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sehtoast · 4 months

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The Art of Worship (Homelander x OC Smut)

18+ | 2.6k words | Webweaver, gore, dismemberment, display of a corpse, blood, face fucking, choking, rooftop sex, p in v sex, blood as lube -- yes, you read that right, multiple orgasms, Homelander is his own warning, spidersona oc | Fic Directory

Homelander was fucking furious.

Rage and indignance burned in his gut, igniting a flame that scorched anyone and everyone that dared cross his path or, worse yet, cross him outright.

The only person safe from him was Benjamin. His sweet little Benjamin. So calm and collected, patient and kind in the face of this– this slight. This brazen fucking insult.

Vought wanted publicity. Demanded it. Spectacles and events, mountains of money, free advertising from all the social media hype. Of course they'd want to pit their beloved Spider-Man against Webweaver, just as they'd done with A-Train and Shockwave. There was money to be made. They’d dangle his precious little spider over a lion’s jaw for a penny if the opportunity came about. What did he expect?

They were to have a bundle of competitions, each one specially designed to determine who was the better Spider.

Who was more fit for The Seven.

Of course Homelander had gone nearly ballistic when he found out.

Benjamin, though… He simply wasn’t taking it seriously. Subject to rants and raves every morning and night as the competition neared, the bug simply always said, “It’ll be what it’ll be.”

But this couldn’t be. Homelander wouldn’t fucking stand for it. He didn’t believe for a second that the wall crawler would leave him were he to lose his place on the team, but to see someone else sit in his seat? To tolerate some airheaded jackass, some cheap fucking knockoff thinking he was better in any capacity? Absolutely not.

He wasn’t going to allow it.

He’d worked himself into a frenzy by the time he tackled his lover’s competitor out of the sky. Completely consumed by rage, by fear and anxiety– but, more than anything, the burning need to protect. He zips through the city, dragging Webweaver’s face across building after building, smearing pulp-like blood across the surfaces.

“Did you really think,” he sneers, “I’d ever let someone like you into The Seven? That I’d let you replace Spider-Man without putting my fucking foot down?”

He can hear the whimpering. There’s still time to play, he decides, as he lands upon a skyscraper with two antenna towers that would be just perfect for what he had in mind.

He drags Webweaver’s limp form between the two, fiddling about with his hands and wrists to figure out how to fire his webs.

Imagine his surprise when it turns out to be a mechanism rather than the organic method by which Ben produces them. No bodily-intent needed to make sure the webbing’s consistency and tension would be just right.

With a roll of his eyes, Homelander begins to craft his masterpiece. He’s seen his little spider do this tons of times; so, really, how hard could it be? He works, eventually deciding it’s far more convenient to remove Webweaver’s arm than to lug his dead weight around.

Once it’s perfect, he has his fun. Picks him apart piece by painful piece, starting at the legs. Webweaver is in and out of consciousness as Homelander dismembers him, but what fucking fun it was to see the look of horror on the face of the thorn in his side when he snapped that first length of bone and ripped his flesh clean off.

“Like picking the legs off a bug,” he mocks.

Homelander mounts each limb in the web, creating a work of art piece by piece, topping it all off with a dripping, mangled, decapitated head. He doesn’t even bother pulling the mask off– it’s shredded perfectly. In his satisfaction of a job well done, he can’t help but feel his work of art is enough to rival Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. Surely, after this, he’s an artist in his own right.

When he arrives home to find his Benjamin waiting on the couch, he has to stop the bug from attempting to drag him into the shower.

“It’s a surprise,” he tells Ben when the origin of the viscera is questioned. “C’mon, I made you something!”

The look of abject horror on Ben’s face when they land on the rooftop tickles a mote of fear in his gut. He’d done this just for his little spider. Declared him the victor before the competitions could even begin. Painted the city red just for him.

“D’you like it?” He asks, the mixture of excitement and anxiety stirring in his gut. “I did it for you.”

Ben’s chest rises and falls with each heavy breath. He plucks at one of the tight strands of webbing, listening to the twanging vibration as he takes it all in.

At first he’s scared. It’s like seeing an alternate version of himself in that web. If things were different, would Homelander have done this to him? He doubts it, but… somehow, some way, it stirs something in his core.

Homelander had killed– no, slaughtered a man for him. It wasn’t even the first time John had killed for him, but this..? This was something else entirely. This was more than protection, more than retaliation.

It looked like a fucking offering to a beloved god from their most devout follower. The care and creativity that had gone into it… Benjamin would be a liar if he said there wasn’t something alluring about the fact Homelander had done this.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more his horror was replaced with something else entirely. Something wicked.

He turns to Homelander, who stands there looking like a kicked puppy. Ben had spent too long in thought, and his poor, darling Johnny began to feel rejected.

“John?” He whispers, drawing his blood drenched lover’s gaze away from the ground. “You did all this… for me?”

With big, blue, scared eyes, Homelander nods.

It’s as if Ben’s body moves on its own. Each step forward barely registers, the hands rising to Homelander’s face are numb to sensation, cupping his cheeks as if they had a mind of their own. Before he can even realize, Ben is leaning in to take Homelander in a searing kiss, gasping and breathing in lungfuls of the iron-laced air and each of John’s little breaths.

He can taste the blood on Homelander’s lips, and something sinister rears its head inside.

“You,” he gasps between kisses, tongue laving into John’s mouth for more, “are so…”

He backs Homelander up against one of the antenna towers, taking a fistful of his suit, other hand gripping his red-stained undercut to angle him deeper into the kiss.

“So fucking hot,” he breathes as they separate.

A sick grin spreads across Homelander’s blood splattered face. That swell of pride bubbles within him once more, particularly when he sees just how bloody his little spider’s lips had become from their kiss. More than pride though, he feels himself twitch in his pants.

Benjamin looks gorgeous covered in that worthless fuck's blood.

He grips him by the jaw, pulling the web-head back in for another kiss, slipping his tongue between his lips. Homelander takes him fiercely, overcome with a deep, desperate hunger that demands appreciation for his work of art.

How goddamn thrilling to not hear a single complaint as he tore the t-shirt clean off Benjamin’s body. He spins the bug, pressing his bare skin to the cold metal, relishing the opportunity to be had in his gasp.

He takes control.

“Mine,” Homelander growls as he marks Benjamin with more blood. He extends a hand, catching a few dribbles from the stray limbs above, moving back to claim his territory.

With a red right hand, he paints his name over Ben’s chest in big, bold letters. The crimson blends with the leather of his glove, appearing as if his very essence was what smeared onto his little love bug. He finishes it off with a bloody grip at Benjamin’s neck, leaving behind a perfect print.

“So, you like my handy-work, huh?” He smirks, trailing the tip of his nose up the corner of Ben’s jaw. Homelander hears him gulp in response, feels those hands grasp at his forearms, and all he fucking wants is to put him on his knees and mmm…

He has such delicious ideas in mind.

“Maybe you should show me how much you like it.”

The glint of excitement in Ben’s eyes doesn’t go unnoticed before the web-head is falling to his knees, just like he wanted. What a fucking sight he was to behold, too. The way he nuzzled against Homelander’s clothed cock before undoing his belt. He mouths over it and, despite barely being able to feel it through the fabric and cup, John’s entire lower region twitches in excitement.

He sighs in relief when his cock meets the cool night time air, engulfed in heat near immediately as Benjamin swallows his length. Throat training the boy had been the best decision in the world, truly.

“Ohhh…” Homelander leans his head back, stained hands threading through those unruly chestnut locks. “That’s it– fuckin’ take it.”

John grinds into Ben’s mouth, burying himself deep and staying there until that hot, needy throat clamps down around his cock in a gag.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts. “Hold it.” He hears the sound of Benjamin sputtering below. Homelander looks down with a grin. “Thaaaaat’s it, keep it in there. Atta’boy, Benny. My little spider– mine!” Homelander pulls out to the tip, watching his precious Benjamin choke and gasp, grinning wickedly at the threads of saliva still connecting them.

He tips Ben’s head back to gaze up at him.

“I’m going to fuck that pretty mouth of yours, and you’re gonna behave yourself.” He orders. In the background, faint drips of blood can be heard splattering against the ground. “Show me just how grateful you are that I saved your bacon, babe.”

Ben nods obediently before swallowing him once more. Homelander swears he sees stars once that tongue swipes his tip, and galaxies as he sinks further inside. He begins to thrust, hand directing Ben’s head with each motion to maximize his bliss.

He really likes the sound his little spider makes every time the head of his cock beats the back of his throat.

“Fuckin’ whore,” he chuckles through his teeth. “You couldn’t wait to suck my dick when you saw what I did for you– I just know it. You wanted to thank me so bad!”

Homelander pushes in until Ben’s lips are wrapped around the base of his cock. He holds there for a moment before setting a faster pace, thrusting blissfully into that hot, wet mouth that was just so perfect for him.

“You wanted to get on your knees the second you saw it,” he continues. “You know I deserve this for protecting you. Fuck… suck that cock, baby.”

He tilts the bug’s head back to rest against the metal frame, admiring the tears painting his cheeks and those gorgeous swollen lips. When the hands gripping his thighs clench, he pats Ben’s cheek sweetly.

No, he thinks to himself. This is my masterpiece.

He gives his little spider ample opportunity to breathe once more as he pulls out, gripping his cock to smear spit and precum across his lovely little Benjamin’s face.

Van Gogh only wishes his brushes stroked such beautiful swirls.

When that tongue juts out to beg for more, John wastes no time at all in burying himself all the way in one smooth motion. This time, though, he leans down to grasp Ben's neck. With a light squeeze, he’s overwhelming even himself– and yet he still fucks into that impossibly tight heat.

Ben’s eyes water even more, and he grips Homelander’s thighs with all of his might as he fights his gag reflex. He can’t breathe, he can’t speak, and the hand squeezing his throat is pressing perfectly against his carotid arteries.

His vision swims into blackness.

Over the deafening thrums of his own heartbeat, Ben hears Homelander cry out his release, feels him thrust forward impossibly closer, pushing his head back against the metal frame with each motion.

“Good boy, good– ah! Good fucking boy!”

He’s buried too deep to spare even a taste of come in Benjamin’s mouth, and the bug fights to not pass the fuck out from lack of oxygen. By the time Homelander pulls out, Ben's almost confident he’s turned at least a few shades of purple if his desperate, heaving gulps of air were anything to go by. He slumps onto his side before rolling onto his back, uncaring that he now lays in a puddle of his rival’s blood.

The sky is clear and the moon smiles back at him, but there’s no time to bask in it when his jeans and underwear are being dragged off his body by his voracious lover.

Homelander spreads Ben’s legs with little patience before plunging into his cunt, groaning through clenched teeth as the soft, velvety walls practically pull him in. Beneath him, Ben whines and squirms.

“Too mu– w-wait a sec!”

But he doesn’t care. Not when that heat beckons him forth all the more and consumes him whole. He ruts without care, fucking into his little spider like an animal. Fuck, maybe that’s exactly what he was, all bloodstained, fangs bared, eyes swirling red in his frenzy. Each snap of his hips caused them to slide around in the slick remains of Benjamin’s foe.

His little spider looked so fucking perfect in a halo of vengeance.

“Mine,” Homelander snarls, nails biting into the softness of Benjamin’s hips. Below, his little spider whines and keens, eyes rolling back despite all of his attempts to steady his vision. His pussy lips are parted like flower petals, and thrusts at just the right angle cause his swollen bud to slide against Homelander’s cock. The more Benjamin writhes, the more blood stains his body.

He’s a sight to behold, especially once one of his slicked hands reaches between them to slide over the base of Homelander's cock. Each stroke drags a little more of the thick liquid from his fingers and each glide of his cock becomes smoother until Homelander realizes just what his little love bug had done.

Benjamin used the fucking blood as lube.

A thought that, as soon as it fully manifested in Homelander’s mind, had him thrusting harsh and deep before spilling his load inside his lovely little Benjamin.

“Fuck–” he mewls, rutting through the waves, cock twitching with every little spurt. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck… You little fucking slut!”

Ben had hardly realized what he’d done. In truth, he just wanted something to ease the friction. Wet as he’d been, he just needed more– and, without that godsent bottle of lube usually within arm’s reach at home, he had to take what he could get.

By the time Ben opens his eyes, Homelander is engulfing him in a kiss that is far more tongue than lips, and he’s only able to whine once he feels his love start moving again. This time, though, John is a little slower, a little more gentle. Enough that Ben found himself falling over the edge of bliss without fear of being fucked through the roof. As he came apart, so did Homelander.

Again, and again, and again. Each round requiring more and more of the crimson liquid to keep things comfortable.

By the time they finished, the rooftop had dried and the corpse no longer dripped. Both Ben’s clothes and John’s suit were completely ruined, but a naked journey home is much less humiliating when the sky is the path taken. They looked like a scene straight out of a horror movie, drenched from head to toe in dried blood.

Homelander holds Benjamin tight in the shower. Trails his fingertips over the bruises on his throat, on his hips and legs. He wants to apologize, but he earned this.

Instead, he kisses him– softly, this time.

“I’m never letting you go.” He states firmly, as if that’s all the explanation he needs to give for everything he has or ever will do. “I’m never fucking letting you go.”

Benjamin, on wobbly legs, leans his weight against his beloved Johnny.

“I love you, too.”

