in  the  fading  light.  The  pain  feels  permanent,  like  she’ll  never  rid  herself  of  the  splitting  feeling  that  sought  to  tear  her  at  the  seams,  but  each  and  every  step  towards  the  edge  of  the  forest  feels  like  trying  to  backtrack  a  mistake  she  can  never  truly  undo.   Spotlights  have  lit  up  the  field,  the  treeline  ablaze  in  white  light  and  flashlights  as  officers  swam  the  edge  of  the  forest,  but  she’s  too  far  from  them,  the  mixture  of  blood,  saliva  and  her  own  tears  are  choking  back  her  words  as  she  tried  to  call.  Every  whispered  cry  for  help  failing  beneath  the  chaos  of  her  own  mind,  to  the  point  that  she’s  not  even  sure  she’s  calling  out  anymore  -  doesn’t  even  know  if  she’s  coherent  enough  to  form  words.  Perhaps  it’s  just  sounds  -  or  day  dreams  of  sounds  she  hopes  she’s  making,  that  she  hopes  will  be  enough  to  draw  attention.   It’s  in  her  last  few  steps  that  she  feels  it  -  a  relief  that  claws  at  her  throat,  the  sudden  sound  of  every  wretched  sob  suddenly  the  loudest  thing  she  can  hear  beyond  those  yelling,  “She’s  here!  Over  here!”  Blood  dribbles  across  her  lesser  lip,  and  her  hand  lifts  from  the  knife  wound  deep  in  her  belly,  “Th.--there’s..  S-some..”  Her  voice  shakes,  as  fragile  as  her  frame  before  large,  gentle  hands  have  caught  her  and  lowered  her  to  the  grass  beneath.  “It’s  okay.  You’re  okay..”  The  warmth  of  Roman’s  voice  is  unrecognizable  as  he  puts  pressure  on  her  oozing  wound..   It’s  all  she  can  be  sure  of,  as  the  loud,  panicked  call  for  the  medic  sinks  her  deeper  into  her  head  -  into  the  onyx  eyes  of  those  beneath  the  mask,  into  a  place  that  doesn’t  make  her  want  to  scream  anymore.

[dingoat]

Oh man, bold life choices it is. 😂 Ok, I offer the following kiss options: 11, 19, 30, or 70. Something something pack bonding, right?? 8)

[Okay prepare yourself for 1.6k words of incredibly werewolf-indulgent au that loosely covers three of the four above prompts. I’ve fallen in deep, don’t say you weren’t warned!!]

———————————————————-

Her perspective shifted with her body; she knew this, and most of the time, when she wore the shape of a Bothan, she would dwell on this. She would try to work out what it meant, whether she was living two or three different lives, if she was two or three different beings somehow crammed together, if ever the parts would reconcile with one another, if ever her mind as a wolf would be entirely the same as when she was Bothan, or this new shape that she was still getting to know, half and half.

The wolf didn’t really think much at all; when she ran under the song of the moon, all that mattered was the immediate. So long as she planned appropriately before the change, took care to avoid the triggers of her bloodlust, those nights were exhilarating and liberating, free of the uncertainties of her condition that plagued her otherwise. The details of those nights were still often lost to her, but the sense of release, of satisfaction, the contented exhaustion of a night spent reveling in her fleet footed strength, would linger long.

It was as a wolf that she waited, trembling with anticipation, her thoughts just lucid enough to hold her in the agreed location. Dancing from paw to paw, she scanned the ice field, her sharp, blue-eyed gaze staring across the snowdrifts that sparkled in the moonlight. Her tracks already wove several circles through the snow, and she trotted another restless lap, barely restraining the energy that surged inside her.

Where was he?

Throwing back her head, Ahuska lifted her voice in a song to the moons, a song to the night, a song for the beauty of the world around her and a love of the moment. Long she let the notes ring out, and her howl echoed across the landscape some time after she was done, lasting longer even than the frosty cloud of her breath that hung in the frigid air.

Distantly, a shrill bark sang out in response, and her heart leapt.

She wasn’t going to wait any more.

Kicking off with a great spray of snow, Ahuska ploughed forward, purposefully bounding through the softer snow banks to better work her muscles. She ran with great soaring leaps, a huge white shape against the silvery blue landscape, her fur lit bright under the full moons. Oh, how she loved to run! More dexterous than regular paws, but not quite proper hands either, the digits of her front feet curled and dug into the snow, relishing the feel of it, the crunch and the crisp bite of cold, her claws raking through the earth on the occasions where the snow was shallow enough that she hit it.

And then she saw him, the little black shadow streaking across the snowfield toward her.

Her tail began to swing, and a joyous bark erupted from her muzzle as her movements became exaggerated and playful, each bound punctuated with a stamp of her forelegs in the snow. And as he finally came up to meet her, she let herself collapse, toppling sideways into a skid that had her roll onto her back, paws in the air. Moons and the stars framed his sharp little face as he darted over and stared down at her, eyes bright and flecked with gold. Where she panted heartily with her recent exertion, he remained poised and alert, having conserved his energy and kept easily within his limits.

She barked again, and his dainty muzzle parted in a foxy grin, and she craned her head up to welcome him with a lick before flopping onto her side.

The fox blinked, then bounded forward on delicate paws, returning the affection with a little trill of pleasure, his brush sweeping back and forth in delight. The wolf shut her eyes, breathing a contented sigh through her nose, then mouthed across the fox’s muzzle playfully before butting her whole head against him to bowl him over. Once down, she nosed investigatively about his chest and shoulder and foreleg, seeking any glimmer of the damage she knew it had sustained previously.

The fox huffed with indignance, trying to pull his paw away, but she insisted, fussing and grooming over the area until he relented and held still. See? All fine. No wound, his pointed gaze seemed to insist, but she would not be satisfied until the area had been thoroughly inspected, engaging in a ritual that may well last for years. And he was determined not to overtly display just exactly how the attention made him truly feel, only the faint quivering of his body betraying the giddy warmth inside him.

