#she’s got a ghost cat AND a ghost dart

[dollarstoreartsupplies]

Anyway this drawing made me consider a Dustin who can see the dead cuz it sort of accidentally looked like a ghost cat until I edited the outline so now I’m Considering That

[stevie-petey]

episode five: dig dug

“You like Y/N?” Dustin asks at the same time as you ask, “You like me?” Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, barely. She’s on thin ice. But you, little Henderson? You just stole the flowers meant for my girlfriend, so backseat you go.” “Yes!” You cheer, pumping your fist in the air as you flash Steve a smile. “Thanks, Harrington.” He rounds the front of his car and opens the driver's side door. “Yeah, don’t get used to it. Like I said, you’re still on thin ice.”

Summary: you and dustin bury a body and con your mother into fleeing town, great sibling bonding time ! you play hockey with a monster, dustin gets ghosted by his friends, and now it's your turn to kidnap steve (technically dustin does, but you don't stop him) who later gives you some terrifying realizations.

Rating: general, swearing and slight violence

Warnings: blood, use of y/n, fem!reader, animal cruelty technically, weapons, cursing

Words: 7.5k

Before you swing in: hello ! late chapter update, but here ya go lovelies !! lots has happened recently, i got a sick ass job and im super excited and :))) so updates will definitely slow down again some more, but i promise i will update whenever possible. for now, please enjoy !

–

“Remember how angry I was at you about hiding El from me last year?”

“Yeah?”

“Visualize the anger, multiply it by ten, and then take three steps back from me.”

Dustin trips over his feet to scramble away from you.

You’re currently in your own room, the door locked, with Dustin standing several feet away now as he heeds your warning. Never in your life have you felt such rage before, such blinding fury, and you thought you knew what anger was when your dad left.

But this? This is a new type of anger, one you know that only the older sister to Dustin Henderson could ever feel.

As soon as Dart had lifted its head up at you and screeched, you’d immediately snatched your brother’s hand into yours and ran out the door, door slamming behind you. Now, you’re hiding out in your room with no fucking clue what to do.

“You killed our cat.”

“Technically Dart did.” You glare at Dustin. You had actually liked Mews, she was the sweetest cat in the world and a gift for your fifth birthday. Your brother, sensing he’s only digging a deeper hole for himself, coughs. “I mean… Yeah. I killed our cat.”

Stepping back, you find your desk chair against your legs and fall into the seat. Exhaustion sweeps over you. There’s no time to grieve the loss of your cat. Not when there’s a baby demogorgon in Dustin’s room eating said cat’s corpse still. “What do we even do in this situation?”

“Not tell mom?” Again, you glare at Dustin and he squeaks in fear. “Well I mean, that’s all I can think of right now!”

A headache forms. “I should’ve gone with Jonathan and Nancy.”

Dustin thinks for a moment. “Where did they go, anyways?”

“No. You don’t get to ask any questions right now.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You sigh, a vague idea forming in your mind. “Okay, first we need get Mews out of the room. She was mom’s favorite child, we can’t just leave her in there to be diminished to bones.”

Dustin nods. “Obviously. We can do that… right?”

“We have to. Once she’s out of there, we just… leave Dart in there. At least for now. It’s already late in the afternoon and we need so much help from the party.”

“We can’t tell the party–”

“You’re right. We can’t,” Dustin sighs with relief, but you give him an evil smile. “But you can tell the party. You’ll radio everyone tomorrow, clean the house, and make a plan from there.”

Dustin tries to argue, but you hold a hand up. “You brought a baby demogorgon into our house. You lost every arguing privilege there is to lose.”

He groans, knowing you’re right. Next time, he’ll be better at hiding things from you because you’re a total buzzkill whenever you inevitably find out.

Together, the two of you hatch a plan. You’ll walk into Dustin’s room first, knives out and ready just in case, and Dustin will follow once the coast is clear. Then, he’ll lure Dart away from Mews’ body with chocolate (you don’t want to ask why), and once he’s gone you’ll snatch your cat’s body and flee the room immediately afterwards.

It’s a good plan.

That is, if it works.

“Ready?” You’re standing in front of Dustin’s door, your knives flicked open in your hand, ready for possible war with a foot long little demon.

Your brother pats your shoulder. “Don’t die, sis.”

“I’m holding knives as we speak. Touch me again and die.”

“I hope Dart eats your face.”

You smile. “There’s my brother. Okay, as soon as I’m inside the room, close the door. Then, when I knock three times, open it again and enter.”

“Wait for two knocks–”

“Three.”

“Three knocks. Right.”

You steady your breathing. Around the corner, you can hear your mom humming to herself as she makes dinner. She has no clue what’s going on, and you envy her for it. Your hand on Dustin’s door knob twists slowly, then, before you can psych yourself out, you turn the knob and throw yourself inside.

Quickly the door slams behind you, so at least Dustin did something right.

Your eyes, which had previously been squeezed shut, open slowly. When you don’t see any sign of Dart, you exhale. So far, so good. You walk towards the couch and find the creature still eating away at your dead cat, which you gag at.

Poor Mews.

You rap your knuckles against the door three times, alerting Dustin to come inside.

He opens the door and walks in, his hands fisted against his face as if that would do anything to keep him safe. You roll your eyes and flick his head, which he whines at. “Grab the chocolate and distract Dart, please.”

Dustin runs over to his desk and grabs a Musketeers bar. When you see the candy’s name, you want to slam your head against the wall. You know exactly why the monster’s name is Dart.

“Let me guess,” you say, your tone mocking. “D’Artagnan?”

“Don’t you have a corpse to collect?”

You scoff at him but step aside so that he can dangle the chocolate in Dart’s face. You watch, alert for any signs of danger in case you need to step in, but the monster seems to be pretty friendly with Dustin. You guess they really did create a bond.

Once Dart is far enough away from Mews, you run over and snatch up her body. You try not to think about the possible cat guts now all over your sweater. That will be a later issue. Like a lot of things in your life recently.

“Go, go, go!” You push Dustin towards the door.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, throwing the last piece of the candy bar at Dart’s face and running out the door right behind you. Once you’re both out the room with the door closed, you both lean against the wall and exhale deeply.

“Good job. Now onto phase two.”

Dustin makes a face. “Why do I have to distract mom?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you hold up Mews’ bloody body. “Do you want to be the one to hold our dead cat?”

“Good point, I’ll go distract mom.” Dustin leaves, rounding the corner to go hopefully distract your poor mother in a sane way. With your luck, Dustin will spew some weird bullshit that will only make her more worried than she already is.

Right on cue, you hear Dustin say from the kitchen. “Mom, I think I broke my arm.”

The scream of fear your mom lets out would’ve been comedic had you not been holding her beloved dead cat.

Your mother runs around the kitchen, fretting over your brother, and the second she isn’t looking, you slip out the front door and quickly throw Mews’ body into your bush. You feel a bit bad about that, but there’s nowhere else to hide her body in broad daylight.

When you walk back inside, Dustin is being swaddled by your mother. “What did I miss?”

“Oh, Y/N!” Your mom sighs. “Dusty said he thought he broke his arm, but the silly boy seems to be okay.”

Dustin pats her back. “Ha, right. Silly me!”

Your mom looks up and then squints a bit, eying your sweater. You look down and your heart drops. It’s covered in Mews’ blood.

Fuck.

“Y/N, what’s that all over your sweater?”

“Paint!” You say while Dustin sputters, “Ketchup!”

“We… Were painting with ketchup.” You lie, sending a quick glare your brother’s way. Out of everything red, why ketchup?

“Oh, alright.” Your mom looks uncertain, but doesn’t say anything else about it. “Well, dinner is almost ready. Why don’t you go wash up, honey?”

The second you’re dismissed, you run into your room and yank the sweater off. You’ll burn it tomorrow. First chance you get.

A few seconds later, there’s a knock on your door before Dustin’s head pokes inside. “Dinner’s done.”

“Great. Holding your dead cat definitely works up an appetite.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Dustin tries to play it off, but you see the genuine upset in his eyes. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, and you know he loved Mews too.

You sigh and walk over to him and kiss his curls. “It’s okay. Next time, let’s not hide a monster from the Upside Down, yeah?”

“Deal.”

–

Dustin spends the night in your room, which you explain to your mom as needing some “serious bonding time”. She tears up at this, unaware of the fact that you’ll be making your brother sleep on the floor as punishment.

The next morning you and Dustin hatch yet another plan: get mom out of the house. Before you two can do anything else, you both agree that your mom cannot be anywhere near Dart. Plus, she’s already noticed Mews’ absence, so it’s only a matter of time before she finds the body in the bush.

“Alright, you’ll fake the phone call while I start gathering the supplies.” You tell Dustin while your mom calls for Mews outside. She’s at the bottom of the driveway, Mews’ favorite toy in her hand, shaking it around, unaware that the cat’s dead body is in the bush next to her.

“Got it. You remember where my old hockey suit is?” You nod at Dustin’s question, and he’s about to say something else before he sees your mom start walking back towards the house. “Shit! Game time, go!”

Dustin fumbles for the phone and you run to the living room closet. Just as you’ve entered your positions, your mom walks through the front door.

“Mewsy! Dusty, Y/N, sweethearts, you’re sure she’s not in your rooms?”

“No, mom.” You shake your head at her.

Holding up a finger, Dustin presses the phone to his ear and motions for the woman to remain quiet. “Uh-huh. Thank you so much, Mr. McCorkle. Thank you so much, you are a true lifesaver.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. He’s laying it on pretty thick.

“Alright, this was great. Thank you, have a good one. Bye-bye now, all right. You too.” Dustin pretends to hang up the phone and smiles at your mom. “Alright, great news!”

“They found her?” Tears of joy lace your mother’s voice. You have to turn away, you know she’d notice the discomfort on your face. It feels horrible to be lying to your mother like this.

Dustin seems to be thinking the same thing, because he lowers his voice and gently approaches her. “No, but they saw her wandering around Loch Nora.”

More tears flow down your mom���s face. “How did the poor baby get all the way over there?”

“I don’t know, lost I guess. But they’re gonna look for her, and–and Y/N and I will stay here, just in case they call again. Right, Y/N?”

“Right!” You call from the closet, now quickly grabbing everything you can think of. Would a hammer be necessary?

“And you’re gonna go help look. Yeah?” Dustin’s only response is a relieved hug from your crying mother. “Yeah, give me a hug. Go get her!”

Your mom quickly composes herself and grabs her glasses. She presses a kiss to your forehead and seems to be in better spirits. “We’ll find her!”

“Mews will be home soon, mom!” You cheer, and your mom blows you another kiss.

“I love you,” Dustin sends her a thumbs up.

“I love you, kids.” And with that, your mom clutches her purse to her chest and sends one final kiss your way before shutting the door behind her.

As soon as the door shuts, you and Dustin scramble. Dustin heads to the backyard to open your cellar doors and you grab the remaining hockey gear from the closet. While you drag the uniform out to the living room, your brother begins to look through the fridge for any possible bait.

“Think Dart would like bologna?” Dustin calls over his shoulder as he digs around.

You groan, dropping the heavy goalie pads. “Last I checked, he wasn’t my secret Upside Down pet.”

“Touche.”

Dustin grabs the bologna and starts making a trail from his room towards the front door. While he does that, you start sorting through your own pile of gear, soccer to be specific. Dustin liked hockey, you preferred warmer sports. As you’ve finished lacing up your cleats and shin pads, Dustin returns.

“Okay, the bait is all set up. Got my hockey stick?”

You hand him what he needs. “Here, and your helmet is on the couch.”

Dustin gets ready and you retrieve some oven mitts from the kitchen. When you hand them to the boy, he looks at you like you’re insane. “What? Extra protection. Can’t hurt.”

He sighs and swipes them from your hand, putting them on. Once he’s ready, you help him stand up. He looks ridiculous in his old hockey gear, but you suppose you don’t look any better with your shin pads and Dustin’s spare shoulder pads.

“Alright. We all set?”

Dustin pats his helmet. “Ready.”

You walk towards his room, and once you’re there, Dustin pushes past you and bends down a bit so he can speak through his keyhole. “Alright, Dart. Breakfast time.”

“Do we have to mention breakfast right before we set him free?" You mumble, but your brother ignores you.

Slowly, he reaches towards the door handle and then flings it open. As soon as the door has been moved, Dustin practically knocks you to the ground in his haste to escape. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

His mantra reminds you of Steve’s from last year at Jonathan’s. Seems like the two boys have something in common: they’re idiots.

You follow quickly behind Dustin, terrified but at least trying to hide it, while your brother just repeats “oh my god”, and “shit” over and over again as he stumbles over the bait and out towards the front door.

If the situation wasn’t so grave, you’d be giggling at how dumb Dustin looks waddling over bologna on the floor. However, Dart could very well be right behind you, so you run after the kid equally as terrified.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit–”

By this point, you’re nearing the tool shed outside.

“I will push you down these stairs Dustin Henderson.”

Dustin shuts up and, as soon as you’re inside the shed as well, locks it behind him. Once he’s sure you’re all cleared, he lets out a breath of relief. “Okay, now we wait.”

You walk towards the wood panels, squinting as you peek through a gap to see outside. “I don’t see anything.”

Dustin does the same. “Come on, I know you’re hungry…”

Everything remains still outside, and you’re starting to worry that maybe Dart doesn’t like bologna after all, until you see his scaly body walk out the door. He gobbles down the bologna pieces one by one, which you cringe at.

“Yeah. He likes bologna, alright.”

Dustin silently cheers. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

Dart makes his way down the trail, eating every piece he finds, and soon he scampers down the steps and hovers over the cellar doors. In an odd way, the little guy is kinda cute if you forget about the fact that he killed your cat.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Dustin continues to chant as you watch Dart. The creature just has one more piece of bologna left, he just needs to take a few more steps inside before you can slam the doors shut.

But, because nothing can ever be easy for you, Dart suddenly turns and looks straight at you and Dustin. “Shit!”

You flinch back, knocking into a bucket of nails that spill everywhere. “Shit again!”

Dustin tries to shush you but you grab him by his shoulders and force him behind you. Your knives are out, their blades gleaming in the sunlight that creeps through the wood panels. You peek through them to find Dart slowly approaching the shed, his mouth almost watering.

“Well, this isn’t good.” You take a breath to lessen your fear. “Stay here, I’ll try to distract him–”

“AHHH!” Dustin shoves you against the opposite wall, your body flinging back with a harsh crash, and breaks through the shed’s door. With one solid wack from his hockey stick, he flings Dart into the cellar.

“What the–Dustin!” By the time you make it out the shed, your brother has flung himself on top of the cellar doors, panting.

“Got him,” he informs you, as if it isn’t obvious enough. Dart begins to screech with anger, and Dustin sighs. “I’m sorry, you ate my cat.”

“You’re an idiot, Dustin.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just give me five seconds to catch my breath, please.”

–

With Dart safely locked away, you and Dustin are able to finally bury your cat.

It doesn’t take long, but the early November heat is just warm enough to make you annoyed as you dig through the soil in your backyard. Dustin has his walkie with him, trying to find the right frequency so he can call the party and inform them of what’s going on.

“Guys, this is Dustin again. Does anyone copy?” You stab at the ground with your shovel and your brother groans when he gets no response. “This is a code red. I repeat, a code red!”

Sweat trickles down your brow and honestly it should be Dustin burying the cat, but you’ve never learned how to radio the party so you just sigh and throw more dirt upon your dead cat. Dustin tries a few more times to contact the party, but no one responds.

“Damn it!” He shouts, frustrated.

“Language,” you huff out, more sweat forming.

It goes on like this for a while, Dustin trying and failing to reach anyone, as you two begin to clean the house of any blood and Mews guts. He tries again while you guys grab the cleaning supplies, then again while you’re on your hands and knees scrubbing his carpet in his room.

“Alright, it’s Dustin again. Seriously, I have a code red.”

“Maybe they don’t know what code red means?” You offer, your nose scrunched up due to the bleach fumes.

Dustin scoffs, “sure, and they also don’t know who Luke Skywalker’s father is–”

Suddenly Erica’s voice comes through the walkie. “Can you please shut up?”

“Erica?” Dustin stops scrubbing and straightens up. “Erica, is Lucas there? Where is he?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Erica has always been such a lovely girl.

“Is he with Mike?”

“Like I said, I don’t know and I don’t care.”

You and Dustin share a look. It worries you that Mike hasn’t been responding all day. From what you’ve heard and seen, he’s spent every day this year camped out in his fort in the basement trying to contact El with the radio frequencies.

It’s not like to Mike to just disappear.

“Listen, Erica.” You speak up, trying to sweet talk to the girl. You’ve babysat her a few times and you’ve even managed to convince her you’re kinda cool, so maybe she’ll respond better to you. “Did Lucas mention anything else? Maybe… Maybe like a girl he went to see?”

Dustin frowns. “A girl? What–” You shush him and wait for a response.

Erica snorts. “A girl? Please, as if. He’s been gone all day. That’s all I can tell you.”

Your brother closes his eyes and sighs. “Please tell him it’s super important. Please tell him that I have a code–”

“Code red?” Erica interrupts.

“Yep, code red. Exactly.” Dustin smiles, then covers his mike to whisper to you, “seems like she likes me more than you–”

“I got a code for you instead. It’s called code shut-your-mouth.” Then, Erica switches off the walkie.

Dustin stares at nothing, dumbfounded. You go back to scrubbing the carpet, a pleased smile on your face. “So, you were saying?”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, processing the fact that clearly no one in the party will answer, before letting out an obnoxious groan. “Damn it!”

“Are you gonna help me clean, or–?”

“Can’t you just call Jonathan?” Dustin asks, grasping at straws. “Maybe he can be useful for once and help.”

You shake your head. “No, he’s out of town right now with Nancy.”

“And you’re okay with this because…?”

“Because,” you roll your eyes, “they’re on a secret mission to take down Hawkin’s Lab. They’re at some detective’s house right now, so I have zero way of contacting them.”

Dustin rubs at his eyes tiredly. “How did we get stuck with a cat eating baby demogorgon while Jonathan and Nancy get cool spy work?”

You pinch his leg, causing him to wince and move away from you. “Because you purposefully hid the baby demogorgon. Any other stupid questions?”

“Sure,” Dustin throws his hands up in defeat, obviously joking when he asks, “got any other friend we could call for help?”

A sarcastic laugh escapes your lips and you’re about to tell him that he has more friends than you’ve ever had, but then a thought occurs to you.

Steve.

Technically speaking, you’re friends. Well, sort of. Sure, he had wanted space yesterday in the lunchroom, and yeah he’s still mad at you and things are awkward at best between the two of you, but still…

He’d been at Jonathan’s house last year, he had fought by your side and saved your life and even bought you a vending machine full of snacks. If anyone else could understand the situation you’re in right now, it’s Steve.

You hesitate though. He still seemed really hurt at lunch, but you also saw the way he lingered even after dismissing himself. He doesn’t hate you, at least not really, and without Jonathan or Nancy to call, he’s the only person you have left right now.

It can’t hurt to try, at least.

“Actually, yeah.” You respond after a minute or so. “Be right back.”

Dustin asks questions as you head towards the living room, but you don’t respond. If Steve doesn’t answer, then you can make up some lie about the phone being broken or something to save yourself the embarrassment.

Your fingers press Steve’s long remembered number. He had given it to you his first week of visiting you at Bookstrordinary, assuring you that you could call him whenever. After a while, you took his word on it and started calling the boy every time you were bored and alone at work.

The line rings for a few seconds, and you bite your lip in anticipation.

This is a horrible idea, and yet your heart flutters when Steve answers with a groggy, “hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Y/N?” He sounds surprised.

You can’t blame him, he did quite literally yesterday tell you he’s still upset with you and that he needs space. And yet here you are: calling him early on a Saturday afternoon. “Yeah, it’s me. Listen, I really need your help–”

A sigh. “Normally I’d love to, but I’m kinda in the middle of getting ready to go to Nancy’s.”

“Nancy’s? Steve, she’s not even home–”

“Can we talk later? I… I’d really like to talk, if that’s alright with you.”

This throws you, and for a second you forget about the reason you called. “Of course we can talk, Steve.”

“Great,” you can hear a smile in his voice, which warms you. “I’ll see you later, then.”

Then you remember Dart and the blood on Dustin’s carpet and you frantically try to stop Steve from hanging up. “Wait, no! Steve, Nancy isn’t home and I really need you to–”

The line goes dead, and you slam the phone down. “Damn it!”

Dustin, hearing the commotion, wanders into the kitchen. “Take it the call didn’t go well?”

“No, it did.” Sure, Steve didn’t necessarily offer his help, but he did tell you where he’s going to be in about twenty minutes. You’ll ambush him there and demand he listen to you and help. As a bonding exercise, of course. “We’re going to the Wheeler’s.”

“Why?”

“Steve’s heading there.”

Dustin trips over his shoelaces. “Steve Harrington?”

“Long story,” you sigh, dreading that you’ll have to explain all of this eventually. “C’mon, let's get our bikes.”

–

You and Dustin get to the Wheeler’s before Steve does, which makes no sense to you but whatever. He’ll be here soon enough and you’ll ambush him with all your charm and maybe a bit of groveling. You’re not beneath it, if you’re being honest.

Dustin goes up to the front door while you stay behind, keeping an eye out for Steve. Ted opens the front door and while you can’t hear what he says to Dustin, you know he’s unamused by his presence. The father has never been your favorite parent within the group, honestly.

You watch as they exchange a few more words before you see Dustin sigh and angrily march back towards you. Then, right as he’s grabbed his bike, a familiar red BMW pulls up. Just seeing his car makes your heart skip a beat.

The car parks and a frazzled Steve steps out, carrying flowers and mumbling to himself. You aren’t able to hear everything he’s saying, but you can hear the words “what the hell am I sorry for?” and your stomach twists.

So clearly he’s not in a good mood. Still.

The flowers, which you now can see are roses, hang by Steve’s side as he fixes his hair. He hasn’t noticed you yet, and it takes everything within you to pull your eyes away. He looks good today, too good.

There’s a monster currently locked in your cellar.

“Steve!” You rush over to his side.

He does a double take when he sees you. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“Well–”

“Are those for Mr. or Mrs. Wheeler?” Dustin now joins you two, pointing at the roses in the boy’s hand.

Steve looks between the two of you. “No…? You’re Dustin, right? Y/N’s brother?”

Dustin snatches the roses out of his hand. “Good, and yeah, I am.”

“Hey, what the hell?” Steve looks at you for help, but you know there’s no use trying to reason with your brother. He’s in a mood, similar to Steve, and you just sigh and follow Dustin. “Hey!”

“Nancy isn’t home.” Your brother informs Steve.

“Where is she?” Steve asks, and you hit his shoulder.

“I tried telling you over the phone!”

Dustin claps his hands at you to get your guys’ attention again. “It doesn’t matter where she is or if you tried to warn him, Y/N. We have bigger problems than your love lives.”

He’s at Steve’s car now and opens the passenger side door. “Do you still have that bat?”

Steve whips his head towards you. “Bat? What the hell is he talking about? Y/N, what are you guys doing here–”

“The one with the nails!” Dustin interrupts, exasperated.

Again Steve looks at you. “Why?”

“You’re not gonna like it,” you confess, and this only makes Steve feel worse.

“We’ll explain it on the way.” Dustin goes to sit in the passenger seat but he’s quickly stopped when you grab his hood and yank him out.

“No, absolutely not. I deserve the passenger seat, not you.”

Dustin slaps you away. “I got here first.”

“I was born first–”

“But I was literally about to sit down–”

“Hey!” Steve shouts, effectively shutting you and Dustin up. “It’s my car, and right now I currently only like Y/N, so she gets the passenger seat.”

“You like Y/N?” Dustin asks at the same time as you ask, “You like me?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, barely. She’s on thin ice. But you, little Henderson? You just stole the flowers meant for my girlfriend, so backseat you go.”

“Yes!” You cheer, pumping your fist in the air as you flash Steve a smile. “Thanks, Harrington.”

He rounds the front of his car and opens the driver's side door. “Yeah, don’t get used to it. Like I said, you’re still on thin ice.”

He says it with annoyance in his voice, but you can see the smile he’s trying hard not to let slip, and you feel giddy. Steve obviously can’t be too mad at you if he wanted to talk later and is willingly letting himself be kidnapped by your brother.

Dustin, on the other hand, can’t believe any of this is happening. As soon as you’re all in the car he asks, “Since when did you two become friends?”

“I have a life outside of you and the boys, you know,” you tell him, but you avoid Steve’s gaze. It’s not like you intentionally hid this aspect of your life from Dustin, but… It also never came up, either.

“Sure ya do, but… Wait,” Dustin remembers something. “Oh my god, you have Steve Harrington’s number memorized?”

Your face heats up and Steve hides a smirk, but you see it anyway. You ignore his smugness and respond to your brother. “Like I said, I have a life outside of you.”