#homelander #homelander x oc #homelander fanfiction #homelander smut #the boys #antony starr #the boys fanfiction

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hpalways · 3 years

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Commissions || Childe

UNPREDICTABLE people were like magnets to you, somehow always managing to show up. Usually, you would avoid them at any given chance, preventing further interactions from occurring. As an adventurer, you didn't work for the thrill, but rather for the money. That meant that deep inside, you longed for a peaceful life, which was the main reason why there were certain beings that shouldn't exist in your reality. So how did it go oh-so-terrible with Tartaglia?

You first met Tartaglia -- also known as Childe -- in Liyue Harbor when you were at a stall to buy food. You had a few commissions in tail, waiting to be resolved for the day. But first, food was on your mind. It wouldn't do any good to fight hilichurls and whatnot with an empty stomach. As you were about to dig into your trouser's pockets to find any mora, a man stepped up in front of you, blocking the way. Assuming that he was budging you in line, you opened your mouth to protest, but the words faltered to come out when the male whirled around to face you.

Deep, blue eyes stared into your soul, twinkling mischievously... and somehow, you couldn't read into them. Fiery, orange hair accompanied his features, going unexpectedly well with the blue. Smiling at you crookedly, he saluted you with a gloved hand. A red mask was adorned on the side of his head, matching the red details on his overall gray outfit. He was very tall and attractive -- taking you momentarily off guard.

"I'll pay for your meal. My treat," he easily told you, making a show of flashing the lump of mora in his hands. He even went as far as to swing his arm around your shoulders like the two of you were friends. The warm, close contact nearly caused you to freeze in place, getting flustered all over. What the hell was happening?

"Oh... sure," you uttered, staring blankly at him. Well, there was no use turning him down. The word treat was enough to hook and wheel you in.

"What's your name?" he inquired in a friendly manner, lugging you along as if you were a ragged doll through the waiting line.

Hesitating to answer for a second, you were beginning to look stupid under his expecting gaze. There was a reason though: you were wary of strangers, having learned that the hard way when you encountered Treasure Hoarders one time. But seeing how amused this man was by your internal debate, you pushed the doubts away and decided to go for it. "I'm [Y/N]. You?"

"Lovely name befitting for a lovely person," he mused, leaving you embarrassed. "I'm Childe."

It was then your turn to order. Letting his arm around you go, he straightened up and nudged you ahead. The warmth evaporated from you and you suddenly wished for his touch again. Horrified by your thoughts, you brushed them away and stepped up to the front, telling the chef your order.

Once that was done with and the food was received, you sat down at a table outside. Three whole dishes filled of food, you wasted no time to dive into them, the steamy aroma wafting into the air. Mouthful of food, you almost choked when you found the so-called Childe sitting down in front of you. Coughing for a good minute or two, you suffered as he watched you in enjoyment. When you could catch your breath, you averted your gaze to the table. Oh god, you wished you could bury yourself before you could humiliate yourself any further. He shouldn't have followed you here.

"I'm surprised you bought three whole dishes for yourself," he pointed out, taking delight in teasing you.

You scowled and looked at him, the shameful emotion fading away. "Are you insinuating something?" you asked, squinting at him. He rose his brows in surprise, quickly shaking his head to explain he meant no harm. Sighing, you decided to go all out then. If he already knew your name, what difference would it make to share a few more things about yourself? Besides, this was Liyue Harbor we're talking about; no one was that desperate to seek out trouble so publicly. "I'm an adventurer and I also do commissions. Fighting takes up a lot of my energy, so only one meal wouldn't suffice."

Something swirled in his eyes -- unknown and still just as unreadable. However, you paid no mind to it, too absorbed by the food and the conversation to notice. Maybe this was where it went wrong. "An adventurer?" he echoed, his voice breathless. His ears seemingly perked up and he leaned forward in his seat, anxious to hear more. "What would you say if I tagged along with you today?"

It was shocking to hear that, but eventually, you accepted his self-invitation and brought him along to the locations. Setting off by foot, the two of continued onward with full bellies and enough energy to last several hours. The land stretched for miles and miles, scaping the grounds of hills, mountains, rivers, and meadows. Hogs ran through the trees and birds soared in the skies. Monsters rolled around in the dust, waiting to ambush anybody in the way. The sun beating down upon your backs and the weather a little too warm for liking, it was a difficult trek, but nothing close to impossible for an adventurer.

The fighting began when the destination to a pack of hilichurls appeared on sight. Unsheathing your blade, you immediately attacked them, continuously slashing away until they were entirely cleaned up. Breathing heavily with sweat beading your forehead, you did all the dirty work as Childe inspected from the side, his eye following your every move.

It wasn't easy though. You struggled at some areas, sometimes missing them or getting slightly injured by their own weapons. It was sloppy and flawed, for you were not a skilled swordsman, born without the talent and money. Anyway, it didn't matter much; as long as you did the job, that was what mattered.

The next one took place near the mountains. Insuring that a wagon would be delivered somewhere safely, you had to fend off more monsters, circling around the large transport tirelessly to prevent any damage. While you were doing so, the orange haired male lounged on top of the-said wagon, relaxed and watching the battle beneath him.

Afterwards, it was of simple commissions, with no sword involved. On the last one and feeding ducks for a little kid you accidentally offended, you let out a yawn, ready to go home and sleep everything off. Your partner for the day was also there, crouching down beside the lake's bank, tossing the wheat to the little creatures. Turning his head to the side, he gave you a small smile. Unlike you, he was widely awake and full of energy -- you expected that much, considering he didn't do anything to help you.

"I enjoyed traveling around with you today, [Y/N]," he said, straightening himself up until he returned to being taller than you.

Minus the part where he was completely useless to you, you couldn't help but admit that it was enjoyable to have him him around. His cheery persona helped to distract you from your dislike with the job, filling the silence with easy discussion about basically anything. "It was fun... I suppose," you responded, letting out yet another yawn.

"You know, you could've asked me help. It would've been less straining for you," he pointed out.

You swerved your head at the mention of this, flabbergasted with your mouth hung open like a gaping fish. "You can fight?!" You shot up from where you sat, stepping up to a half-laughing, half-scared Childe. He nodded slowly and you rubbed your eyes harshly, curses running through your head. "And you didn't think to tell me that until now?"

He shrugged, drinking in your angered expression. No ounce of remorse shown in his features, he was pleased to get a rise out of you. Goddammit, this guy was going to be the death of you. "You never asked."

Not replying to him, you faced the other way and crossed your arms, brooding like a kid after a tantrum.

"Aw, don't be mad at me," he cooed, petting your [h/c] head endearingly. "Hey, are you thinking of improving your swordsmanship?"

Originally planning to give him the silent treatment, you could barely even hold on to the promise for a minute. His question intrigued you and you began to wonder why he was asking you something like that. "No, not really," you answered.

"Why not?"

"It's not necessary. My level is adequate for the commissions I take on. It's not like I'm striving to be anything legendary... that's just asking for a death sentence."

His forehead furrowed and a darkened gaze was aimed at you. He seemed to want to say a lot of things, yet couldn't find the words to them. Was he... mad at you for some unknown reason? Almost expecting a big lecture from him, you were shocked to hear what he said instead. "You have potential though."

That was where you parted from Tartaglia that young evening, but by no means was that the last time you were to see him.

You would run into him at Liyue Harbor, in Mondstadt, or sometimes in your travels as an adventurer. Each time you would welcome him warmly, always glad to have his company. He was seriously growing on you, become a friend that distracted you from the hardships of the cold reality. He brightened the atmosphere wherever he went, always the charismatic type, wooing anyone with a tip of a smile.

Of course, you knew he was a Harbringer; he never made a show of hiding it, so you were acknowledged of this pretty much immediately. Hearing the gossip and rumors of the Fatui, you understood that the organization was hella sketchy, but it didn't shine a bad light on Childe at all. You wanted to put your hopes in him, to give him the benefit of doubt. He was helpful so far and your life was peaceful with him around -- which was the one thing you wished for.

Or maybe it was because you had fallen for him already.

At least for the first month or so, everything passed through wonderfully. The two of you were like partners in crime, back to back and supportive of the other. The amount times you would stroll through the meadows and just talk to the man was becoming countless. It began to be something you were looking forward to: to have the time to get to know him even better, from his family to the simplest of facts about him.

It was too good to be true. As the saying goes, nothing lasts forever.

You should have never lowered your guard down. Not when you were found laying on the grimy grounds of a domain, beaten and bloodied. Not when the man you supposedly loved was towering in front of you, his deep blue eyes glowering in lust for violence. Not when your peaceful life was shattered to pieces. Childe couldn't control it any longer that day. He wanted to battle you out, to cause chaos and havoc. Why? You didn't understand... he was your friend. This wasn't what friends do. Nonetheless, he was serious about this declaration.

He spat at the ground, annoyed you didn't put up a greater fight. Not at all worried about your wounds, he paced around the chamber, pulling at his messy locks. "Didn't I say you had potential?! You should've tried harder."

You soon lost consciousness, too exhausted and pained to do anything else. The next time you awoken, you were in Mondstadt, getting healed by Barbara. Tartaglia was no where to be seen, as he ran off earlier without telling anyone of his whereabouts. That was the last time you saw him for a while...

Everything that happened was the past, occurring a few months ago. And here you were, in the present, back to the same life you had before meeting Childe. You still disliked the same things, whether that'd be fighting, unpredictable people, or your job. Day after day, you worked to gain money for a living, hating every moment of it. It was so normal that sometimes you wondered if you may have imagined the certain Fatui man up.

Walking through the mountainous parts of Liyue, you were on a hunt for resources. Hoping to stumble upon a mine and get done with the work as soon as possible, it was unfortunate that the weather hated you.

Droplets fell from the sky and the clouds darkened the world. Rain thrummed against the earth, soaking your clothes within a few minutes. They stuck to your skin, turning uncomfortable and cold. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you quickened your pace, desperate to find shelter for the time being. Shit, shit, shit. You hated the life of an adventurer so much--

Too blurry to watch where you were going, you hit a hard surface in front of you. Rather than a hard surface, it was actually a person. Squinting and wiping the droplets from your eyes, you cringed when you saw who it was. It was the one and only Childe, looking the same as always.

Wet orange locks somehow making him more attractive than he already was, he was as soaked as you were. The clothes defined his body and you frantically stopped yourself staring at it any further.

"[Y/N]," he breathed out, looking unsure. The sound of his voice snapped you back to life and fury filled the pits of your stomach. Seething in spot, the hands at your sides clenched tightly. He had taken your trust and ruined it -- he was nothing but a fucking bastard.

He took a few steps forward, growing nearer, his blue beautiful hues full of regret. You hated that he dared show himself up, wearing that damn look as if you would ever forgive him. Pulling your hand back without thinking, you laid it across his cheek, harsh at the contact. He touched his red cheek in awe, lowering his head in shame.

"I deserved that," he whispered, smiling at you sadly.

"You do," you muttered.

Despite how angry you were at him, there was this twisted desire to kiss him. Feelings were confusing, always making a situation more complicated than it should be.

Leaning forward, you locked lips with his. His body had stiffened in bewilderment, but he soon returned the kiss, wrapping his steady arms around yourself. Digging your fingers into his hair, you sighed in between breaths and listened to your racing heart. He tasted like salt and the soil beneath you. He was the definition of unpredictable, but you couldn't get enough of him. He brought destruction in the paths he walked on and had the continuous yearning for war. He was everything you were not and you hated him for it.

His lips trailed away from your own, peppering kisses on your jawline, causing you to gulp. He was swallowing you whole, taking in everything about you to memorize. His touch was intoxicating, the finger tips leaving a mark on your tender skin. "Let's never see each other again after this," you told him. He didn't respond as he continued to bruise your neck. "I hate you, Childe. I fucking hate you, you bastard."

Tears welled out of your eyes, mixing together with the tears from the gods, unable to be distinguished.

He lifted his head and gave you one last long kiss. Your insides were this close to bursting, butterflies fluttering horrendously like a beast within you. Soft lashes flitted and he stared at you with understanding. He was going to listen to your wish; he would never show himself up again.

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when-they-write-stuff · 4 years

Text

Oh, Alpha of Mine for @staffofoppression

pairing: sterek

word count: 9.8k

warnings: minor violence, language

tags: full shift!werwolves and alpha!stiles stilinski

When the alpha came for him, it was at the library.

Stiles had always thought that when his time came it would either be because he ate too many curly fries, challenged Erica to an ‘all-stakes’ game of truth or dare, or accidentally got himself killed after pissing off a vengeful witch or something.

He always thought he’d either die in an idiotic or a heroic way. But dying at a library had never occurred to him. Stiles didn’t want his dad to find his body surrounded by chemistry books and empty water bottles, attempting to work through the homework that Harris had assigned to them weeks ago.

Though, Stiles really didn’t want his dad to find his body at all. But then he made the mistake of grabbing a stack of boring books, finding an isolated corner in the library, and then accidentally falling asleep.

When Stiles woke up again, the lights had gone off. It took him a long moment to realize that he’d slept straight through closing hours and clearly, the librarian hadn’t bothered to make sure no one was tucked away in one of the library’s corners.

Stiles blinked a few times and then groaned. He hadn’t gotten anything done. Harris was going to give him detention for a month at least.

He pulled his stuff together and moved around, putting the books back where he’d found them. Rubbing a hand over his face, Stiles slung his backpack over his shoulder and glanced around one more time, before shaking his head and starting out of the building.

Maybe he could get Lydia to hand over a few answers. She was the only person Stiles trusted with his grade after all.

The library parking lot was empty and silent. The moon was nearing full and Stiles shivered, tugging on the neckline of his sweatshirt. He was pretty sure he deserved to sleep through this entire coming weekend.