Come! She announced with a sudden bark and upward bound of her body, leaping three paces through the snow then returning, dropping her forequarters in a blatant invitation to play. An invitation to drop his guard and simply enjoy his wild body the way she did hers.

The fox sprang to his feet, then stood, tense and quivering, ears twitching, before streaking forward like ashen lightning to nip at her ankle.

What followed was pure joy, as the wolf and the fox leapt and chased and tumbled through the snow, thinking only of the moment, living for nothing but the immediate pleasure of one another’s company.

It was good to be together again.

Only the moons bore witness to their revelry, and the slow passage of the planet’s primary moon across the shimmering night sky followed them across snow and ice, into a frosted meadow where their bounding, rolling bodies broke dark trails through the ice crusted foliage. As they danced across the ground, colours danced across the sky, and as the lights twisted and changed their shape above them, so too did their shapes change, as they started to approach the other side of dawn.

She’d been practicing, her awareness and control of her physicality well heightened after their time on Nar Kaaga.

That time had also abolished all self-consciousness about her body in his company; she found herself completely comfortable in her own skin, no matter which shape, or what in-between phase, she wore. And so as the primary moon lowered, its song coming into a new harmony with the smaller moon that already hugged the horizon, Ahsuka let her body flow and twist and smooth out, barely breaking pace as she watched the fox likewise shift.

And then they were tumbling anew; this time with bodies more equally matched, with hands to grasp and wrestle. She was still a little larger, stronger, and he was more lithe and quick, but they contended well against one another. She let him overpower her, after a time, laughing with delight as his lean frame held her pinned against the ground, giddy with the way he stared down at her with her hair all splayed out around her face, her ears bigger and softer than usual.

“Blakk,” she said, her tone light as a shooting star.

She saw the way his expression softened, the edge of hot triumph melting into something fond and gentle and beautiful, and for a moment she wondered if he saw something similar in her. And then something else came into his eyes… was that doubt? Caution? “Hey,” Ahuska said quickly, wanting to keep his mind from drifting down that painful spiral of maybes, wanting to keep him here and now. “Hey. You know how you were wondering what this shape was even good for?”

She lifted one of her back legs; strong and lupine; to bat at his side with a broad wolf-paw. Her tail thumped appeasingly against the snow, thicker and more solid than his lovely long brush.

She laughed at the way he grumbled and squinted at her, as he tried to work out what she was getting at. “You’re quicker on those fox feet, aren’t you? Just like I’m stronger like this. Cover more ground, I… I can move like a proper hunter, my balance is loads better…”

“So? The benefits are categorically better still when we shift all the wa-“

She pushed up her head and cut off his words with a quick, soft peck on the lips. She didn’t even think about it, not really, it was a reflexive gesture just to… shut him up. The effect was immediate, and in his stunned silence she continued. “Yeah, but this way, we can still talk to each other. Sort of like getting the best of both worl…” Ahuska’s thoughts trailed off into nothing as she locked eyes with him, and suddenly felt electrically charged.

His head lowered, and this time she was the one hushed as he brought his lips down to hers, soft as falling snow. He broke away quickly, too quickly, and she felt rather than saw the heat flush his cheeks as his bright blue eyes fell to the side. She felt… she felt more of him than she had any right to feel, connected in a way she did not remotely understand, and the song of the moons ran in her heart as sparks flew through their bond and she reached up to turn his face back toward her.

He looked… uncertain. Apologetic. Shy. “I’m sorry, I overstepped-“

But she would have none of it. She would not have their daylight lives interfere, not now, not when she couldn’t even be sure of what she’d remember when the sun inevitably rose. “Shhhh,” she shut him up with another kiss, and the way he sucked in a little gasp before melting against her made her know this wasn’t going to stop in a hurry. Her wolf-half was powerfully hungry for affection, and under the light of the moons and the glowing fox-fires above, the closeness of pack was all that mattered.

“No, no, I agree, you’re right,” she whispered, pausing for breath. “Talking is not the greatest advantage of these bodies.”

[mollymaymaukme]

Mollymauk x Reader: From Beyond the Grave, Part 14

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11,   Part 12, Part 13 , Part 14, Part 15

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding when Caduceus stands and starts to direct the others around. Some were going to get more wood, others food for the morning, and the remainder were politely requested to vacate the area for a bit.

Once the room is cleared, not without some last calculating looks over their shoulders at you, Caduceus comes to stand before you three. “Those look quite nasty still. Let me go grab my more mundane tools for this.”

As he putters about Molly’s tail squeezes your waist. You look over and immediately have to look away again once you see the ragged pain on his face. You could try to tell yourself that it's from that horrid wound on his chest, but you know that's not entirely true.

You try and break the uncomfortable silence that fell across the three of you, which had never been your forte but you were desperate “I don’t think your friends like me very much.”

“Nonsense” None of you point out the way Molly’s voice cracks in his attempt to be joyous “They just need some time to warm up to you and digest the situation. . .”

“And the last time they met a stranger she got Mollymauk killed.” Caduceus adds as he comes back into the room with a basket of bandages, scissors, and some kind of muddy green paste in a jar.

The firbolg is unaffected by Molly’s glare. You perk up “Molly. . .” He is already lifting his shirt over his head and out of habit you help him get the fabric over his horns without getting snagged.

“Yes love?” He turns to look at you just as Nila is bringing out a pot of water and some rags.

“How did you. . .” You can’t continue that sentence. Even though you’d been able to feel it the moment he had been laid in the dirt, miles away, you couldn’t actually speak it aloud.

His heavy sigh makes you fear that he won’t answer your question at first. But as Caduceus begins to wash at the three deep tears in his chest with the rag he goes over the turn of events.

Starting from the kidnaping of several of their party member, causing you to wrap a hand about the ties of Yasha’s armband. His description of the battle was matter of fact and lacking most detail. And when he says with a small, pained grimace on his face that, “Beau got away though, He only let any of them retreat because he got me.” You immediately wish to curse the monks name.