Dustin gapes at you. “I have so many questions–”

“I have an even better one: where am I taking you guys?” Steve asks, and suddenly you remember everything at stake.

“My house,” you tell him as you buckle up. He nods, although with some confusion, and then starts the engine. “You know how I called you earlier?”

“Yeah…?”

“Dustin, why don’t you tell Steve here what you found.”

Your brother sighs from the backseat. “A few days ago I found this… lizard of sorts.”

“A lizard.” Steve says, unimpressed.

“Oh, just wait,” you quip.

Dustin turns his head to glare at you and you give him a thumbs up. He scoffs at you before carrying on, “Yes, a lizard. I named him Dart and he was super cool, okay? I thought I had discovered a new species and that I would be super famous and better than everyone else.”

Steve glances at you next to him, raising his eyebrows and whistling low. “Wow, does humbleness run in your family, Y/N?”

“I’d say so, yeah.”

“Anyways,” Dustin interrupts, ignoring Steve’s laugh at your response. “Turns out, Dart is from the Upside Down.”

“The Upside Down?” Steve asks, extremely confused. He looks at you again in the mirror and it hits you that no one explained to him the events from last year. You assumed that Nancy would’ve, seeing as how they’ve been together for a while now and Steve had been with you guys at the hospital the night you brought Will back.

However, from his disbelief and confusion it’s clear that she hasn’t. If you had to guess, Steve probably went home that night and blocked out everything that had gone down with no questions asked.

You respect his repressing skills, honestly.

Dustin groans, beginning to grow impatient with Steve. “Yes, the Upside Down. If you have the bat still, how could you not know–”

“Do you remember that… thing we killed at Jonathan’s last year?” You cut your brother off before he can get too mean. You love the kid, you do, but he isn’t the kindest person when others aren't understanding him.

A dark look passes over Steve’s face and his fingers tighten around the steering wheel. It’s night now, and the atmosphere in the car becomes tense. “I remember.”

You clear your throat, “Well, this creature–”

“Demodog.” Dustin corrects from the backseat.

“Demodog?” You turn in your seat to face him. “That’s what we’re calling it now? Seriously?”

He shrugs. “It’s a baby demogorgon, it looks like a dog, so… Demodog.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Alright. Okay. Whatever, this demodog is from the Upside Down. It’s this parallel universe, basically. Creepy shit happens there, and last year a monster–”

“The Demogorgon.” Dustin once more interrupts.

“Dustin, if you want to catch Steve up then for the love of god, please shut up.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

A smile tugs at Steve’s lips and you take a deep breath to calm yourself before continuing. “Look, I don’t know how much Nancy told you about that night at Jonathan’s, but all that you need to know is that the Demogorgon took Will last year and we had to fight it in order to save him.”

Steve nods slightly as he follows along, “Nancy mentioned something about a monster at the hospital… she told me it’s what killed Barb, but never told me it had a name.”

Another silence falls between you guys in the car. The mention of Barb brings back bad memories for you both. You had liked Barb, she had always been nice to you, you guess. Hawkins is a small town. Everyone knows everyone, and in the end the smallness of the town is what makes the Upside Down so hard. You lose people close to you, one way or another.

And as for Steve… The roses he bought for Nancy lay wilted in his backseat.

Dustin shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and your heart pangs in understanding. He misses El, and you do too. The closer it gets to the anniversary of her disappearance, the more you miss the sweet and caring girl; but you know that the boys, Mike especially, haven’t given up hope for her.

“So…” Steve motions for you guys to continue explaining, and Dustin sits up in his seat to begin again.

“So flash forward to now: I didn’t realize Dart was a demodog until he grew like three damn sizes bigger than when I found him. Y/N and I almost died trying to lock him in our cellar.”

“Wait, you guys have a cellar?”

Dustin rubs his face, “That’s what you focus on, Steve?”

“It’s a valid question–”

“Guys!” You lurch yourself forward and wave your hands around wildly to break up their bickering. “We really don’t have time for this. Can we please just focus on the task at hand? Dart has probably grown even more during the course of this stupid conversation.”

Your brother’s hand pushes your shoulder back so that you’re now once again sitting, and you swat him away with annoyance. “Y/N, I’m trying! Blame Steve, he’s the one asking stupid questions–”

Steve speaks up, “What the hell? They aren’t stupid questions–”

“Well…”

Steve shoots you an offended look, “Y/N, I thought you were on my side.”

Dustin scoffs, hurt. “She’s my sister, you idiot!”

“Again, we seriously don’t have time for this because, once more: Dart is getting really big.” Your voice is louder this time, and thankfully it shuts everyone up. Then, just because you can, you add, “and I’m on Steve’s side right now. He’s the one with the car, plus… Well, I owe him.”

Steve fist pumps the air. “Suck it, little Henderson.”

“Do not call me that,” Dustin threatens him, then turns his attention to you. “First Jonathan, now Steve? Can’t you befriend anyone I like?”

The mention of Jonathan gets Steve attention. “Wait a sec, where is the guy? You never actually told me where he and Nancy went, Y/N.”

You sigh, knowing there’s no use keeping anything else from him. He’s already driving you and Dustin home to help with Dart, and you did promise to tell him where they were later, but life seemingly got in the way. “They’re playing detective right now.”

“Detective?”

“Yeah, the guy Barb’s parents hired… They’re currently at his place, exposing Hawkin’s Lab.”

A tense silence follows. Steve stares straight ahead, eyes on the road, as his expressions morph from hurt, to reluctance, to eventual acceptance. “Nance didn’t think to ask me to join?”

His voice wavers, just a bit, but you hear it. Knowing that Dustin is watching from the back, you decide to forget any possible boundaries for once and grab Steve’s hand. He’s hurting. The car smells of roses and there’s no girl to give them to. “She tried, Steve.”

He swallows. There’s hurt in his eyes and you want to reach out and stroke his cheek and tell him that it isn’t his fault. “I know…”

“Ahem,” Dustin coughs, clearly uncomfortable with whatever is going on. “So… Back to Dart.”

You clear your own throat, but your hand remains wrapped around Steve’s, who nods. “Wait a sec, how big are we talking?”

Without meaning to, you close your eyes and brace for Dustin’s witty remarks, but he surprises you by answering with a demonstration and zero mockery. “First it was like that,” he opens his fingers a few inches before using both hands to show about a foot in length. “Now he’s like this.”

Steve still looks doubtful. “And you’re sure it isn’t some weird lizard?”

A headache begins to form and you pinch the bridge of your nose again. “It’s not a lizard, Steve.”

“Well how do you know?”

“Because his face opened up and he ate our cat.” Dustin says bluntly.

This seems to shut Steve up and he nods his head in defeat. It’s silent in the car for the remainder of the drive, and just before Steve parks in your driveway, he looks over at you and sees your eyes closed in pain, and before he knows it he squeezes your hand and says, “sorry about your cat, by the way.”

Despite the pounding in your head and your utter exhaustion, his words make you laugh. “Just park, Steve.”

He smiles, feeling proud for getting you to laugh, and does as he’s told. Before you know it you’re standing at his trunk, staring at the baseball bat that saved your life last year. Dustin has already gone over to the cellar, waiting for you and Steve to follow.

The bat stares back at you, and you shiver as the memories come back. Though you had tried your best to forget that night, that entire week, honestly, it’s been useless. The nightmares still haunt you. You obsessively research trauma in children now to compensate for your own guilt from last year.

“Why’d you keep the bat?” You ask as Steve grabs it, giving it a practice swing. Your own blades are out again and he eyes their gleam.

“It’s kinda sick, don’t ya think?” He swings it again. “I look badass with it.”

He’s dodging, but you sense that he kept the bat for the same reason as why you kept the switchblade. You’ve been waiting in fear for something else to happen. “You don’t look too bad with it.”

Steve blushes a bit, which your stomach flutters seeing. “I, uh… Guess we can’t have that talk tonight?”

“No, not unless we somehow manage to deal with Dart in a timely manner. However, if I recall, nothing ever goes our way.”

“Nope!” He closes the trunk and tosses you a flashlight. Then, he sticks his hand out for you to shake. “But for now… Truce?”

You giggle. “Truce.”

His hand is warm, and even though you had just been holding it in the car moments earlier, his touch still fills you with a gooey warmth that you’ve come to associate with him. As soon as you and him are alone, away from Dustin’s nosy ears, you’ll really apologize to Steve. He may be being nice to you now, but he’s still guarding himself from you.

You hate it. You miss how open he used to be with you.

“Ready to go re-live my nightmares?” Steve asks.

You give him a thumbs up as you start heading towards Dustin. “Always, let’s go.”

“Took you guys long enough.” Your brother mutters when you and Steve arrive at the cellar, weapons in hand. You flash him an apologetic smile while Steve simply ignores him.

Steve approaches the door and listens for a second, “I don’t hear shit.”

You frown and listen as well. He’s right, it’s eerily silent. You shoot Dustin a questioning look and he shrugs as well, “He’s in there.”

“Duh, I know that much, You almost knocked me out when you shoved past me to get Dart in there.” you remark, before softly adding “he’s gotta be in there.”

Your words don’t reassure Steve, who begins to use the tip of his bat to bang against the locked doors. When nothing happens, he bangs harder against them before sighing in annoyance.

“All right, listen kid.” Steve begins, and you start to rub small circles into your scalp in a vain attempt to lessen your headache, because you already know that the next words out of his mouth will start yet another fight. “I swear, if this is some sort of Halloween prank, you’re dead.”

“Steve…” He ignores you and stares down your brother, shining the flashlight directly at his face in what you assume is meant to be a threatening manner.

“It's not a prank,” Dustin tiredly replies, squinting his eyes against the light. “Get it out of my face.”

Steve complies, still hesitant about the situation at hand, and turns to face you. “You got a key to this thing?”

You nod and fish the keys from out of your pocket and unlock the cellar doors. Steve bends down to investigate, and without him having to ask, you hand him the flashlight and step forward so that you’re next to him.

He flashes the light down the stairs and all that the three of you can see is darkness. An uneasy feeling creeps over you. Something isn’t right, but you really hope that you’re wrong.

“He has to be further down,” you say, more so to reassure yourself than the others.

Dustin shuffles his feet next to you and says, with an extremely unconvincingly “brave” voice, “I’ll stay up here in case he tries to… escape.”

Both you and Steve look at him in disbelief. Dustin stands his ground, however, and looks at the two of you expectantly. Steve shakes his head while you sigh in defeat. Your brother is such a pain sometimes.

“You do realize that if Dart eats me, you’ll have to deal with mom all by yourself, right?” You ask him.

The boy shrugs at you. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take, Y/N.”

“Yeah, love you too.” You mumble, before you begin to follow Steve down the steps.

“I’ll be thinking of you!” Dustin calls out, his voice echoing against the cellar walls.

You trail behind Steve, and the flashlight he brought does nothing to illuminate the dark area, so it’s a relief when he reaches above his head to turn the light on. As your eyes adjust to the light change, you scan the room to find the missing demodog. However, all your eyes land on is a long, thin sheet of film on the ground that you can only assume is molted skin.

“Oh, shit…” you breathe out. “This isn’t good.”

Steve picks the skin up with the tip of his bat and examines it and shakes his head. “Please tell me this isn’t Dart.”

“Actually, it’d be easier if it was him.”

Steve doesn’t laugh at your joke; he continues to look around the room before his eyes widen. You turn your head to see what’s caught his attention, and when you spot the problem, your knees weaken.

There’s a giant, Dart-sized hole in your cellar wall.

“Steve? Y/N? What’s going on down there?” Dustin’s voice carries down to you guys, and you and Steve share a nervous glance.

“Dustin…” You call up to him, your voice weaker than you’d prefer. You wish you could be braver for him at the moment, but right now it takes everything within you not to crawl into bed and shut the world out. Why did it always have to be giant monsters?

While you’re reeling, Steve walks over to the bottom of the steps and flashes his light at Dustin, instructing him to come down. Once the boy has joined you guys, Steve guides the light to his bat so that Dustin can see the skin.

“Oh, shit.”

“Funnily enough, that’s what your sister said, too.”

Then Steve shines the light to where the hole in the wall is, and you watch Dustin’s face go from concerned to horrified. “Oh, shit!”

The three of you crouch closer to the hole, and when Steve shines the flashlight through it, your heart stops and you gasp, “It’s a tunnel.”

“No way…” Dustin says in awe.

It’s hard to see exactly how deep the tunnel goes, but something tells you that there’s more to it than meets the eye. This wouldn’t be some simple fix like you had desperately hoped it would be.

Now you really, really wish Jonathan were here. And Nancy. Definitely Nancy.

But they aren’t. This time, you’re on your own with only Steve and Dustin by your side. No one else in the party is available, you don’t even know where they are or if they’re even safe, but right now that doesn’t matter.

What matters is that Dart has escaped.

And it’s happening again.

Everything you’ve tried so hard for the last year to ignore, to move on and pretend never happened to you, has come crashing back into your life.

Steve, seeing your apprehension, grabs your hand and pulls you in close. “Hey, we’ll figure it out. I’ll be here, okay?”

Even though you don’t deserve his kindness, his sincerity, you believe him.

-

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[ghouljams]

Ok, not to disrespect ghost/step on his turf but...

Can goose pick me up too...? 😳🥵🫣

Of course my darling, you just have to ask.

You can just walk right up to her while she's setting up for the nightly haunted corn maze and ask if she'd pick you up. Which is easy enough, right? Except it's really not. You know her more from seeing her around town than really knowing her, and Goose is always with people which makes it hard to approach her. Plus she might be married? You're not sure, but you've seen the guy and he's... not someone you're particularly interested in messing with.

So it's probably good that after staring and looking away, staring and looking away, Goose finally walks over to ask if you need something. Another aspect of her that makes your heart pound in your chest. The way she settles her hand against the picnic table you've sat at, and leans over you, her head tipping to make sure she meets your eye, none of it is helping the cat that's got your tongue.

"You got somethin' I can help with, sugar?" In that damn accent that you can never quite place but slips so nicely over her tongue.

"Um," You eloquently start, "no."

"No?" She tilts her head to the side, "Starin' an awful lot for someone who don't need nothin'."

You shoulders raise to your ears, you can feel the churn of your stomach as butterflies heat your cheeks. "Just watching you work," You supply, "you're pretty strong."

She hums with a smile, "I am, could carry you around a little if you wanted a demonstration."

"Oh! No, no, you don't have to-" You change tactics as her smile grows, "I'm probably too heavy, and you look busy, and-"

"Stand up sweet thing," She steps back to wave you up and you hesitantly comply. She grabs your arm as soon as you're vertical, and in one single crouch/tug/lift you're hauled over her shoulders and off the ground. She bounces you once, to adjust the position and you giggle like a kid. "I pick up calves heavier than you, baby," She assures you, turning away from the table to start walking... somewhere, "Nothin' to it."

You believe her, she hardly seems to be breaking a sweat carrying you and with how firm her shoulders feel, you're starting to get a little dizzy. You really only feel the reality of your situation when she starts walking towards the farm house. You wiggle a little and she tightens her grip on you with a click of her tongue.

"None of that now," She reprimands stopping in front of a chicken coop.

You twist to look at the birds running around and spot the giant of a man that you'd always assumed was hers. Your eyes dart to the gold band hanging off his necklace. Definitely married then. He stands up with a chicken under his arm and tips his hat back.

"Wot's this?" He asks.

"Thought you might like a treat tonight, figured we could share." Goose tells him.

You regret staring so long, the way the big guy looks at you... you don't think you can handle both of them.

[dummiebrat]

𝗕𝗮𝗱 𝗘𝘅𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲

Teacher! Mistress!Agatha Harkness x Student! Brat!Rio Vidal x Teacher! Daddy!Nathasha Romanoff (Mentioned) x Student! Good girl!Wanda Maximoff

Word count: 1,6K

Summary: Rio teases and marks Wanda with bites while Natasha is away, testing the boundaries of submission. Wanda, nervous and anxious, struggles to maintain obedience. Agatha Harkness, witnessing Rio’s mischief, steps in to reprimand her.

Notes: Power Play, Brat Taming, Punishment, Boundaries, Submission, Control, Provocation, Dominance.

Author's notes: Here we go again... This is why Natasha accuses Rio of being a bad influence on her good girl, Wanda.

𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗜𝗜. 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗜𝗜𝗜.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThe university office was silent once more, the late afternoon light fading into the deeper hues of dusk. The only sound was the occasional scratch of Agatha's fountain pen as she corrected test papers, each stroke deliberate and precise. Across the room, Rio Vidal sprawled lazily on the floor, her chin resting in her hands, eyes flicking up with a mischievous glint every so often toward Wanda Maximoff, who knelt dutifully at Agatha's feet, exactly where Natasha had instructed her to remain.

Natasha's last words echoed in the room before she had departed for her meeting. "Be good, darling. Obey Mistress Harkness in all things, and I'll reward you later." The promise of those words still lingered in Wanda's mind, keeping her spine straight and her hands neatly folded in her lap, her gaze demurely downcast.

But the tension was a tangible thing, simmering just beneath the surface. Rio was a restless force, her boredom a palpable energy that pulsed in the room. Agatha ignored her for as long as she could, her focus steadfastly on the stack of tests before her, red ink marking errors and corrections with ruthless efficiency.

Yet, Rio was not one to be ignored. Not for long.

With a sly grin, Rio shifted closer to Wanda, her movements fluid and feline. Agatha's sharp eyes flicked up briefly, but she said nothing, her gaze returning to her work. The silence stretched, and then-so subtly it could almost be mistaken for an accident-Rio's fingertips grazed Wanda's bare ankle. Wanda tensed but didn't move, her eyes darting up just enough to catch Agatha's expression. When nothing came, Rio took it as tacit permission to continue.

The next touch was bolder, trailing up the curve of Wanda's calf, fingers pressing just enough to leave a phantom sensation that lingered, teasingly close to inappropriate. Wanda's breath hitched, her lips parting in a silent gasp.

Rio's voice was a low whisper, meant only for Wanda. — What's the matter, princess? Cat got your tongue? — She leaned in, her breath warm against Wanda's ear, her hand slipping higher, hidden by the fabric of Wanda's skirt.

Wanda sensed the movement before she saw it, her shoulders stiffening as Rio's breath ghosted over her neck. The younger woman's heart quickened, her gaze darting toward Agatha, but the elder witch didn't even pause in her work. Rio's fingers trailed up Wanda's thigh, feather-light at first, testing boundaries. Wanda's breath hitched, her hands tightening in her lap, knuckles white with the effort to remain composed.

— Relax. — Rio whispered, her voice a dark, sultry murmur that sent shivers down Wanda's spine. — Natasha isn't here to keep you on such a tight leash. Maybe it's time you learned to have a little fun.

Wanda's eyes widened, panic flaring as she glanced at Agatha, who still seemed absorbed in her grading. — Rio, please. — she whispered, voice barely audible. — Daddy-

— -won't know. — Rio finished, her grin widening. — Unless you tell her, that is. — With a quick, fluid motion, Rio's mouth found Wanda's neck, teeth grazing the delicate skin. It was a fleeting touch, enough to make Wanda gasp, a sharp intake of breath that caught Agatha's ear.

But the older woman didn't look up, her pen continuing its relentless march across the page.

Rio saw her chance. Emboldened, she pressed her lips to the sensitive juncture between Wanda's neck and shoulder, suckling until the skin turned pink, then red, leaving a mark that would surely raise Natasha's ire. Wanda whimpered, torn between the thrill of Rio's boldness and the terror of what would happen if Agatha noticed found out. or worse, if Natasha found out.

— Stop it. — Wanda hissed, eyes glistening with unshed tears of anxiety. — You're going to get us both in trouble.

Rio only chuckled, a dark, throaty sound. — What's life without a little risk, hm? — She bit down, harder this time, just enough to leave a perfect imprint of her teeth. Wanda gasped, her body jerking as if struck. The sound, sharp and involuntary, echoed in the quiet room.

Agatha's pen stilled mid-sentence, a deliberate pause that sent a cold shiver down Wanda's spine. Rio's grin widened, but her triumph was short-lived. Without warning, Agatha's hand shot out, grasping a fistful of Rio's hair and yanking her head back with a force that made the younger woman yelp.

— Rio, — Agatha's voice was a silken murmur, deceptively gentle. — Did I give you permission to touch what belongs to Natasha?

Rio's eyes flashed with defiance, though her breath came quicker, the thrill of being caught evident in the way her chest rose and fell. — Just trying to make things a bit more... entertaining. — she quipped, though her bravado wavered under Agatha's unforgiving grip.

Agatha's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. — Entertaining, you say? — She tightened her hold, forcing Rio's head to tilt back further, exposing the delicate line of her throat.

Wanda's heart pounded as she watched, torn between the thrill of the scene unfolding and the fear of getting caught in the crossfire. She remained perfectly still, eyes wide, not daring to move a muscle.

Agatha's gaze was a cold flame, pinning Rio like a butterfly under glass. — You forget yourself, pet. Do you think I'm blind to your games? — She released Rio's hair with a sharp push, sending her sprawling back onto her heels. — Or do you think I'll allow you to leave marks on what belongs to another Mistress?

Rio smirked, though the effect was somewhat dampened by the way she rubbed the back of her head. — Maybe I just wanted to see if your little good girl here would break. — Her tone was light, but there was a challenge in her eyes.

Agatha's expression darkened, a storm gathering behind her cool exterior. — It seems you're in desperate need of a lesson, Rio. — She turned her gaze to Wanda, her voice softening to a tone that was almost maternal. — Wanda, be a dear and fetch the leather strap from the second drawer, would you?

Wanda's eyes widened, a flicker of hesitation in her gaze, but she nodded quickly, scrambling to her feet. She moved with the grace of a dancer, every motion fluid and careful, as though each step was part of an unspoken ritual. When she returned with the strap, her hands were trembling, though whether it was from excitement or fear, even she couldn't be sure.

Agatha took the strap with a nod of acknowledgment, her fingers brushing Wanda's in a fleeting caress that sent a shiver through the younger woman. — Good girl. — she praised, her voice a purr that sent warmth pooling in Wanda's belly.

Turning back to Rio, Agatha tapped the strap against her palm, a quiet, ominous sound. — Kneel. — she commanded, her tone brooking no argument.

For a moment, it seemed as if Rio might rebel, her eyes flashing with that familiar, insolent fire. But then, with a dramatic sigh, she dropped to her knees, the picture of reluctant compliance. — You're no fun. — she muttered, though there was a flicker of something like anticipation in her gaze.

Agatha's smile was a slow, wicked thing. — Oh, but we'll see about that. — She turned to Wanda, who watched the scene unfold with wide, captivated eyes. — Watch closely, baby. — Agatha instructed, her voice a silken whisper. — This is what happens when a brat forgets her place.

The first strike was swift and precise,

the sound of leather meeting flesh filling the room. Rio gasped, but bit down on her lip to keep from crying out, a stubborn refusal to give Agatha the satisfaction. The second strike landed, harder, and a low, involuntary moan slipped from Rio's lips, her defiance cracking just a little.

Wanda's breath caught, her eyes flicking between Rio and Agatha, the room charged with a tension so thick it was almost suffocating. And Agatha, ever the maestro, conducted this symphony of power and submission with ruthless grace, each strike a reminder of who held the reins.

Agatha leaned down, her voice a dark whisper in Rio's ear. — Perhaps now you'll think twice before laying a hand on someone else's pet. Do I make myself clear?

Rio's response was a breathless, — Yes, Mistress.— her earlier bravado all but shattered.

Satisfied, Agatha straightened, her gaze flicking to Wanda, who was watching with rapt attention. — And you, Wanda, — she said softly, her tone almost affectionate. — Remember this lesson well. Obedience is rewarded... and disobedience? — She trailed off, the implication clear.

— Yes, Mistress. — Wanda whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes shining with a mix of awe and trepidation.

Agatha turned back to her desk, the matter settled, as if the entire exchange had been nothing more than a brief distraction. — Now, both of you, silence. I have work to finish. And Wanda, if Rio so much as breathes on you again without permission, you will inform me immediately. Understood?

— Yes, Mistress. — Wanda echoed, casting a wary glance at Rio, who was now kneeling quietly, chastened but not entirely tamed.

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 21 - Lavender 4

This is a long one! I wanted a way for Shanks and Mihawk to come together, and what better way to do that is a nice sick fic!

Shanks is a flirt and both are possessive bastards. They worry about their little treasure. Took some creative liberties with Haki btw! hope you enjoy!

No warnings today!

Masterlist

Hank watches his human lay still and silent in her bed. His nose twitches when a draft comes by and tickles his nose, and a sneeze follows when his little brother comes back and smacks him in the nose. Hank grumbles at the fluffball, but at least Sukuna doesn’t use his claws this time. The cat jumps to the chair that Hank lays under, golden eyes watching his human too. 