That’s when he heard the growl.

Stiles froze and whirled around, squinting against the darkness. He couldn’t make much out other than the shadows, but then one moved and he froze, staring at glowing red eyes that peered out at him. He chucked nervous, shifting from foot to foot.

“Derek? Okay, dude, you’re hilarious, so incredibly funny. Stop being a creeper and come out here, would you?”

For a moment, nothing moved. But the alpha did and it definitely wasn’t Derek.

Stiles froze.

The man was tall and strongly-built. His eyes glowed bright red in the night and there was a cruel smirk dancing along his lips. Stiles retreated a step back, heart leaping into his throat, and tried not to immediately panic.

“You’re not Derek.”

“And you’re not the werewolf I came looking for.”

Stiles blinked dumbly at him. The alpha’s smirk widened.

“But you do smell like him, though, don't you? It clings to you like a stench. I didn’t come out here searching for the Hale alpha’s bitch, but that’s what I’ve come across, isn’t it?”

Stiles straightened. “Wait, what? You’re looking for Derek?”

“I was.”

“Was. Implying that now you’re…”

“Not.”

Stiles thought it was a pretty good thing he’d stocked up on books. Because before the werewolf could react, Stiles pulled his backpack off and threw it at the werewolf with all of his strength, making the man grunt in surprise and stumble backward. Stiles turned on his heel and ran, making for his jeep as fast as he could. And he very nearly made it.

Very nearly. But not near enough.

A hand wrapped around his ankle before Stiles could yank the driver’s door open and suddenly the world was tilting sideways. He hit the ground hard, tasting blood and seeing stars as his skull cracked against the asphalt. Stiles groaned and he was flipped onto his back, a pair of claws touching the underside of his neck. His breath caught in his throat and he froze.

“Running from me, Little Red?”

“What the hell do you want with Derek?”

“Do you know how an alpha werewolf challenges another for their territory, boy?”

Stiles groaned again. “Oh my god, that’s what this is? Werewolf politics?”

“It can be done many ways,” the alpha continued, undeterred by his response. “A challenge for pack leadership. A duel. Or by proving one’s power and taking away something the current alpha loves.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Stiles said. “But the only thing Derek loves is his Camaro.”

The man blinked, tilting his head slightly. He was listening to his heartbeat, Stiles realized. He shifted and smirked with bloody teeth.

“So terribly sorry, but you’re not getting anything out of killing his token human. At least, nothing to hurt Derek with.”

“Then that doesn’t make you very useful then, does it?”

Stiles’s blood turned to ice. The alpha’s eyes bled to red again and he snarled, face shifting. Stiles squawked and squirmed again as the man raised a clawed hand, struggling to get loose.

He managed to wrench his leg free, driving his foot into the alpha’s stomach. The man howled, stumbling back, and Stiles scrambled up, making for his jeep again.

He knew there was no way he was escaping by car. Instead, Stiles grabbed his baseball bat from the passenger seat and went retreating backward, swinging as hard as he could as the alpha leaped forward, all fangs and teeth.

It connected against the man’s side and he pitched sideways, snarling again. Stiles backed away a few more steps, raising the bat behind his head again. The man straightened and sneered, eyes glowing.

“Of course. The boy who runs with wolves defends himself with a baseball bat. Has no one ever told you to go with something more practical?”

“Come a little closer,” Stiles said. “I’ll show you practical.”

“You amuse me. I almost hate having to kill you.”

“I’m not here to be amusing, asshole.”

The alpha leaped forward again and Stiles swung. Since his last attempt— and failure— to take a werewolf out with a baseball bat, Stiles had upgraded. He now lugged around a grade A metal baseball bat that was always coated with wolfsbane. Scott hated it, refusing to be around when Stiles brought it along. But Stiles thought it was a pretty good investment.

He especially thought so now.

The bat cracked against the man’s outstretched clawed hand and he roared, yanking it into his chest. Stiles took that moment to swing at his head full force. There was a sicking noise of metal meeting bone and the werewolf dropped. Stiles flailed back, suddenly feeling sick.

For a moment, he just stared.

The werewolf was still. The faint tang of blood filled the air and Stiles stared at him for a moment before cautiously creeping forward. He clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to hurl at the sight of the man’s skull; he didn’t think it should look like that. Blood matted the man's hair and his skull was slightly deformed. Closing his eyes for a second, Stiles debated calling his dad or one of the pack members, and tried to think of his back-up story.

He… he could call his dad. And see the shock in his eyes followed by the inevitable disappointment. He could call Scott, but Stiles was terrified to see how the boy would react to the body currently lying at Stiles’s feet. He could call Derek, maybe, but that might—

Suddenly, there was a pair of claws sinking into his ankle.

Stiles screamed and tried to yank away but they sank in deep, curling in through flesh. For the second time that night, Stiles found his feet yanked out from under him and his back cracked against the asphalt, pain cutting through him like a knife. The alpha loomed over him, eyes bright and manic. Another cry cut from Stiles’s lungs as the claws yanked out of his leg and sunk into his shoulders, pinning him against the asphalt.

“The boy who runs with wolves,” the man snarled, blood staining his teeth and lips. “Did you think you could kill me? Did you really think you could kill an alpha?”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, clawing at the hand twisting in the flesh of his shoulder. He tried to yank it out but the alpha only laughed.

“I’ll tear you to pieces and use that as a challenge to your pathetic alpha. Think he’ll scream too? When I rip out his throat?”

Stiles managed to pull the claws out of his shoulder, eyes snapping open again. The man only sneered, reaching for his throat instead. Stiles used both hands to keep the claws from meeting the fragile flesh of his neck, heart pounding against his chest.

The alpha’s eyes flashed brighter. Blood dripped onto Stiles’s skin and pooled on the ground around him.

He turned the man’s hand with a crack and this time, it wasn’t Stiles who screamed. Before the alpha could even react, Stiles was shoving the man’s claws forward and yanking them sideways. Straight through the werewolf’s neck.

Blood splattered across his face.

Stiles barely felt the weight that collapsed on top of him. He managed to roll to the side only seconds before he was dry heaving, grateful for the first time that day that he’d forgotten to eat since breakfast. He gagged and choked out broken sobs, pain wracking through his entire body and making him see stars. He couldn’t breathe right. His throat was too tight and he could feel blood staining through his sweatshirt.

He couldn’t— he couldn’t—

Stiles could already hear the sirens. Could see his dad’s terror and feel the cold metal of handcuffs as they wrapped around his wrists. Scott would never speak to him again. The pack would turn him away. Stiles would be nothing but a killer and a disappointment and he couldn’t, he couldn’t—

Stiles rolled the body off of himself and stumbled to his feet, terror crashing over him in waves. He couldn’t call his dad. He couldn’t call Scott.

There was a body at his feet. Mangled, bloody, and broken. One that looked less and less human by the second and soon, Stiles was looking at the body of a wolf. A red furred wolf, with blank eyes and teeth still bared in a snarl.

It was the body of a werewolf that Stiles had just killed. That hit him like a punch to the gut over and over again. Stiles had just killed a man. A werewolf. An alpha.

His stomach flipped. He spun around again, heaving into the asphalt.

The rest of the night was a blur. Stiles stuffed the body— the wolf— blooded and torn into the back of his jeep. He broke down in the driver’s seat, gathered himself back together again around dawn, and left the parking lot behind before anyone else could show up.

His entire body hurt. His head was spinning. He couldn’t breathe right.

Stiles dumped the body in the preserve. Then he attempted to throw up two more times. There was blood in his jeep, blood on his clothes. Covering his skin and drying underneath his nails.

There was blood everywhere.

Stiles came home to an empty driveway and went upstairs to scrub away the evidence in a broken haze.

Because he’d just killed a man.

Derek recognized when something in Beacon Hills changed.

It was a change of scent in the air at first. He sat straight up, turning his nose into the air, and realized it was something beyond his pack. The handful of werewolves curled up not five feet away, all wrapped around each other, the colors of black, gold, and grey pelts melding together, hadn’t moved. It wasn’t the smell of wolf, but that of cinnamon and autumn leaves. Soured by terror.

Derek turned his nose toward the door and sat still for a moment. The scent changed, heightened, and then all but vanished.

There was nothing left.

Derek didn’t find it easy to fall back asleep that morning.

“Hey, kid?”

Stiles blinked a few times, buried in his covers. His dad leaned against the doorway of his room and Stiles was awake in a second, nearly spilling out of bed. He caught himself at the last moment and ran a hand through his hair, blinking a few times.

The occurrences of the past night filtered through his head slowly. The library. The alpha. The blood. The blood. The blood.

Cold terror curled through Stiles’s stomach as he looked at his dad, wondering if his secret was already out.

“Y… yeah pops?”

“We got a call early this morning,” the man said, eyes sweeping over Stiles’s face. Once more, he was almost too terrified to even breathe. What if there was still blood on his face? What if he hadn’t cleaned it all off?

“Oh?”

Stiles was surprised his voice wasn’t shaking.

“A jogger found a body out in the preserve,” the man said, nodding. “Wolf. Brutalized. It was bad. I don’t know if this is something on… your side of the world or not, but I figured I should say something in case any of you try to get involved.”

“Try to as in we shouldn’t?”

“Try to as in I want to know if any of you do.”

Stiles swallowed hard and nodded, hating the relief that coursed through him. He managed a smile even though he was pretty sure his dad would know it was fake. “Sure, pops, we’ll let you know. That’s all part of the agreement, right?”

Stiles knew his dad still struggled with the supernatural side of things. When he’d first found out about Derek and Scott, it had been Stiles’s promises to never keep another secret that had kept the man from packing their things up and just leaving altogether. He’d made a promise and up until now, he’d been determined to keep it.

His dad nodded. “Part of the deal.”

Stiles felt worse.

The moment the man left, Stiles was on his feet again. He locked the door and then stripped off his clothes, moving toward the mirror. A single glance showed a pale body clean of any marks; there was nothing. No claws marks marring his shoulder, no torn-up ankle. Stiles had been covered in bruises and scars yesterday but now, it was like it had all been a bad dream.

Stiles wished it had been a bad dream. He wished so hard it had been nothing but a nightmare.

He also knew better.

Stiles sank to the floor, pulling his knees into his chest. He was trembling all over, he realized. When did it happen? When did things start?

Could he kill someone else? Could he hurt his dad?

Stiles tried to take calm, deep breaths and focus on when Scott had first started to change. Two years ago, Stiles’s best friend had gone through the same thing and he’d been fine. Occasionally furry, yes, but fine.

He… he’d just needed an anchor. Scott had Allison. Stiles needed an anchor.

His father?

Stiles closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath. Opening them again, he gazed into the mirror. But nothing changed. Nothing about his features shifted. Something twisted in his gut and Stiles swallowed a shout of anger, shoving himself back up.

He pulled on clothes quickly. The last thing he wanted was to be caught by Scott, Derek, or one of Derek’s betas. They’d smell his change in an instant, wouldn’t they? Stiles couldn’t help but remember how quickly Scott had smelled Isaac’s change. He just had to keep them at an arm's-length until he figured things out. He could do that.

He could do that, right?

The knock on his window startled Stiles right out of those thoughts. He had just finished pulling on a shirt and spun around to see Scott waiting outside of his window, head tilted slightly.

Stiles’s heart stopped. His first thought was ‘he knows.’

Still, his feet moved on their own accord. Stiles crossed the room and carefully pulled his window open, letting the boy in.

Scott shifted his feet and gave him a long look. Stiles braced himself, waiting for the comment on his change of scent, the confused look Scott was bound to give him, dread coiling in his stomach as Stiles glanced down involuntarily at his hands, seeing phantom blood still coating his fingers.

“Stiles?”

“... Yeah, Scotty?”

“It’s Allison.”

Stiles’s eyes snapped back up. He stared blankly for a moment and then blinked again. Scott ran a hand through his hair and began to pace the room, a blur of words spilling out of his mouth. But Stiles was too shocked to understand them. The longer he started the more he realized there was something… different about Scott. The boy smelled like gunpowder and the faint hints of female perfume. It all clung to him like an invisible aura and Stiles found himself shying away from it, his skin itching at the overwhelming scent.

Suddenly, Scott stopped. The boy blinked at him and Stiles snapped back to reality, blinking a few times.

“Sorry, what?”

“Bro! What am I supposed to do?”

Stiles continued to stare. Suddenly, Scott leaned forward and sniffed, and Stiles went stock-still again, his heart pounding even harder against his chest. Scott’s brows furrowed together and the alpha tilted his head.

“Have you been around Derek’s pack lately?”

“No, why?”

“You smell different.”

“... How?”

Scott wrinkled his nose and pulled back, shaking his head. “I dunno. Bad, strange. Different. Like when Derek used to come over a lot.”

Stiles felt like he’d been punched. He nodded silently and Scott shrugged, returning to his ramblings. Stiles swallowed hard, glancing back toward the window and when he snapped back to reality, Scott was looking curiously at him again.

Stiles blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“Dude.”

“I didn’t get a lot of sleep,” Stiles said quietly. He kept waiting for the ball to drop or for Scott to realize there was something different. Something wrong. But it never happened. “Maybe just talk to her?”

Scott’s face brightened. He moved across the room and clapped Stiles on the shoulder, nodding. “I’ll do that!”

“Great, dude,” Stiles said, forcing a smile. He watched as Scott pulled himself right back out the window and then sunk onto the edge of his bed, burying his face in his hands.

He just had to figure things out. That’s all he had to do.

Stiles felt like he was breaking apart.