You want to turn back time and make her trade spots with Mollymauk. You want to get to your feet right now so you can track her down and slap her. Make the vines entrap her while you stick a glave through her own chest.

But just as soon as those vicious thoughts sweep across your mind you stamp them out. These bursts of intense fury are not new to you. You often could be provoked into a tempest that spun fast and wild before dissipating not long after it had arose.

But Mollymauk had taught you to be more gentle and to think over these wishful actions rather than complete them on the whim. Patience.

His hand on your thigh is what you tether yourself to. As long as he remained here, living and breathing with you, you knew you could face these problems without untoward violence.

Once Mollymauk’s chest is cleaned, treated with the salve, and bandaged Caduceus turns his attention to you.

“Would you prefer one of your friends to do this?” He has not even finished his sentence before you are shaking your head. Nudity was more natural to you than clothes. A small huff escaping you as you remember Yora shoving an ill fitting shift over your head for the first time.

You discard your threadbare and moth eaten tunic to the side before going to unwrap you chest bandages. The strip of cloth is slack and heavily discolored, not only from spending so long in the ground but also because of the claws that had ripped through them.

You allow them to fall to the floor as they would no longer serve their use. Caduceus goes about cleaning the ragged wounds on your chest without comment on your casual actions.

A hiss escapes your lips as he applies the salve and Molly’s hand intertwined with yours to give it a sympathetic squeeze. The burn of the wound had not registered to your nerves until it was contrasted by this cold mixture. But as Caduceus wraps around your chest and up across your shoulder you find the pressure soothing.

Molly pokes at your balled up tunic. “We need to find you some new clothes” He makes a face “These ones are getting really gross.”

You roll your eyes, Caduceus tying off the wrappings, “Happens when you’ve been sleeping in the dirt for. . .” Only then did you realize that you weren’t really sure how long it had been since you’d died.

Your teasing tone fades away as you quietly ask “How long ago did the Carnival fall apart?”

Yasha is the one who answers you after a long moment of quiet as she adds the days “I think it was about five and a half weeks. . .almost two full months?” Her voice drawing upwards in unsurety at her calculations.

Two months. That means that for at least a month and a half you were in that horrid half alive state. Listening to Caduceus while the worry for Molly ate away at you and then slowly torturing yourself with past memories when all had fallen silent. Putting the time frame into perspective felt like falling into an endless pit as you try to match the long silences with the days that had passed.

When you clearly are not capable of responding the topic of conversation shifts slightly “I’ve got a few spare tunics that could fit you like a dress and plenty of older, ripped clothing that could be made into bandages and what not.” Caduceus offers as he sits back on this heels.

You offer the firbolg a small smile “I’d appreciate it, thank you.”

He stands up and with a final glance over you he lumbers into the only other door that led to a room you had not yet been in.

Molly’s fingers raise to run through your hair but he aborts this movement when he comes upon a gnarled snag. You scrunch your features as he tries to pick it apart with his talons.

“Leave it Moll’s, this needs to be combed out.” Yasha chides softly as she bats his hands away and gestures for you to come closer. The tiefling protesting with a whine as you slip away from his grip to sit on the ground in front of the barbarian.

You stick your tongue out at Molly, a warm feeling settling in your chest at the familiarity of this scene. Countless nights had been spent sitting in front of Yasha as she practiced weaving your hair into a variety of patterns and styles. Molly either lounging on your legs or off to the side messing with his tarot deck.

Yasha is separating the worst of the knots with her own comb and using her dagger to cut away the matted portions. “Tomorrow we should go to the river near here to clean you up.” She murmurs to herself as she gently untangles your hair.  

“Yeah. You stink.” Molly teases as he melts onto the floor beside you. Rolling onto his back to rest his head in your lap. You don’t miss the downward tug of his lips as the movement pulls uncomfortably at the wound on his chest.

Your fingers skim along the edge of his wrappings. Something about this was important. You just couldn’t remember what or why. The frustration was a constant thrum in the back of your thoughts as something tried to make itself known.

The more you tried to focus on it the further it seemed. Your brows furrow as the only thing you succeed in doing is giving yourself a headache. A clawed hand catches your own as it continues to mindlessly trace patterns across his chest.

You give your attention to your tiefling, a small smile spreading across both of your lips simultaneously. Molly holds your gaze as he pulls your hand towards his lips. Eyes closing as he presses a kiss to the back of your palm.

Tears well in your eyes as you remember, just hours before, the same action. But unlike then, there is no pain or agony marring his features. He is relaxed, a content smile on his lips, one fang poking out on the left side.

“Head straight” Yasha chides softly as her fingertips urge you to turn your gaze forward. The soft snick’s of her dagger cutting overgrown and matted locks back is a steady sound. You quickly blink away the tears so as to not give yourself away.

You are have a clear view of the temple doors that open to allow in the man and goblin. They both head over to the kitchen, not without a few lingering glances in your direction. You thought you might have seen some birds in the goblin, Nott’s, grip and some sticks in Calebs.

Molly can surely feel the way your hands, your whole body, tenses as the strangers enter. You know he probably watched you watch them. He had often commented on how he could judge your feelings towards people depending on how you watched them.

Those you disliked, or didn’t trust, you tracked them. Not unlike a predator might watch prey, unblinking. Your children from when you first met you watched over closely. The same attentiveness that you held for those you were wary of but it lacked the harshness and instead was warm. Around him, he said, you were much like a cat. All soft, slow blinks, long looks into the distance without really seeing anything as you let down your guard.

His thumb rubs soothing circles over the back of your hand but it does little to alleviate your stress. The strangers, patrons, from the circus were different. They only wanted and expected one thing from you. If they ever became unruly you had a whole new family that would chase them off.

These strangers held a sense of danger. They weren’t safe. People, Molly, died in their company. These strangers are fighters. They have claws and teeth sharper than yours. At least that's what your instincts told you. A primal sense that gave you gooseflesh in warning at their proximity. Danger.

“They’re good company to keep Y/n.” Molly sighs when you do not relax, eyes still trained on the door to the kitchen.