Neither animal understands what had gotten into their human. She had yet to get up and start the day like usual, instead, she still sleeps. Hank whines when his nose picks up the scent of something that doesn’t belong on his human, and he shuffles out from under his chair to stand by the bed. Sukuna joins him, jumping from the chair to come to a stop by their person’s head. Hank jumps up, nosing forward and huffing when he picks up that same smell. 

It’s hot and rancid, and the two of them nearly jump a foot into the air when you suddenly groan and roll over, eyes cracking open to the sight of two concerned brothers. 

“Hello children,” You green softly and wince at the soreness of your throat. You snake an arm out from under the covers, shivering when the cooler air of the room floods the blanket cocoon you’ve made around yourself. You feel awful, and you wonder what had changed so suddenly for you to feel this way. You frown as you think. No not suddenly. You’ve not been feeling yourself for a couple of days now. More tired than usual, a constant chill that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard you tried, and you dearly wished that Mihawk and his overheated body were here to help warm you up. 

Sukuna darts forward to press his forehead into your open palm, purring up a storm as his human gently scratches between his ears just the way he likes. Hank shoves him when he heaves the rest of his huge body up, and Sukuna sends the mutt a sharp glare for the disrespect. Their antics bring a giggle out of you, however, so the cat isn’t too upset about it. 

“Gimmie a second and I’ll get up. Not like you’re starving or anything, you gluttons,” You grumble good-naturedly and force yourself to sit up. 

Hank surprises you by butting his big head in your chest and knocking you back down. It takes the wind out of you, and you send a half-hearted glare at the big lug, “Hey. What was that about?”

The shaggy dog whines, not wanting his human up in fear of spreading the hot, sick scent that he can still smell. You break easily when Sukuna teams up with him and steps on your chest, making a round of biscuits and then lying down. You shove one hand into his fluffy orange fur and then the other into Hank’s grey, tangled locks. You have half a thought of brushing him soon before your stuffy brain is making you go back to sleep. 

Sukuna shares a look with his older brother when a soft wheeze spills out of your chest. This is not good. Their human was sick and the other humans who liked to show up were not here, and probably would not be back for a while. The dark-haired one that smelled like steel and old books had left only a week ago.

It’s hours later that you wake again, and luckily, Hank allows you to get up when you express the need to go to the bathroom. He knows what that word means, but still diligently followed after you when you got out of bed because he is a good boy. Sukuna flees to the kitchen, selfish enough to beg for food now that his human is out of bed for now. 

You wash your face after doing your business and look at yourself in the mirror. You look like utter shit, face flushed and skin pale as a ghost from whatever sickness that has a hold of you. You sniff and blow your nose a couple of times, hurting your throat even more each time. A cup of tea sounds like a grand idea, so you shuffle to the kitchen and put on the kettle. You choose a nice chamomile and load the cup up with the honey that Dracule had gifted you not too long ago. A lemon slice is next, another gift, though the lemon tree had come from Shanks on his third visit to your island. 

Speaking of the redhead, it’s been a while since you’ve seen the other man. You assume that his Emperor business is keeping him busy, but you still kinda miss the older man. He always knew how to make you laugh. Gullt curls in you at the thought, but you shove it away and remember the talk that you and Dracule had on his last visit.

Mihawk had assured you several times that he and Shanks had come to some sort of agreement. They would more or less stay out of one another business unless there was a shared concern about your well-being. Dracule had basically given you his permission to seek comfort and companionship in Shanks when the warlord could not be there. 

You still didn’t really know what to think of the idea that Shanks and Mihawk had spoken about you while you weren’t there, and you know that neither of them had come completely clean about whatever deal they had going on.

What you did know was that something fundamental had changed between the two men, but honestly, you didn’t much care about all the details. If they were happy, then you were happy. You didn’t know what you would do with yourself if either man stopped coming to your island, and just the thought of being alone like that makes agony tighten around your heart. You’ve known Mihawk for over a year now, and the reclusive man had slowly opened up to you during that time. He was a friend, a lover, a protector, and you loved him. 

Of course, you haven’t told him yet, you’re not so much an idiot to bring the L word into the equation, not when the very notion made fear strike through you like lightning. You wouldn’t ruin what you have going on with him, not unless he said those three words first. You just couldn’t risk being that lonely again. 

And Shanks? That mischievous man had wiggled his way into your daily thoughts and heart, fast. His easygoing attitude is so different from Mihawk's, but no less enjoyable to be around. 

A loud meow right in your ear has you jerking out of your thoughts. Sukuna stands on the counter, big golden eyes narrowed as he meows loud enough for it to echo in the house. You wave him away and apologize for not being fast enough to meet his majesty’s needs. 

You feed Sukuna his usual dish and a little extra for being patient with you this morning and then go outside to do the same for Hank. He whines when you step outside, but his food easily distracts him so that you can go check on Neal and the three chickens. You really need to give them names, you feel bad that it’s been this long. 

Neal bleats a greeting when he catches sight of his human, and you laugh when he digs into your loose dress for any snacks to be found. You gently steer his the other way, fixing up his feed and water before leaving them to it. You stoke your fireplace and settle in on the couch with a new cup of tea, blankets bundled high around you. 

You still feel awful, and a deep ache has settled in the middle of your back, but the satisfaction of doing something keeps any bad thoughts away. Sukuna and Hank find their way back to your side whenever they finish, bullying you into lying down so that they can cuddle with you on the couch. It works, for you are back to sleep in no time, dead to the world. 

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

Three days later, It’s Neal who hears the sound of loud laughter and the soft thuds of crates hitting the sand down at the beach. He waits until he can see a familiar silhouette trudging up the footpath to his home, hoofs stomping when he realizes that it’s the red-haired one, and not the one with the tasty-looking hat. Neal bleats a warning, loud enough that it gets the attention of Hank who comes bounding out the door. 

Shanks grins when Hank runs to meet him, the shaggy dog jumping up to place his paws on his chest and whining in his face, “Hey, big guy. You seem excited to see me.”

He pets the dog for half a second before Hank jumps down and trots into the cottage. He turns and whines again at Shanks, big eyes demanding the other man to hurry up. Shanks frowns and picks up his pace, entering the cottage with a frown when he notices that you are not up and about like usual. It was midday, but the house was silent as a grave. 

The emperor winds his way through the house, following Hank until he reaches your bedroom. He doesn’t hesitate to step inside, and his chest seizes when he sees the pitiful bundle of blankets and pillows that lie on the bed. He can hardly see you, only your hair making your whereabouts known in the mess on the bed. Hank whines at his feet, paws tip-tapping on the floor in his distress.

“How long has she been this way buddy?” Shanks asks out loud and doesn’t receive an answer, not that he was expecting to. He steps to the side of the bed, knee sliding on the mattress as he reaches over and pulls the blanket closest to your face down.

“Babygirl?” Shanks murmurs and slides his hand along your jaw, hissing when he finds your skin literally ice cold. His hand throbs when he pulls away and he wipes the frost off on his pants leg. Gods, no wonder you were bundled up like you were. 

You groan when he pulls away, your body seeking any amount of warmth and your voice is nothing but a croak when you speak, “Who?”

Shanks slides his hand back to your cheek, uncaring of the cold when he hears how loopy you sound. He wonders if this is how your devil fruit is reacting to you having a fever. Freezing you to the bone instead of warming you. Mihawk would know how to answer that better than he could. 

“It’s me, sweetheart. It’s Shanks. Think you can tell me what’s wrong?” Shanks shifted more onto the bed, crowding you close in hopes that he could warm you up a little, “You’re freezing, way more than usual, Baby.”

“Dunno. Thought it was a cold, “ You slowly slur as you focus on the handsome man above you. You grin up at him, chest losing one kind of ache now that one of them is here, “Shanks, how was your trip?”

Shanks scoffs at you, eyes rolling skyward as worry curdles tight in his stomach. How could you be asking him questions like that when you looked like a zombie come to life, “It was fine, silly. Don’t worry about that right now. Tell me what I can do to help you get better.” 

Before you can speak, a shiver wracks your body so hard that it leaves your body shivering, teeth chattering and frost creeping up your neck. Shanks jerks his hand back before the dangerous frost can touch him, anxiety curling up when he spots the fear lingering in your eyes. You swallow and curl further in your blanket next, “I don’t know, Shanks. I- I don’t have any medicine. I didn’t think that someone like me could get sick!” 

You don’t have any books on devil fruit users, had no idea how to deal with how your body works sometimes even though you’ve had this horrible power since before you came to this island. You’d always resented the devil fruit inside of you, having never been taught how to properly use your logia abilities. 

Shanks licks his lips. He was out of his depth here. None of his crew had a devil fruit. They’d fought plenty of men and women on the grand line who used them, but Shanks never had the responsibility to know any more than he needed to know about them. 

“That’s alright, Babygirl. We’ll figure it out together, okay?” Shanks assured you and went to rise off the bed only for your hand to shoot out and wrap around his wrist. He looks at you and sees the fever lingering in your eyes, so he changes tactics and shifts to lay down on his side, curling you against his chest, and tossing his arm over your waist to pull you in close. You snuggle close, grateful for the heat that slowly seeps past your blankets. 

Shanks thinks quickly for a solution. He would need to move later, go check on his crew, and see if his crew’s doctor could help with any of this. If that didn’t work then the redhead would call the one person would would most likely know what to do, and Shanks couldn’t help the excitement that erupted at the thought of having his two treasures in the same room together. Despite the situation, it was a chance that Shanks couldn’t pass up.

He wanted to see how the two of you looked curled up together. Wanted to watch the sweet way Mihawk would kiss you and how you would open up to him in kind.  

Turns out that Shanks wouldn’t have to go anywhere, for Benn came to check up on him when he didn’t return after so long. He knocked on the doorframe before peeking his head inside after Shanks told them it was fine.

Benn took one look at your pitiful state and then left to go grab Hongo. The doctor of the crew was able to suggest the proper things than most medical professionals could for what looked like the common cold gone bad, but even he became stumped when it came to the problem of her devil fruit. 

“In a way, It’s preventing her fever from getting too bad, internally at least, but it's also inhibiting the growth of any fresh, healthy cells and bacteria that are trying to get rid of the virus. She needs medicine Captain, and I doubt that I’d be stocked up with what she needs.” 

Shanks sighs heavily from where he sits on your bed, hand behind him to keep hold of your own. You had refused to let go of him, and Shanks didn’t have it in him to leave your side. 

“Bring me my transponder, I need to make a call,” Shanks ordered and Benn left to go find the snail as Hongo packed up his medical bag. 

“Keep her hydrated captain. She needs food too, nothing too solid or hard on her stomach,” Hongo advised and then he was gone too. 

Now alone, Shanks rolls back over, looking down at your scrunched face even in sleep. He smiles and leans down, balanced on his knees so that he can place a quick kiss on your brow, “Don’t worry, Baby. We’ve got you. You’ll be better soon.” 

Benn leaves again when he brings Shanks the snail, though he reminds his friend to call if he needs anything. Shanks had given him a grateful nod and then focused on the transponder, licking his lips as he dialed the number he’d never forgotten. 

Ca-Lick

“There aren’t many people who know this number, who is this?” Dracule sounds furious, and Shanks can hear the sound of shouting and battle in the background, “This better be good.” 

The Emperor takes the dive, “Mihawk, it’s Shanks.” 

The silence on the other end, at least from Dracule, is deafening. It’s only been a month or so since Mihawk had tracked the other man down. He can feel the panic on the other side, and quickly continues, “It’s _, She’s sick, Mihawk, and we don’t have the kind of medicine that she needs.” 

Shanks hears a sudden explosion and then the probable death of whoever it was that Dracule had been fighting. Arousal swirls inappropriately when he listens to Mihawk wields Yoru, and Shanks longs for a time before when he could watch Dracule fight whenever he wanted. The sounds of battle fade away after a moment, and when the warlord speaks next, Shanks can hear the worry lacing every word.

“What do you mean she’s sick? What is wrong with her?” Mihawk had left your island a week and a half ago, and you had seemed just fine then, so what had happened?

Shanks quickly explains the problem, and Dracule wracks his brain for a solution, though one seems unlikely until Shanks mentions that the devil fruit is the problem. He focuses on that, licking his lips as he debates with himself. 

Haki users like Shanks and himself were logia users' worst nightmare since haki could bypass their powers. Could Shanks negate yours long enough that normal medicine and treatment could work? But that could take days to work, especially with just one of them, and Mihawk refused to let someone else from Redhair’s crew get that close to you. Garp would be pissed that he was leaving his assignment half-finished, but Mihawk could care less. His angel and Shanks needed him.  

“Dracule? Is everything okay?” Shanks’ voice brings him back to the present and Drcule straightens up even if the redhead couldn’t see him. He didn’t like how his body had warmed up at the concern he could hear swimming in the other man’s tone. 

“Fine, Shanks. I have an idea.” He informs the redhead then hears Shanks shuffle on the other side of the phone, and realizes that he had to be near you, “Let me speak with her.” 

The emperor shifts so that you are comfortably lying across his chest and can be closer to the transponder snail. You open blurry eyes and sniff harshly, “Mihawk?” 

“There’s my angel,” Dracule coos over the phone, tone soft and full of affection for the young woman, “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit, but Shanks helps,” Comes your blunt reply and Mihawk can’t help the snort of laughter that leaves him. He still feels that jealous sting at knowing the redhead is the one holding you, but it’s not nearly as bad as it used to be. Damn, Shanks and his ability to get into people’s good graces, his included.

“Then I am glad he is there for once,” Mihawk quips dryly and fixes his hat, “I’m going to have Shanks try something, Darling. He’s going to try and coat your body in haki. If that works, then your devil fruit shouldn’t be a problem. That way, your immune system can fight off any infection, and you’ll start feeling better.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” You slur, already half asleep by the time he has finished his explanation. Thankfully, you have a redhead who has taken his duty as a caregiver very seriously. 

“This is why I called you, Dracule. You always know what to do,” Shanks praises quietly, voice laced with sincerity. The other man is quiet on the other end, but Shanks doesn’t mind, it just means that he’d surprised him. 

“Just do what I said, you fool,” Mihawk grumbles quietly, “Have Hongo come back and give her some medicine, whatever you have in stock should work once her body is coated. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

The smile on Shanks’ face is nothing but fond, and he nods even though Mihawk can’t see, “Sure. Be safe, We’ll be waiting for you.” 

You call a weak goodbye to Dracule, lucid enough to hear that he is coming back, and then you are gone again, body weak and exhausted from fighting off the growing virus. Shanks curls around you, focusing on weaving his haki over your body until you are completely coated by his will. 

Shanks doesn’t know how to describe the way it feels to have someone so intimately twined within his will. He can feel everything, every twitch of a muscle, every shallow breath you take. It’s almost overwhelming. However, it seems to be working. 

The frost that has been ever-present has slowly begun to melt away, leaving the blankets damp and uncomfortable, but Shanks feels victorious. He calls for Hongo, and the doctor is back in the cottage in a flash and tells his captain that whatever he is doing, he needs to keep it up. Shanks easily nods, curling around you and focusing on keeping his haki a consistent stream to regulate your body. It’s harder than it looks, and Shanks is very glad that Mihawk is coming.

----------

You are still loopy and out of it when Dracule arrives two days later, pushing his ship as hard as he can and catching every tailwind he can navigate to speed up the process. Even though your body had regulated itself into something more human than logia, the process of recovery was slow going. The Red Haired crew greets the warlord when he makes landfall, but Mihawk is in too much of a hurry to return the greeting.

He darts up the path and into his home, stopping long enough to toss his boots, hat, and coat off, and then Mihawk is creaking open your bedroom door, ringed eyes landing on the bed. What he seems makes him choke up, but in a way he hadn’t expected. 

It’s not anger that he feels upon seeing you curled up in bed with Shanks, blankets tangled around both of you as the redhead holds you to his chest. Your face is pressed into his chest, mouth open in a soft snore that has Mihawk’s lips curling at the sides. Shanks turns his face just enough to catch sight of the older man and send him a weary grin, and it definitely isn’t jealousy that Mihawk feels. No, it is satisfaction, at seeing the two people he cared for most in this world curled up together in the too-small bed. 

Dracule shuffles to the other side of the bed and lays on his side, boxing you in between the two men. He can feel the way Shanks’ haki coats you and his own reaches out to glide along the redheads, curling protectively around you and Shanks both. He jumps when he feels a hand land on his waist and glances over you to see Shanks grinning, that familiar teasing look in his eye. 

You wake between them before Mihawk can puff up about the sudden invasion of space, and his attention is quickly drawn to you. You yawn, and then roll, opening your eyes to see another body beside you that isn’t Shanks. A blush floods your face when you realize that Mihawk is there, his magma-like body pressed close to your own. 

You latch onto him, arms coming up to wind around his neck as you bury your face in his neck. Mihawk tightens his grip on you, kissing your brow as you sniffle into his chest and ramble about how much you missed him. He glances up and catches Shanks watching, a fond, though possessive look in his dark eyes. 

“Thank you for looking after her,” Mihawk whispers once you’ve quieted down. It pains him to admit it, but you would have been so much worse off if Shanks had never shown up.  

“Don’t thank me for something I wanted to do, Baby,” Shanks says and pulls at Mihawk from where his hand still rests on his side. The older man looks exhausted, and Shanks knows that the warlord pushed himself since the phone call, “Sleep, Mihawk. I’ve got you.”   

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax

[gremlinmodetweeker]

You're A What Now?

Just some silliness and then angst with Ghostbusters König because I can't commit to one genre.

TWs: Discussion of Nazi occupation of Austria, Nazis, Graphic Descriptions of Violence

Wordcount: 1.75 K

Story Below the Cut

Visuals [1] [2]

You're A What Now?

“DUCK!”

You dropped to the floor with a thud as the phantom screamed overhead.

“SHOOT”

ZAP!

You could see the electricity arcing overhead in great bright branches of lightening, scouring the wallpaper a charred black as Horangi wrangled the proton blaster under control.

“Nikto she’s coming your way!” Roze screamed over the sound of crackling lightening.

“On it,” a heavy Russian accent called back as a hulking machine of a man barrelled down the hallway, “south entrance clear!”

Horangi spit and hissed like a barn cat as he leaped over a broken chaise-lounge to dart after the phantasmal spectre, nearly tripping over you in the process. He looked down at you and barked, “On your feet, recruit!”

You scrambled to get your limbs under you as you watched the posse careening down the hall. You leaped to your feet and ran up behind them.

Okay, so, as of your first day on the Ghostbusters team, you can officially say that you believe in ghosts. Damn your lifelong skepticism, you weren’t going to fuck around and figure out just how bad a possession was gonna be on your first day.

You slammed into the wall before crashing into the kitchen where Roze, Nikto and Horangi were all running around like they’re heads were lopped off. You nearly missed it, but König was ducked in the corner with a screwdriver in his hand, cursing under his breath in his other tongue as though he could peel wallpaper with his venom.

“König where’s the trap at?” Horangi ducked under a piece of antique china being thrown his way.

“I-Verdammt-There’s a problem!” he called back.

“We don’t got time for problems, big guy,” Roze bellowed as she zapped the ghost with another blast.

“Then make time!” he spat before turning back to his tech.

“I thought Germans were great mechanics!” you yelled as you joined Roze with your own proton stream.

For just a brief moment, everyone in the room stalled. A plate crashed against the side of Horangi’s head, breaking the tension.

“Did you just call me German!?” König rose up to his feet as though he were a wraith himself.

“No no no not the time König!” Roze growled as she wrestled with the ghost.

“Now’s the perfect time!” König crossed his arms as he widened his stance, “I will not tolerate this clear display of intolerance and xenophobia from our newest recruit!”

Nikto took the opportunity to snatch the trap from König and got to working on it himself.

“I am not a German! I am not of such inferior breeding!” König crowed proudly as Horangi jumped over a flying chair.

“I thought you said the recruit was the xenophobe over here,” Horangi ducked behind an overturned table.

“Germany is a country of thralls and ignoramuses! The entire nation is devoted to blood and genocide!” König stamped his foot for emphasis, “I will not allow such a people to overrule my homeland any longer!”

“It was a brief occupation during Nazi Germany,” Nikto was barely legible over the sound of the spirit being slammed into a wall.

“And we will never forget!” König pumped a fist into the air defiantly.

“I’m sorry!” you wailed as you threw yourself behind the table with Horangi.

“Sorry is not enough! What, do you think I am some sort of Nazi!?” König spat.

“Your grandfather nearly was,” Horangi drawled blithely as he ducked behind the table to avoid a flying toaster.

You, Roze and Nikto all stopped what you were doing to look at König. Even the spirit stopped her struggling to watch the 6’10 scientist turn redder by the second.

“YOU SWORE TO NEVER SPEAK OF THAT.” 

And with that, König vaulted the table to lunge at Horangi.

“Get off me fatass!” Horangi growled as he hoofed König in the gut.

"Shut up you slimy little shit!"

"Tasty," Nikto drawled sarcastically.

Seeing an opportunity, the ghost quietly phased through the back wall of the kitchen while Nikto and Roze were distracted. You only noticed because you were watching Nikto drop the trap to try and haul König off Horangi, only to trip on the slime left behind and fall face forward onto the others in a cluster-fuck of legs and arms.

“Get off of me you commie bastard!” Hornagi howled as he thrashed at the bottom of the pile.

“Stop your squirming, I can’t get up!” Nikto snapped back as he tried to extract himself from the group.

Roze dropped her proton blaster back into its sheath before lumbering over to help Nikto get back to his feet while you stooped to extract Horangi from König’s grasp.

Once the group had all gotten to their feet, Roze sighed and stepped back before tapping the side of her headset, “Okay so, we lost track of the ghost.”

“What?” Hutch’s voice came through the static, “how? You were right there.”

“König had a shit-fit,” Roze grumbled as she stalked down the hall, “can you follow the readings through the house?”

“I’ll get right on it,” Hutch replied before the line cut.

You watched as Horangi wiped himself down as he shook the dust from his back. He looked at you, one of his spectacles cracked but somehow miraculously intact. He looked at König, who was doubled over wheezing while the adrenaline left his system and the pain from Horangi’s kick sunk in.

“You owe me a coffee,” Horangi joked, clapping your shoulder before following Roze and Nikto to the next room.

This, of course, left you alone with König.

You awkwardly nudged over to the door, worried that the man would clobber you next but he stopped you with one raised hand.

“Ah, recruit, I’m sorry you had to see that,” König huffed and puffed as he slowly drew himself to his full height again, “Gott in Himmel I’m getting too old for this.”

“I mean, you still seem pretty young,” you offered him politely.

“You’re too nice,” König hacked and heaved, “mein Gott, I thought he was a physicist, not a damn kickboxer!”

“Yeah, it looked like it hurt pretty bad,” you chuckled.

“I think I might need a minute,” König righted a fallen chair and plopped down onto it. Without a word, he pulled up a second and patted the seat, leaving it empty for you. You tentatively took the seat, a bit concerned the man beside you might keel over any minute.

“Sorry about getting so upset,” König sighed, “I just… Ever since coming to America, everyone here calls me German! Everyone! It’s not too hard to notice the difference, is it?”

“I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever met an Austrian before,” you told him.

“Really?” König sat up to look at you, “how long have you been in this city?”

“Long enough to know there’s not many Austrians here,” you laughed.

“Well, then consider me your first,” König determined, “but yes, um, I’m sorry about making such a fuss. I just… I cannot stand being called a German. Those damned Germans…” he shook his head, “never forget.”

“Never forget what?” you asked.

“The occupation,” König said, “Austria used to be a part of Germany, but it separated in 1866. Then Hitler comes around and he drums up all this Nazi support and tricks my people into falling for his lies. Then, he comes and steamrolls my country.”

“So there’s still a lotta tension, I’m guessing?” you tried to make a joke, but it fell flat on its face.

“Like you wouldn’t imagine,” König said, “but I guess I don’t hate them that much. I just hate how everyone calls me German! I’m not a damn German, I’m an Austrian! My family’s been in Austria for generations! It’s like no American knows how to look on a damn map.”

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

“And how would you feel being called a citizen of a country that once tried to crush you beneath its boot? My poor Opa… Well, you heard Horangi,” König spat.

“He was a Nazi?” you cringed despite yourself.

“Nearly a Nazi,” König swiftly corrected you, “he was a good soldier once, but he didn’t respect the Germans or what they stood for, so he broke his own leg to stop Hitler's men from sending him to war.”

“Wait, really?”

“Oh ja, but he was worried that might not be enough. So, he took on a new identity and moved across the country,” König explained, “he first tried to be an accountant, but he couldn’t do math so good so he went to go be a mechanic in my village. He used to be a panzermensch, so he was able to take some of those old skills he learned to get by.”

“Did anyone ever figure out who he was?” you asked curiously.

“Only one person,” König shrugged, “my Oma.”

You chuckled, “So he married her to keep her quiet?”

“Not then and there, but he did promise her that he would one day,” König snickered, “so they stayed low until Austria became independent again. Then my Opa took back his old name and married my Oma.”