Derek was awake late into the next night. Every time he tried to close his eyes or take a deep breath, he was struck by the feeling that something was wrong. Something had happened. And it was like an itch underneath his skin that he couldn’t scratch.

Something was wrong. Derek just didn’t know what.

He found himself giving up on sleep around two in the morning and wandering into the kitchen. As he made himself a cup of coffee, figuring he might as well just not sleep at all, the sudden scent of terror and pain flooded through his nose.

Derek froze, a packet of sugar half-tilted over his mug. His eyes bled to red and tracked around the room as he slowly turned around, scenting the air. For a long moment, he couldn’t smell a thing. Nothing other than his pack and uncle, that was.

Then there it was again. Derek stepped out of the kitchen to see the loft door wide open and— his heart stopped. A pair of red eyes blinked in. But the wolf was full shift, an unfamiliar scent crashing over him. Except at the same time, some part of it was familiar. Some part of it Derek did recognize.

His blood turned cold then. The alpha growled.

“What have you done to Stiles?”

The wolf snarled again, raising its hackles. Derek snarled right back, his fangs slotting down although he didn’t shift himself. Instead, he studied the wolf in front of him. Tawny-brown fur and amber-red eyes. Fangs that gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the windows and the faint scent of Stiles clinging to the air around it.

Derek’s stomach twisted. He snapped his teeth, glaring.

“What the hell have you done to Stiles?”

And then the wolf was taking off. Away from the loft, racing down the hallway. Derek didn’t even give himself a chance to think before he was moving after him. Shedding his human form as his paws hit the floor. He thought he heard Erica’s faint sleepy voice but Derek didn’t pause, racing after the wolf that vanished down the stairs and out of the loft.

The cool night air was crisp and fresh. Derek stretched out his limbs for the first time in weeks and raced after the wolf; it was heading for the preserve, he realized. Derek tore after it, determined not to let the alpha escape.

If Stiles was hurt-- if something had happened to Stiles--

Derek was pretty sure he would rip the alpha’s throat out. He knew that Stiles had never committed to his pack and there was nothing holding the boy down, but Derek would kill anyone that ever dared hurt him. And this wolf reeked of Stiles. The scent of the boy bled off him in waves. And Derek was terrified to linger on what that meant. That Stiles was hurt or worse.

He didn’t remember the last time he’d been on a chase. But the wind sung in his ears now and the darkness bled around them. Derek knew the preserve much better than the other wolf, he could already tell. It ran blindly.

It was heading toward the Hale house.

Derek caught up before they reached the porch. Springing forward, he tackled the wolf to the ground and snapped his teeth right above its throat. The alpha whined, kicking out useless limbs, and Derek locked his teeth around the wolf’s shoulder.

It barked a cry of pain then. And as blood filled his mouth, Derek’s senses flooded with one word.

Stiles.

He was yanking back in a second. The wolf snarled and leaped for his throat but Derek moved back even more and they circled each other. He looked into amber eyes and realized that he recognized them. Recognized them outside of the dark red color. There was a whiskey tint hidden from sight. One that Derek would recognize anywhere.

But that couldn’t be— that shouldn’t be—

The wolf snarled at him, baring bloody teeth. Before it could leap forward again, Derek threw back his head and howled. The sound struck through the night, startling a nearby owl, and the wolf growled for a moment before joining in with a broken sound.

When Derek looked forward again, there was a naked boy curled up in the leaves. Stiles’s shoulder was stained with blood and he was shivering, eyes squeezed tightly closed as he muttered unintelligible things Derek couldn’t catch.

But it… it was Stiles. It was Stiles.

It was his Stiles.

Derek shifted back and just stood there for a moment, staring. Blood ran in rivets down the boy’s chest, dripping to the leaves, and Derek didn’t know what to do. He could still taste it on his tongue. Could still smell the scent of Stiles— wrong— Stiles— in his nose.

Stiles’s eyes suddenly snapped open, staring unseeing as the boy cried out a soft ‘Derek’ leaving his lips. And then Derek was moving forward, scooping him up and wincing as Stiles cried out again.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles didn’t answer, head lolling against Derek’s shoulder. His heart beat too fast and the more Derek concentrated on his scent the more he realized it was Stiles. Stiles with a touch of something else; iron and electricity. Power.

Alpha power.

Derek’s heart lodged in his throat and he realized he was terrified to linger on that thought. Instead, he turned away from the Hale house and started the long walk back toward the loft. Stiles only stirred in his arms a few times, letting out quiet whimpers whenever he did. It struck Derek to the core every single time.

He didn’t… he didn’t… he didn’t know when this had happened. When was the last time Derek had pulled himself through the teenager’s bedroom? During the Alpha pack attack, he thought. Before they’d defeated Deucalion. Before Stiles’s father had been taken.

Months ago.

But he thought— he hoped— he would have known about this sooner. It couldn’t have been months ago. Derek had realized something was wrong not two days ago and Stiles— Stiles should have come to him.

A pit formed in his chest as Derek realized Stiles hadn’t come to him. Had the boy been too afraid? Too stubborn? It was Stiles, so Derek supposed it could be either.

Had Scott known?

There was a werewolf in his arms. Stiles Stilinski; an Alpha werewolf. The once ‘boy who ran with wolves’ was now a wolf himself. Derek’s stomach twisted. Stiles had never asked for it. The bite. And Derek had never even considered offering it because he knew Stiles’s stance on being bitten.

Some part of him didn’t think this had been a choice at all. And that only made Derek feel worse.

He got back to the loft within the hour and the betas were waiting for him. Derek took one look at their shocked faces, eyes flitting from him, to Stiles, and back, and knew this was a conversation for tomorrow. When Derek’s shirt wasn’t covered in blood. When Stiles didn’t smell like he was dying.

When the boy was conscious.

This was a conversation for tomorrow and Derek was kind of terrified for it.

Stiles remembered trying not to go to sleep.

He paced his room and then turned on Netflix, going through shows he had already seen a million times before. When he felt his eyelids growing heavy he groaned and pushed himself back up to go downstairs and get a snack.

If he didn't fall asleep, he figured nothing could happen. His dad was on a night shift so Stiles was free to keep all the lights on and do everything he could to stay awake. Because Scott’s first days… he’d gone straight to his anchor, hadn’t he? It’d been an Allison stalking spree. But Stiles was determined. Determined not to hurt his dad, determined not to lose control.

He had settled back on the couch and tried turning on the TV. He didn’t remember falling asleep but he must’ve.

Because when he woke up again, he was in an unfamiliar room.

Stiles was awake in a second. He sat straight up, the blankets catching around his legs as he flailed sideways out of the bed. He heard the sound of footsteps, was overwhelmed by a scent of aftershave, mint, pine, and then there were careful hands trying to pull him back up.

Stiles was shifting in a second, eyes bleeding red and fangs slotting down. And he felt it. Every single change, every single new addition. The sounds around him were too loud and the scents crashing down on him over and over again were too much. It hadn’t been like this yesterday. Stiles hadn’t experienced any of this yesterday.

It was too much.

He didn’t realize he was fighting back until Derek’s voice reached his ears. The man pinned him down, shouting his name over and over again. Stiles stopped fighting and felt his fangs slide away again, like a slight itching of his gums.

He blinked back tears. Derek’s grip loosened and the man’s face shifted back to normal too.

“Stiles, I need you to breathe for me. Can you breathe for me?”

“What the hell is happening?”

“You’re adjusting to the change,” Derek said. “It'll take some time. Days, weeks, months. But you need to keep your heart rate down right now.”

“No,” Stiles said, shoving the man off and scrambling up. He retreated until his back rammed against the wall and then stared at him. “What the hell is happening? I’m… I’m at the loft. Why the hell am I at the loft? How did you know?”

Derek’s brows furrowed. “You came here last night.”

Stiles stared at him. He didn’t remember that. He didn’t remember anything past blinking tiredly at Star Wars reruns on the TV and trying to drown himself in mugs of coffee. He remembered seeing Anakin cutting someone’s head off and then nothing. Darkness.

Fear gripped him like a fist around his heart. “My dad. Derek, my dad.”

“Your father is fine,” Derek said. “I called him this morning and said you spent the night at the loft.”

“Did you tell him?”

The man raised a brow. Stiles swallowed hard.

“Did you tell him why?”

“That’s not up to me to do, Stiles.”

“He can’t know,” Stiles said, shoving himself up. “No one else can know. I can mask it, Derek, I can keep it secret. My dad can’t know, Scott didn’t realize, no one else can—”

“Wait," Derek said, cutting him off. “Scott doesn’t know?”

“And he won’t.”

“But he’s seen you. Since the change?”

Stiles’s mouth went dry. He swallowed hard and nodded slowly, and Derek’s face went through a number of different expressions. Stiles was surprised that when the man’s eyes bled to red, he didn’t feel the shivers he normally did. This time, instead, he wanted to get closer. He wanted to leap at the man’s throat.

He wanted to prove to him who the real alpha was.

Stiles whimpered at the back of his throat and shook his head. He couldn't— he shouldn’t— these weren’t his thoughts. This wasn’t his head. Stiles wasn’t a killer.

“Stiles?”

Derek’s eyes were normal again, but Stiles still wanted to know how much it would take to make the man submit. He stumbled away, out of the bedroom, and out into the rest of the open loft.

There were no betas in sight. But Peter lounged on the couch and the moment Stiles saw him, he straightened. The man’s scent hit him in a rush; thoughts of smoke, ash, death, and... and… beta. Pack. Part of him.

Stiles gagged, racing toward the kitchen. He could’ve sworn Peter was grinning.

Stiles shuffled through all the shelves of the refrigerator, grabbing some of the first things his gaze landed on. By the time he turned back toward the counter, he had an array of the oddest things in his arms. Derek came in after a moment too, raising an eyebrow at Stiles’s choices of food.

Stiles glared at him. “I’m hungry.”

“I know.”

“Like, starving hungry, dude. I need sustenance.”

He could’ve sworn there was the hint of a smile tugging at the man’s lips but Derek only nodded again, arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the doorway. “I know.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s a werewolf thing.”

“It’s werewolf thing.”

Stiles snarled and dropped everything on the counter. Abandoning his loot, he shoved past Derek and flipped Peter the bird, stalking straight out of the loft. He could’ve sworn Derek called his name but Stiles ignored him, trying to shove down the array of scents, sounds, and feelings that continued to hit him over and over again.

He felt like a stranger in his own body. He felt like he was doing something wrong.

He didn’t feel like he was the real one in his head.

Stiles made it outside and swallowed the urge to throw back his head and scream. Or maybe howl. His fingers curled into fists and after a moment, Stiles felt a slight stinging followed by something warm sliding down his skin. He heard the steady ‘drip drip’ and glanced down to see his nails had sliced straight through his palm.

Stiles swallowed a cry, his claws shooting back into his nails. As he watched, his skin stitched back together, and it looked so wrong.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. Stiles spun around, claws coming right back out, and pinned Derek against the outside loft wall. The man grunted, face tightening in pain, and Stiles’s heart leaped into his throat as he realized his claws had buried deep into his shoulder. He made a strangled noise, stumbling backward again, and Derek started to move forward.

Stiles raised his hands, blood on his fingers.

“Don’t, Derek, oh my god, please don’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to—”

“Stiles,” the man said, cutting him off. “I know.”

Stiles just shook his head again. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t go home like this but he also clearly couldn’t stay around the loft. He had to go somewhere far away. Maybe he could leave Beacon Hills or lock himself up somewhere deep and dark. Away from all of those he could possibly hurt.

Stiles felt sick. His head spun and his throat constricted. He ran his fingers through his hair and whined— actually whined— feeling the urge to maybe run or change or shift—

“Stiles!”

Stiles looked sharply back up. Derek’s eyes had turned red again and Stiles knew from first-hand experience that would often make the betas submit. But he didn’t feel a single urge to back down or flash his throat. Instead, he snarled and flashed his own eyes and to his surprise, Derek moved back a little, the red bleeding away from his own.

Stiles blinked a few times, dropping his gaze to the ground. He was trembling, he realized. But before he could even react to that, Derek was stepping forward and there were careful fingers underneath his chin, tilting his face up.

“Stiles, you’re okay. You hear me? You’re okay.”

“I don’t feel okay, Derek.”

“I know,” the man said. “But you’re in control and you can keep it. Okay? Tell me your anchor. Have you figured that out yet?”

“M-my dad, I think. I don’t know, I haven’t tested it out yet, I can’t stop the shift from happening—”

“Hey,” Derek said, cutting through his panic again. Stiles looked up, meeting the man’s firm gaze and this time, it was human. No red, no bleeding, no alpha-voice or shifting expressions. Just Derek. Derek and his grey-green eyes, locking on Stiles’s like they were determined to keep him in place. Stiles breathed out shakily and focused on that, on them. On Derek and his gentle touch underneath Stiles’s chin, keeping him steady where he stood.

“It's okay, Derek. I’m okay.”

“Are you?’

“I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Derek said quietly. “It’s going to be overwhelming for the next few days. But if you can, I’d like to know how it happened. How long, how many shifts you’ve gone through, how much you remember.”

“Nothing,” Stiles said. When Derek looked confused, Stiles ground his teeth together and glared at the ground. “It happened two days ago. I don’t think I shifted at all the first night and I wasn’t planning on doing so last night. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Derek’s face softened with what could only be called pity. Stiles hated it.

“I didn’t want this, Derek.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be this.”