“If you want to end up dead.” It an unwarranted lash. You know that as soon as you glance down to see the hurt in Mollys features. He quickly schools his expression.

“Give them a chance at least.” His voice is pleading and you lower your gaze to the floor.

“I’ll try.” Its mumbled but when he squeezes your hand you know he heard.

“Done.” The barbarian says smoothing down the new plait.

You untangle your fingers from Molly to gently pat at your hair. It was smoothed and combed out as best as it could be without a thorough wash. Two braids on either side of you hair helped pin it out of your face but the rest was left to hang loose.

You turn to look over your shoulder and up to Yasha. “Thanks Yash.” You shoot her a smile and are presented with the slightest upward twitch of her lips.

“Its nothing.” She assures and you offer a hand up to her. She takes it and helps you stand, a small grunt of pain escaping you, her arm pulls you close to her. With Yasha sitting and you standing you are slightly taller. Wordlessly you wrap your arms around her as she lays her ear against your chest. “You are Molly’s Zuala.” Her voice is far quieter than normal, little more than a vibration against you. “I am glad you both did not stay buried, but we must make sure it does not happen again. If not for my sake than for his.”

“I will get stronger. Strong enough to keep all three of us here on this plane.” You solemnly promise.

Yasha chuckles softly as she pulls back, your fingers sliding out from where they had intertwined with her braids. “You were never some fragile flower. But I am glad you want to improve. . .” She pauses before adding teasingly “Wild Woman.”

You roll your eyes but don’t have the chance to retaliate your old title before the human woman, Beau, pipes up.

“Whose a wild woman?” Her arm was hanging onto the door as her body leaned into the temple.

You whip around, startled, but your vision fills with black and Molly is quick to catch you before you fall over. Your fingers drag over your face as you try to shake the black splotches from your eyes. The other hand has a white knuckled grip onto Molly’s forearm. Partly because you needed to stay upright but mostly because you needed to be sure that he was by you whilst you were impaired in the company of strangers.

“Oof. Is she okay?” Beau questions, voice louder--closer.

“Im fine.” You bite out lifting your eyes as your gaze flits about until it focuses on the monk. Instinctually you step back, out of Molly hold although you keep an iron grip on his arm.

The tiefling steps between you and Beau “Maybe not to close for awhile yet, eh?”

“Sorry for inquiring ‘bout your girlfriends well being.” She snarks sarcastically, raising her hands and backing up a few steps. “Anyone want any of these berries I found?” She looks past Molly and even further past you “Yasha?” Her gaze is searching. Oh. It seemed Beau had affections for the barbarian.

You huff in amusement. Already harboring dislike for the monk that had escaped with her life only because Molly gave his. She had no idea that Yasha would never return her feelings. Not for many more years yet at least. Mollymauk gives you a warning look and you refrain from going back to glaring at the monk.

Yasha looks over to you and you realize that she is wanting permission. Maybe not necessarily permission but whether you’d be okay if she left your side to go to her other friend. It warmed your heart and calmed your nerves slightly. So far you had not thought to fall back on your companions should these strangers not take well to you. Of course Yasha and Molly would take your side should their new group come to dislike you. You’d always have them to turn to. 

A small nod is all it takes to have the smallest hint of a smile from Yasha before she goes over to Beau. The monk makes some kind of sputtering sound in disbelief at the scene that just transpired. You can hear her whispering a “Really?!” to Yasha as Molly turns around to face you.

His hands go to your shoulders and smooth down your arms. You keep your gaze firmly fixed on the peacock feather on his cheek rather than meet his eyes. His thumb and forefinger gently grip your chin to tilt your head up. With a frown you look into his ruby eyes as his thumb runs across your cheekbones. “Loosen up a litte y/n. I won’t let anything happen to you.” His voice is quiet but his tone is fierce.

You nod and tuck your head into the space between his neck and shoulder. “I know. I just feel like everything; sound, color, touch. . .everything is more intense ever since I woke up.”

Lids flutter closed as clawed fingertips gently run across your scalp. “We’ll get through it together.” He promises.

You wrap your arms around his back and relish in the feeling of his chest expanding and depressing with breath, with life. “And I’m not your girlfriend.” Lips turning down in displeasure as though you’d just eaten something foul.

A deep, throaty chuckle vibrates across every place where you are pressed against him. “No you’re not” He agrees resting his chin atop your head as he continues to stroke through your hair. “You’re so much more.”

@lizziepopanime, @spirithorse100, @rednighthood, @delpyelp, @high-king-margo-hanson, @notstinglesstoo, @sir-knit-a-lots, @valiantlyminiaturecreature, @sir-knit-a-lots, @valiantlyminiaturecreature, @mini-kunoichi-universe, @bearlypolar, @holyfuckareallusernamestaken, @kittoftherealm, @shirleyhush, @liciauka, @hugedumpsterfire, @krazykendraisnotinsane, @sarmar29, @littlefluffycloud, @rainbowtown, @ll-wanderlust-ll

[empyreanwritings]

A Weapon No More (2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x X-23!reader, past Wanda Maximoff x X-23!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mild angst, a really bad joke about a vibrator, violence

Summary: You made a promise to retire from the life of being used as a weapon after you escaped the Facility, but what’s one more mission? You wanted revenge on the doctor that created and tortured you for all those years, and S.H.I.E.L.D was giving you the opportunity to do so. Would it be worth breaking that promise?

A/N: I’ve pumped myself with so much orange juice and Mucinex so I could get this chapter uploaded today. This is more of a filler to establish some of the relationship with Wanda without giving too much away yet. I have a lot that I want to explore there, so I wanted to take it slow. I hope you guys like it! Let me know what you think! And if you’d like to be tagged, just shoot me an ask (: x

There were some issues with tagging people, I still added your names onto the list, but it would not let me tag you. Hopefully we can figure out why x

          All that could be heard in the gym were grunts that fell from your lips as you jabbed at the punching bag. You didn't bother to wrap your knuckles. You yearned to feel some sort of pain after the events of today. Exhausted. Humiliated. Annoyed. You weren't sure which emotion to focus on, so you pushed it all into your workout. Punch after punch, you felt every bit of frustration roll off your shoulders.