“That’s really cute,” you smiled brightly.

“They were very cute,” König agreed, “but ja, if it weren’t for the Nazis, my Opa could have been a much richer man. The work in the village did not pay well, but he could have earned good money in the army. Mein Vater did not grow up with much, and he didn’t make much more for us when he married meine Mutter.”

“So Germany really fucked up a lot of your life,” you concluded.

“And then people go and call me German! It’s…” König sighed, “I do not like it very much.”

“Makes sense,” you nodded and leaned forward on your knees.

The silence between you stretched on forever, but a part of you never wanted it to end. There was something comfortable about being able to just enjoy the quiet with a man like König. Something about how he filled the space of the room left little space for conversation to try and shake the solid grounds you both stood on. It wasn’t like you often had a chance to talk, and when you did it normally was curt and strained in tone. This moment was a welcome break.

“Alright you two,” Hutch’s voice crackled through your headset, making you nearly jump a good five feet out of your seat, “the other guys need some help setting up that trap.”

“On it,” you replied as you dusted yourself off.

König stretched up beside you, hitting the ceiling with his hands before slumping back down.

“You ready?” you slipped the safety off your proton blaster.

König nodded and pulled his goggles back over his face.

“Alright,” you grinned, “let’s go bust some ghosts.”

AU Masterlist

[incorrect-shoujisquad]

class 1-a as reasons my brother has called my dad (yes i know shinsou isnt in 1-a but i ignore it)

bakugou - slammed the dishwasher door too hard (yknow like an idiot) and got it stuck

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ojirou - threw a ball. there's a hole in the wall now

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aoyama - spilled a coffee in the car and some of it got into the aircon

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hagakure - broke a hairbrush

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satou - set a pan on fire

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kaminari - chicken.

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shinsou - the water in his house was acting fucky and it turned brown for some reason

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midoriya - got bit by a dog because he tried to pet it

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sero - made food for someone and left for three days. the food was still there when he returned. he was pissed

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mina - dropped a clear glass plate and was too scared to walk in the kitchen

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jirou - got distracted and the sink overflowed

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iida - had the intrusive thought to use a knife instead of a dart. this did not end necessarily well

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yaoyorozu - the book she was reading was so sad she had to share her sorrow with someone else

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kirishima - broke the fucking microwave

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tokoyami - swore on everything he saw a ghost in his window (he hadn't slept correctly in a week)

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uraraka - broke her favourite potted plant while trying to move it outside

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todoroki - forgot the password to his laptop

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kouda - saw a box of cats on the street and sobbed

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tsuyu - refused to enter the house because there was a roach on the door

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shouji - woke up not knowing what day it was and swore it was wednesday, despite his phone saying it was thursday

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masterlist <3

[make-me-imagine]

Scaredy Cat

Request: "telling scary stories around a campfire" and she gets scared and gradually moves closer to him until she's almost on his lap and he's all cocky and everyones teasing them?? Maybe a kiss and some cuddling at the end (to ward off any lingering ghosts ofc!) < turned gn!reader

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Nothing! Though, this is not super Halloween themed, just a cute story :)

Words: 750

The cold ocean breeze blew past the fire, as a shiver crawled up your spine. You weren't sure if it was because you were cold, or if it was the story Rooster told from across the fire. His voice was low, and everyone was slouched, eyes trained on him as he recanted the story.

All you could hear was the cracking of the fire and the ocean waves rushing nearby.

In most situations you were brave, I mean, you flew military jets for a living, you got caught in fire fights, you had nearly died on more than one occasion. All of that was relatively easy for you.

But scary stories in the darkness? Apparently that was your limit.

You hadn't even realized that you had slowly been creeping closer to Jake, who had been sat beside you. He however did notice, and he was loving it.

As Rooster lunged forward with a loud yell at the climax of the story, you jumped back with a gasp. The others groaned and started laughing as Rooster cackled at the reaction his antics received.

You let out a deep sigh as you lowered your head, before you froze, when you felt Jake's breath in your ear.

"Who knew you were such a scaredy cat."

Looking up, your breath caught as you realized just how close you had gotten. In the moment you leapt back in fear, you had unknowingly grabbed Jake's arm, practically throwing yourself into his lap in fear.

"Shut up!" You whispered forcefully as you repressed an embarrassed smile as you pushed him away, though only lightly.

He grinned and you felt him wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You felt his lips connect with your temple, as he smiled into the kiss.

Pulling away, he whispered just enough for you to hear, "Don't worry, I got you baby."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't ignore the way your heart fluttered. You and Jake hadn't been in a relationship for too long, so his flirting and teasing still affected you heavily. Though you didn't particularly mind it.

As the others slowly rose to wander back to the hotel, you and Jake lingered around the fire. Glancing back at the water, you felt goosebumps tingle up your arms as Roosters story repeated in your head. Of course he would have told a ghost story centered around the ocean, while you were sitting on a beach at night.

Jake caught your stare at the water, and he smirked before tugging at you suddenly and gasping. You flinched and let our your own gasp before he started to laugh.

Groaning, you smacked his shoulder again "Jake!' You almost whined, making him laugh even more.

You tried to pull yourself away from him in retaliation, but his grip simply tightened around you.

"Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He apologized, but the smile was still bright on his face. "I couldn't help it, you're so cute when you're scared."

You rolled your eyes at him, "I'm not gonna be so cute when I'm drowning you, am I?"

He laughed as you continued to playfully struggled against him. But when a loud splashing was heard behind you, you both froze.

Your eyes both darted towards the water, which you could barely see in the darkness as the fire started to die out.

"What was that?"

"Fish." Jake said simply but you could hear the uneasiness of his tone.

"Right, fish."

Before your nerves could settle, you were both startled as someone ran out of the darkness with a loud yell. Yours and Jake's yells of terror where drowned out by the cackling of Rooster and Coyote as they cackled nearby.

Jake cursed at them as you held your face in your hands.

"I hate you guys." You grumbled, just loud enough for them to hear as the continued to laugh as they ran off towards the hotel, proud that their prank succeeded.

Looking up at Jake, his frown faded as you smiled at him, "Now who's the scaredy cat?" You teased.

He repressed his own smile, but you saw it tugging at his lips. "Shut up."

You giggled as you took his had in yours, "Can we go back now, before I have another heart attack?"

Hearing another loud splash in the water behind you, you both tensed as your eyes locked.

Jake quickly tugged you along, "Yep let's go."

You both jogged towards the hotel, refusing the look back at the water.

xx End xx

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @onuen, @imaginesfire, @rexit-mo, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

Top Gun/Jake Taglist: @malindacath, @hotch-meeeeeuppppp, @sarcastic-sourwolf, @stargirl-05, @persephonesportal, @springflwer07, @pockyandme, @iceman-kazansky, @soultrysworld, @averyhotchner, @linkxneptune, @creativitybeware, @callsignmaverick5, @merlin-dahlia, @blueoorchid, @oliviah-25, @writerfulltime, @readingwithatorch,

@phoenix1388 (I lost part of the tag name? Is it you who requested a top gun tag??)

[clangenrising]

Month 14 - Newleaf

Now that the nausea was behind her, Mystique was starting to enjoy pregnancy again. It wasn’t as nice as the first time, obviously, what with her being stranded in the wild territories away from her Folk, but there were perks. For one, she got her pick of the prey and plenty of it. Whenever Russetfrond would get after her for being “gluttonous”, she would remind him she was eating for three and that would shut down any kind of argument. She couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed like he was putting in extra hunting trips just for her which was nice. 

As well, she had been able to use her growing stomach as an excuse to stop running combat drills with the Clan cats. Despite their attempts to keep it from her, she had inevitably learned about their plans to murder Razor and she wasn’t going to have any part in that. True, he wasn’t a good cat, she had come to accept that, but that didn’t mean they had to kill him. Still, Scorch in particular seemed insistent that it was the only option and she had a powerful hold over Goldenstar, or so it seemed. 

Mystique often turned her options over in her head while she sunbathed, trying to think of an alternative solution, one where no one else died and she got to go home as soon as possible. She always came up short. When it came down to it, she was just one cat. What could she do? So she tried not to think about it and focused on getting plenty of food and rest. 

Today, she was resting on top of the warriors’ den in a warm beam of sunlight, idly watching the goings on. Oddstripe and Aldertail were sharing tongues in the shade. Scorch finished talking with Goldenstar in hushed voices then joined Pantherhaze, Slatepaw, and Fogpaw as they headed out of camp. The little white tabby jumped in excitement, making Mystique laugh. It was strange to see a cat that looked so much like Ghost moving with that kind of energy instead of stomping around like an old curmudgeon. 

The new kitten, Lake, padded out of the nursery and stretched with a big yawn. Aldertail looked up and waved her over with a smile. 

Oddstripe grinned too and called, “Afternoon, Lake! How are you feeling?”

“Lots better!” Lake purred, padding over to them. “Those weird plants you gave me helped lots!” She was looking better too. Her ribs were slightly less visible under her fur, her coat glossier. Mystique had never seen a kitten look so poorly before. It was reassuring to see her improving so quickly. 

“Aren’t they something?” Aldertail chuckled. “Are you hungry?” 

“Oh, yeah,” nodded Lake. “Starving!” 

“I’ll grab you something,” said Aldertail, jumping to her paws. 

“Gee, thanks miss!” the kitten said as if it were a rare wonder. Oddstripe smiled and pulled the kitten close to give her a few licks around the ears. She giggled and sat up tall to let him. Aldertail quickly returned with a bird from the prey pile and the two adults sat back and watched as the kitten tucked into it voraciously. Mystique caught them glancing at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. It made her skin crawl, just a little, which she felt guilty for. 

She stood, hoping to get away for a bit and put them out of mind. She noticed Aldertail stiffening when she did, eyes darting over like Mystique was about to lunge for her, claws bared. She groaned under her breath and started out into the grass. 

“Uh, Mystique, hold up,” called Sparrowpaw who was on guard duty. “Where are you going?” She’d nearly forgotten he was there. 

“For a walk,” she shrugged, “I just want to be… away from here.” 

“Well, I’ll come with you,” he said. It was a statement of fact, not an offer. She sighed. He was like a smaller, more pleasant Russetfrond. 

“Fine, whatever,” she sighed. “I’m going to the river.” 

“Alright,” Sparrowpaw said. “That’s okay.” She lashed her tail. 

“I know,” she growled. “I wasn’t asking.” Back home, no one treated her this way. No one ever told her what she was and wasn’t allowed to do. Sure, Razor had jobs for her every now and then but those were things that needed to be done, not arbitrary restrictions on her free time. She was sick of it. 

Sparrowpaw blinked in surprise but said nothing - a victory for her. She made her way briskly towards the river, not worrying about her long strides out pacing her smaller companion. Her back was starting to ache and all she could think about was dunking herself in some cool, fresh water. 

When they reached the river, she slipped into the water without hesitation, sighing in relief at the sense of weightlessness. She rolled over to make sure all of her fur was doused thoroughly then threw her head back to get the water out of her eyes as she came up for air. She hummed pleasantly and looked over to see her chaperone hovering near the bank. 

“Come on in,” she said, jerking her head in invitation. “The water’s great.” 

“I’m alright,” said Sparrowpaw, settling down. “You really enjoy getting wet?”

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes. “It’s literally the best. I don’t know why so many cats are scared of it.” 

“It’s not… scary,” he said, “just really unpleasant.” 

“Weirdo!” Mystique called, easing herself down into the shallows to let the water flow over her. 

“Maybe,” Sparrowpaw laughed awkwardly. They sat there in silence for a good, long while. Mystique closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sun and just let herself enjoy the moment. She tried not to think about home or her Folk or her brother. 

“Can I ask you a question?” said Sparrowpaw at one point. 

“Sure,” she shrugged. 

“Have you considered maybe staying after the kittens are born?” he asked. “Like, joining the Clan full time?”

“No,” Mystique said flatly. “No, I’m going back home the first chance I get.” 

“Why?” asked Sparrowpaw. 

“Uh, ‘cause it sucks out here?” she said. “You don’t know any better cause this is all you’ve ever seen, but being Exalted is a million times better than living out in the dirt and the heat. I get free food any time I want it. I have a soft bed and lots of great toys and it's always the perfect temperature inside. My Folk give me tons of attention and pets. Have you ever been pet before? It's the best.” She glanced over her shoulder at Sparrowpaw to find him looking unconvinced. 

“I haven’t,” he said. “But don’t you think you would enjoy the freedom of living out here? There's satisfaction in hunting for your food and supporting your Clan.” He seemed so earnest, it was almost sad.

“No thanks,” Mystique snorted. “Not interested.” 

He frowned. “I mean, if you stayed, maybe you and Russetfrond could stay together. I’m sure that you could make up if -”

“Look, kid,” she rolled over to look at him head on. “I don’t really care about trying to ‘make up’ with Bee Face Mc Pouterson.” Sparrowpaw’s ears pressed back against his head. “He was a bit of fun, nothing more than that. Honestly, he’s not even really my type, I was just bored.”

“O-oh,” Sparrowpaw swallowed. He looked pale. Mystique sighed. Maybe she had been too hard on the poor boy. Or maybe she’d traumatized him with her casual language. Clearly, these wild cats didn’t know how sex worked.

“What I mean to say is, it’s fine,” she said, swiping a wet paw over her face to cool it off. “I’ll have the kits and then go home. He’s happy, I’m happy, win-win.” 

“Right,” Sparrowpaw said. “I guess we’ll just have to hope things go well.” 

Mystique squinted. “You mean with the plan to kill my brother.” 

Sparrowpaw paled further. “Uh, yeah, I guess. I thought you didn’t know about that.” 

“I’m not dumb kid,” she said, “plus the camp is small. Sound travels.”

“Right…” He looked down at his paws, tail curling around them. “I’m sorry. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” 

“Why does it?” Mystique sat up a little taller. “Why can’t we just, like, talk to him?” 

“Because we tried that,” Sparrowpaw said, looking up at her. “He killed Smokyrose.” 

Mystique’s voice caught in her throat in a frustrated lump. “That was… That was an extreme circumstance,” she said. “It wouldn’t happen again.” 

“You have to know that’s not true, right?” Sparrowpaw said earnestly. “I mean, he’s your brother. How can you not see what he’s like?” 

“You don’t know him!” snapped Mystique, slapping one paw loudly against the surface of the water. Sparrowpaw flinched at the noise and she briefly felt guilty but she shoved the feeling down. “He’s my brother. He’s not a monster.” 

“Sorry,” Sparrowpaw swallowed. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

Mystique sighed, a deep frown creasing her face. He almost sounded like Aldertail. It made the Shadow Truth wriggle deep in her gut, worming its way closer to her conscious mind. She dunked her head under the water to try and get away from the feeling but even the cold shock didn’t help much. She sighed, stood, and shook out her pelt, spattering the sand with droplets. 

“I think I’m done,” she grumbled and headed back to camp to sulk.

[diaryujin]

𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒

summary: ahn yujin was a name you didn't want to hear ever since your break up three months ago. sure, it hurt at first, but now you were okay, you were over her. until she gave you a letter.

genre: angsty fluff

includes: panic attacks (happens twice), parties, mentions of alcohol (reader doesn't drink) and making out, all of lsrfm and ive except leeseo and eunchae, lizrei side ship, reader is in denial, angst with a happy ending, exes to lovers, lmk if i missed anything

pairing: ex! yujin x ex! fem! reader

word count: 3.1k

a/n: this took way longer to type down than i'd like to admit

With shaking hands, Yujin gave you a small envelope before dashing off in the opposite direction. Your heart leaped as you guessed what it was.

Yujin was your ex. It had been three months since you both ended things. She told you that she didn’t feel like she was in the right mindset to continue being in a relationship anymore. While you were grateful that she didn’t just ghost or ignore you completely, damn right did that hurt. What was worse was how you couldn’t really blame anyone for this since it was no one’s fault.

You had moved on though. You had bandaged up your wounds, and the ghosts that haunted your which reminded you of her had been exorcised. 

You were ready for this letter, but you weren’t going to read it on campus. Shoving the envelope in your purse, you walked out. Autumn was evident — leaves were turning orange, brown and yellow, falling out of trees and flying away with the gentle, cool breeze. You pulled the beanie you were wearing more over your ears, not wanting them to go cold. The sound of soft, calming music playing in your earphones accompanying the visual treat your eyes got to see made you smile to yourself and momentarily forget about Yujin and her letter. Upon reaching your dorm, you took out the dorm key and unlocked it, seeing the living room pristine as usual. Trust Rei and Wonyoung for that. You went into your room, which was a stark contrast. Throwing your purse and bag onto your bed, you flopped into your chair in front f your desk exhausted. It was a Friday, which meant that you had the weekend to do your work (or procrastinate), so you stayed in your chair in an odd position, almot like a ragdoll.

Your eyes darted to your purse and you sighed.

Yujin.

‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ a voice in your head said.

‘But satisfaction brought it back,’ another one argued.

You reached out for your purse. If you didn’t read it, you’d be in the dark about what Yujin wanted to tell you, and it’d be rude to ignore her and what she wanted to say. Your fingers traced the edges of the white envelope, as if scared to read the contents. Slowly peeling off the seal, you undid the flap and pulled out the paper inside. You unfolded it carefully, heart beating quic-

“Y/N, Y/N, me and Wonyoung are going to the mall to get some new clothes. There’s a limited edition collection. You coming?”

This could wait. A distraction was exactly what you needed.

“Sure. Give me ten minutes to get ready.”

“The outfit you came back in is fine.”

“Bu- Wait, you saw me?”

“Duh?”

“Oh. Alright then.”

Placing the envelope in your desk drawer, you took your purse again, before opening the door of your room. Rei and Wonyoung were waiting in the living room, Rei giggling at her phone and Wonyoung teasing her about it. Their outfits fit them and their personality perfectly, and for a minute you felt self conscious. Their fashion sense was to die for.

“Ah, Y/N! Ready?”

“Yep. Wonyoung, I really like your shirt. It’s cute.”

She smiled sweetly at you.

“Thank you. Yujin bought it for me.”

Your face froze at the mention of her, and Wonyoung (being the caring person she is) immediately apologized.

“Ah, sorry. I know things aren’t all…smooth sailing…with you guys.”

She grimaced at her own mistake, but you didn’t notice. You were thinking about the letter, and your mind was tracing back to the memories of the year you were together, and oh God, oh God-

“Y/N?”

You could feel her hands on your shoulders, concerned eyes looking down at you.

“You’re shaking…”

She hugged you tight in a moment so rapid you barely felt it. Her arms wrapped around you protectively, one of her hands patting your head like a mother comforting her child. Rei was nearby too. You didn’t see their faces, since your eyes were closed shut so that you could prevent your tears from falling, but you could hear Rei softly talking and reassuring you that everything was okay, a stark contrast to how she usually was.

“Y/N, listen to Wonyoung’s breathing, okay? In and out…in and out. That’s it, that’s it. Nothing’s going to happen, you’re just fine.

They didn’t know what else to say. Neither of you did anything wrong, and Yujin was their friend too. It was a confusing thing to handle.

“Y/N, how do you feel now? Do you still want to come?”

“Yeah. Need to take my mind off things.”

“You sure?”

“Mm.”

“Not a clear answer.”

“I am.”

Rei sighed before nodding.

“If you’re okay.”

Five hours.

You were at the mall for five hours.

And it sure as hell did take your mind off things.

There you were in your room — stomach satisfied, bags with clothes, stationary and other random items (maybe a plushie or two) in the corner, yet your mind was still restless. Delaying the reading of the letter was not a good idea, since now you had even more nerves than before. You had to open it at some point, but holy shit could you just not do it? You took out the paper inside and unfolded it slowly, your hands shaking as much as Yujin’s when she gave it to you.

Dear Y/N,

It’s been three months. I thought I moved on, really.

As I write this to you, I realize I haven’t.

I’m not asking you to take me back, but I can’t sleep properly at night because I think about you and cry so much.

~ Yujin

Your eyes widened, and your jaw dropped. You thought you had healed, but this? These three sentence ripped off the bandages and rubbed salt into the wounds in your heart. You put the paper on your desk, wanting to process what you just ‘blessed’ your sight with, although your brain begged you to read it again. In the end, you gave in and read through it again.

And again.

And again.

And then it hit.

Yujin still loved you. It was so simple with the way she wrote it, but due to the shock factor, it didn’t click.

Yujin still loved you.

No wonder she was shaking.

There was another question — did you still love her too?

Didn’t you move on?

Didn’t you?

Or had you been lying to yourself this whole time?

Leaning back in your chair, you started thinking. You would think about her every night, every time you were bored, every time you were free, every time you were stressed — basically, all the time. You’d think about how she’d hold you, comfort you, hug you, kiss you, cuddle you, talk to you, laugh with you, cry in front of you, vent to you…and more.

Whenever you found yourself in an unideal situation, your mind always darted back to Yujin. ‘What would Yujin do?’ was something you’d ask yourself when you were in hot waters. 

Maybe you weren’t over her.

Maybe you still needed her.

Scratch that maybe.

You still loved her.

This realization — this enlightenment — shook you to the core.

The world was spinning around you. You desperately needed her. You needed her with you, to hug you, to calm you down and to tell you that everything was going to be alright. 

But she wasn’t here, she wasn’t here.

Interrupting the loud and muddled thoughts in your brain causing havoc was a soft knock at your door. 

“Y/N-ah? Can I come in?”

Hastily shoving the envelope and letter in your drawer, you call out.

“Sure, Rei!”

You saw the door handle slowly move, and the girl entered. Her eyes scanned the room, before finding a spot to sit on your bed. You tried to act cool, willing your eyes away from the drawer.

“Y/N, how are you feeling now?”

“What do you mean?”

“A lot, honestly- but right now I’m referring to the slight panic attack you had earlier…?”

“Oh, that. I’m fine, I swear. Yujin’s name just brought back back memories, and- I don’t really know.”

She nodded, her face making it evident that she was lost in her thoughts.

“So the reason I came here is to ask you something.”

“Go on.”

“There’s a party happening tomorrow evening Wonyoung’s not going because she wants to complete her assignments, and I don’t want to go alone…”

She pursed her lips into a thin line and looked at you, a tad bit of hope in her eyes.

“I mean, sure.”

“It’s going to be in Yujin’s dorm…Gaeul and Chaewon are hosting it. I’m pretty sure that Yujin won’t be coming out of her room though.”

That made you freeze. Even though Rei had mentioned that it was unlikely that you’d see her, there was still a chance you would.

Did you want to risk it?

Rei had no one else.

Things could either go spectactularly right or horribly wrong.

“I’ll come.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

“You’re sure sure?”

“I’m sure sure.”

You laughed a little, and she smiled too.

“Tomorrow, 7 p.m. Wear something…party-ish, but not too formal, I guess? You know what I mean.”

“Yup.”

6:45 p.m.

You were sitting on the couch of the living room, wearing an outfit you deemed appropriate for the party. Rei was still getting ready in her room, so to pass the time you were on your phone, scrolling through your Instagram feed.

Chaewon. Like, comment.

Gaeul. Like, comment.

Wonyoung. Like, comment.

Jiwon, Rei. Like, comment, cute.

Yujin.

She didn’t post anything fancy or pictures of her going outside or having fun.

It was just selcas of her wearing her new headphones. She had her favorite lipgloss on, her hair was in a bun and she was wearing her glasses in the pictures.

10 minutes ago.

She probably wasn’t going to be in the party then, since her outfits for parties were completely different.

You should have been sighing in relief, but no — you felt your heart sink from disappointment.

Yet, you were staring at the pictures. She looked adorable, and she was smiling brightly in the last picture, and damn it you were falling for her all over again.

If you weren’t down bad before, this cemented it.

You wanted to see her smile, you wanted to see her face right in front of yours, not on an Instagram picture that didn’t fully capture and present her beauty. You wanted to see her laugh because of you. You wanted her to be with you, and it hurt.

You quickly turned off your phone as you heard footsteps. Rei came in, shining with excitement. She looked stunning. You grinned at her.

“Trying to impress someone?”

Her face turned red, and she looked away from you.

“Uh…um…”

“Is Jiwon coming? Your precious Liz?”

She was cosplaying a tomato at this point, giving you your answer. Liz was a nickname for Jiwon that only Rei had permission to use, and bringing it up was how you could squeeze stuff out of either of them that they were unwilling to divulge at first.

“She is, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Cute. Love the Instagrm post too, by the way.”

“You saw-?”

“Of course.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m not stalking you both! I follow you girls, remember?”

She sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. We should get going now, it’s 6:57.”

You realized how quickly time passed while you were staring at Yujin’s pictures. You stood up and walked out the door, not really expecting anything.

When you reached, the strong smell of alcohol hit your nostrils and you winced, not really liking it. You couldn’t back out now, however, so you just shrugged it off before sitting on the couch in the middle of the living room as people danced, socialized and drank all around you.