The man visibly flinched a little at that. Stiles figured he should feel bad— because wasn’t this Scott’s same reaction when he’d been turned? Stiles had always been on the outside looking in. He’d never understood exactly what the boy was going through. But suddenly, Stiles felt like he was being thrown through a loop. He wasn’t an outsider anymore. He wasn’t the token human or the ‘boy who ran with wolves’.

Stiles was a wolf. He’d never wanted to be a wolf.

It was going to kill his dad.

“Let me guess, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, attempting a smile. “The bite is a gift?”

The man’s face didn’t change. “You killed an alpha. Didn't you?”

Stiles felt sick all over again. He closed his eyes and realized he’d started to tremble again. His stomach twisted and churned as he remembered the deformation of the alpha’s skull. The blood that had dripped from his lips and the feeling of ripping the man’s throat out with his own claws.

Stiles had killed the alpha. It was that or him.

Maybe it should have been him.

“Stiles,” Derek said quietly. “I need you to talk to me.”

“No,” Stiles said. “I uh… no, Derek. Not now. I need somewhere to stay and I need to be far away from my dad. The full moon is coming up and unless I have control by then, I can’t go anywhere. Not anywhere that he might be.”

Derek looked sad. But still, the man nodded, and Stiles risked meeting his eyes again. The grey-green and smell of warmth. Of pine.

His head felt a little more clear. Stiles swallowed hard. “Can I stay here?”

“Of course.”

“Even with the betas?”

The man nodded quietly. Stiles offered a small smile and hesitated before ducking back around him. He was terrified; there was no lying about that. Stiles was truly and utterly terrified and he had no idea what was coming. But he knew he had to figure things out. He had to keep his dad safe. Stiles had to keep his dad safe from himself.

That was a terrible, terrible thought.

Stiles didn’t like being left alone with Peter.

Derek left to ‘clear some things up with Deaton’ which Stiles also didn’t like the sound of. But he hated it even more because now he was left with the Creeperwolf himself, glaring every time the man even dared breathe.

Peter seemed perfectly fine with them being left alone.

The werewolf kept giving him calm, smirking looks and Stiles hated it. He fixed his eyes straight ahead and refused to look back. Refused to retaliate. To even acknowledge the Creeperwolf’s existence at all.

Peter broke the silence first.

“So, alpha.”

Stiles hated him. “Shut up.”

“Oh, you’re sounding more and more like Derek as time goes on.”

Stiles snarled at nothing, feeling a bit of fang poking at his lower lip. He quickly tried to force it away; thinking about his dad. About the tired, exasperated face he always got when Stiles was up to new mischief. The way the man used to hold him close and talk him through nightmares after his mother’s death.

Stiles focused on those things as hard as possible. But it was only when Peter’s voice caught his attention again and Stiles thought about how he wished Derek was here to kill his uncle, that he started feeling calm again.

The other man was watching him in amusement, head tilted a little. “Looks like you nearly lost it there, Stiles.”

“What, do you want me to kill you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be your first.”

Stiles flinched violently. He curled his fingers into the couch cushions and debated ripping Peter's throat out just because. Surely Derek wouldn’t miss his uncle that bad. Peter chuckled.

“Relax, Stiles, I’m not going to try and provoke you.”

“Oh, that’s not what this is?”

“You’re more on edge than usual,” Peter said, shrugging. He clasped his hands behind his head and relaxed back into his chair, throwing his feet up on the coffee table. “It’s unnerving.”

“Well, excuse me for being a little anxious about all of this.”

“It’s not like it’s much new,” Peter said. Stiles narrowed his eyes at the man and Peter smiled, all teeth. “Don’t tell me you haven't seen it before. Who do Derek’s betas go to when they need a shoulder to cry on? Who does Derek turn to for the big decisions? Certainly not Scott. Consider this as an upgrade with improved healing and fangs, not a new status.”

Stiles continued to stare. He’d like to say he understood a single word that had just come out of the man’s mouth but that would be a lie.

Peter rolled his eyes. “I wonder how you’re still alive sometimes, Stiles.”

“Sheer luck.”

“Clearly.”

Stiles grunted and turned his eyes away again. He tried to focus on anything else. The holes in the wall, the irritating crack that cut off mid-way across the ceiling. The bookshelf full of old authors that Stiles couldn’t believe Derek would be caught dead reading. The scents of the betas clinging to the furniture, the scent of home that seemed to suffocate him, the feeling of being watched—

Stiles glared back over at Peter. The man smirked.

“You’re adjusting.”

“I’m about to commit murder.”

“Again?”

“Shut the hell up,” Stiles hissed. He felt his eyes bleed to red, felt his claws sharpen and dig into the couch cushions. But Peter only looked more amused. And more… hungry.

It hit Stiles like a punch then.

“You want it,” he said, words a snarl. “You want the alpha spark, don’t you?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“What,” Stiles said, shoving himself up. “What’s your game, huh, Creeperwolf? How do you want this to go? Wait, let me guess. You rile me up, get me mad, I lose control and attack, right? Then it’s only self-defense. Derek can’t kill his last remaining family member for protecting himself.”

“You fail to understand what Derek would do for you.”

Stiles snarled. “Shut the hell up.”

“What, am I lying, Stiles?” Peter rested his hands on his chest, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t look perturbed at all, even at the way the air had changed so quickly. “You can hear my heartbeat now, alpha. Tell me if I’m lying. Listen real hard and tell me it’s a lie when I say that Derek would kill anyone who touched a hair on your head.”

Stiles was across the room in a second, catching Peter by the neck and pinning him to the wall. The man’s eyes flashed bright blue but he only grinned wickedly, delight in his expression. Stiles snarled, flashing his own eyes red. “I said shut up.”

“But it feels good, doesn’t it? The strength, the power. There is nothing I want to take from you, Stiles, but even if I did, Derek would hunt me down and rip my throat out for a second time if I did. But you know I wouldn’t. You can feel it, can’t you? The pack bond.”

“I don’t want any sort of bond! Especially to you.”

“Your wolf has already decided against that, Stiles.”

Stiles tightened his grip and watched his claws start to poke at the tender flesh of Peter’s neck. It sent him back two years when Stiles was the one in this position. Dragged off of the lacrosse field, leaving Lydia to bleed out. A pair of claws underneath his chin and the whispered threats of a maniac in the night.

Peter seemed to read his thoughts because the man’s face tightened. “I was out of my mind.”

“I could kill you,” Stiles said. “Kill you for everything you’ve done.”

“Well, Deucalion did agree that was the best way to gain power.”

Stiles’s throat tightened. He came snapping back to himself like a rubber band stretched too far, the anger and rage dissipating. But before he could make a move, say another word, the door behind him slammed open and the scent of metal, perfume, anger, came flooding into the loft.

Stiles yanked away from Peter, stumbling back. When he turned around, Scott was looking at him in horror.

“Stiles.”

Stiles stiffened in panic. Crimson bled into his best friend’s eyes and Scott stalked forward, anger on his face.

“You are different. You have changed. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I didn’t— I didn’t want—”

“You killed someone!”

Stiles flinched like he’d been slapped. But before he could react, Peter was stepping between them with a snarl on his lips. It wasn’t aimed at anyone except Scott, though, and the boy blinked in confusion at that.

“Peter, move.”

“I'm afraid I can’t do that.”

Scott scowled, looking at Stiles over the man’s shoulder. “Does your dad know?”

“You can’t tell him yet, Scott. You can’t tell him.”

“He could be in danger!”

“I’m learning to control it!”

“Oh,” Scott said. “Like you obviously controlled it with Peter? You were about to kill him!”

Stiles swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t...”

“Scott,” Peter said calmly. “I suggest you leave.”

“There’s not room for three alphas in Beacon Hills,” Scott said, ignoring him. Stiles stared.

“What do you want me to do then?”

“Get rid of it.”

“I can’t just get rid of it, Scott! Don’t you think I would have done that if I could?”

Scott just clenched his jaw. Stiles felt a little weak, like he wasn’t quite sure how much longer he could stay upright. This wasn’t losing control, he didn’t think. It was losing hope. It was losing his best friend.

“Your dad needs to know,” Scott said, retreating back. “And you need to stay away from him, and me, and Allison. Until it’s gone. Until you’re better.”

“So it's an infection then?”

“It isn’t you.”

“I didn’t ask for it, Scott! You’re the exact same!”

“I earned what I have,” Scott said, a snarl in his voice. He was still backing away. Making for the doors and Stiles was almost terrified to let him leave. Scott would tell his dad and his dad would never forgive him for keeping another secret. “I earned mine and you stole yours.”

Stiles didn’t move. Didn't say a word. Scott reached the door, turning around, but paused a moment more. When the boy turned back, his expression was almost piteous.

“I just want to do what’s best for you. You’re my best friend, Stiles. My human best friend.”

Not anymore.

But Stiles couldn’t get the words out. And then Scott was gone.

Stiles’s knees buckled and he hit the floor hard. Because this wasn’t losing control, he thought. This wasn’t losing his hold. This was losing a pack.

And it felt like Stiles had lost a limb with it.

Derek gave the betas permission to come back to the loft later on that day and showed up before they did. The first thing he noticed was the assault of scents; the pain, the anger, the despair. The second thing he noticed was Peter lounging on the couch and the terrifying emptiness of Stiles.

Derek straightened. Peter glanced up from his book, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s about time you’re back, nephew.”

“Where the hell is Stiles?”

“Currently?” Peter glanced back down at his book. “Curled up in your bedroom dealing with the loss of his best friend and previous alpha. Well done telling him about Stiles’s shift, by the way.”

“I didn’t—”

“He wasn’t very happy when he showed up.”

Derek stared for a moment. The only person he’d gone to was Deaton and… oh. Of course. Derek ground his teeth together and scented the room, but couldn’t find any traces of blood. So there hadn’t been a fight, at least.

“What happened?”

“Mr. McCall doesn’t seem to appreciate his best friend becoming a murderer to attain an alpha spark.”

“We don’t even know what happened.”

“No,” Peter said. “We don’t. Because you keep failing to talk to the boy, Derek. He’s not going to retain control forever, you know, if he can’t even rely on his own anchor.”

“He refuses to see his father.”

“I wasn’t talking about his father, Derek.”

Derek blinked in confusion at the man but Peter didn’t even glance back up from his reading. With a small growl, Derek stalked past and moved into his room. It was cracked shut and when he slowly moved inside, he saw a bundle curled up on the bed. It didn’t seem to be moving but Derek could smell the scent of Stiles and hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

He moved across the room carefully, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. Stiles didn’t move.

“Stiles—”

“It feels like losing a limb,” Stiles mumbled. Derek flinched. “That’s what your uncle had told me. I never understood it until now.”

“I should have realized Deaton would let Scott know.”

Stiles pushed down the covers and peered at him. The boy’s eyes were bloodshot and his face was pale. He smelled sick, even though Derek knew that’s not what it was. Stiles searched his face and then shook his head. “He’s going to tell my dad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My dad is going to hate me.”

“No, Stiles,” Derek said softly. “I don’t think he will.”

“I lied to him.”

“He’ll forgive you.”

“He shouldn’t. Not again.”

Derek was quiet for a moment. Then carefully, he slipped into the bed next to Stiles and looked gently at him. The boy didn’t move. He just looked tired.

“I’ve kept more secrets that I can count,” Derek murmured. “I didn’t… I never told Laura about Kate. I couldn’t, not after the fire. I couldn’t tell her that the death of our entire family had been my fault.”

Stiles’s eyelashes fluttered. Derek swallowed hard.

“But I like to think she would have forgiven me. Laura loved her family and her pack more than anything else. She never would have anything hurt them. She would have made a good alpha.”

“I didn’t want this, Derek.”

“I know, Stiles.”

“He was going to kill me.”

Derek tensed. Stiles’s scent changed, turning even more sour, and the boy didn’t meet his gaze. He smelled wrong. He smelled guilty.

“He came here to challenge you. For territory or leadership… but he found me instead. He said things, Derek. And then he tried to kill me.”

Derek stayed quiet. Stiles looked nauseous, eyes looking blankly at nothing.

“I ripped his throat out with his own claws.”

“I’m sorry, Stiles.”

“I don’t want my dad to hate me, Derek,” Stiles said brokenly. “I don’t want Scott to hate me. I was so scared. I thought the pack would be angry. I killed a man. I killed someone.”

“You protected yourself.”

Stiles flinched. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

Derek’s chest hurt. He wanted to pull the boy into his arms and brush gentle fingers through his hair. He wanted to tell Stiles that everything was going to be okay. He was going to be alright. But instead, he laid there quietly and watched Stiles break in front of him, feeling more helpless than ever.

The silence reigned for a moment. Then Derek wet his lips.

“Do you know what happened? During your shifts?”

“I don’t remember anything.”

“Your wolf,” Derek said quietly. “It’s beautiful, Stiles.”

The boy’s amber eyes searched his face. Derek wasn't used to Stiles being the one to read his heartbeats but after a moment, Stiles’s face softened a little. “I don’t want to hate it.”

“It might take some time.”

“Derek?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles studied his face and then lowered his gaze again.

“I don’t think my dad is my anchor.”

“Is it an emotion?”

“No,” Stiles said quietly. Derek blinked and studied his face, but Stiles was very firmly avoiding his gaze now. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch the boy’s face, focusing on the question at hand instead. His thoughts went to Scott for a moment, but that clearly wasn’t it. Derek remembered Lydia then. And he hated how his heart sunk a little.

“Stiles, do you know what your anchor is?”

“I think so.”

“Can you tell me?”

“I don't know," the boy said softly. "Would it be okay, Derek? If it was someone other than my dad?”