           "I hate you! You let me think you've been dead this whole time!" Wanda seethed, pointing an accusatory finger in your face.

           You huffed and began punching harder. The skin on your knuckles began to split, leaving specks of blood to drip onto the floor. You almost felt bad for letting it smear against of the fabric of the bag, but you kept going. Left. Right. Left again. The chains holding the bag rattled with each punch. They'd give sooner or later, and you were ready for that.

           "How do we know we can trust her? She may have escaped and killed Facility agents, but she's still one of their creations."

           Before you could stop yourself, your claws slowly pushed through your knuckles. Each punch suddenly became a swipe. Every movement you made was carefully thought through. You alternated between slicing and punching. Sand poured from the gashes and puncture marks left on the bag. You should have stopped yourself before you destroyed the entire thing and made a huge mess, but you couldn't stop. It was too relaxing.

           "X-23 is a weapon, and I don't see how she can ever be anything but a weapon. How do we know the Facility didn't hand her over to take us out from the inside?"

           You screamed as you sliced the bag in half, the rest of the sand spilling onto the floor. You panted and stared at the mess you created. It was almost laughable. You seemed to make a mess no matter where you went. The Avengers didn't trust you. Wanda hated you for lying and for breaking the promise you made to her. You felt just as alone as you did back at the Facility. At least there they knew you were an asset.

           You stared at your claws, feeling nothing but disgust for them. Maybe if you weren't a mutant, they would have accepted you. Maybe if you weren't one of the most dangerous beings in the world, they would have trusted you. There were a lot of what ifs and maybes in your life, but you knew you couldn't dwell on any of them. If they didn't want to trust you that was their problem. Fury wanted you on this mission for a reason. You needed to hold on and remind yourself of that.

           Bucky walked into the gym, a towel slung over his shoulder. He stopped when he saw you standing amongst the remains of a punching bag. He heard your labored breathing and knew you were trying hard not to cry. It had been a hard day for you, and even with the support from him and Steve, no one went easy on you. They picked at everything you said. They wanted to break you and make you realize you weren't "good enough" to be an Avenger.

��          It was hypocritical, and Bucky knew that.

           "They hate me, don't they?" You mumbled, knowing Bucky could hear you.

           He shrugged. "They're scared. They don't know anything about the Facility, and I think it makes them feel threatened. If it makes you feel better, Sam agreed with me and Steve. He thinks you can be trusted."

           You ran your fingers through your hair and let out a small laugh. There were a few people who had gone up to bat for you. Sam, Steve, and Bucky put up quite a fight to get the others to listen to what you had to say. Stark was indifferent towards you. He didn't fully trust you, but he knew they needed you. If Wanda hadn't been so upset with you, she might have been better at defending you.

           But the rest? Natasha, Vision, and Colonel Rhodes couldn't bring themselves to trust you. After everything they had been through with Bucky and seeing how that tore them apart, they couldn't handle going through it again. You understood. You heard their arguments and knew every one came from a place of logic, but it didn't sting any less. Eventually, they all gave Bucky a second chance. Maybe they could give you one too.

           You doubted it.

           "I'm going to hit the shower and probably fling myself off the roof tonight." You kicked some of the sand to the side, knowing there would be someone to clean it up shortly.

           Bucky stared at you, worry written all over his face. You waved him off in hopes it would help him realize you were just joking. Your humor probably wasn't the healthiest, but it was the only way you knew how to cope. You didn't actually plan on flinging yourself off the roof. Although, at this point, the others might be relieved if you tried it.

           "Are you going to be okay?" He asked before you could step out of the gym.

           Your shoulders slumped in defeat. You hated that question. Rice performed surgery on you when you were twelve without anesthesia, and you survived. You lived in a cell with no bed and electrical barriers, and you survived. You were great at surviving. Being practically immortal and strong-willed helped you be a survivor, but you never knew how to be okay. You were always two seconds away from breaking. This was a situation that felt like it could break you. As stupid as that sounded.

           "Is anyone ever okay?"

           You ignored Bucky's attempt at stopping you and slipped into the hallway. No one was around, so you were able to get to your room without anyone noticing you. You needed time to think about what you were going to do. There were only two options at this point: stay and prove yourself to people who didn't want to see the good in you or leave. You couldn't take on Rice alone, but if you played your cards right, you could at least destroy the base. He can't conduct the mutant experiments without somewhere to work. And that would give you time to find a way to kill him.

           The compound was quiet. Everyone, besides Bucky, was probably asleep by now. You knew there was a garage where they kept spare cars and motorcycles. You could hot wire one and make it at least ten miles before anyone realized you were gone.

           It would be a reckless decision--taking on the Facility by yourself. Rice had all the tools to make you compliant to his wishes again. The shock collar. The tranquilizers. That damned trigger scent. One wrong move and you'd be his pet again. You'd be the weapon everyone here believed you to be.

           You rubbed your hands against your face, mumbling curses to yourself. There was no choice anymore. You needed to leave and face Rice on your own. If the Avengers didn't trust you, they wouldn't try to save you if the mission took a turn. They'd save their own and leave you behind to become a prisoner again. You wanted to believe Steve could convince them you were an ally, but you didn't want to put your life in their hands if they viewed it as expendable.

           "I'm about to make a really dumb decision," you sighed as you grabbed a bag and began packing some spare clothes into it.

           You slung the bag over your shoulder and made your way out of the room. You snuck into the kitchen to pack some rations before your trip. The Facility was located in the rural parts of Pennsylvania. You could make it there in a day, but you'd need some time to stake out and see what you were up against--what new mutants Rice managed to cook up in his lab.

           "So, that's it? You're going to run?" Her accent wasn't as strong as it used to be, but you still loved the sound of it.