You didn’t know anyone at the party on a close basis save for Gaeul, Chaewon, Sakura, Yunjin, Kazuha and of course Rei. You preferred to keep your circle of friends relatively small so that you wouldn’t be involved in any drama, although you liked hearing about it. You always thought it worked effectively, but now you were wondering what it’d be like to be on the dance floor with a few other friends.

Chaewon and Gaeul came over and talked to you at some point, but they had to leave after a while since they were the hosts and had attend to other guests. Chaewon told you that Yunjin and Kazuha didn’t want to come. Sakura was busy, so she couldn’t. Just like Wonyoung, you couldn’t help but think.

You were thirsty and they had arranged some juice in the corner for those who didn’t want to drink. You got off the couch, deciding to let the couple making out nearby have some space. You went over to the table with the juice, and you took a bit of time to choose what you wanted to drink. As you were troubling yourself with this very hard choice, you heard a quiet and groggy voice right behind you.

“Hey, can you pass me a cup of apple juice?”

Extremely familiar voice. Your fingers gripped the plastic cup in your hand tighter.

“Yu…Yujin?”

You turned around, and your guess was right.

There she was in full glory.

She had those headphones on, and was wearing an oversized shirt and sweatpants that looked comfy. You subconsciously tugged at the collar of your dress. Her hair was ruffled, and her eyes were red and puffy along with her face looking sullen, making it obvious that she had been crying before.

“Y-Y/N? I’m sorry, I-I’ll just get-get it my-myself-”

“No, it’s…fine. Apple juice, right?”

The tension was so thick that your 3rd grade English teacher’s ass was (quite literally) shaking. She nodded, and watched you pour her a cup. You could feel her eyes on you, waiting for you to say something, and you guessed that it was about the letter.

Suddenly, you could feel her hand on your shoulder, before she gently pulled you close to her as she wrapped her arms around you in one of her familiar and comforting hugs. Her hand was in your hair, stroking it.

“Come, let’s go to my room. I’ll help you calm down.”

You didn’t say anything in protest, instead simply allowing her to take you. The two of you went inside her dorm room, and she closed the door, locking it. Your eyes darted around the four walls you were in, and your mind flashed with memories of that whole year you both had. You set free the tears trapped in the prison that was your eyes. She hugged you tightly again, her voice soothing.

“Y/N, darling, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry.”

The petname she reserved for you, ‘darling’, slipped out of her mouth, as she always used to use that with you. She froze for a moment, but as she saw that you had no reaction to it, she relaxed. Back then she could call you that unabashedly, but now she had to be careful. You didn’t care though, you loved the way it rolled off her tongue.

After a few minutes, you had finally calmed down. You looked at the plastic cup in your hand, noticing that it was now half empty. You were sure that it was nearly filled to the brim before though. Your eyes trailed to Yujin’s shirt and you saw a few stains on it, solving the mystery of the missing juice. Were your hands really shaking that much?

“Um…sorry about the juice on your shirt.”

“Nevermind it. How do you feel now?”

You slowly moved the cup — now only contaning half of its previous content — to her free hand, but she gently pushed it back and tilted your hand upward, towards your face.

“You drink it.”

“But-”

“Drink.”

She smiled a little at you, and you were mesmerized. You probably looked like an idiot right now, gaping at your ex, but could you really care? She was here, in front of you, smiling at you, and your eyes darted to her lips almost instinctively, missing how they felt on yours.

“Y/N, how do you feel now?”

Obviously, you couldn’t stare forever.

“Better. Thanks Yujin, you…really helped.”

She tilted her head at you endearingly in her usual manner, her smile getting wider, although there was some sadness behind it.

"I missed you."

Her eyes widened, her facial features rearranged into surprise, confusion and a tiny bit of hope.

“You…missed me?”

You looked at your fingers, fiddling with them nervously. 

“Uh…sorry if it was a bit inappropriate to say rig-”

“No, no, no- don’t apologize, Y/N.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t mind.”

Her eyes looked deeply into yours, searching for something, searching for an answer. You knew what she wanted, and you took a deep breath.

“I…I read your letter.”

Her eyes widened, and her fingers intertwined with your desperately. You missed the feeling of her hand fitting perfectly into yours badly, and you didn’t realize that until now.

“And…? I’m not going to react harshly to anything you say, I just-just need an ans-”

“I want you back.”

Her eyes were about to pop out of their sockets at this point. Her face was full of disbelief.

“Re…Really?”

“Yeah.”

Gently taking the plastic cup from your hand before setting it on the nightstand near her bed (one you remembered well), she held the other hand too, a silly little smile on her face.

“Y/N, you don’t have to if you don’t wan-”

“But I do. I want you. I want whatever we had. I need it all back.”

Her smile reached her eye, squeezing out a few tears. One of her hands moved from yours to cup your cheek. 

“Thank you for giving me another chance, Y/N darling. I was scared of what you’d say, if I’ll be honest.”

You smiled at the familiar nickname, and inched a bit closer until your foreheads were touching. She giggled softly, a sound that warmed your heart.

In a quick movement, you felt her lips on yours in a small yet delicate peck, as if anything more would make you break. She pulled back, looking away shyly. Your eyes were wide, and your face was frozen in shock. Your lips were parted slightly for a moment, before you put a hand on her shirt collar and tugged it, making her jerk forward so that her lips could meet yours again. 

Just like that, you both were back in the old times.

[sociallyrepressed]

season of the witch

Salem always glows this time of year. As soon as the first leaf departs from its tree, the residents line their lawns with plastic figures and blown-up monstrosities. The neighborhood children gather to bake Halloween cookies and carve pumpkins. Stores open for the flow of tourists hunting ghost stories- which is very lucky for Franco considering half of his business is guiding ghost tours during the busy season. The other half of his job is selling antiques while coming up with creative stories about how the previous owners still haunt them.

They’re not actually haunted- he checks them personally after he got in trouble with Lando for gifting him a potted plant that attempted to eat one of his students. Which is really Lando’s fault for not checking, because why did he put the plant in his classroom without even testing it for magical conformities? Anyways, it led to a traumatic series of events in which Lando had to wipe the child’s memory and tell her parents she got a concussion for misusing the monkey bars, and now Franco checks for traces of spell or curse residue before he sells them.

His thoughts are interrupted by the man himself.

“Are you going to help me put the lights up or not?” Lando’s leaning against the doorframe, hip cocked and eyebrow raised.

“If you tone down the sass I will think about it.” He ducks as his favorite mug is lobbed at his head- bright pink with black letters that read “witch, please”. It came in a matching set; Lando’s is dark gray with bright green letters that spell out “witch bitch” . Franco flicks his fingers to stop its momentum, protecting it from shattering on the floor. “Why do you not use magic to put them up? Clearly it is not above you.”

“Because we have to keep appearances for the neighbors. And also I thought it might be fun.” Lando pushes off the wall and disappears into the back hallway, returning with a bundle of lights and their cat darting around his heels, trying to get at the trailing ends. They are most definitely tangled, Franco sighs.

“You could not get them untangled.” 

“Nope. And also made it worse,” he looks entirely unapologetic as he dumps the lights onto the carpet in front of Franco, plopping onto his knees. He pulls Lucky Bastard (affectionately dubbed by Lando when they rescued him as a sopping pathetic little thing during a storm) into his lap, away from the lights, and pats the space next to him in invitation. And who is Franco to deny his- admittedly incompetent- witch. When Lando doesn't reach out and start tugging at the loose ends, Franco realizes his intended role. “But maybe you could work your magic.” Lando’s got this wide cheesy grin on his face, gap tooth on display. It’s the one Franco likes most because of how unguarded it is; it’s the one Lando weaponizes the most because he knows this.

“Ay, Lando, you are evil.” He still closes his eyes and reaches into his own soul, imagining a bright tangle of lights. He imagines it coming apart, pulling into organized pieces. The magic crackles in the air, and he knows in the silence Lando is watching, enraptured. 

He has his own talents and spells, but he always seems so captivated when Franco uses his magic- he’s been accused on more than one occasion of using some kind of enchantment, until Lando realized the reason for his interest was due moreso to his own feelings than any magical influence. 

It takes a few minutes to completely disentangle, if only for the reason Lando did, in fact, make the knot worse. By the time he opens his eyes, there are long strips in front of him and Lando is leaned forward on his knees, braced on his hands. His eyes are bright and excited, mouth curved into something happy. Lucky Bastard is already attempting to ruin the lights. Franco allows himself to tip forward just enough to press a light, fluttery kiss to the corner of Lando’s lips. He doesn't linger, instead pulling back and laughing as Lando tries to chase his lips and ends up faceplanting right into the lights. He’s scowling when he pushes himself back up, but Franco doesn't feel intimidated when there are imprints of bulbs across the side of his cheeks and temple.

“I thought you wanted to go put them up.” He stands and grabs one of the strings, making his way towards the front door.

“I hate you!” He hears it echo in the foyer, but he can also hear the hasty rustling of Lando getting up and grabbing a different strand. 

“Ah, if only that were true.”

--

“You are not funny, amor. It was not so funny the last four years, and it is not funny this year.” Honestly, Franco doesn't know how he puts up with so much. Lando thinks it's hysterical that he dresses up as a witch for the school’s celebration of All Hallow’s Eve. Witches are common costumes, but he’s still going to get in trouble with the local coven for some kind of appropriation. Last year, it was because “witches don't have ugly warts on their noses or cackle loudly”. (In Franco’s opinion, that describes the pompous witches in the coven perfectly.) Luckily, this year he’s toned it down to a dramatic black velvet robe, a scraggly wooden broom, and an offensively pointed hat that looks like it could genuinely hurt somebody. He’s put on a light layer of makeup to accentuate the shape of his eyes and make him more glow-y, which shouldn’t be doing it for Franco as much as it is.

“All the kids love it, plus I think it’s better than being a vampire.” He cocks his head to the side. “But that's probably because you’re pale enough to look like one already.” Lando reaches around and smacks Franco on the backside, and he can feel some heat rise to his face. “Oh, there’s your lively color!” 

“Do not start something we do not have time to finish,” Franco pushes Lando out of his face by convincing the car keys to collide with his cheek.

“Hey!” Franco is already turned out the front door and in the car before Lando can retaliate. “Cheater.” When he catches up he slinks into the passenger and drops the keys into the cupholder.

“Oh, baby, do not be such a sore loser. One day you will be fast enough to keep up,” he leans across the center console and kisses him. Contrary to what he said before, he’s the one to initiate their make-out session in the car. He has not always been so great with self-control, and Lando is looking at him with winged eyes and glossy lips pulled into a pout. He never actually stood a chance. They don't separate until Franco commits a transgression of the highest degree- he runs his hand through Lando’s hair and tugs a curl until it loosens. He squawks and jerks back, pulling down the passenger side visor just enough to see the top of his head so that he can fix his hair even though it's just going to get covered up by the witch’s hat anyway.

 Franco laughs and he keeps rustling different curls the whole drive (“Stop it! Focus on driving.” “Ah, my love, my eyes are on the road, I am not even thinking of you. I promise I am not doing anything.”). As they’re pulling into the parking lot, Lando is finally once again at peace with his hair. It’s a shame Franco’s one goal in life is to continually cause chaos.

He turns and reaches out again to grab Lando’s face, pulling it in. His pretty eyes are narrowed in suspicion as he leans his own face closer. Franco can feel him shiver when his breath ghosts over his ear, “your lipgloss is smudged, my love.” Lando shoves him away again and smacks his shoulder.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

“You have said this already multiple times, yet I do not believe you anymore now than I did earlier.” Lando pauses his movement just long enough to send him a stink eye. He opens his mouth to say something but Franco cuts him off, “oh, look. The party has started, and we are now late.” The lights in the gymnasium are flashing greens and pinks, some type of loud music permeating the otherwise quiet night.

His witch snorts but gets out of the car, straightening his costume. When Franco moves to get out, his door locks. Everytime he unlocks it, it relocks.

“Lando.” He sends some leaves to flutter around Lando’s head. Suitably distracted trying to protect his hair from further assault, Franco gets out of the car. When they actually get inside of the gym, a group of middle schoolers all flock to Lando, chattering excitedly. He’s content to stand to the side and observe, but one of the kids sees him and points.

“Mr. L, is that your boyfriend?” Lando sputters for a few moments, both to the amusement of the kids and Franco. But when he looks at Franco with wide eyes, he decides to step in and introduce himself.

“Yes, I’m Franco. His boyfriend.” Witches don't usually do the whole dating and marriage thing. When they’re born, their souls are split into fragments, and one of the fragments is used as a courting gift that binds with a soul fragment of another witch. It’s far more intimate than the courting rituals of regular mortals. He does not explain this to the kids. One girl that looks vaguely familiar stares him down, a frown on her lips.

“He may be your boyfriend, but he’s our teacher. So we get to have him tonight since we’re at school, plus we want to win the pizza party.” Franco raises his eyebrows, but Lando’s got this glint in his eyes that can only spell mischief.

“Audrey, Franco is really good at games. He can help us win.” He’s not really listening to Lando because it clicks into place- this is the girl the plant tried to eat. Now he’s obligated to help them win the pizza party since he’s the reason she almost died, even if she doesn't remember.

“Yes. I will help you all win.” The kids cheer and storm through until they get to the side of the gym housing all the carnival games. Franco and Lando trail behind. “You are an evil, evil man.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. Come on, we have to win. I’ll be damned if I ever hear George talking about how superior his class is just because they got a pizza party again.” Franco rolls his eyes, but links their fingers together and they wander over to play games.

Later, they’re back in their house, in their bed, curled around each other. Lucky Bastard is on top of Lando’s chest, purring loudly. Lando presses feather soft kisses to the side of Franco’s face, and he can feel their soul fragment glow warm and soft.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 42

Carnationspeckle recovers from birthing strains. Fennelspot does his best to prop up Spike’s body and feels growing concern at the rancid smell coming from the broken and twisted part of Spike’s back.

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle sits in the back while Fennelspot looks after Spike. Under Carnationspeckle, it says - CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. Under Spike, it says + INFECTION.]

Lavenderpaw was curious about Spike. Why wouldn’t he be? Shadowdrop, who had only recently come back from his punishment for causing one molly’s death, saves the life of another? A molly that most likely knew Cinderella?  Lavenderpaw was no historian, but it was quite the story! Of course he wanted to know more!

Despite that curiosity, Lavenderpaw didn’t get much of a chance to see Spike. Scrubmask loved to keep him busy. StarClan, that warrior was tighter than a leather strap! Every day, it was “Lavenderpaw, here’a why we patrol” and “Lavenderpaw, warriors help where needed”, there was no time for fun! Lavenderpaw’s littermates seemed to enjoy their apprenticeships. Palepaw learned from everyone she could about being a meditator. Wasppaw and Puddlepaw got to have fake arguments and pick apart famous trials of the past. Ripplepaw had a mentor that could interview ghosts! What could Scrubmask do? Snap at Lavenderpaw for humming?

Lucky for Lavenderpaw, his mother was deputy. While Weedfoot was still sick, she could boss cats around again. That’s how Lavenderpaw ended up Fennelspot’s apprentice for the day.

“Bubblemoon and I are some of the only living clerics to have dealt with broken backs,” Fennelspot explained as he darted about the medicine den. “We’ll be talking at the half-moon meeting for a while about Spike’s condition. I need to know that you can handle any sniffles or complaints the Clan may bring up while I’m gone.”

“You’ve given me a lot of medicine to help,” Lavenderpaw said, eyeing the vast assortment of ointments and powders along the walls. “If I have any questions, I can ask Palepaw.”

“And if it’s a true emergency, send Scrubmask to collect me,” Fennelspot reminded him. He placed a small jar into a leather pouch, tightened the twine around it, and slid it around his neck. “Carnationspeckle should be coming in sometime tonight for something to stop her milk. The kits stopped nursing a while ago, but Carnationspeckle’s still producing milk. I have a sage and parsley she needs to add to her next meal, give her the small pouch next to Spike.” Fennelspot and Lavenderpaw glanced Spike’s way. The loner spent most of her days lying quietly in her nest, silently watching visitors or turned to the wall. The latter was true that day.

Lavenderpaw leaned close to Fennelspot and whispered, “Should I do anything with her?”

“Just keep your eye on her and get her anything she needs,” Fennelspot said. “Spike? I’ll be back early in the morning. Lavenderpaw will help you while I’m gone.” Spike shifted her paw, the only sign she heard Fennelspot at all. Fennelspot sighed. He touched noses with Lavenderpaw and trotted out into the chilly winter sunset.

Lavenderpaw examined the den. Being cleric for a day would be fun! Just looking after the Clan, just like he already did. He had to admit, all the medicines were certainly interesting. He trotted up to Carnationspeckle’s prepared bundle and studied each herb and concoction. As his thoughts drifted, he settled on a song.

“Come join claw in paw, brave warriors all,

And rouse your bold hearts at fair liberty’s call;

No tyrannous acts, shall suppress your just claim—”

“Or stain with dishonor the dear Ripple’s name.” Lavenderpaw’s head spun toward Spike.

“You know The Movement’s Call?” Lavenderpaw gasped. Spike grew still. “Don’t go quiet on me! I love The Movement’s Call! How does a loner know that song?” Spike sighed deeply.

“Help me face you,” Spike muttered. Lavenderpaw bolted over. He carefully helped Spike stand on her front paws and, keeping her back straight with the brace, slowly spun her around. Lavenderpaw could smell the infection in Spike’s heavily covered wound. He wondered if Spike could groom herself with her injury. Surely Fennelspot was grooming her. So why was her fur so rough and ragged below her wound?

Lavenderpaw set Spike down with a thud. Lavenderpaw flinched as Spike hissed. 

“Sorry!” Lavenderpaw gulped. “Let me find something for the pain.”

“No, it’s fine,” Spike groaned, waving Lavenderpaw off. “I’ll tell you if it gets worse.”

“How do you know a Clan song?” Lavenderpaw asked, sitting beside the injured loner.

“Because, long ago,” Spike sighed, “my father lived in the Clans.” Lavenderpaw scooted closer. “I don’t know what else you expect from me. He knew the song, so he taught it to me.”

“Who is he?” Lavenderpaw asked. “Is he still alive? What Clan did he come from? Were you coming to join us when the horse trampled you?”

“You’re asking too many questions,” Spike huffed, her body tensing.

“You turned to talk,” Lavenderpaw pointed out. His smugness was as strong as the horse’s blow.

“My father is still alive,” Spike said, rolling her eyes. “He and my mother raised me until I was six moons old, at which point he went back to wandering. He stops by our den a couple times each moon to see how my aunt, mother and I are faring. Were faring. Until my aunt got pregnant and started bringing back all these Clan teachings my father never thought to share with us.”

“Cinderella was your aunt,” Lavenderpaw gasped. “We thought you were related!”

“And now I’m in the Clan that caused her death,” Spike muttered. She placed her head between her paws.

“In our defense, Shadowdrop got Cinderella pregnant. We had nothing to do with it. We helped you, didn’t we? We aren’t so bad.”

“You helped a dead cat. You have many skills in the Clans, but even you and your ancestors can’t fix an infected spine. I don’t get the dignity of dying around my kin, just like Cinderella.”

“You’ll see your parents again. I promise.”

“And who are you to make that promise?” Spike’s cold eyes hardened Lavenderpaw’s resolve.

“The deputy’s son, thank you very much.”

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Lavenderpaw stuck out his tongue. For the first time since he met Spike, the injured loner chirped softly, whiskers twitching in a quiet mirth.

“Oh, when my sisters were sick,” Lavenderpaw explained, “we visited all the time to keep their spirits up. Fennelspot said it helped them recover faster. Maybe if we spend some time together, your infection might go away.”

“I don’t believe that’s how infections work.”

“Please? I want to hear stories from a real loner, someone who knows what life is like out there right now.” Lavenderpaw couldn’t help but wiggle his flank in anticipation. Spike sighed once more, stretching out the breath until Lavenderpaw thought he would explode from the wait.

“What else do you want to know?” Spike groaned.

“Truthfully,” Lavenderpaw chuckled, sitting in a loaf in front of Spike, “I want to continue singing The Movement’s Call with you. You have a good voice!” Spike rolled her eyes, but cleared her throat.

“In freedom we’re born, and in freedom we’ll live;

Our hearts are ready,

Steady, Friends, steady.”

(Lavenderpaw: 8, male, warrior apprentice, bold, likes to sing)

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Spike: 17, female, loner, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

Scrubmask can’t imagine what her life would look like without Downstar. They both spend time with Mosskit, who has greencough.

[Image ID: Scrubmask and Downstar face Mosskit, who has + CONDITION: GREENCOUGH written under him. Downstar says “Tell us that story you were so excited about, Moss.”]

(Scrubmask: 59, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Mosskit: 3, male, kit, bullying, stares at fire)

Tempestkit disappears from camp as a blizzard begins to pick up. Downstar leads a patrol after the wayward kit.

[Image ID: A patrol marches through the snow. From left to right, the patrol includes Rustshade, Fennelspot, Wasppaw, Mousesong, Puddlepaw, Shadowdrop, and Downstar.]

---

Fennelspot predicted it the day before; a massive blizzard tearing into the territories, cursed by Stormfoots, those twisted Spirits of Shadow born from their namesake in the Dark Forest. Downstar was quick to act and ordered the caretakers to lead preparations around camp. She disappointed Wildclaw, who thought it meant reprieve from kit duty, when Downstar put her in charge of shoring up the nursery. Carnationspeckle worked with the artisans to find the best spot in camp for a bonfire; they would need the warmth. Clammask darted about, making sure everyone had a den to fortify or a job to do in prepping for the storm. Even James got off his lazy flank and helped out.

“If we cook the prey we have into dishes like pemmican,” Downstar muttered, studying the fresh-kill pile, “we can feed the Clan with well-preserved food throughout the storm.”

“Do you suppose it will be a long blizzard?” Weedfoot asked. Her voice was congested, the symptoms of whitecough still clinging to her pelt and slowing her down, but she could largely do her job now.

“That’s what Fennelspot predicted,” Downstar sighed. “He was right about the darkhound, so I assume he’s right about the storm. Wildclaw, where are you going?” Downstar looked over at her daughter, who walked with Trumpetkit and Tempestkit away from the nursery.

“Mom, I’m just escorting them to the dirt place!” Wildclaw groaned. “The nursery’s ready for the snow.”

“Good,” Downstar sighed, nodding as Wildclaw ushered the two black mollies around the shipwreck. 

“You seem more like yourself today,” Weedfoot hummed. “More like you were when we founded RippleClan.”

“I work well in a crisis,” Downstar admitted. A snowflake danced over her whiskers, making her shiver.

“StarClan, the snow’s starting already?” Weedfoot groaned, looking up. “Fennelspot said the storm would start in the morning. It isn’t even sunset yet.”

“Hurry, everyone!” Downstar yowled to the scurrying cats around camp. “We have less time than we thought. Focus on the essentials. Rattlepelt, Rabbitjoy, Carnationspeckle, start cooking and make sure the fires are lit!”

“The apprentice’s den isn’t ready for the snow,” Puddlepaw called, sticking his head out.

“You’re sleeping in the nursery with the elders then,” Downstar barked. “If the snow will be as strong as Fennelspot says, I don’t trust the shipwreck to keep us warm. Weedfoot, get Oilstripe and Mosskit into the warrior’s den.”

A sudden caterwaul caught the Clan’s attention. It came from the dirt place.

“Tempestkit!” Wildclaw yowled. Shadowdrop, who had been bundling leather pelts at the edge of the warrior’s den, bolted past Downstar. Downstar and Weedfoot joined him in the race to the dirtplace.

When the trio turned the corner, Trumpetkit’s tiny teeth were buried in Wildclaw’s leg. The tip of Tempestkit’s tail slipped through the thorns that covered the top of the rocks, keeping the dirtplace separate from the rest of the world. Oilstripe had Trumpetkit by the scruff and finally pulled her off.

“Tempestkit, get back here right now!” Shadowdrop roared. He soared onto the rocky border, but the hole in the thorn wall was only big enough for a kit; Shadowdrop stuck his paw through and frantically waved about, but Downstar could see Tempestkit’s fluffy pelt streaking toward the forest, snowflakes catching on her black fur.

“Trumpetkit, what are you doing?” Oilstripe snapped, throwing Trumpetkit down. “That’s your aunt!” 

“You nearly drew blood!” Wildclaw groaned, licking her back leg.

“Tempestkit wanted to go on an adventure like Aunt Duskkit did when she was our age,” Trumpetkit whined. She sunk into the sand, big golden eyes bouncing between each panicked adult. “She said if I distracted Aunt Wildclaw, she’d bring me back a gift!”

“During a blizzard?” Weedfoot hissed. She looked between Trumpetkit and Tempestkit’s hole in the wall. Shadowdrop continued to frantically claw at the hole, as though if he stretched far enough, he would snatch Tempestkit’s tail. Shadowdrop screamed and jumped off the rocks.