“Of course.”

“Even if it was someone who might not want it?”

Derek furrowed his brows, studying the boy. Stiles finally looked up nervously, searching Derek’s face once more. Quietly, Derek nodded and Stiles wet his lips.

“I might need you around, Derek. Through all of this, if that’s okay.”

Derek looked blankly at him. Stiles dropped his gaze again.

“If that’s okay.”

Then it hit him like a truck. Derek didn’t know how to react for a second but at the same time, his wolf was howling for joy. Stiles smelled terrified and Derek finally gave in to his earlier wants and pulled the boy in close, gentle fingers tracing along the back of his neck as he tucked Stiles’s face into his chest.

Stiles tensed for a moment and then sighed, relaxing into the embrace. If possible, that made Derek’s chest grow even tighter. He wanted to hold the boy close and never let go. There were thoughts spinning through his mind of Stiles, mine, and alpha and Derek just closed his eyes, holding him close. Letting Stiles tremble against his skin.

Stiles’s breaths were warm on his chest. Derek turned his face into the boy’s hair and inhaled deeply before nodding.

“Me too, Stiles.”

Stiles startled. Whined softly. And then went lax. Derek held him a little tighter.

And just for a little bit, nothing else mattered.

When Stiles woke up the next morning, the bed was empty. He blinked up at the ceiling a few times, the events of yesterday hitting him like a sledgehammer, and then he groaned, turning his face into the pillow. It still smelled like Derek; aftershave, mint, and pine.

Alpha, right, and his.

Stiles closed his eyes and took a trembling breath. When he finally shoved himself up and ran a hand through his hair, plodding out of the bedroom, he went stock-still to realize the apartment was not empty.

The betas were back, looking at him with wide eyes. And standing behind them, standing next to Derek, was his father. The man looked a little sad and a little tired. But it was him. He was here. Stiles faltered back.

“Dad?”

“Hey, kiddo.”

Stiles was moving before he could stop himself, crashing into his dad’s open arms and wrapping his hands around his neck. He buried his face into his shoulder and just let the feelings and scents crash over him. The smell of burnt coffee and old car and floor cleaner. The smell of the Sheriff’s office and every scent he carried of home. Stiles let that relax him and bring him down from the edge, nearly melting into the comfort of it all.

“I’m here, Stiles,” the man said softly. “I’m here, kiddo.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing you have to apologize for.”

“I killed a man,” Stiles said, pulling back. “Dad, I killed someone. I killed them and things are different now and I know Scott said I should stay away but—”

“Hey,” his dad said, cutting him off. “You have nothing to apologize for Stiles, do you understand me? I prefer my son in one piece and I swear to god, I would have killed the man myself who dared try and hurt you. The only thing that matters is you’re alright. You’re still here.”

“I’m not alright anymore, dad.”

One of the betas whined. Stiles flinched.

“I’m sorry I lied.”

Once more, he was being pulled close. Stiles closed his eyes and swallowed hard, tracing careful fingers over the back of the man's neck. It felt right, somehow. Stiles didn't want him to ever smell different.

Stiles pulled back only to find himself being wrapped in a different pair of arms. Erica, tracing his nose over Stiles’s collarbone. Isaac whining softly as he wrapped himself around Stiles’s back. Boyd moving closer with a small smile on his face.

Everything from yesterday slowly died away. The pain, the loss. Stiles found his chest growing full of everything here that was right. Comforting.

It felt like home.

Stiles met Derek’s gaze over Erica’s shoulder and the man nodded once, arms crossed. Stiles met his dad’s gaze then, as the man’s eyes went from him to Derek, and then back. He’d been so terrified of what he might see in his father’s eyes. The anger or pain or disappointment. But the Sheriff’s eyes only crinkled and he nodded too, and Stiles nearly melted into the floor.

He was safe here. He hadn’t felt safe since the alpha attacked and Stiles had been pretty sure his entire life was ending. Even if he hadn’t been killed, he’d seen the endpoint from there.

Something in Stiles’s chest felt like howling. His eyes flickered red and he closed them softly, not to block away the light. Only to drink up the comforts around him more.

Warmth, safety, home.

Pack, family, his.

His.

Stiles stood on the edge of the preserve and gazed out at the fading sun, waiting for the full moon to slowly rise. Blood thrummed in his ears and nerves itched underneath his skin and he fought the urge to turn and run away every time it hit, keeping his gaze fixed firmly ahead.

Derek stepped beside him, one hand gently covering the back of Stiles’s neck.

“You’re nervous.”

“A little.”

"It’s going to be alright.”

“I know,” Stiles said, turning to look at him. “I’m not worried about that.”

The man raised an eyebrow and Stiles felt his face grow warm, turning to face the horizon again. The coming darkness called to him like a hand around his heart and tugging. Stiles closed his eyes and breathed in deep, feeling all the scents around him.

He’d never known how much he was missing. All the things he’d never noticed before. Derek’s fingers flexed on the back of his neck.

“You’re gonna be good at this.”

Stiles smiled, eyes flitting over to the man's face. “Well duh, dude. I have my anchor with me.”

The man chuckled. The very sound made Stiles’s heart leap. He leaned into Derek’s touch and let the man guide his head sideways, foreheads touching together. Stiles closed his eyes and just smiled, red glowing behind his eyelids. Derek shivered a little. “Alpha.”

“Mine.”

“Yeah?”

“Mine,” Stiles said again, moving forward to brush his lips against Derek’s. “And yours.”

“Mine.”

“Alpha.”

Derek smiled against his lips. In the trees behind them, the sound of distant but familiar howls filled the air and Stiles felt the grip around his heart tighten. The pull grew stronger. He shuddered and felt fangs sliding down, nipping lightly at Derek’s lower lip. The man laughed, drawing back, and then Stiles was letting the shift take over.

Soon, he was looking at a giant black wolf with blue eyes. Stiles grinned all teeth and nipped at him before taking off with a loud bark, ignoring the growl at his back. He made for the preserve, the greenery blurring around him as he raced toward the pull of the moon.

Scents washed over him. Dirt, running water, his distant pack. The moon, the falling dusk, the distant sound of his dad’s car running as he waited on the edge of the preserve. Derek, the giant black wolf loping next to him.

Warmth, safety, home.

Pack, family, his.

His.

Alpha.

It was all his.

- -

Okay, so I had so much fun with this one. Alpha!Stiles is a new writing place for me but I adore it. I hope I did the prompt justice! You’re all amazing <3

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your struggling student writer? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writeryouc

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #full shift werewolves #ficlet #alpha!stiles #alpha!derek #werewolf stiles #all the angst and comfort #staffofoppression #derek x stiles #awesome sheriff stilinski #prompts #commissions #anti scott mccall #kinda?#he's just not the best

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heavymetalover · 5 years

Text

Heresy (Michael Langdon x fem reader)

Summary: You’re a witch visiting the Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men, aiding to your fallen Supreme, Cordelia, when suddenly engaging in a spontaneous rendezvous with the Boy Wonder himself, Michael Langdon.

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, light choking, fingering, oral sex, vaginal sex, dom/sub, hickies, rough sex, daddy kink.

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: back with another one shot after a depressive episode hahaaaaa fuck

feel free to ask me stuff, i may get to a request if i have time. also i needa follow more ahs/cody blogs since im slowly morphing back into an ahs blog so ill try to follow everyone back! anyways