           "What do you care?" You turned towards Wanda, who was casually leaning against the doorway you needed to get through to get to the garage. "I thought you hated me."

           "I hate that I found out you were alive three minutes before I returned from a mission."

           You placed your bag on the counter. This was going to be a long talk that you hoped you could have avoided. You weren't the best at getting emotional. Sarcastic comments and self-deprecating jokes at the wrong time were more of your strong suit.

           "I thought you were dead, Y/N."

           You sighed. "And I knew you weren't. That was all that mattered to me."

           Wanda stepped forward and cupped your face in her hands. You closed your eyes, relishing in her gentle touch. She stroked your cheek with her thumb. The same one she had struck earlier in the day. You wanted to make a joke about it but decided against it. You didn't want to ruin the moment before it truly began.

           "You promised me you'd get as far away from the Facility as possible and live a normal life if you escaped."

           You could have told her about the nightmares. How they plagued you when you tried to run away, but you didn't see the point. She wouldn't understand. Not really. She managed to find a family in the Avengers. They patched the scars the Facility left behind. You never had that luxury. The only family you knew, outside the scientists that created you, had been Wanda. You never regretted helping her escape, but you knew you'd be alone for a while after that.

           "I tried, I really did." You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. You refused to cry today. You refused to look weak. "I moved to Florida and tried the beach life, but I hate sand. It gets everywhere. Nothing ever feels clean. And have you ever had shells in your downstairs? So uncomfortable."

           Wanda shook her head and let out an incredulous laugh. She was surprised you held back the jokes this long. It was something she was used to by now, but she hated that you couldn't see how serious the promise was to her. All she wanted was for you to be safe. To be happy.

           "You can't take on Rice by yourself. You're going to get yourself captured, and he won't let you live long enough to escape again." She purposefully chose to ignore your comment about the sand.

           You shrugged. "Your friends don't trust me. I can't just go in there with two super soldiers and a man wearing metal wings as my back up while everyone else watches from the sidelines, hoping I die."

           "They don't want you to-"

           "Wanda, they don't trust me. They will save their own before saving me if something goes wrong, and you know that." You reached for your bag, but she slid it away from you before you could. You rolled your eyes. She was going to make this more difficult than you thought she would.

           "They don't trust you because they don't know you. I can talk to them. Tell them about how you risked your life to save me more than once when we were in the Facility."

           "I don't think that will work."

           "You stood up to Rice for me. I think I can handle a few Avengers for you," she retorted with a smile.

           You stood next to Dr. Rice, watching the new subject they purchased. The Facility was tasked with training her and preparing her to join Hydra. You failed to understand why the Facility had to act as a middleman. Hydra loved doing their own dirty work. They were skilled at torturing someone to break their spirit. Apparently, the Facility was better.

           "We must break her to make her compliant for Hydra," Rice stated as he wrote on his clipboard.

           "What do we gain from giving Hydra this girl? Wouldn't she better suit our needs?"

           Rice smirked. "All in good time, my pet."

           Subject 239's first test consisted of a very thorough medical exam to test her abilities. Her screams filled the halls as the nurses sliced her open and stitched her back up again. Enhanced healing--negative. You tried to drown out her pleas for help. She would learn soon enough that begging never work. Especially when a subject was under Dr. Rice's watch. You were certain he loved hearing people scream and beg.

           The subject had no enhanced senses based on their test results, but she showed extraordinary abilities. She could probe minds; manipulate people's thoughts and make them see what wasn't there. And she could move objects without touching them physically. She was powerful. Magically talented.

           Her next test was designed to understand her physical strength. You laughed when Rice came to you and said you'd be fighting her in the training room today. You thought it was a joke. Subject 239 may be powerful, but physically, she couldn't be a match. You had been designed to be stronger than any enemy someone threw the Facility's way. If you fought this subject, you'd tear her to shreds, which is exactly what Rice wanted you to do. The terror of almost dying would either unlock a hidden power, make her stronger, or finally break her into compliance.

           You stood at one end of the training mat, eyeing Subject 239 in front of you. She was covered in black and purple bruises. Her eyes were sunken in, possibly due to dehydration. Her skin seemed paler than normal. Even her beautiful red hair seemed lifeless. She could barely hold herself up, let alone keep up in a fight with you.

           You let out a sigh. You were about to make a reckless decision.

           "I will not fight this subject, Dr. Rice," you stated just loud enough so he could hear you through the comms.

           "You think you have a choice, X-23?" His voice sounded strained over the comm. You knew he was already planning your punishment for openly defying him.

           You shook your head. "I will not fight this subject. She needs rest."

           The subject stared at you with wide eyes. She didn't understand why you weren't like the others, the ones so willing to tear her apart to build to her back up. You wanted to protect her, but she wasn't sure why. She remembered seeing you next to Rice the first day they tested on her. You hadn't said anything then. You watched as the prepped her for the horrors they planned for her. What changed from then to now?

           Rice slammed his fist against the glass, screaming at you to fight her, but you refused. The subject almost stepped forward and begged you to fight, but she stopped when she saw you drop to your knees. The collar around your neck sent strong electrical pulses throughout your entire body. It paralyzed every muscle and was made to keep you on the ground so the scientists could come in and tranquilize you.

           "What's," you groaned, trying to form words through the pain, "Your name?"

           Two scientists burst through the doors, their white coats flowing behind them. You could see the large needle in one of their hands. They planned on knocking you out for a while. You weren't sure when you'd see the subject again and if she'd even be alive. The Facility would never accept her as their own because she belonged to Hydra, but you wanted her to know she had an ally.

           "Wanda," she whispered through her tears.

           You stared back at the woman in front of you. She placed her hands on her hips, making it obvious that she was not going to let you say no. You looked at your bag then looked back at her. You were faster than her. There was still a chance to take it and run, she'd stop you before you could. The determined glint in her eyes told you that.

           "Fine. If you think that telling them about our past will help them trust me, you have my permission." You pulled the rations you packed out of the bag and began placing them back in the cabinets. "But for the record, it probably would have helped if you brought it up when I first met everyone. You let me sink back there, and you know it."