“You’ve been staying in the den next to the dirt place for moons!” Shadowdrop roared at Oilstripe. “Didn’t you see this hole in the wall?”

“I don’t watch cats use the dirt place, Shadowdrop!” Oilstripe hissed. Downstar had enough of it. She raced back into the main clearing, where the Clan was nervously waiting to hear what happened.

“I want all our codekeepers with me, now!” Downstar yowled. “Tempestkit has run off. We need to bring her back before the blizzard grows.”

“Does that include our apprentices?” Rustshade asked as Mousesong shook out her pelt, ready to go. Downstar nodded. Wasppaw and Puddlepaw hurried to their mentors. Wasppaw stood proud beside Mousesong while Puddlepaw rubbed against his father, searching for answers in James’ face.

“Mom, I’m coming with you.” Shadowdrop ran up beside Downstar, leading the rest of the crowd out of the dirt place.

“No,” Downstar huffed. “Trumpetkit and Mosskit need you.”

“I am coming with you!” Shadowdrop snapped. “She is my daughter, it is my responsibility to look after her.” Downstar hesitated. How responsible could Shadowdrop be when his kits came about from such a selfish act? 

“Oh…” Downstar groaned, jaw tense, “Wildclaw, don’t let the other kits out of your sight!” Wildclaw stood to the side with Trumpetkit and Mosskit, who had stumbled out of the quarantine den. Wildclaw pulled them both close. “Fennelspot, with us! The longer we wait, the further she gets!” Downstar’s patrol formed around her as she hurried out of camp. A cold wind ushered them out as the sky above darkened.

Fennelspot and Mousesong beat the patrol to the other side of camp where the dirt place wall gave way and Tempestkit made her escape. Mousesong sniffed the ground and growled. 

“All I smell is the dirt place,” she said, nose curling.

“She ran that way,” Shadowdrop said, pointing his tail toward the forest.

“Tempestkit!” Wasppaw called. “Tempestkit, it’s cold out here! It’s not that exciting!” Another sharp wind blew in Downstar’s face, sending a barrage of snow into her eyes.

“Pray to our ancestors she has the good sense to turn around,” Downstar growled. “Follow her trail.” 

At their leader’s command, the patrol charged into the growing blizzard, calling Tempestkit’s name.

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Weedfoot: 90, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Wildclaw: 34, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Puddlepaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)

(Trumpetkit: 3, female, kit, nervous, plays in mud)

(Tempestkit: 3, female, kit, troublesome, loves to eat)

(Oilstripe: 46, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Shadowdrop: 34, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Rustshade: 86, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Mousesong: 18, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

(Wasppaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, strict, interested in clan history, eye for detail)

[Image ID: Shadowdrop, Downstar, and Tempestkit cuddle close as snow falls around them and Downstar says “I will die as many times as I need to keep you both warm.”]

---

Tempestkit shouldn’t have been far. She was still a kit, unfamiliar with the territory. The forest wasn’t thick yet. Tempestkit should have been leaving the scent of the dirt place  in her wake. But as sunset arrived, the snow grew thicker. Downstar’s paws grew numb. And the patrol was no closer to finding Tempestkit than they were when they set off.

Shadowdrop yowled as the thickening blanket of snow under his paws sent him tumbling forward. He smashed his chin against the cold ground. Puddlepaw and Rustshade helped him up. 

“This is ridiculous!” Shadowdrop groaned. “Where could she have gone? How have we not found her yet?”

“It’s the Stormfoots,” Fennelspot gulped. He stared into the harsh blowing snow. “They’re hiding her in their snow. I just know it.”

“They aren’t taking my granddaughter from me,” Downstar hissed. “We keep going. We don’t go home until we find her!”

“The snow’s starting to collect on the ground,” Puddlepaw pointed out. “We’ll start seeing pawprints sooner or later.”

“We don’t even know if we’re still following her,” Mousesong huffed.

“Then we split up,” Rustshade said. He glanced around and added “If you were a kit on an adventure, where might you go?”

“I would go see the river,” Wasppaw said. “I was curious to see it when I was little.”

“You didn’t grow up with stories about your dead mom,” Mousesong grunted. “Wouldn’t you want to see her grave for yourself?”

“Maybe she’s not thinking,” Shadowdrop said, casting a cold eye at Mousesong. “Maybe she just picked a direction and wondered what was out there.”

“Fennelspot, I know what you’re going to say,” Downstar groaned, “but I think we should split up.”

“That is an awful idea!” Fennelspot gasped. “The storm will only get worse. This is the sort of weather that gets cats killed!”

“And my daughter is out there,” Shadowdrop hissed, tail thrashing. “If my mother thinks we should split up, I’m following her.” 

“We don’t know where Tempestkit went,” Downstar reminded the group. “It’s more important to find her and make sure she’s warm than worry about ourselves. This is what we train for.” Wasppaw nodded, gaining a second wind. Mousesong copied her apprentice, tail brushed against his side. 

“Howlingwind, Celestial of snowfall, hear us o Blessed One and repel these Stormfoots from our shores.” Fennelspot squeezed his eyes tight as he prayed.

“Fennelspot, take Wasppaw and Mousesong to the Great Northern River,” Downstar ordered. “Rustshade, Puddlepaw, head south. Shadowdrop and I will continue west.”

“We have to go back to camp when it gets too dark,” Fennelspot huffed. “I mean it, Downstar. We can’t find Tempestkit if we freeze to death.” Downstar stayed silent as the snow tried to tear Fennelspot’s voice away. Shadowdrop curled into himself as he braced against the wind. His eyes met his mother’s. There was a quiet agreement no plea could break.

“Be quick, everyone,” Downstar ordered. “Find her!” Shadowdrop and Downstar joined each other’s side and hurried against the screaming snow. From that moment on, they might as well have been the only cats in the territory.

If the situation wasn’t so dire, Downstar would have thought the storm to be a beautiful thing. Soon the snow would drag the pine branches low and cover the ground in a white blanket that reached Downstar’s chest. But the storm had only been blowing for a short time. When Downstar ran over the snow collecting on the dead grass, she could once again see the grass through her pawprints. The dark trees were dusted rather than smothered. But the lack of thick layers meant nothing when the falling snow tore at Downstar’s eyes. She didn’t feel when her paws hit the ground and her face was ready to fall off. 

Downstar wasn’t sure where they were in the territory. The snowfall turned the world white. Shadowdrop and Downstar scoured each area they found, calling Tempestkit’s name and searching in each little cranny. Sometimes Downstar forgot whether they had searched a certain bush or tree yet and Shadowdrop had to redirect her. She prayed it was her worry clouding her memory and not the freezing fangs of frostbite.

“Pawprints!” Shadowdrop finally shrieked. “I found pawprints!” Downstar had been checking under a large exposed root when Shadowdrop called for her. Sure enough, there was a small trail of kitten sized pawprints emerging from a bush and hiking through the snow.

“Tempestkit!” Downstar yowled, jogging alongside the tracks. Shadowdrop kept his nose to the ground, searching for a scent amidst the churning storm. The wind screamed and knocked Downstar off-balance.  As she steadied her paws, she spotted a large stone jutting out of a gentle slope. A small hole broke through the haze of white that slowly turned black in the coming night. The fading pawprints led straight to it. Downstar shoved Shadowdrop and turned his gaze to the hole.

Downstar and Shadowdrop fought to squeeze inside. From the size of it, the hole may have been a fox den, although if it was, all trace of its creator had vanished. The more concerning feature of the den was the black kitten huddled in the back, shivering so hard Downstar thought she would hurt herself.

“Tempestkit, what were you thinking?” Shadowdrop groaned. He wrapped himself around his daughter. Downstar suddenly realized that between all of Shadowdrop’s new duties and the Clan’s effort to help Tempestkit and her siblings find their place in the Clan, she had never seen him properly curl up with his kits. It seemed natural for him. He’d endured his punishment with dignity, he wanted to be a father. Perhaps Tempestkit noticed that. Perhaps there was more to her misadventure than following in the pawsteps of her long-dead aunt.

“I’m cold,” she whined, pressing into her father’s shoulder. Downstar licked Tempestkit’s fur the wrong way, trying to warm her up. She was so cold, she didn’t feel alive.

“We need to start a fire,” Downstar muttered, glancing out into the storm. The world suddenly turned a deep, unbreakable blue, shifting into dark grays in the snowfall. 

“With what?” Shadowdrop huffed. “Everything is wet. Mom, Tempestkit needs warmth. Come here. Please.” Downstar crawled beside her son and granddaughter. She pressed into both of their dark pelts and tried to pour what little heat remained into them.

“I’m ready to go home now,” Tempestkit muttered into her father’s fur. “I had my fun.”

“I don’t think we can move,” Shadowdrop said. “I… I don’t know where we are.” Downstar pushed her son closer. Shadowdrop nudged Tempestkit between them, giving her the majority of the extra warmth.

“We’ll sleep here tonight,” Downstar sighed. “I’ll keep you both warm.”

“Focus on Tempestkit,” Shadowdrop huffed. “She needs it more.” Downstar wrapped her front paws around Tempestkit, but squirmed closer to her son.

“I will die as many times as I need to keep you both warm,” Downstar promised.

The world screamed her to sleep.

(Shadowdrop: 34, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Puddlepaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)

(Mousesong: 18, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

(Rustshade: 86, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Wasppaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, strict, interested in clan history, eye for detail)

(Tempestkit: 3, female, kit, troublesome, loves to eat)

[Image ID: Fennelspot looks up at smoke in the sky, saying “Everyone, follow the smoke!”]

---

Fennelspot ordered Wasppaw and Mousesong to head back to camp when Wasppaw reported an unshakable chill seeping through his body. Standing beside the freezing river, searching for a missing kit, would only tear apart their skin and hurt them more. They simply had to turn back. Rustshade must have had the same thought, as he and Puddlepaw were already home when Fennelspot’s group returned.

Downstar and Shadowdrop didn’t come home that night.

“Downstar!” Fennelspot yowled, his voice muffled by the thick snow. “Tempestkit!” 

The storm had finally subsided shortly before dawn, leaving the world smothered in snow. As soon as the weather cleared, Weedfoot picked a few well-rested trackers like Scrubmask, Halibutdusk, and Carnationspeckle and sent them back out with Fennelspot to find their missing Clanmates.

“You said they went west?” Carnationspeckle huffed, breath frosting around her as she stood by Fennelspot.

“The storm is over, why aren’t they coming home?” Halibutdusk groaned from his lookout point on a low oak branch. “Shadowdrop! Shadowdrop!” Scrubmask stayed quiet, focused on scenting the air. 

“I’m going ahead,” Fennelspot sighed. “I need to pray. Yowl if you see anything. Downstar’s still alive out there.” That was an indisputable fact. The storm was strong, but not enough to take all of Downstar’s lives. Not yet, at least. Fennelspot had to hide his gaze, however, at the thought of Shadowdrop and Tempestkit. 

The rest of the patrol kept calling out, but Fennelspot found a quiet spot under a pine. The weight of the snow dragged it off the branches, leaving huge, awkward piles around the trunk but bare needles above. The pine sat beside a small opening in the forest canopy, revealing a bright gray sky. Fennelspot closed his eyes. He had to keep his ears sharp. At a time like this, StarClan surely would not stay silent.

A storm within a storm gives the dark a chance to shine. Look to the sky for the call to action.

Fennelspot gasped, eyes fluttering. This was it! The moment of the prophecy! Tempestkit was the storm in the storm! Shadowdrop went to find her, he was the dark. The second half… Fennelspot locked his eyes to the gray clouds. The sky was still.

“I’m looking,” Fennelspot begged softly.

The color of the clouds shifted. A slimmer of darker color slipped into the corner of Fennelspot’s gaze. It rose into the high clouds. The aging cleric realized it wasn’t just another cloud. His eyes could follow the trail back into the trees.

It was a smoke stack.

“The smoke!” Fennelspot yowled. “Everyone, follow the smoke!” He didn’t wait to see if the others head his cry. He ran into the trees, towards where the drifting smoke disappeared. His feet skidded in the fluffy snow and his legs had to push against its weight. As usual, Scrubmask was right behind him.

He saw the fire before he saw Downstar. It was a small fire composed of the barest of essentials. Heavy smoke drifted from the burning branches. Downstar had cleared away the snow around the fire and placed Tempestkit beside the flames. Downstar stared into the fire, unaware of Fennelspot’s arrival.

“Downstar!” Carnationspeckle dove through the snow, snowballs knotting in her leg fur. Downstar snapped out of it as Carnationspeckle wrapped herself around her former mentor. “StarClan, you’re so cold!” Fennelspot focused on Tempestkit. Somehow, the little kit didn’t seem to have frostbite or any major damage from the cold.

“Have you been with her all night?” Fennelspot asked. Downstar nodded softly, her focus returning to the fire.

“Is Shadowdrop still with you?” Scrubmask asked. Downstar did not reply.

“Tempestkit, how do you feel?” Fennelspot asked the young kit.

“Like I’m in a lot of trouble,” Tempestkit gulped.

“We kept her warm,” Downstar muttered. “We kept her warm.” There was a den behind Downstar. Only two sets of paws left the den in the heavy snow.

“Carnationspeckle, care for Tempestkit,” Fennelspot gulped as Halibutdusk finally joined them. 

Fennelspot slipped past Downstar. His nose quivered in the chill. He braced himself and stepped inside. His eyes quickly adjusted to the light. Shadowdrop was still inside. He laid with his back to the exit, curled around cats who were no longer there.

He would not be joining his mother and daughter by the fire.

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Carnationspeckle: 44, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Halibutdusk: 34, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Scrubmask: 59, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Tempestkit: 3, female, kit, troublesome, loves to eat)

Halibutdusk is grief-stricken at the loss of his brother.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk faces Downstar and Wildclaw. Under Halibutdusk, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING. Under Downstar, it says LIVES LEFT: 6.]

---

Halibutdusk couldn’t stop wondering; did his mother lose a life first, or did Shadowdrop growing cold push her over the edge? Who left their body first? Whose death resulted in the others? At least Tempestkit survived. At least he had that vague comfort. 

Downstar called Halibutdusk and Wildclaw into her den while Fennelspot prepared Shadowdrop’s vigil. The trio hadn’t talked much since they brought Shadowdrop’s body back to camp. Wildclaw had been busy reuniting Mosskit and Trumpetkit with their wayward sister, Downstar had to make sure the vigil went according to plan, and Halibutdusk… he couldn’t really think.

When the two surviving littermates entered their mother’s den, Downstar paced around her nest. She showed no signs of the cold that stole one of her lives. Halibutdusk shifted awkwardly as he waited for Downstar to speak. Wildclaw beat him to it.

“This is my fault, right?” Wildclaw huffed. “That’s why you called me in here. I let Tempestkit get out of camp, and Shadowdrop died.”

“No,” Downstar growled, clawing the ground at the very thought. “I will never blame you for this.” Wildclaw was stunned into silence. “I didn’t punish Oilstripe for letting Duskkit sneak out all those moons ago. This is more Tempestkit’s fault than your own, and even she’s realized what she did was wrong.” Halibutdusk distinctly remembered Downstar tearing into Oilstripe for letting her adventurous daughter slip around her, but Halibutdusk didn’t have the heart to bring it up. 

“Then what do we do now?” Wildclaw groaned. 

“There’s nothing to do, Wildclaw,” Downstar sighed. She sat in her nest. “We just mourn. I brought you in here because…” Downstar took a deep breath, closing her eyes and collecting her strength. “There is a chance Shadowdrop… might not make it to StarClan.” Halibutdusk didn’t know his heart could fall any further.

“Why not?” Wildclaw hissed, the fur on the back of her neck prickling. “How do you know?”

“Duskkit greeted me in StarClan when I lost my life,” Downstar explained quietly. “She told me Shadowdrop would be put on trial when he entered StarClan for how he handled the situation with Cinderella.”

“We already put him on trial!” Wildclaw snapped with a thrash of her scarred tail. “He’s already been punished! He’s done so much good, he doesn’t—” Wildclaw stopped herself, jaw tight. “I’m going out. I’ll be back for the vigil.” Downstar let her daughter go, leaving Halibutdusk standing alone before his mother. 

Halibutdusk slowly approached his mother. Downstar scooted over. Halibutdusk slipped into the nest beside her. He pressed into his mother’s side.

“They’ll let him into StarClan,” Halibutdusk gulped. “They have to.”

(Halibutdusk: 34, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Wildclaw: 34, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

[wishcamper]

Nessian Week Day 6 - Legends & Destiny

Happy second to last day of @nessianweek! I have for you a Witcher!Cassian and sorceress!Nesta AU.

You can read here or on ao3!

Out of the Fog, Into the Mist

CW: consensual sexual content, reference to underage marriage and sex trafficking.

In the town of Mulbrydale, just north of the river near Hanged Man’s Tree, whispers rode the chill autumn air like restless ghosts. For weeks, the townsfolk held their breath as a dark shadow loomed over them: girls had begun to vanish. Four in total, all last seen in the gnarled woods at the fringes of their fields. And so a notice was put out on boards around Velen, that anyone who could find the girls (or the culprit) would eat and sleep well in any house, and could lay claim to a hefty sum.

It smelled like trouble, the sickly sweet of a body left long to rot, but Cassian needed the coin. And after four nights sleeping on the hard-ass ground of this war-ravaged cesspool, he wasn’t picky about how he got it.

“They go over the ridge to let the goats feed in the scrubs. Come sundown the goats come back, but not the girls,” the local innkeep explained, and Cassian saw the ripple of fear pass through him as he said it, the curl of his stooped shoulders.

“Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the stink wafting off his new employer, though maybe he’d ceased to be nose-blind to himself. “So you want me to find what’s killing them.”

“Not killin’, Master Witcher - snatchin’.” The man’s voice was grave despite the lilting accent. “We’ve searched these wood a dozen times and found naught, not a bone. Tweren’t even no blood. Must be a fearsome thing to take them without a trace.”

He gave Cassian a look he’d seen a thousand times then, the furtive dart of a gaze that lingered on the cat-like yellow of his mutated eyes, the two swords at his back: steel for men, silver for monsters. He tried to ignore it, along with the rage that bubbled up at how common folk saw him, a beast barely better than those he slayed.

“And it’s only girls? No boys, too?”

The innkeep shook his head, leaned in to whisper, “The boys come home all dazed-like, remember nothin’. Except for Young Ian, but he were half mad already.”

Cassian sighed and considered the possibilities. There were the tragic but mundane - the girls got lost, or else ran off, ending up for the wolves either way. Then the tragic and unjust, that someone or something was abducting them: slavers, traffickers. It seemed less likely the cause was supernatural, though hags were known to have a penchant for young females, maybe a lesser vampire.

He didn’t relish any of the outcomes, if he was honest with himself. But he’d seen the lavish church at the end of the high street and knew there could be no drought of money in this town, despite the dilapidated dwellings. Crisis had a habit of making converts of even the most secular, and the people of Mulbrydale shed their coin for the Church of the Eternal Fire like the yellow birch leaves now littering their street.

“What did this Young Ian claim to see?” he asked, and the innkeep shrugged where he’d turned to wipe a grimy mug. Whether beast or bastard, Cassian figured the snatcher must have a stash spot nearby since none of the bodies had been found, or else there’d be tracks from a caravan or band of outlaws. 

“He says he saw a lady in the wood, the same day the last girl disappeared. Said she spoke to him day afore yesterday when he went lookin’ for his own sister, Abby. Didn’t find no trace of her, but came back babblin’ like a loon about how he met some Gray Lady. Blue eyes and hair spun of gold, he says.”

Instincts prickling, Cassian leaned closer across the grubby counter, trying to hide his voice below the din of other midday patrons who apparently had nothing better to do than drink. “Did he seem.. Out of it? Acted strange ever since?”

“Well he’s never been quite right, but he did turn down a sympathy romp with Marna over there when he came to tell the tale. Never afore he done that.” 

The aforementioned must’ve heard her name, for a dull-eyed woman rose her head from where it had been plastered to a scrubbed wood table and offered him a watery smile. The innkeep gave him a significant look, eyebrows raised.

The pieces were beginning to fall into place, an artist’s first pass of paint over a canvas. It definitely wasn’t wolves, and while he hadn’t ruled out some other creature it was clear this being was intelligent, enough to cover his own tracks. That left fewer options, all of them dangerous.

Cassian straightened, confident he’d wrung every bit of useful information out of the man, tossed his last few coppers on the counter before draining his ale.

“Thank you. Tell me where to find this Young Ian, and the families of the girls, and I’ll be on my way. And as for my fee..”

They haggled for a moment, and he managed to get the innkeep up a few more crowns, enough to see him through until he reached Oxenfurt. Once there he could rest a bit easier, in more comfort with the dearth of contracts in the city. Maybe even spring for a sympathy romp himself.

Cassian left his horse tethered outside the inn and made his way to the main street. Townsfolk froze in their churning and smithing and general idling to gawk at him, some spitting in his path or crossing themselves and mumbling prayers to the Eternal Fire. Even the reedy looking man in the pillory had the gall to sneer at him, but they were all reactions he’d endured for many years, and Cassian only sent his well-practiced curse to his parents for selling him off so young.

For it was a witcher’s lot in life to be both needed and reviled, a freak mutated with poisons to be stronger, faster, with keener senses and quicker healing. His kind were made, not born, though he might as well have been for all the choice he had in it. 

At the first three girls’ houses Cassian found similar scenes - weeping mothers, dull-eyed siblings, fathers crackling with impotent rage. And the same story thrice over: that their daughter walked over the ridge to the forest like she always did, and at sundown only the goats came home, no trace to be found. 

The tale was simple enough, but something snagged in the back of Cassian’s mind as he trudged up the lane toward the last house. Maybe it was that all the girls were near age thirteen, all described as both comely and disobedient by their fathers. The way the mothers cringed away from their husbands, the young boys in each house better nourished than their sisters.

Abby was the third girl who’d gone missing, who also happened to be the sister of the young man who’d claimed to see the phantom in the forest. Her former house was a sad little cottage of pitch and straw at the end of the lane, leaning drunkenly to one side from time and shoddy construction. Its owner leaned in much the same manner where he sat out front, propped up on a stool with a jug between his feet, dirt and sweat caked along his hairline.

Cassian cleared his throat and the man jolted upright at the sound, somehow startled even though Cassian was big enough to cast a shadow across him from several feet away.

“I hear your daughter’s gone missing,” Cassian bit out, already expecting no useful information. “And your son saw a woman in the woods. What can you tell me?”

The man hiccoughed and blinked up at him, weaving slightly though he was sitting still. “My Abby. She’s gone. The Gray Lady took ‘er.”

“What Gray Lady?”

“Ian seent her, my - hic - son. When he went lookin’ for his sister.” He gestured toward the forest and belched wetly, making Cassian take a step back. “Said he saw a figure in the woods before passing out, and when he woke this was - hic - in his pocket along with one of Abby’s hair - hic - ribbons.”   

The man nodded downward. Cassian looked closer now at the jug between his feet and saw a small flower sticking from the opening, an ordinary celandine. But the yellow petals shimmered in the light, strange, unearthly, and he felt his witcher’s medallion hum against his chest at the presence of magic.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It won’t die. The priest says it’s an omen from the Eternal Fire, that it marks the unnatural has - hic - taken ahold of her. That I gotta pay to have my home cleansed so the blight don’t spread to my others. But I think she sent it as a sign she’s still out there, that she needs me to come save her. Somethin’s not right in those woods, I’m tellin’ you. Somethin’ wicked snatched my girl, I feel it.”

Zealots and swindlers, all priests of that bloodthirsty religion, but Cassian couldn’t deny the wrongness that radiated from the flower, a clumsiness in how the magic wavered he couldn’t quite place. The girl’s father burst into pitiful tears then, and Cassian almost felt sorry for him, as much as he was capable of, anyway. 

“And it would take her of course, my Abby. Most beautiful girl in Velen. She was supposed to be - hic - married next month, you know. I knew one day some important man would come through and see her and have to take her for a wife. Offered a handsome sum, too. My girl. Knew she couldn’t have been born so pretty for - hic - nothin’.” He dissolved once more into weeping, mumbling to himself, a man lost in his own head.

Yet despite the way his voice trembled, something about his grief left a bad taste in Cassian’s mouth, like beer gone slightly off. And not because of the myth that witcher mutations robbed one of normal human emotions - he had more of those than this man was having coherent thoughts at present - but he seemed much sadder about the lost coin than his own flesh and blood.

After a few additional questions that got him nowhere, Cassian left the man cradling the flower, stroking it with one delicate finger and muttering about farm equipment that needed repairing. 

The mystery was starting to come together more clearly, though parts still felt obscured, a thick bank of fog blocking the places where it all connected. The flower was strange, the magic rudimentary, but Abby at least had reasons to run away, or perhaps a suitor uninterested in paying her father what he thought she was worth.