enjoy:)

~~~~

Ever since your arrival at Hawthorne, you’ve been enamored with the talk of the town. Mr. Bigshot Michael Langdon. You came with Cordelia, the plane ride made you nauseated. Not from the immoderate turbulence, but from the thought of your Supreme falling. You all had doubts, thought that Michael was just another powerful warlock, nothing too menacing; but when Michael brought back your sisters from the dead, something Cordelia couldn’t even do, you knew he was a threat.

Michael is one of the few people on this Earth you’ve met with unbreakable confidence. He holds his head high, a cunning smirk enduringly secured on his full pink lips. Yet something about him is also so child-like. His power excites him and he’s always quick to engage in conversation about himself; almost giddy with his effervescent wit, yet beautifully controlled.

You don’t know what made you want to engage with this man, the most you’ve ever done with him is shake his hand. There was a moment he brushed against you, you felt a hard bulge in his pants lightly brush against your ass, his big hand squeezing your shoulder as he wedged himself past you, lingering slightly and feeling as if he purposely was pushing his pelvis against you. You dismissed your suspicions of this minor interaction, explaining it away as a whimsical delusion plagued by your hormonal, juvenile brain. Although, you wanted more than anything to believe he was coming onto you, you were here to support the witches. Your sisters. Not the desperate, power-driven warlocks.

It’s late in the evening, Cordelia passed out on the couch in the common area while the other witches attempt to nurse her to health, a few of them nearly falling asleep next to her. For some odd reason, your eyes are resisting sleep tonight. You’re carelessly flipping through a book, eyes grazing over the tiny words. Your mind is preoccupied with something else, someone else. Constantly glancing around the room just in hopes you’d catch a glimpse of his golden curls reflecting the candlelight, or even his black cloak dramatically flowing behind him, something, anything to feed your hunger.

You presume a few hours have passed now; the whole school has gone silent except for a thumping bass in the distance. Once you fixate on the noise, your eyebrows knit in confusion. You thought you were the last person awake. You shut the book you’ve been neglecting and set it back on the shelf, prudently pursing the bass-y melody. Your heels echoing in the empty halls, stopping dead in your tracks when you come to the hall where the music originates. You walk through the arch into the rich, golden hallways lit up by flickering candles. Hard rock music blaring from a closed door, but it becomes obvious who’s room it is as you get closer. You can recognize his scent from a mile away. The music comes from Michael’s room.

You ball your fist, ready to pound his door and tell him to turn down his music, but pause before you can make contact with the door. You hear low groans over the music, momentarily mistaking them to be apart of the song, but soon realizing it’s Michael’s voice when he grunts out a loud “fuck!”

Your jaw drops, just hearing his moans on the other end of the door makes your heart sink. With little hesitation, you press your ear against the door, your earring hitting the polished wood and making a louder clink than you expected. Michael doesn’t seem to notice, continuing his low moans from inside the room.

You initially came with the intention of telling him off, giving him a much-needed reality check that the world doesn’t revolve around him. But you’re compelled to put all of that on hold and keep listening, laying your palm against his wooden door and resting on it, catching yourself pretending it’s Michael’s sturdy, defined body. You know you shouldn’t be so thirsty for him; he exudes arrogance out of his pores, exhausting and intoxicating you all at once. You’d never admit it, but buried deep down, you know you like that about him. You like his hubris, it makes you fantasize about how possessive he’d be when fucking you, how he’d humiliate you.

You run your hand down the door panel and press your cheek harder against the wood. Your other hand reaching underneath your short, lacey black dress. The scent of his cologne is strong enough to have tainted the door. You bask in the gritty, manly pheromones, starting to rub your aching clit in small circles. Your lips grazing the door as you quicken your pace, listening to his loud music and touching yourself to the rhythm. You can see why he listens to it; it’s even helping you get more into the mood.

You’re practically kissing the door when you almost fall flat onto the floor by somebody swinging it open. You regain your balance and collect yourself, feeling your face burning red with embarrassment. Michael’s icy blue eyes scope the situation for a moment, landing on you, then the door, then your hand on your crotch. You pull it away after Michael’s already found it. Shit. He clears his throat. “Y/n,” he talks to you slow, as if you were a toddler, “what the fuck?”

Your mind sets aside his condescending tone for a moment to revel in the fact that he knows your name; though you mentally beat yourself up right after for being so desperate and putting your dignity on the backburner. It takes you a split second to spew out your reply, “I-I could ask you the same.” You bite your tongue in hopes he didn’t linger too much on your stumble. “I could hear your music all the way from the common room, people are trying to sleep.”

“And why aren’t you?” he leans both his arms against the doorframe, looking so lackadaisical and impossibly sexy. You hate him for it.

“I was watching over Cordelia,” you lie, although you wish it was true. You know the only reason is because of him, because your thoughts always come back to his beautiful, smug face.

“I don’t believe you,” he says with a slight shake to his head, his lively curls bobbing with each movement.

You know you should just leave the situation now and give him one last nudge to turn down his music, but something inside you urges you to entertain his question. “Why don’t you believe me?” you ask, bouncing back and forth on the tiny heels of your stilettos. “What else would I be doing?” you wish you could swallow the words back up as soon as they leave your mouth.

He squints his eyes at you as if you had just asked the dumbest question on the planet. “Listening to me,” he shoots back, “and…” His eyes trail down to your crotch and he raises a brow. He doesn’t audibly declare your actions, as if saying the words aloud will frame the situation to be even more perverted than it already is.

“And touching myself,” you finish his sentence, taking a step closer to him.

There’s a certain energy to him, a sinister overtone even when a stupid grin spreads across his face. “You’re a nasty little witch, aren’t you?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

The tension becomes thicker with each pause, you feel your breathing getting uneven, mouth watering, a numbness to your fingertips. Michael looks completely unphased, still holding himself with the utmost confidence. “Maybe that’s for you to decide,” you reply gingerly, “sir.”

He inches himself closer to you until his nose barely brushes the tip of yours. “I think you are,” he whispers. You gulp down all the excess water in your mouth, just looking at him makes you hungry for more. He aggressively takes a chunk of your hair and pulls your head back, the candles in the hallway burn out. Did you do that?

He gives a measly scoff at your powers before turning back to you. Michael leans closer, his lips shave yours ever so slightly. Hooded eyes surveying every inch of your face, pulling tighter and smiling at your wince in pain. “You want me?” he asks, lips lugging against yours, but rejecting the satisfaction of a kiss.

“Yes,” you let out a breathy whisper. “I do, sir.” An attempt to kiss him results in your hair being mercilessly tugged again. It hurt to the point you felt a burning behind your eyes, tears threatening to appear, but you wouldn’t dare tell him to stop. At this point, you’d do anything Michael wanted you to do, be anything he wanted you to be.

He drags the back of his moist tongue down your neck and stops at the base, laying his lips down and lightly sinking his teeth into you, sucking up the salty sweat on your skin. You unexpectedly moan at his ardor, eyes darting around the hall for witnesses. He sucks vigorously, eliciting a surprised gasp from you each time he sucks harder. Deciding he’s done when your neck feels on fire, his mouth parts from your flesh with a delicious smack.

He releases his tight grasp from your hair, now clutching the back of your neck with a death grip, squeezing like he owns your body. A light groan dies on his lips as he comes back to your face, lips touching again. “I smelt you as soon as you came to my door, I know the smell of a witch well.” Neither of you make an effort to pull away, he uses one of his slender arms to caress the side of your body, moving along your curves. “I know the smell of a drenched cunt, too.” His hand finds your pussy and to his avail, he’s correct.

Sliding your panties to the slide, he thumbs your core. You grab his toned arm for balance as he touches your sensitive clit, rubbing it slowly with ease. “You eavesdropped on me fucking myself, huh?” his tone turns rough. “Invading my privacy…” he continues through gritted teeth as if he was holding back on cussing you out completely. He rubs you harder and faster, your face contorting as you grab onto him tighter. You bite your tongue to hold back screams, almost forgetting that you were standing outside of his room, but the thrill of getting caught turns you on even more. You can feel the wetness dripping down your thighs. “You like invading my privacy,” he starts again, rubbing harder than ever. You feel yourself getting pushed to the edge, biting your tongue so hard you draw blood. “Say it,” he demands.

“I like invading your… f-fuck! Y-your privacy,” it takes all your power to form a coherent sentence. Your pussy convulses under his fingers and he takes them away, leaving an agonizing throbbing in your clit.

He pulls you by your wrist into his room, shutting the door behind him. His lips automatically connect to yours, aggressively tongue-fucking your face, barely stopping to take a breath. “Is this what you wanted?” he asks breathlessly. “You want to be used like a whore?”

You smile at his crudeness; his dirty talk sends chills throughout your core. “Yes, daddy,” you respond softly, returning to his kisses. He grins against your kiss at this little nickname. A childish whimper escaping your lips when his pants rub against your unfinished cunt.

He pulls away to tug his black shirt over his head, you take the moment apart to slip off your tight dress. “I was hoping you’d stop by after I pushed myself into you,” he grins. A wave of relief passes through you when you realize that moment you shared with him wasn’t a product fabricated by being overly imaginative. “I knew your body would be mine the moment I saw you in that tight little dress.”

“I wore it just for you,” you speak your words with a sugary sweetness to match your frenzied desperation for him to fill you up. “My body is all yours.”

“I know,” he sneers. He pushes you onto the bed, towering over you as he claws off your panties. His skin slightly glistened in sweat, intimately lit by the dim lighting in his room. You’ve never seen someone look so goddamn sexy. He runs a hand through his perfect golden waved hair before settling himself between your legs. The first contact he makes is licking up your hot cunt before reintroducing his fingers. It won’t take much more to make you come since he started you off in the hall.

Now that you’re in the comfort of his room, you let all your moans escape as loud as you want. “Fuck, Michael!” you yell, hoping the music is loud enough to mask your screams. His tongue pulses against your dripping pussy as his slim fingers work your clit again. You shut your eyes as tight as you can and pull at the sheets of his bed, feeling the vibration of his moans against your cunt and the cadence of the song, everything turns you on.

Just not enough.

I need more.

Nothing seems to satisfy.

I said, I don’t want it.

I just need it.

To breathe, to feel, to know I’m alive.

Michael’s finger slides inside your pussy, pulsing to his own rhythm, speeding up before you can adjust to his intensity. He adds another finger flicking up inside your pussy, tickling your g-spot with each tap. “Fu-” you can’t even release your cursing. “Right there, right there,” you breathe, not sure your words are even audible. Michael begins pacing his tongue over your ripened clit, continuing to fuck you with his long fingers and rub your slit with his thumb, making sure every nerve is stimulated.

You yank his sheets, trying to sit up and watch him devour you, but dropping back onto the bed in defeat. “S-so good,” you cry. He speeds up even more and you yelp. He snickers at your titillation, sending a flood of heat against your cunt. “I’m,” is the only word you can get out before fauceting a stream of clear liquid from your hole.

Michael leans back, letting your pussy release all of the built-up tension. His face scrunches up inquisitively as you come all over his bed. Once you’re done leaking and completely out of breath, Michael glances at you in disbelief. “Wow,” is the only word that can cross his lips before licking up the excess filth that splashed onto your thighs. He climbs on top of you to plant a kiss on your begging lips, you taste your salty juices in his mouth. He parts from the kiss and you lick yourself off of your lips. “That’s my dirty girl,” he praises.

He takes both of your arms and pulls you to sit up on his bed. You’re so lost in ecstasy that you can’t even process Michael slipping his pants down in front of you and the enormous protrusion occupying his boxers. You get thrown back into the fire when his lengthy erection springs out and slaps your cheek. Your brain reacts as if programmed to be his little sex toy. You grab his cock in your hands and shove it down your throat. “Show me how grateful you are that I let you come,” he rocks his hips into your face. You grab his hips to push his dick even further into your mouth, working past your gags and pushing as deep as you can. Every time he thrusts you feel yourself choke on his length, “You like the way I fuck your face, huh? You like how I treat you like a dirty hole?”

You pull him out of your mouth, inhaling the smell of his cologne and spitting on the pink tip of his hard cock. You haven’t seen a dick this big outside of porn, maybe not even in porn. You stroke his length, giving yourself time to recover before shoving him back down your throat. You lick up his balls and he groans, beginning to reposition your head for sucking.

You open your mouth and he shoves himself back in, plunging to the back of your throat. You feel your mouth coat his dick with saliva, choking back on his precum and slurping back all of the juices. You run your hand up and down his shaft, feeling like you’re only able to guzzle down half of his dick. You pull it out of your mouth to spit on his glazed cock, continuing to jerk his shaft. You go back to sucking, bobbing your head up and down as fast as you can and releasing his cock to spit on it. He throws his head back as you continue mouth fucking him. “Goddamn!” he shouts, rocking himself into you even harder. You gag on his cock, tears streaming down your cheeks, he loves this. “Let me see your eyes,” he requests. You look up at him, blinking out your tears. “Fuck me,” he sighs before pulling himself out of your mouth, a white substance oozing from his hole.

You fight to catch your breath as he’s already repositioning you. Pushing you onto all fours and spitting on your cunt before entering. “I can’t wait to stretch out those tight little walls,” he says, teasing his cock up and down your folds. “Say it’s okay,” he begs, his cock pressed against your hole. Your heart skips when he says this. You nod your head, too in shock to conjure an answer. “I want to hear you say it,” he presses.

You gulp down your nervousness, trying not to appear stunned by his need for approval. “I want you to stretch out my walls, daddy,” you finally answer, using your hands to spread your pussy wide for him. “Fuck me until I can’t walk,” you plead, wiggling your tailbone and pushing his erection into your cunt.

This is admission enough for him, he inserts the head and you feel your whole-body tremble. His cock is so thick, you can really feel your pussy stretching for him. He grabs your hips and slowly starts adding some of his length. You tense up and grab his arm, he stops immediately. “Just relax, relax baby,” he reassures you.

You take a deep breath in and he pushes himself into you on exhale, placing a hand on the small of your back as he goes deeper… and deeper and deeper, as if his dick is bottomless. You find yourself pulling at his sheets again, more tears forming in your eyes. He starts rocking his hips, cramming his large cock into your tight pussy. Each push begins loosening you up, your pain turning into pleasure as he inserts more of himself into you. “Good girl,” he flatters, giving a small smack to your ass and making you jump.

Both of you moaning in pleasure, fucking to the rhythm of the song playing. The instruments enveloping you and you push yourself even more against his dick, wanting to feel all of him inside you. “Give it all to me,” you demand, pushing him deeper inside of you. You both sigh with how deep he’s getting. “Fuck me, daddy,” you hear yourself wailing like a child.

“M’yeah?” he breathes, taking it as a challenge. In an instant, he executes your request, shoving himself balls deep, filling your guts with his thick length. Taken aback, you accidentally knock out all the lights in his room with a squeal, leaving behind a single candle on the opposite side of his room. The wind gets knocked out of you; breath unsteady. You can’t summon any words to your lips, just incessant choked sobs that wither away at the back of your throat.

He keeps pounding himself into you, his balls slapping your clit and sending goosebumps throughout your body. “You like being your coven’s dirty slut?” he spits, giving another hard slap to your ass. You can’t bring yourself to answer him. He drills so deep into you that you can feel him hammering your cervix. You can’t take him anymore and autonomously shift yourself away from him with a raucous scream, crawling away from his thick cock, but Michael chases. He clicks his tongue. “Don’t run away from it, baby,” he teases as you keep shifting.

You stop crawling away once you reach the edge of his bed, his cock sitting idly inside your tight pussy as he catches up. He breaks the lull and starts pumping into you quickly again, this time pinning your arms behind your back. “No more running away,” he taunts. You feel your pussy spasming with each plunge, your muscles adjusting to his fat cock, but they never seem to process it. You can’t stop moaning, screaming for more. You roll your eyes back and drop your head in defeat, taking the hard pounding to your cunt. “That’s it, baby,” he sighs. “Take all of daddy’s cock like a good slut.”

He guides himself into you, salaciously smacking into your round ass with each thrust. You feel like your whole body is crumbling under his touch, one more move and you’d be pure dust. Your heartbeat quickened, body shaking, numbness in your legs, you know you’re close to coming. You close your eyes shut, clenching your jaw, stifled moans escaping animalistically from the back of your throat. You squeeze one of Michael’s arms as he continues holding your hands behind your back. Papers fly off his desk, the music volume fluctuates, you can’t believe how strong your powers are becoming under him.