           "I'm sorry. I should have said something, I know. It was just. . .a surprise."

           "Yeah, I could tell you were surprised. Pretty sure my cheek still feels the power of that slap you gave me."

           Wanda smiled sheepishly. "If it makes you feel better, I definitely didn't plan on slapping you. It was a heat of the moment reaction."

           "You could have just made out with me. That's a more acceptable heat of the moment reaction, just saying."

           She let out a small laugh, but you noticed how quiet she grew afterwards. You glanced back to see her staring at the counter. The way she chewed on the inside of her cheek made you realize that she was debating something in her head. There was a lot she probably wanted to say. After five years of thinking you were dead, you wouldn't take it personally if she didn't have feelings for you anymore. In fact, you'd be heartbroken if she never moved on after all this time.

           You two found each other during the darkest parts of your life. It's a cliché reason to fall in love someone, but it always happens. When there's only one person showing you affection in a base filled with mutants, your emotions tend to get the best of you. Dependency and true love are two very different things, but inside the wall of that base, you never know the difference.

            You'd always care for her. You don't sacrifice your life for someone you'd stop caring for after a few years. But you'd be stupid to believe that things could go back to the way they used to be between you two.

           "You should know, I'm seeing someone," she admitted quietly. Her eyes still trained on the countertop.

           "Well, I figured. You wouldn't be so awkward right now if you weren't about to tell me that," you joked in hopes to lighten the mood.

           Wanda let out a small laugh. "It's Vision."

           "The toaster with a cape?"

           She stared at you, completely unamused by your joke this time. You smirked. You couldn't help yourself with that one. Vision had been one of the people who didn't trust you. The one good thing about her being involved with him was that she could convince him to trust you.

           The jealous part of you just didn't see the appeal of dating a robot. It's basically a love story between a witch and her vibrator. You snorted and looked down at your feet to keep yourself from laughing. Thank goodness you didn't make that joke out loud. She'd definitely hate you for that one. Even if it was one of the best jokes you made.

           "If you're happy then I'm happy." You reached over and patted her hand. "Just make sure you convince him to trust me. He already doesn't like me, and I really don't need jealousy to be added into that."

           "Don't worry, I got your back." She flashed you a smile, which you gladly returned.

           Things were looking up. You just didn't know how long it would stay like that.

Tags: @sxvfia @smilee-happyness-willcome @iheartsebastianstan @38leticia @holyhumorliteraturelight @sweatyfurystudent @angelus320

[analisegrey]

Prompt from @rohanrider3:  “ Yay! If your askbox is still open, here's a prompt :D Character: Caleb Widogast,  phrase: "You're burning up." <3 <3″

It starts small, as such things often do.

Caleb hasn’t always caught sick so easily; it’s only after the asylum he really begins to notice it. He has some ideas on what’s happened, but most of the time he just tries not to think about it.

This time, it starts with a small tickle in his throat. It’s not too bad; his voice gets rougher for a few days, and Nott sneaks honey drops into his pockets when he isn’t looking, but he feels okay all things considered. Then his sinuses get into it, which is less than grand, and his throat gets worse when he starts breathing through his mouth as his nose gets stuffier. In the evenings when the group makes camp, Nott tugs his bedroll a few inches closer to the fire when he’s doing something else, but he tugs it back away with a pointed look at her which she pretends not to notice.

If it had stayed just that, it would have been unpleasant for a few days, but it would have been fine. Unfortunately, as Caleb has learned, and will apparently need to learn again, his luck isn’t spectacular, and the illness doesn’t feel satisfied to just stay up in his head. A day or so later the cough begins, and again, at first it isn’t bad. When Jester gives him a concerned look and asks if he’s alright he waves her off. “It’s just a cold, Jester, I don’t think there’s much to be done about it.”

She narrows her eyes at him, considering, then nods, a smile blooming across her face. “If you say so, Caleb, but you know I am a great healer, so if you change your mind and want me to give it a shot, you just say the word and I’ll get right on that for you!”

He can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “Thank you, Jester, you will be the first I talk to if that is the case.”

Another couple of days pass, and he can admit that maybe his cough won’t just go away on its own. It’s settling, taking root, and it hurts sometimes when he breathes too deep or too quickly. He’s felt something like this before, right before he and Nott escaped prison together, and it took medicine to fix it then. He doesn’t have medicine this time, and they’re still days away from the nearest village. Jester’s delighted when Caleb approaches her for help, but less so when her attempts to cure the cough fail. She frowns, the gentle blue glow from her fingertips fading as she pulls her hand back from its place on his chest.

“I’m sorry, Caleb, I thought I could help, but I think that maybe, because this technically isn’t a wound, that maybe the type of spells I have right now won’t work. I can try again, though, if you’d like? Or, oh! I can ask the Traveler tonight if he has any ideas, and then we’ll see maybe tomorrow?”

Caleb shakes his head with a tired smile and pulls his coat tighter around himself. “Don’t worry yourself over it, Jester. We should be reaching the next town soon, and we can handle it then. I will be okay.”

Caleb doesn’t like being wrong, but when they’re attacked by a troll that evening in camp, he has to admit he’s worse off than he initially thought.

The troll thankfully doesn’t spurt poison the way the one in the Labenda swamp had, but it does still regenerate, and it’s quickly becoming a problem. It’s already tossed Fjord aside, and he isn’t moving from where he landed. Caleb thinks it might be easier to fight if it would just stay still; he pulls his clay cat’s paw from his pocket and concentrates, and out of the ground springs a giant earthen paw which grabs the troll, holding it still for the others to attack.