He trudged back up the lane, stomach growling.

With information from a street urchin he cajoled by letting her hold his sword, he soon found Young Ian hiding in the community stables. He could’ve been no older than twenty, sprawled in a pile of straw with one hand tugging hard at his fluffy hair, a ragged feather quill in the other. There was a piece of grubby parchment stretched over his knee, and Cassian wondered if the innkeep was right about his sanity when he saw line after line written and crossed out, fitful scribblings of an unsound mind. 

“Wanted to ask you some questions about the missing girls,” Cassian said gruffly, and the sandy-haired head whipped upwards, startled.

“I didn’t see nothin’,” he grumbled, muddy green eyes hazy. “Now git on with ye, I’m in the middle of somethin’.”

“Yes I can see that. Mind taking a break so we can both get on with our business?”

Ian bared his teeth to retort but seemed to catch himself, spotting Cassian’s leather armor, his twin swords. “Aye, you’re one o’ them witcher’s, ye are. I heard stories about ye. No feelings, none at all.”

“Thanks for your input. Now tell me about the woman you saw.”

“N-no, I didn’t see no-” Ian stammered, but Cassian felt his patience growing short. His belly was empty and so was his coin purse, and none of that would be remedied by debating his own emotional capacity.

“I don’t fucking care what you were doing out there, just tell me what you saw.”

“She told me not to tell.”

Beyond aggravated, Cassian felt his hand moving up to cast Axii before deciding to do so. Ian’s eyes instantly went glassy, his own will dampened, and he glanced out the stable door before leaning in close.

“I saw her,” he said, voice wavy with delight. The reverence that broke across his face crinkled the dirt at the corners of his eyes. “The Gray Lady. She was there in the woods, in naught but a robe, and she was the most beautiful -”

“This was a human woman?”

“Tweren’t nothing human about her, Sir Witcher, sir. She was - She -”

A faint buzzing sounded, and Cassian felt his medallion hum against his chest again. Something was preventing the young man from telling what he’d seen despite Axii’s influence, perhaps from remembering it altogether. He could read now the scribbled lines on the parchment - poetry, declarations of love to a golden-haired goddess. The gifts he’d lavish upon her, where he’d lick - 

With a groan, Cassian lumbered away from the young man, who returned moony-eyed to his musings with hardly a second glance. This job just kept getting worse.

It was too late to back out now, he reasoned, and he returned to the inn to wait for nightfall. And to stew over what the fuck he was going to do.

For this was no common trafficker or hag or even an incubus that took those girls, any of which would be preferable to what it probably was. It was most likely a creature more formidable than all others, against which he had a particular weakness. Cassian sharpened his silver sword while the townspeople descended into drunkenness that evening, trying to ignore the dread that had begun to coil in his stomach, wondering if the blade would even make a difference.

When the moon was a pale wisp on the horizon, he slipped out of the tavern and proceeded into the woods on foot, not trusting his horse to resist whatever tricks may lay in wait. The forest was dense and silent, quieter than it had any right to be, and he met none of the usual night creatures as he wound further between the trees. Cassian found himself holding his breath at intervals, the creeping feeling that he was treading somewhere he ought not go, pressing ahead in defiance. Perhaps in foolishness, too. 

Water sounded close by, the smell of wet earth and something sweeter, trunks thinning to indicate a glade ahead. The ground was softer here, and with his witcher’s sight he noticed a crisscross of small footprints in the mud, a scrap of flowery fabric snagged on a branch. A twist of magic drifted on the air, sharp and metallic, making his lip curl and his medallion shudder.

Yet at the same time his better sense begged to turn back, a thread tugged low in his gut, pulling him forward. With the blessing of vision in the dark, Cassian crept through the trees until he came at last to a starlit clearing.

A gray-robed figure stood in the pool of a silver waterfall, hood shrouding the details of her heart-shaped face. He could tell it was a woman from the contours of her body, from the long, golden-brown hair that swayed like reeds in the updrafts from the falls. Though he’d approached on silent footsteps, she turned in greeting like he’d come crashing through the brush, her full mouth bracketed with annoyance as if he’d kept her waiting.

Slender hands reached up to remove the hood, and the woman beneath was unlike he’d ever seen, tall and willowy, her face glowing like the moon. And those eyes - he could see why Ian was trying to put his passion to paper. They were the blue-gray of a winter sky reflected in his sword, smoldering like white-hot embers in the night. His empty stomach fell out then, for such unnatural beauty only graced one kind of creature.

A sorceress.

All around him plants rustled in a phantom breeze, giant tropical flowers, willows with branches that trailed in the clear pool at his feet. He could see silver-scaled fish flashing in the water, chiming where they brushed against one another, against her shapely legs. Legs he’d die to have wrapped around his waist, or crushing his head as he -

A tendril of magic wrapped about his throat, choking off his breath before he could shield himself. Cassian saw one elegant eyebrow raise when he didn’t pass out immediately, knew it was a trap but oh, what a trap to die in.

Fucking sorceresses.

“You seek the missing girls.”

Her voice was like liquid starlight, and he tried to stammer out an explanation but found only a dumb groan pouring from his throat. “Do you mind toning down your glamour?” he managed once he’d collected himself enough. “It’s giving me a headache.”

The woman’s brow furrowed, and he wondered if she expected him to fall to her feet as the village boy had. As many others had before, he suspected. 

But she relented, the intense aura around her dimming somewhat to reveal a woman more earthly, yet somehow more beautiful still. She had a severe look about her, her face all angles, and he couldn’t help how his eyes traced her lush body, more gorgeous than he’d seen in many long years. Not that it meant anything about her potential to rip him in half, though it certainly was an.. Obstacle.

“You know where they are,” he choked out.

She smiled, cloying, and the wind brought the scent of lilacs drifting toward him once more. “I take it you’ve come to rescue them from evil, brave knight.”

Her countenance was soft and inviting, but Cassian knew what wolves could live in pretty clothing. Knew the dangers in taking her kind’s word, drilled into him through experiences both vicarious and personal.

Don’t ever trust a fucking sorceress.

He should be better at learning from his mistakes by now.

“Where are they?”

“Safe.”

“And I’m supposed to take your word for it.”

He’d heard of crooked mages snatching girls to sell to the academies, earning commissions based on each student’s aptitude. In a dream world the law would put a stop to it, a fool’s dream given Velen had a skewed view of justice these days. But something about the woman before him gave him pause, a crispness in her manner that belied a stronger moral code. Mostly the fact she hadn’t killed him yet.

“What other choice do you have?” she said in her silvery voice, and a shudder threatened to steal through him.

“I could kill you.The families think some evil creature stole them. Want me to bring back its head.”

He knew it was a gamble, but he wanted to gauge her power, how much of a threat he posed to her. Her moonbright eyes darted toward his weapons - he saw genuine fear there, and Cassian wondered if he’d misjudged her before her expression melted back into smugness.

“Two swords. I should’ve known.” She wrinkled her delicate nose and gods, he wanted to kiss where the skin crinkled. “They’ve hired you to dispatch the monster, and here you are.”

“Tell me where the girls are and there’ll be none to kill.”

“Those zealots wouldn’t know a real monster if it were clawing at their hollow legs,” she muttered to herself before straightening. “Then it seems I must plead my case. Come. Let’s see if I can’t convince you to spare me.” 

She flashed that sensual, terrifying smile again and Cassian was half tempted to turn around and sprint away. Sorceresses were of a duplicitous ilk at best, abjectly cruel at worst, and whatever this one was doing out here on her own, the whole thing spelled trouble. He got the distinct impression she was concealing something, though what it was difficult to say. But when she extended a hand out toward him, Cassian couldn’t find it in himself to deny her, to think anything but whether its owner would let him press his lips to it, among other places. 

“Well?” she asked. “Are you coming in, or must we do this in the cold?”

She beckoned him forward before turning and walking straight through the waterfall. Cassian  followed dumbly on leaden legs, braced himself for the rush of chill water but was met with only a whisper of warm air, the scent of lilac and parchment dancing on the wind.

They emerged into a circular courtyard, surrounded on three sides by a stone villa tucked into a mountainside, archways leading to various chambers beyond. The remaining side stood open to the night air, the steep drop beyond, shadows shifting in the light of several braziers along the perimeter. His hostess looked different, too, her roughspun cloak transformed into a high-collared gown, the deep plum fabric spotless where it swept against the polished stone floor. A lush banquet was laid out before them, and even as his stomach growled Cassian knew this was a mistake, knew she already had her hooks in him and was just waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“Let’s have dinner before you decide to kill me.” Her smile was luminous and terrifying, and he swallowed in spite of himself. She gestured to a plush-cushioned seat at one end of the long table, draping herself in the one opposite. “Well, witcher. Have you the courage to drink for a sorceress’ cup?”

Along with her clothing, she’d transformed into an even smoother, more self-assured woman now they were in her bower, a spider biding time at the edge of her web. A goblet appeared before him when he eased into the chair, as if dropped out of thin air. The wine within was blood-red, and Cassian felt himself overcome with a thirst that he tried to resist.

“Depends.”

“On what?” She quirked her head to the side, amused.

“Whether I can be of some use to you.”

Her eyes flashed, and he thought saw something like his own hunger mirrored there, but it might’ve been a trick of the light.

“Oh I’m sure you can be very useful, Lord of Bloodshed.”

He balked when she used his nickname, the one he’d earned on the battlefield in the last Temerian rebellion. Her smile widened. 

“Let’s negotiate. You believe I’m involved in the girl’s disappearance. The villagers have asked you to come kill me, and offered you a certain amount of coin to do so.”

“That’s right.”

Cassian eased his swords off his back and set them against the table beside them. That she’d let him keep them would’ve been comforting to a novice, but he knew enough now to tell she wasn’t foolish. Just secure enough in her own power not to worry.

“So it would stand to reason that if I offer you the same amount of coin, you’d happily be on your way.”

It might not be an empty promise - along with the fine dishware on the table, all manner of gemstones and arcane artifacts cluttered the high shelves between the archways, any one of which would’ve doubled his commission.

“That would be true if I didn’t have a reputation to uphold. A witcher doesn’t skip out on a job without good reason.”

“Am I not a good enough reason?” she asked, fluttering her lashes. 

His eyes were immediately drawn to the supple curves of her breasts visible above the table. With great effort Cassian managed to keep his expression stony and shake his head. 

She huffed. 

“You’re a harder nut to crack than the rest. I don’t imagine threatening you out of it would work either. Oh, don’t get twisted about yourself,” she added when his hand moved automatically toward the hilt of his silver blade. “All that would happen is you’d break a lot of my things and then I’d have a great bloody mess to clean up. Truthfully I can’t be bothered.”

“You’re wasting my time, sweetheart,” he growled, patience waning. “Where are the girls?”

“Don’t be beastly,” she scoffed, disgusted, and Cassian bristled at her offense, at the accusation in her eyes. Here she was trying to lure him into a trap, bribe him from his duty, yet acted like she saw nothing but a brute across from her, just like the townspeople.

“Snatching children from their homes, I could argue you’re the beast. No better than a bog hag, bathing in blood to stay young.”

It was a low blow but he didn’t care, wanted to see her face twist with fury, relished the silver fire that sparked at her pale fingertips.

“Of the two of us at this table, who was crafted to kill?” she snarled, jumping to her feet to lean toward him, an accusing finger pointed at his heart. Rage pounded harder through his skull, and Cassian found himself on his feet too, fuming at her across the banquet table.

“Tell the truth for once in your crooked life, sweetheart. All this is an illusion. At the end of the day, you’re just like me. Blood and guts, bones and coin. Only you like to pretend the dirt doesn’t cling to your skirts.”

“The girls are never going home.” Her skirts whipped up in a sudden wind, a whirl of violet, lighting crackling overhead. “Tell the families they’re dead, bring back my head if you must. It will not change the facts.”

“Then you’re every inch the fucking monster you pretend not to be.”

He braced himself for her wrath, the wave of magic coming to steal his breath. But to his surprise she stilled, watched him for a moment, that same evaluating stare from the clearing. Something sad passed across her face, and Cassian felt like he could see through a chink in her armor, just a peek at the scared girl she’d likely once been.

“You think I look at you and see a brute. But I know you and I both have curses to bear. Doomed to live on the outskirts, worth just what we offer to others. I only wish for my freedom.”

An understanding passed between them, of two people stranded in an eternal no man’s land. For himself, Cassian had surrendered long ago to his fate straddling the fringes of society, helping people who smiled in his face and spat at his back. He’d tried living away from civilization altogether for a few decades but found it brutally lonely.

There were respites, of course, when he found favor with a noble or a woman who could tolerate him for more than a night, but he aged so much slower that eventually everything permanent proved it was not.

They both sat back down in unison, a truce. Cassian took a sip of wine, and her stormy blue eyes tracked the movement, a blush creeping across her chest.

“You could have both,” he observed, and she wrinkled that perfect nose again. “A sorceress like you could easily find home in a court. Why hide out in this shithole?”

“A boring, sad question with a boring, sad answer. You and I have more interesting things to discuss, I think.”

The hunger rose in her eyes once more, and he saw them rove over his body, pink tongue coming out to wet her lips. He chuckled. So this was the trap at the web’s center.

“You must be wanting for bed partners if you’ll have me, sweetheart.” An understatement given he’d been sleeping outside for a week, but his hostess stood after downing her own glass, waving a bored hand.

“Nothing a little water can’t fix.” 

She crossed to one of the archways and opened the door to a lush bathing chamber, the sunken pool steaming with fragrant water, lilac and sage. Cassian rose and followed, but he caught her arm on the threshold, heard her breath hitch when he pulled her body flush to his.

“I don’t make a habit of bedding women whose names I don’t know.”

“It’s Nesta,” she said, smiling, and the wind echoed her: Nesta Nesta Nesta.

He let her have her way with him the first time, knowing from experience she wouldn’t be satisfied until he was on his knees before her, where he belonged. She combed his hair while he recovered, and atop her silk sheets had her way with him again, only allowing him to explore her once she was wrung out and purring. Squeezed those lovely legs around his head and ceded the high ground at last, crying out beneath him as he took her as he’d wanted to from the beginning, hard and fast and desperate. Whimpered so sweetly when he kissed a line down her back and claimed her from behind, though they both knew who was in charge. He thought he might die from it, from her pressing back into him just as eagerly, the roundness of her hip in one of his hands, her pleasure in the other.

He brushed the hair from her forehead where she lay against his chest after, skin glistening under the soft blanket of the moon. Her bedchamber was cluttered with books, piles of them on the dresser, the small desk. A portrait of her and two other young women hung over the hearth, all with the same gold-brown hair.

Nesta flinched when he bent to kiss her soft cheek, just the smallest amount, that mortal eyes would likely miss. There was something heartbroken about her he couldn’t quite place, a loneliness even their coupling hadn’t remedied. Like she still expected to have to kill him.

Then light shifted in one of the archways, the air rippling, and he knew.

“They’re here.”

She hummed in annoyance and kept her eyes closed. “Don’t speak yet. You’re ruining this for me.”

“Tell me where they are.”

She pulled back and regarded him for a long moment, evaluating, and he tried to be whatever it was she was looking for, if only so she would keep looking.

Nesta nodded, having found it, and strode toward one of the archways wrapped in the blanket, drew back a curtain of air with a graceful sweep of her arm. A portal.

Inside lay a stone chamber filled with moonlight, a round table in the center carved with runes and littered with herbs and gemstones. Beyond a door on the far wall he could see rows of bunks built into the stone, the forms of children sleeping, their gentle snores carried to him on a lilac-scented wind.

“Are they here of their own will?”

“Somewhat.”

“So, no.”

“They are my pupils.”

“Some would call them hostages.”

She clenched her fists, incensed, and he saw the waves of power gather about her, Chaos begging for her touch. “What shall I do, leave them to be used as pawns by their families? Sold to wretched old men or wasting away in that cesspool? I’m giving them a way out.”

“And condemning them to walk alone in the process.”

“They deserve to decide their own fate.”

“And be like you? Hiding in the woods?”

“Do you pity me, witcher?” She was so close he could see the veins of magic in her eyes, as if her very blood was luminescent. “I may not have the splendor nor the influence of a court mage, but I am shackled to nothing but my own desires. Do you not seek the same?”

I seek nothing but a warm bed and a hot meal, he thought. But when he tried to say it, Cassian bit his tongue so hard he drew blood, and her eyes blazed brighter. He tried again and bit down even harder, the spell preventing the lie from passing his teeth.

“Do you not?” she repeated, and he heard the broken edge there, the plea. “When you sleep on the ground, do you not do so with a glad heart because it is ground you have chosen?”

“We’re all shackled to our fate, sweetheart. Trying to defy it only makes it come faster.”

Before Nesta could respond, there was a small cry from the bunk room and she rushed to attend to it, exposing her back to him without a second thought. Guilt leapt in his stomach, and Cassian couldn’t tear his eyes away as she comforted the girl, pulled the quilts back up over her and stroked her hair.

Feeling intrusive, he moved to don his trousers, and was just reaching for his shirt when she reappeared. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You weren’t wrong. About the solitude. Though it does help to have visitors, to pass the time.”

She trailed over to kiss him again and her mouth was sweet as Toussaint wine. They tumbled back to bed once more, slower this time, and he pretended not to see the shine of her tears in the starlight.

“One of your pupils sent something to her family. An everlasting flower. Gave them hope she’s still alive,” he panted when they were spent, having somehow ended up on the rug before the fire.

“Foolish girl. Her father was preparing to sell her to a traveling merchant. Thirteen years old.”

“One of them will go back one day. Bonds of family are strong. ”

“Not for us though, right?”

Cassian swallowed, knew it wasn’t worth bothering to refute her. His own family was likely long dead by now, and he didn’t even know where they were buried.

“You put yourself at risk doing this,” he warned, not wanting to touch that tender spot any longer. “You’ll have to stop or move on soon.”

“I don’t recall asking for advice.”

“Not advice. Concern.”

“I can take care of myself, witcher.” Nesta looked down from where she sat astride him now, smirking. “Haven’t you learned that by now?”

Cassian woke hours later at the edge of the waterfall’s pool, a spray of shimmering lilacs tucked in his pocket, sunrise just a few breaths off. Felt the ringing in his head as he plodded back through the woods, the fuzz of wine, the ghost of her fingers in his hair.

He didn’t bother thinking of a tall tale to appease the townsfolk, didn’t even consider stopping at the inn to finagle his commission. On the way out of town he passed Abby’s father sprawled stone drunk by his front gate. Clutched in his hand was the enchanted celadine, still glinting weakly.

Cassian made the sign for Igni and set the flower alight before kicking the man awake.

“Your daughter’s dead.”

He turned his back on the howls of despair, tucking his cloak tighter about him as he headed down the road toward Oxenfurt.

[wjehfshs]

(If you don’t do requests or your requests are not open feel free to delete)

Omg I saw your fnaf reader and cod and I was looking through your blog and saw u write for Resident Evil and I wanted to ask if you for Resident Evil 8 and cod with a gn!reader that’s a dimitrescu daughter

( I don’t know if this violate your rules sorry)

No this is totally fine! I’m actually watching someone play RE8 as I’m writing this lmao

GN!reader, reader is a Dimitrescu child/sibling, reader looks very similar to the Dimitrescu sisters/daughters but readers gender is not specified, OOC characters

They had discovered the castle all as one big group

Hearing about the village and how it has a bunch of supernatural stuff they were sent as a giant group for safety

Going through the village was already tough enough but going through the castle stressed the ever living hell out of them, even if there was basically an entire army

Soap was the one Bela managed to capture

Being the oldest and wanting to impress her mother she was ecstatic to have captured one of the soldiers wandering her home

Unfortunately, your mother was busy doing her own thing

So you all just kept Soap locked up

Daniela was flirting with him the whole time as she was the one to watch him

You, Cassandra and Bela were out gathering the others

You were the second youngest, older than Daniela but younger than Cassandra and Bela

Although yes they all had guns and gear you captured them and brought them to the room you were holding Soap pretty easily

“Oh he’s so in love with me” Daniela whispered to the three of you while pointing at Gaz

“Stop it Daniela” you snapped, you loved her really you did but she got on your nerves

She thought every man was head over heels in love with her

Although you thought you had captured every single one of them there was one soldier missing, how did you find that out? Soap has no idea how to be quiet

“Aye, where’s Logan? the sneaky bastard”

“Fuckin’ hell Soap do you ever know when to shut the fuck up?!” Ghost couldn’t help but snap, Soap had just given away that there was one more solider missing, their only hope

“[name], would you be a dear and go grab him for us?” Bela turned to you with a grin, she had always been the one to give orders

Without saying anything you dashed out the room, darting around to try and find him

Logan was in the library, wracking his brain as to his he could possibly defeat four, tall… things? AND save everyone else

He was just about to open the door out to the hallway when we felt himself be lifted from the ground

Pulling him up by the back of his jacket, you spun him around to face you like he was a cat being held by the scruff of its neck

“Annoying little thing” you snarked at him, dashing back to the room everyone else was

He didn’t even have time to think

Daniela snatched him out of your arms and held him out by his arms “He’s so cute! Like a little doll, I feel bad about eating him” she whined and giggled

“Daniela put him down” you snapped, you had always been the one to keep Daniela in line.

She reluctantly dropped him as he tried his best to cushion his fall

“Logan! You okay?” Hesh’s voice was filled with worry as he pulled his little brother up by the arm

Logan just simply nodded, never really being a man of many words

You picked up König, by the back of his vest

“We should eat this one first, don’t want all the meat to go to waste” you remarked

“This one looks unwashed 😒” Cassandra bent down to look Graves in the face

You couldn’t help but laugh

[cod-dump]

What if Ghost found a (pregnant) calico cat during leave and keeps her? What would he name her?

Fur Baby

Ghost centric fic

___

Ghost always did prefer animals over people. Words meant nothing while actions were everything. He could respect that. Animals didn't go behind his back to hurt him. People did. Though he loved animals, he never had a pet. Mostly because he didn't trust himself to care for it properly or accidentally take his emotions out on it. He didn't want to cause harm to a creature that was there to love him. So, he never gotten a pet. Never planned to get one, either.

But then he stumbled upon Misty.

Ghost rarely enjoyed leave. He didn't have family to visit and spend time with, had a hard time keeping hobbies, and generally hated being out of work. He was bored, on edge, and honestly lonely. His flat didn't feel like home, just a place to sleep and hide away. He only ever ventured out to get food or drinks and other household necessities before hiding away again.

One stormy evening he ran out to grab some drinks when he noticed something under a car. Curiosity got the better of him and Ghost kneeled to have a look. He was surprised to see a cat, soaked from the rain. Her eyes were wide with fear and Ghost felt his heart break at the sight. He tried to reach out to touch her but the cat darted further under the car. Ghost stood and continued to the corner store. The entire time he was in the liquor isle he thought about that cat. He couldn't focus and ended up leaving the isle. Ghost wandered the store for a bit until he found the pet section.

He was very happy to find that the cat was still under that car when he came back. The rain had calmed down to a light drizzle and the chill was as fierce as it was earlier.

"Hey, little girl."

The cat was pretty far under the car, staring at him with caution. Ghost reached into his grocery bag and pulled out a can of wet food. He cracked it up and slid it as far as he could under the car before stepping back and waiting. He was kneeling by the car for a good ten minutes before the cat crawled over to the wet food, curious. Then she smelled it and started to hungerly devour it. She acted like she was starving. She had a lot of fur but the rain smoothed her down enough for him to see that she was very round.

Ghost inched closer to her as she ate, hearing a purr come from her.

"Poor girl... You wanna come with me?"

It took a bit of coaxing (and a fuck ton of treats) to get the cat to come out from under the car and let Ghost pick her up. When he finally was able to get her in his arms, he tucked her into his jacket and immediately headed back to his flat. The first thing he did was find a warm towel and dry off the cat as best he could. She was shaking as he rubbed the towel on her, trying to get all the excess moisture possible before wrapping her in another, dryer, towel.

Ghost sat in the living room, listening to this cat purr as he held her to keep her warm. The next morning he took her to the vet to have her looked at and to see if she was chipped. The vet took one look at her and told Ghost she was very pregnant. And after the vet told him she wasn't chipped, he decided he was going to keep her. It didn't take him long to find a name for her: Misty.

Within a week his house was filled with cat related items. He went out and bought the most expensive cat food with the highest reviews. He looked into cat pregnancy and set up a box with fleece blankets in his closet (as he's come to find that his new companion enjoyed hiding in there). Dove into forums to see how he could best assist Misty during labor and kitten care. Ghost tried to stay in the flat during the next couple of weeks so he could be there for Misty when she went into labor. And, of course, when he finally went out to grab something, he returned to mewling kittens.

He was so excited, he couldn't contain it and ended up spamming pictures of Misty and her four babies to Price.

Price: I love how you send me pictures with no context

A week later Price dropped by in a surprise visit. After a couple pictures sent to the group chat both Soap and Gaz were jealous beyond belief that Price and Ghost were playing with kittens while they were working.

[flamehairedwritings]

Stray: Chapter One

Characters: Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader 

Rating: E, 18+ ONLY

Words: 5k

Summary: Ghost has a fine time making you admit you need want him.

A/N: Chapter One of Six. A chapter posted every Monday!

Entire Story Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, enemies are lovers, porn with plot, they're not nice people, but are they

Chapter Tags:  Dub-con, only because reader says no when she really means yes, slight degradation, affectionate degradation if you will, praise, praise kink, biting, marking, use of love/ma’am/kitten/slut/good girl, belt around back of neck but no choking, cock-drunk, MDom, maybe even a bit of gentle MDom, rough, dirty talk, man-handling, gloves, fingering, blow-job, deep-throat, unprotected sex, slight possesiveness, permission to cum kind of, creampie

Read on AO3

Stray Masterlist

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites. I do not consent to my work being used for AI purposes.

─

Chapter One - The Safehouse

His boots thud on every step of the wooden stairs, echoing a little in the stairwell.

Bone fucking tired, he's opted for the nearest safehouse; a flat in a crumbling, shitty block. It's one of the smaller ones in the area, but it's quiet, got some good escape routes.

Still, habits being habits and training being training, he'd scoped out the surrounding area anyway, finding it quiet, not a soul around. No threats. Not really a place you'd want to be out in after dark, anyway.

You might bump into someone like him.

He softens his steps as he approaches the front door, pulling the key out a pocket on his trousers. Nothing on the seal suggests interference, and there's no sign of tampering on the lock so, really fucking ready to put his head down, he unlocks it, opens it, steps a boot inside─

And pauses.

Music.

There’s fucking music.

Coming from down the hall, in the kitchen.

It couldn't be one of the others, this is one of his safes.

Fuck.

It's the last thing he fucking wants or needs, whatever this is.

Silently, he steps fully through the door, closing it behind himself. Unholstering his largest knife and a handgun, he squares his shoulders and moves down the hall. Entering the kitchen, his eyes dart about the small space. There’s the battered radio, his radio, sat on the centre of the circular table, soft jazz music playing from it. It’s so old the sound is slightly distorted, the instruments crackling.

There’s pots in the sink, too.

What the fuck…

Someone's made themselves a nice fucking meal.

And the shower's running too.

Lifting his eyes to the door ahead, his jaw moves as he stills.

A distraction or someone's actually having a fucking shower in his safe house?

Adjusting his grip on his weapons, he nears the door─ 

The water stops.

There's the distinct, faint squeaking of the taps as they're tightened shut, and then the sound of the curtain being pushed aside.

He decides to wait instead of barrelling in, not knowing what he could be facing.

Could be a civilian squatting.

Could be a fucking psychopath.

Steeling himself either way, next comes the sound of the door unlocking, then the handle's being pushed down and it's opened and─

You stand there.

Paused in the doorway, unsurprised.

In a robe. A fucking plush white, looks like it came from a spa, too fucking big for you, robe. Of course it's not fucking his, which means you actually brought it here yourself. He'd've laughed if he wasn't so pissed off.

And then you smile.

Fucking psychopath it is, then.

“Hello, Simon.”

“Stray.”

Of course it fuckin’ is.

Short for Stray Cat, you’ve been so named through the channels, and never supplied any other, because you belong to no unit, are loyal to no one, instead aligning with the highest bidder.

Should be because you just fucking turn up when you like and use other people's shit.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

You shrug. “I was in the area. You can put those down.”

He's not sure he can yet, but he does. Holstering both weapons, he remains where he is, watching you move into the kitchen, grabbing the kettle and filling it with water like you fucking own the place.

“Cup of tea?”

“Nah.” His eyes don’t leave you.

You, on the other hand, have your back to him. “Sure? I found some bags of Earl Grey─”

“I'm sure. Why are you here.”

Flicking the tap off, you shut the lid of the kettle and settle it back on it’s holder. “I needed a shower.” You glance at him, lips twitching. “And I like the head on that one.”

He grunts. “How'd you get in.”

“Reveal my secrets?” You flick the kettle on and turn to him, folding your arms as you lean back against the counter. “You know better than that, Simon.”

He presses his lips together, an action you can't see but can practically sense at this point. Your lips twitching again, you tilt your head.

“You're looking well.”

He doesn't answer.

“Tough job wasn't it?”

His eyes narrow a fraction. “What do you know?”

You tut lowly as the bubbling of the heating water grows louder. “I asked first.”

“Actually, I asked first, and I'll ask again: What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

The kettle reaches its boiling crescendo and flicks off, and you smile as you turn to it.

“Sure you don't want Earl Grey? There's no milk and even you surely can't stomach milkless Builder’s.”

“I don't want one,” he grunts as you set two mugs down.

You glance at him over your shoulder, the robe sliding off it a little as you drop a bag into each mug. “I'm not going to poison you, Simon, not intimate enough for me.”

He opens his mouth to snap a retort, when his gaze catches the drop of water that slides down your neck. His teeth grit momentarily as he follows it, watching it disappear under your robe, most likely about to slide down to─

His brow twitches into a frown as he sees it.

“What's that?”

Placing the kettle down after pouring water in each mug, raising your eyebrows, you look over your shoulder again, then tilt your head down to where his gaze is.

“Oh, nothing.” You grip the robe, pulling it back up. “Don't suppose you have any lemons hidden away?”

His eyes are on the back of your head, and you feel it. 

“That's new.”

“And?” Scooping the bags out of the boiling water with two fingers, you half turn, tossing them into the sink.

And you've forgotten how quick he can be.

Before you can turn back, he's closer, grabbing your extended arm at the bicep with a gloved hand.

“Ghost─”

His other hand yanks the robe off your shoulder again, lower this time, giving him a full view of the fresh, jagged, angry scar that stretches the length of your shoulder blade.

He exhales a harsh breath through his nose, mouth in a thin line.

“What─”

“Get off.”

He lets you shove him away, the hand that had pulling the robe up once more. He watches you as you adjust the cord at your waist, tightening it. All humour has vanished from you now as you tear your gaze from his, turning back to the mugs.

You’re pissed off now and he doesn’t even want to start fucking analysing why.

Silence descends as you shove the mug you’d prepared for him along the counter, water sloshing over the sides, and lift your own to your lips, taking a small sip from it.

He releases a long breath, hands settling on his belt.

“Was it from one of his jobs.”

“I'm fine, Simon,” you mutter, taking another sip.

“Why have you come running to me, then.”

You scoff, setting the mug down and turning suddenly to him, an incredulous smile on your lips.

“You think that's what this is?”

His head tilts minutely. “I know it is.”

You laugh, folding your arms as you lean back against the counter again. “You're so cute. I was just in the neighbourhood.”

“You're never ‘just in the neighbourhood’, Stray.”

“‘cause you're the authority on me, are you?”

“I know what can make you cum, that tells me everything I need to know.”

You stare at him. Then, you snort, a wide smile spreading across your lips as you reach for your mug.

“Very cute, Simon.”

He watches your lips settle over the rim of the mug, watches your throat move as you swallow. 

Well, seeing as he won’t get the sleep he wants…

“You know…” Exhaling a breath, he pulls his headset off and sets it down on the circular table. “... You’re still a fucking shit liar.”

“I’m not, I do think you’re cute.”

You’re smiling again, pleased with your funny little quip, you’re always pleased with them, and it doesn’t falter as he moves closer.

“Well, now I know that is the truth…” It does falter slightly as he takes the mug from your hands, places it on the counter behind you, where his hand then rests, arm nearly brushing against yours. Tilting his head down to look at you, you have to tip yours back. “... That’s why you’re here, isn’t it. He can make you dance to his tune, but he can't give you what you need. What you crave.”

Your smile has eased, but he sees the darkening in your eyes. “Your presumptuousness is grating.”

“Leave then.”

You don’t move. Predictably.

Your arms are by your sides, and he’s already noted the quickening of your breath, your chest rising and falling a little faster. And your smile’s gone.

He shifts his weight to one foot, leaning more on the hand behind you, leaning closer.

“Go on,” he murmurs. “Play your little game, mouse. We both know how it's going to end. Or I could just…”

You inhale sharply as suddenly his other hand is at your inner thigh, making your hands flatten against the counter door behind you. 

Movement around his eyes suggests he’s smiling.

Fuck, you hate being too easy.

Gritting your teeth, you lift your chin a little more, silent.

He releases a sound, almost a chuckle. His gloved fingers glide against your sensitive skin, tracing up and down, and you hate that he can probably see how tight your jaw is.

“Tell me you want it,” he murmurs.

You lick your lips. “No.”

“No?”

His fingers inch higher, so close to your aching pussy.

Your lips part. “No…” You lift a hand to his face. Then, you grip the material of his cloth mask.

Instinctively, his hand darts up from your thigh, gripping your wrist tightly.

You still, gazing at him. After a moment, you lick your lips again. 

“Just want your mouth, Ghost. Please,” you murmur.

He stares at you.

Then, his grip loosens.

“Did you just fuckin’ say ‘please’?”

“Shut up.”

Pushing his hard mask up and off, and the material one up off his mouth, you then claim his lips. He groans against your mouth as he hears his mask clatter to the floor, your arms wrapping around his neck. Sliding his arms around your waist, he tugs you against him, making your lips part with a gasp.

“Always so fucking needy, aren’t you,” he rumbles as you bite at his lower lip.

“Funny, I thought that was your hard cock I can feel…” you breathe, trailing off with another gasp and a smile as he tightens his grip on you.

“Shut up.”

He kisses you fiercely, so hard it’s almost bruising.

You love it.

Rising up on your toes, you press as hard against him as you can, and he holds you there, but it’s not enough.

“… stupid, fucking vest…” you hiss as you draw back suddenly, and then your hands are fumbling with the fastenings. He just watches you, hands gripping at your waist.

“Thought you liked feeling it against your tits.”

“Not today.”

Shoving it off of him, it joining his mask on the floor, you return to your position, and… yes… it will do.

He’s never gotten entirely naked with you, and it drives you insane sometimes, but you don’t dare to push, lest he make you stop completely, so you don’t try today, just let him take the lead.

And he does.

He captures your lips in one, long, firm kiss that nearly steals all the breath from your lungs before he’s kissing down your chin, jaw and neck, making your head tip back.

Well, kissing is generous, it’s more like he’s biting and sucking.

Trapped between him and the counter, all you can do is arch against him as he mouths at your skin, your eyes closed, mouth open, harsh breaths escaping you.

“Beg for me,” he mumbles against your skin.

“No…” you breathe, and his hand is suddenly between you, pulling at the robe cord.

Parting it, his gloved hand glides from your stomach, up over your tits and down to your hip

“Beg.”

“No…” Even you would admit how breathy and pathetic the single word sounded.

He bites down where your neck meets your shoulder, making you cry out softly, and then his fingers are tugging at your hard nipple.

“Beg for me, then I’ll give you what you want,” he murmurs into your ear.

All you do is moan, gripping at his biceps.

“Mmh… I…”

“Beg, love, then I’ll play with your needy, puffy little cunt.”

Turning your head closer to his, you bite hard at his jaw, your saliva slicking the skin and stubble there as you moan, and he knows he nearly has you.

“You want that, don’t you, love… Want my fingers stroking your aching little clit… My cock stretching your hole open…”

You would be embarrassed at the moan you release but you don’t care.

“Simon…” you breathe, and he presses an almost soft, open-mouthed kiss to a bite-mark that’s forming, and you crumble. “… Please, I want that, I want you, please─”

Snarling, he grips your waist and spins you, walking you backwards swiftly and shoving you against the table. Gasping as your hip bumps against a chair, you gaze up at him with half-lidded eyes as he shoves you up, making you sit on the table. Falling back onto your forearms, you send the radio and his headset clattering to the floor.

One of them sounds like it breaks, probably the radio from how the music suddenly cuts off; you don’t care.

“You’re gunna fuckin’ pay for those,” he rumbles as he unbuckles his belt, eyes fixed on yours.

“How would you like me to do that?” your murmur, corners of your mouth lifting as you rub your ankles against his hips.

“You know.” Pushing your legs further apart, he stands between them. “You want my fingers first, want to be stretched open for my cock?”

Licking your lips, your chest rises and falls swiftly as you look at him. “Yes.”

“Want the gloves on or off?”

“Off. Want to feel you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Removing his right glove, he settles his left hand on your hip, before he runs the other straight down your inner thigh, to your pussy, where he slides his forefinger right into your slick hole.

You cry out as your back arches, eyes falling shut.

“Yeah… That’s good, isn’t it…” he murmurs as he starts to fuck you with it “… Tell me that’s good, kitten.”

Lying back, your head nearly hanging off the table, you don’t want to give into him fully too quickly, so you just moan. And he allows it, for now.

“So fuckin’ wet already… Were you drippin’ from the moment you fuckin’ saw me… I bet you were, weren’t you, you needy little slut… Bet you could take another finger already…”

He eases a second, long finger in so easily, and you fist the robe that’s spilled around you. 

“Oh, God…”

“Not quite, love.”

When his thumb moves from your hip and starts to slowly circle your clit, you’d happily call him so.

You rock your hips into his hand as you moan, almost mewling like your namesake.

“That’s it, fuck yourself on my fingers…”

Gazing up at him, you could cum just from the sight. His eyes flick from your own to your cunt, his shoulders loose, relaxed, and, looking at his chest, you can see his breathing has picked up. You love what you can do to him… but you know you can do more.

Locking your ankles at his lower back, you drop your knees down to the side, giving him better access, and a better look, at your soaking cunt.

“Why don’t you get on your knees, Simon…” you purr. “... Why don’t you taste how wet you’re making me…”

He grunts, though it almost sounds like a groan.

“Now that’s really cute…” Suddenly, his hands are off of you, and before you can whine at the loss, he takes the fronts of the robe in both hands and pulls you up and forward until you’re on your feet, held between him and the table. “... You think you can give the orders here, love? Don’t fuckin’ think so.”

Then, he releases you, and takes a step back. 

“On your knees.”

Lips parted, your body thrumming with pure fucking lust and adrenaline, you smile.

And then you sink to your knees.

“Good girl,” he gravels as he unbuttons and unzips his trousers.

“Fuck you, Simon,” you murmur, your smile lingering and your thighs squeezing together as you tip your head back and open your mouth.

Creases appear around his eyes again; he’s smiling, too.

Pulling his cock out, his groans in the back of his throat as he strokes it a few times with his ungloved hand before he places his heavy tip on your outstretched tongue.

“You know what to do.”

His hand falls away as, instantly, yours takes its place, and you start to stroke, squeezing lightly, as your mouth closes around his cock and you suck hard.

“Oh, fuck…” he hisses, fingers flexing at his sides as his hips buck.

You let his cock sink in deeper from the action, and then you take him all, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

You’re used to it. Or, rather, used to him.

“Christ…” he grits out, a hand flying up to grip your shoulder.

He never touches your head when you suck his cock, unless you ask.

You draw your head back, and then take him all in again, then again, then again, until, looking up, you see his eyes have closed. As if sensing you looking at him, his eyes snap open, and he tightens his grip on you.

“Yeah, you look at me with those big fuckin’ eyes while you suck me off… I’m gunna empty that pretty fuckin’ head of yours until all you’re thinkin’ about is my cock.”

Drawing your head back, you use your tongue to push thick globs of saliva out of your mouth and down his cock before smiling. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Shut up. Put your mouth to better use.”

Exhaling a laugh, you then take him all the way in again, keeping your eyes fixed on his. He grunts and watches you, drawing in sharp breaths. You fucking love sucking his cock, feeling the ridges and veins with your tongue; it’s thick to the point where your jaw will have a delicious ache tomorrow if you carry on for too long, and, well… On your knees, sucking the cock of the feared Ghost and having him grip at you for it? 

That’s pretty fucking intoxicating.

When you have him all in once more, nose brushing against his trousers, you then still, holding all of him in your mouth and throat.

“Yeah, get it all wet for your cunt…” he breathes, voice tight as his eyes flutter, trying to keep them open.

You nearly have him. He’s so very close to the edge.

And you want to push him right over it.

Pulling your lips back, squeezing them around him, until you reach his tip, you suck hard at it, swirling your tongue as your hand strokes up and down his thick shaft swiftly. He gives a strained gasp, quickly gritting his teeth as he hisses out breaths, and you moan against him.

“Cum in my mouth…” you murmur, gazing up at him. “... Cum down my throat…”

You suck at his tip again, swirling and swirling your tongue and─

He steps back, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet, unceremonious ‘pop’.

“What─”

He’s gripping the front of your robe again, hauling you up, and shoves you against the table once more.

“What did I say…” he half-pants, gripping the backs of your thighs and making you sit up on the table. “... about givin’ fuckin’ orders.”

Your heart pounds with excitement and a smile pulls at your lips as he shoves the two chairs either side of you away, sending them toppling to the floor.

“I can’t remember…” you breathe as he stands between your open legs, his wet, heavy cock pushing against your stomach. “... All I can think about is how much I want your cock inside me, Simon…”

He makes a sound akin to a growl, and then his gloved hand is between your breasts, pushing you down. Lying back on the table, you place your heels on the edge of it as he grips his cock, other hand gripping your knee.

“Say it again.”

“Want your cock in me…” you mewl, rolling your hips as you run your hands from your stomach up to your breasts, tugging at your nipples and drawing a soft moan from yourself. “... Want you deep inside me, want to cum on your cock…”

He’s staring at you, your eyes, your fingers, your tits. He’s at the edge of his control… but he’s also a bastard.

“Magic word.”

You exhale a short breath through your nose, rolling your nipples between your fingers. And then you lift a leg, settling your ankle on his shoulder.

“Come on, Simon…”

His hand slides from your knee, up your shin to your ankle, cupping it, and he turns his head to it.

And then he presses a soft kiss to the skin there, keeping his eyes on yours.

Oh, fuck you.

Inhaling a ragged breath, the word sounds like it’s almost punched out of you.

“Please.”

He smiles.

“Good girl.”

You’re moaning before you even feel his tip. When he sinks into you, your eyes fall shut and your head tips back… and it’s bliss.

“Fu-uck…” you breathe out, and you feel his grip tighten on your ankle.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

The groans he releases, so fucking low, so carnal, has you instantly starting to rock your hips, feeling his thick length slid so easily in and out of you, stretching you. Hissing out a breath, he suddenly grips your other leg and lifts it onto his shoulder, taking over and thrusting into you, already setting a hard and fast pace.

The table creaks beneath you with each snap of his hips, but you can barely hear it, all that’s left of your mind focusing on the pleasure that’s pulsing through you.

“How does that fuckin’ feel…” he grunts, hands locked on your shins.

You gasp out moans as you hold his gaze. “... So fucking good, you feel so… so fucking good…”

Shoving your legs off his shoulders, he leans down, settling his arms over your head, mouth hovering over yours.

“Again.”

“So good, so fucking good, so fucking good, fuck, Simon…”

You try to kiss him, lifting your chin an inch, but he moves his head away, instead ducking it to your neck and fixing his lips there.

And then you hear him take a long, deep inhale.

“Fuckin’ Christ…” he breathes.

He thought he’d smelt it earlier.

You smell of the basic, shitty, own-brand soap he keeps here, and it’s driving him fucking wild.

You smell of him.

He thinks of you gliding the bar around your body, soaping your tits up…

“Fuck…” he groans against your skin, spreading fast, sloppy kisses there, sinking his teeth in.

He chuckles darkly when you cry out, your slick walls clenching around his cock.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that, don’t you… Like when I mark up your pretty fuckin’ neck?”

He bites down again, revelling in how you instantly clench again, hard, a ragged moan torn from you. Pressing his lips to your ear, he rumbles, “I’ll be on you for days.”

Fucking hell…

Your hands gripping at his jacket, fisting and tugging, you cling to him as he bites and bites and bites, always covering each one straight after with a lick or a sloppy kiss. And he just keeps fucking you hard through it.

When he suddenly pulls back, you actually whine, hands falling from him.

It takes you a moment to realise what he’s saying.

“... Look at me… Look at me…”

Your eyes snap open, and he fucking loves the almost blankness he sees there, how cock-drunk you are.

Yeah, only he can do this for you. Only him.

“Come here…” He slides an arm under you and pulls you up so you’re sat on the table, his cock continuing to spear into you. The angle allows him to plunge deeper and your eyes almost roll back as they close.

“Nah, keep those pretty eyes open, and stay up, look at me as I fuck you open…”

Pulling his belt out of the loops with a snap, without breaking rhythm he wraps both ends around his hands, and then wraps the shortened length around the back of your neck, keeping you up.

Keeping you looking at him.

“This is why you’re here, isn’t it…” he murmurs, nearly panting. “... To be fucked and spread open by my thick cock, to cum on it over and over and over again…”

You’re gasping in your breaths, hands now gripping his forearms, nails digging in, his words probably circling round and round your empty mind.

“… Say it, love… Admit it…”

Your mouth is open, hurried little breaths and moans all that leaves it. “... I…”

“Go on… Say it… It’s why you’re here, isn’t it… Say it.”

“Y… Yes…” you gasp.

“Good girl.”

You clench hard around him.

He growls. “Yeah, that’s it… Squeeze my cock like a good fuckin’ girl…”

You clench again, releasing a ragged moan.

“You need to cum, don’t you, you need to cum on my fuckin’ cock.”

You can’t take your eyes off his. “Ye-es.”

“Beg me for it.”

You’re talking before he’s even finished, words breathless and moaned.

“Please, please, let me cum, wanna cum on your cock, please let me, please…”

He chuckles, the sound catching in his throat with a groan. “You think you fuckin’ deserve it, huh… Think you can break in here and ruin the quiet fuckin’ night I wanted…”

You don’t know how, but you smile, and manage, “Don’t tell me… you don’t prefer this…”

“Well, now I’ll never know.”

Using the belt, he yanks you closer and claims your lips in a fierce, bruising kiss. You give back as good as you can, but you soon falter as an orgasm starts to build and twist in your lower stomach, making your muscles clench.

And he can feel it.

“Go on,” he mumbles against your lips. “Cum for me, rub your little clit and cum on my cock, let me fuckin’ feel you, squeeze me, make me cum…”

The moment he had said it, your hand had flown between you, fumbling, finding your clit and rubbing swiftly as well as you could. You cry out as the pleasure rises and rises, hurtling closer, your hips bucking. 

He tears his lips from yours, pressing his cheek against the side of your head, murmuring into your ear, “Cum for me, fuckin’ do it, cum now, cum on my thick cock, let me feel you, love.”

Your orgasm erupts through you.

Body jerking, you release a strangled scream as you cum, nails digging through his jacket nearly to his skin. He fucks you through it, grunting nearly incoherently in your ear now as your pussy squeezes him so fucking deliciously.

“... Yeah… Good fuckin’ girl… Fuckin’... Good… Tight pussy… Squeeze me… Take it�� Take it… Take my fuckin’ cum… Yeah… Yeah… Oh, fuck…”

He thrusts hard and deep once, twice more, and then he cums inside you with a guttural roar, his grip tightening on the belt. Weakened, blissful moans fall from your lips as you feel him fill you, your back arching.

So fucking good, every single fucking time.

When he stills, his hands fall down to the table, taking the belt with them.

Swallowing hard, in turn your forehead drops down onto his chest, and you close your eyes, just focusing on trying to slow your breathing.

Your hand has softened on his arm, your other gently against his thigh.

His chin rests atop your head.

Neither of you speak, for how long you don’t know, and you almost hope neither of you ever do.

Suddenly, enough to startle you a little, his head lifts.

“Suppose you won’t be polite and fuck off now.”

You exhale a laugh, rolling your shoulders as you lift your head, arching an eyebrow. You find his cloth mask is back in place.

“No, I was here first.”

He just grunts out a sound that might be a chuckle as he pulls out of you, making you inhale sharply. Pulling the robe up over your shoulders as he steps back, you slide off the table with a small groan, rolling your shoulders again. His gaze drops down to your thighs, lingers, then meets yours again, and you give him a slow smile.

“Is that my cum leakin’ out of you.”

“Yes it is, Simon.”

You note the way his shoulders drop as his back straightens. 

And he jerks his head towards the bedroom door.

“Get in there. I’m gunna shower off.”

You give him a faux-pout, your brow dipping as renewed lust surges through you. “You don’t want company?”

You know he doesn’t.

He’ll give you everything but his face. And you give him everything but your heart.

He closes the distance between you, lowering his head to you. “You just get on that bed and keep those legs spread for me.”

A corner of your mouth rises higher than the other as you gaze at him. “Don’t tell me what to do, Simon.”

Letting the robe slip from your body to the floor, you turn from him and step over a fallen chair and the radio, moving into the bedroom.

Watching you go, his jaw moves as he releases a long, slow breath.

Fuckin’ hell…

─

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