That’s all well and good until Caleb starts coughing and can’t stop. He tries, but every time he gasps for air he starts coughing again, and oh gods, he can’t breathe. His vision goes gray at the edges, and between one second and the next he loses concentration on the spell and his cat’s paw loses its grip on the troll. He doesn’t see what happens, but when he finally manages to stop coughing long enough to gasp a breath in, it’s eerily quiet. He’s fallen to his hands and knees, though he isn’t sure when it happened; it must have at some point though because he’s on the ground, the clay cat’s paw beside him and his fingers digging into the soil from where he’s been fighting to breathe. He looks over at where the troll now lies, minus its head, with Yasha standing over it with her sword covered in blood. That- that’s good. Jester’s next to Fjord, who’s just sitting up, and that’s also good. Still panting for breath, Caleb glances around and spots Molly, who’s on his knees not far away, leaning over- oh. Oh no, that’s Nott laying under Molly, and she isn’t moving.

Caleb scrambles to his feet and stumbles over to drop back to the ground next to Molly who’s just opened a healing potion and is working to get Nott’s mouth open. Caleb bats his hand away and reaches in himself, hefting Nott up to a sitting position and getting a grip on her chin to make it easier for Molly. Nott’s limp and pliant in his hands, and he can see the rips in her clothing from where the troll must have gotten her with its claws. As Molly gets the potion into her, the deep wounds under the fabric start to close, the bleeding slowing, then coming to a stop completely. Caleb feels lightheaded in relief, then realizes it isn’t just relief he’s feeling. The world goes distant, muffled, and even though he isn’t coughing, it doesn’t feel like he’s getting enough air. He sets Nott aside gently as he can in his increasing panic, and pulls sharply at the collar of his shirt, his hands starting to shake. He knows panicking will only make his breathing worse, but it’s difficult not to panic when it feels like his chest is being squeezed, no air getting in. His lungs ache, and he can hear Molly calling his name, getting more distressed by the moment, but he can’t get enough air to respond.

Things go hazy, snippets of conversation and sensations bleeding through, though it’s difficult to focus. A cool hand lands on his cheek, then his forehead, and he tries to lean into it, but can’t seem to move. He can vaguely feel he’s trembling and can’t stop, and his chest still hurts, a deep ache that makes it hard to breathe still, like Frumpkin’s sitting on his chest. He lifts his arms to push Frumpkin off only to have hands catch at his wrists and gently push them back down near his sides.

“BItte-” Why won’t they let him move Frumpkin, don’t they know he can’t breathe? He mentally commands the familiar to move, but nothing happens, and he doesn’t understand why Frumpkinis suddenly ignoring him. He pulls at the hands on his wrists, but they’re far stronger than him, and he feels his panic starting to grow. He can’t breathe, can’t move, and why won’t they help? Why won’t Frumpkin listen? Why-?

He struggles harder, but he’s getting weaker, and it’s more and more difficult to draw breathe, which only fuels his panic. The voices around him rise, pieces of conversation breaking through.

“-do we do? He’s burning up and we’re still at least a day away from the nearest town!”

“We’ve gotta cool him off. Help me, Yasha, there’s a stream over-”

Next thing he knows he’s moving, being lifted, and he can’t help the whine of distress and discomfort wrung out of him at the movement. He doesn’t know how he hasn’t noticed it before, but his whole body aches, his joints thrumming in pain at every jostle and movement. He wants to beg them to stop, but can’t get breath enough to do more than whimper.

Blessedly things slow and stop, but then there are hands on him, so many hands, pulling and tugging at his coat, his boots, his holsters, and oh gods, his books, please no, not those-

Again, he fights, but to no avail. He’s quickly down to shivering in his pants and linen shirt and he’s being picked up again.

“Hold him tight, he’s gonna thrash when we hit the water, but we need to bring the fever down.”

His thoughts are syrupy and slow, too slow to process what’s being said around him until it’s much too late. The first splash of icy water is a shock and his body locks up in surprise as he’s dragged further into the cold depths. His shivering intensifies until he can feel his teeth rattling. Everything hurts, everything feels like ice, and he doesn’t know what he’s done to warrant this.

Though, his mind supplies as he weakly struggles against the arms holding him, perhaps he’s died in the troll attack. Perhaps he’s dead, and this is his eternal punishment. He’s always assumed he’d spend eternity suffering in flames, but there’s something oddly poetic about the cold and wet, the bone-deep misery that’s swallowing him up, sending shards of ice into his joints and making him gasp and choke for air.

At a certain point his body gives out on him and he goes limp, the hands on him the only things holding him up. He’s still shaking, shivering uncontrollably, and gods, all he wants is for the misery to end, to pass out if that’s a thing the dead can do, if only so he could have a few moments of relief. He’s so tired, beyond exhausted, weary to his core, and to his immense relief, he does in fact pass out.

When Caleb wakes again, his mind feels marginally clearer. He’s bundled in a nest of blankets that he realizes is made up of everyone’s bedrolls, but partially sitting up, leaning back against some of the sacks of horse feed in the bed of their cart; the cart is in motion, the jostling of the wheels on the road cushioned by the blankets and making it bearable, if only just. It’s still difficult to breathe, and he’s still very uncomfortable, the haze of fever still settled however lightly over his thoughts.

“Caleb?”

It takes a lot of effort, but Caleb turns his head and gets his eyes to focus on Molly, who’s sitting a few feet away, back up against the side of the cart. His face lights up when he sees Caleb’s awake, and he grabs a water skin before scooting over to Caleb’s side.

“Hey. Do you think you could drink some water?”

Speaking seems inconceivably complicated, so he just nods, and Molly’s smile grows brighter. Molly uncorks the water skin and tilts it up letting water dribble into Caleb’s mouth slowly so as not to choke him. Caleb only manages a mouthful or two before he turns his head away, gasping for air again. Molly recorks the skin and brushes hair out of Caleb’s face, holding the back of his hand to Caleb’s forehead before making an unhappy sound and frowning.

“You’re still far too warm. We got your fever down from where it was, though, which is a blessing. We’ve been traveling as fast as possible so we can get to the next town. Yasha rode ahead to see if there was a doctor available, so there should be help waiting when we get there. In the meantime, try to rest if you can, alright?”

Caleb hummed in response, eyes sliding shut, letting the gentle rumble of the cart lull him into a restless slumber.