“C’mon, baby,” he continues assaulting your cunt with hard thrusts, “come for me. Come for daddy.” He wraps a large hand around your throat, hitching your breath, and directs your body to be flush against his. Your back against his chest, creating friction as he keeps with the same fervor. His lips against your ear, “Who’s your Supreme now, baby?”

The thought of Cordelia decaying on the couch in the common space right now crosses your mind, but being under Michael’s influence sends dark thoughts rushing in your head. Who cares? “You, Michael. You’re my new Supreme,” you answer with a strangled sob.

He pushes you back onto the bed, burying your head into his mattress. You suck up his scent through the fabric; drooling onto his sheets while being fucked senseless, you love the way he uses you. “That’s right, baby,” he affirms, “I’m the fucking Supreme.”

He gives another smack, and with that, a trembling throughout your entire body. “Michael, I’m coming!” you scream, trying to lift yourself up, but he keeps pushing you down. “Michael, I’m-!” you get cut off by the unyielding orgasm overtaking your body. Your mouth hangs open, eyes rolled back, fingers digging into his sheets. The lower half of your body surrenders to the orgasm gushing juices from your already-soaking cunt.

Michael sneers over you coming before him, but he’s close to release too. You flip onto your back and he fondles your breasts, throwing his head back and letting out a deep sigh. His skin turns a sickeningly pale white, his eyes meet yours, completely blacked out. He leans down to give you a quick kiss on the lips, his skin burning hot. Why aren’t you scared?

Although you were certain you had lost feeling between your legs from orgasm, when he thrusts himself into you, the hardest he has yet, you can’t help but let out a little yelp. You feel his hot seed spilling into your cunt, he takes himself out of you, smearing his come into your folds with the tip of his cock. You don’t even give yourself the opportunity to dwell on what happened to Michael during orgasm, why he looked so evil. You write it off as maybe-it’s-a-warlock-thing.

He collapses next to you, skin returning to it’s usual light tan and eyes reverting to a deep blue. So blue that you can fall right into them. Oh, your mind wanders, how will you ever hide this from Cordelia? Or worse, how could you explain yourself to her? Face her at this time?

Michael rests his palm on your cheek, swaying your gaze towards him and snapping you out of your daze. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about Cordelia,” he assures you. Fuck, he was listening.

He plants a soft kiss on your lips, much more loving than anything else he’s done with you tonight. “Cordelia is falling. Remember, I’m your Supreme now… and you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

#hello #another music inspired smutty fanfic lol whats new #xavier fic prob coming soon oop #michael langdon #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon x reader #american horror story #apocalypse #smut #hawthorne michael #xavier plympton #ahs imagine #michael langdon smut #ahs #michael langdon x fem reader #ahs fanfic #michael langdon one shot #michael langdon imagine #imagine

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sylvanfreckles · 3 years

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I’m Sorry I Didn’t Know (FebuWhump 10)

Fandom: The Witcher (mix of book and show canon, set after season one and based on events in Blood of Elves) Summary: Jaskier finds himself in the hands of the enemy, being tortured for information about Geralt's location. Unfortunately he hasn't seen the witcher since that horrible day on the mountain. All seems lost and hopeless, but he has an ally on the way that even Jaskier doesn't know about...Yennefer of Vengerberg.

(Yes it’s more of torturing Jaskier, but he does get comforted this time. Just not by the big lug. See the AO3 version for my full rant :D)

* * *

The first thing he was aware of when he pulled himself out of the spiraling blackness was the pain in his wrists. Pain that lanced down his arms to his shoulders, and even his chest and stomach when he tried to move.

The second thing was the burlap sack over his head. It smelled faintly of old potatoes and dust, and he choked and coughed when he tried to catch his breath.

Then it was the taste in his mouth and the back of his throat. The faint remnants of wine and something like the odor of water lilies and incense.

Now Jaskier remembered. The pudgy little man with the greasy forehead and too many rings on his thick fingers. He'd offered to buy the bard a drink, claimed to be a patron of the arts, but he'd only asked about the songs Jaskier had written about the witcher.

“Oh, good, you're awake.”

The sack was tugged off his head in one swift movement and Jaskier found himself blinking in the hazy light of a few candles. There were two or three other people in the room, but they were nothing but vague shapes as he tried to shake the last of the muzziness from his head.

That was a mistake. The movement pulled on his shoulders and sent a shock of pain spiraling up his arms to his wrists, which he now realized were bound above him. No, wait...his wrists were bound together and he was hanging from them. His fingers were nearly numb but he could just feel the metal curve of the hook between his hands. There was just enough slack in the rope for his lower legs and knees to rest against the ground, but that was it...and the drugging had left him without the strength to pull himself up any farther to rest his abused shoulders.

Someone had asked a question. Jaskier tried to focus, but the terror pounding through his brain at being caught in this situation was making his blood roar in his ears. Oh, gods, no one knew where he was. No one was expecting him. He had an open invitation to lecture for the summer semester at Oxenfurt, but if he didn't show up they'd assume he just had other plans. He was utterly alone and at the mercy of men who had drugged and kidnapped and strung him up like a side of meat to cure.

The bucket of water flung into his face snapped him out of his panicked thoughts with a splutter. He coughed and spat and shivered, every movement agony on his wrists and shoulders. “Wh-what is it?” If he didn't think about it, maybe he could convince himself his teeth were chattering from the cold and not fear.

“We're looking for the witcher,” the man said, with the impatient tone of someone repeating himself. It wasn't the pudgy man from the inn; this one was taller and darker. Jaskier couldn't make out too many details in his woozy state, though his eyes seemed to fix on the red brooch on the other man's cloak.

“Sorry?” Jaskier tried to clear his head and looked up toward the man's face. “I don't know where he is. Haven't seen him for months. Not since...not in a long time.”

Red Brooch gave a simpering smirk and nodded to someone behind Jaskier. The rope creaked and Jaskier bit back a cry of pain when he was hauled upward by his wrists, the movement pulling on every joint in his body until...he stopped.

Heart in his mouth, he craned his head back to look at his legs. They were wrapped in heavy chains, one behind his knees and the other across his ankles, and the chains were staked to the ground to hold his lower body in place. Every haul on the rope pulled his body between two opposing forces, threatening to tear or dislocate his joints.

A slap across the face brought his attention back to Red Brooch. The man was obviously impatient. “Everyone knows you follow the witcher around like a simpering maiden,” Red Brooch sneered. “All you've done for most of a decade is sing his praise from one end of the continent to the other and you expect us to believe you just lost him?”

Jaskier swallowed and tried to work a little moisture back into his mouth. “I don't know,” he said, voice weak. “We-we haven't seen each other since the mountain, since the dragon hunt. He doesn't...I don't know.”

Red Brooch sighed and gestured again. This time the pull on the rope was sharp and fast and Jaskier tried to scream, only to realize his captor's upraised hand was glowing as he cast a spell that muted Jaskier's voice.

The stretch was horrible. The coarse rope tore at the sensitive flesh of his wrists and his left shoulder, which had been injured in a fall out a window a few years before, was already very close to being pulled out of socket. The sudden release of tension brought only mild relief, as the man behind him simply let go of the rope and Jaskier fell a few inches before he was caught by the bindings around his wrists. It was all burning and pulling, like he was being torn apart on the inside.

Closing his fist, Red Brooch released his hold on Jaskier's voice. “You wrote that ballad about the Child Surprise.” He leaned in, one hand on Jaskier's shoulder, pushing down just enough that a new spike of agony shot down his arms from his wrists. “So you know he found her. The Lion Cub of Cintra.”

Jaskier shook his head. That had been...that had been poetry. “Just a story,” he gasped. “I made it...made it up.”

Red Brooch opened his hand again, sealing Jaskier's lips, and nodded to the man behind him. The pull was slow and agonizing this time, the world around him erupting into bright explosions of pain as his left shoulder finally gave under the strain and dislocated. He wanted to scream, but the spell on his mouth made it difficult to even suck in a breath.

And through it all Red Brooch just studied him with a calculating expression. When the chains around his knees and ankles creaked, Jaskier was suddenly grateful Geralt had used such cruel words to send him packing all those months ago. He would have said anything, given up anything, to make the pain stop...but he had nothing to give.

Then the rope was released, and the sudden drop against his mangled wrists and dislocated shoulder was enough to make his mind go white for a few seconds, while Red Brooch went for another bucket of water to dash over Jaskier's face and chest.

“I don't kn-know,” he stammered, when he could finally speak again. “Please...”

Something rustled just outside his field of vision. Red Brooch glanced over his shoulder, then nodded at the man behind Jaskier, who lumbered off into the darkness to check. For the first time Jaskier realized they were in some kind of dilapidated barn or stable, which meant they couldn't be too far from civilization. If he was careful, he might be able to shout for help if Red Brooch got distracted.

The other man came back—a big, hulking brute with tangled hair and Nilfgaardian armor—shaking his head.

Nilfgaard. Of course. He could still remember all of Queen Calanthe's rather colorful insults during her daughter's engagement ball all those years ago. The night when Geralt had mistakenly asked for the Law of Surprise and wound up with a child of destiny he had no intention of claiming.

Jaskier was just trying to screw up the courage to scream for help while Red Brooch glared at his companion when the door blew in under a burst of flame. The soldier let out a cry of fury and charged, but another ball of fire caught him in the chest and knocked him back.

A lone figure strode into the darkened space. Dressed in a dark tunic and trousers, rather than the striking black-and-white ensembles she favored, Yennefer was no less intimidating as she released a second searing blast at Red Brooch. He had the sense to throw his hands up to ward off the damage, then he was diving behind Jaskier to put the bard between himself and the approaching mage.

Her violet eyes flicked up to make contact with Jaskier's, then a streaming gout of flame was arcing toward him, only to bend and flow around him without singing even a hair on his head. Red Brooch cursed and kicked Jaskier in the back of the legs, making the bard cry out in pain at the tug against his wrists and shoulder, then there was the warping twist of magic and the smell of ozone and Jaskier could just see a portal forming out of the corner of his eye.

“No you don't!” Yennefer hissed and fired another blast of flame at Red Brooch, but he was already diving into the portal. She started to follow but hesitated, eyes flickering at Jaskier for a fraction of a second, and sent another stream of fire after Red Brooch. For a brief, satisfying moment he thought he heard a man scream, and then the portal snapped shut.

The soldier was still moving, though his armor and part of his face had burned off. Yennefer stalked over to him, one hand alight with the glow of magic, and seized the front of his leather jerkin with her other hand. “Who sent you?” she demanded.

Jaskier tried to call a warning as the soldier lunged up with a knife, but Yennefer had seen it coming. She doubled back, retrieving her own knife from her boot, and dashed in to cut a long gash in the soldier's arm up toward his armpit, right in the unarmored space where his bracer buckled.

The man fell with a gurgled cry, and Yennefer stood over him for a moment with her face twisted in disappointment as blood spurted out of the man's wound to darken the floor beneath him. “Cut the artery,” she commented over her shoulder. “Damn.”

Too relieved to comment, Jaskier let his head rest against his uninjured shoulder. “Yennefer?”

She studied him, eyes going from the rope holding his wrists up to the chain binding his legs down. “When I cut this, let me take your weight. Don't try to catch yourself on your knees, got it?”

He nodded. She wrapped one arm around his chest, almost tenderly, and reached up with her other hand to slice through the rope connected to the hook he'd been hanging from. Jaskier collapsed against her, the hook striking a glancing blow on his hip on the way down, and fought down a sob of mingled relief and pain as his shoulders went slack.

Yennefer muttered something and the chains across the back of his legs went limp, letting him slowly drag himself up until he was standing, with Yennefer supporting most of his weight. She stared up at him for a moment, as though reading the map of his injuries, then twisted partly away to summon her own portal with a gesture.

“Two steps and you can lie down,” Yennefer promised.

“Why...” Jaskier coughed, the movement jarring his wounded body, and felt the sorceress pull him inexorably forward. “Why are you...”

“We'll talk later,” she promised. “Just come with me for now.”

He let her lead him through the portal, and the last thing he remembered before darkness flooded his senses was a warm, cozy room with a roaring fire and—most importantly—a soft, clean bed.

* * *

Waking up was much more pleasant this time. Jaskier slowly sat up, well aware that his clothing still stank of the barn and sweat and blood...but the rest of him seemed pleasantly recovered. He flexed his left arm, surprised and relieved that the shoulder had been reset and even the swelling abated.

“You're finally awake,” Yennefer called. She was sitting at the room's little table, a meal spread out in front of her in half a dozen dishes that smelled heavenly. “Come, join me.”

Jaskier slowly approached. The table had two benches that faced each other, but while Yennefer was seated on one the other was covered with what looked like the detritus of a night's spell work. Yennefer rolled her eyes and made a show of scooting to the end of the bench, patting the empty wood beside her. “I won't bite,” she teased. “At least, not after spending a day and a night putting you back together.”

“Ah.” Jaskier awkwardly sat on the edge of the bench. “Um, thank you. For that.”

She rested a hand on his arm in an almost tender gesture. “I've been looking for you.

He stiffened. He should have known...escaping one danger to fall into another. “I don't know where he is,” he explained slowly. Maybe she'd just let him go, they didn't actually have a reason to hate each other, did they?

“Oh, Jaskier,” Yennefer shook her head, one dark curl falling across her shoulders. “I was looking for you. If I wanted to find Geralt...I have my own ways.”

Jaskier nodded. His stomach was cramping, reminding him it had been at least a day since he'd eaten, but he just couldn't bring himself to fill his plate. “I haven't seen him since...since...”

“Since the mountain,” Yennefer finished. “I'm so sorry, Jaskier. I didn't know. If I'd known he'd said something like that to you, I would have come back. I'd have slapped him across his self-righteous face and taken you straight to Oxenfurt, or wherever you needed to be to get away from him.”

For some reason, her words made his eyes prickle as though he was fighting back tears. This couldn't be real—not the unfeeling sorceress, hero of Sodden Hill, the woman so powerful she'd nearly bound a djinn to her will—people like that didn't care about people like him.

“Poor Jaskier,” Yennefer sighed and scooted across the bench to lean her head against his shoulder. “I hate seeing you like this; you're no fun to tease.”

He laughed at that, and the sound almost surprised him. He hadn't had much to laugh about lately. Yennefer smiled up at him and reached out to fill his plate, piling it up with the delicate food the sorceress preferred over the rough meat and bread that was Jaskier's usual tavern fare. He couldn't complain, though. After the events of the last few days a few pieces of fruit and some light, toasted bread sounded a bit more palatable than a joint of mutton.

“You must know I don't hate you,” Yennefer began. “We don't see eye-to-eye, but I would never want to see anything like that happen to you.”

Jaskier gave in and let his head rest against hers, her dark hair soft against his cheek. “I think you're the only one.”

“Geralt was angry,” Yennefer replied. “For a man who claims to have no emotions he has a tendency to let his passions override his self control.”

She rested one hand on his arm and shifted her head so that she was looking up at him. “Don't let this break you, Jaskier. He blames himself for the harsh words he spoke to you; don't take them on as your burden as well.”

To his shame, her thumb brushed over a tear that had escaped from one eye. He cleared his throat and pulled away, taking his plate to stand closer to the fire to eat. “What are your plans now?”

Yennefer pretended not to notice the sudden change of topic. “I have a few things I'm looking into for a friend,” she lied smoothly. That was all right. Jaskier didn't really want to know the sort of things the sorceress got up to. For all he knew she was the spy mistress for an underground movement to liberate Cintra from Nilfgaard control. The less he knew about her life the better.

“I need to get back to Oxenfurt,” Jaskier said, though she hadn't asked. “I've been asked to teach for the summer semester, and walking those hallowed grounds would be a nice respite from life on the road.”

The mage gracefully stood from the table, her movements making even the rough tunic and trousers she still wore seem elegant. “I can send you there by portal whenever you're ready,” she offered, holding a hand up when he started to protest. “Please. I would be happier knowing I'd left you somewhere safe.”

Jaskier placed his empty plate on the mantle and gave a curt nod, emotions welling up in him again. He focused on the fire, knowing that a kind look from Yennefer would break him down again.

She seemed to sense his discomfort and crossed the room to throw a cloak over her shoulders. “I'll see if I can retrieve your belongings from the tavern where you were playing,” Yennefer said. “Eat your fill and I'll send you to Oxenfurt when you're ready.”

Yennefer had her hand on the door before Jaskier had pulled himself together to speak. “Thank you, Yennefer. I really...I mean it.”

The sorceress smiled, a soft expression that he'd never seen on her face. “Eat something. You've lost so much weight you look like a plucked chicken.”

The familiar, sarcastic bite to her tone hand him leaning against the mantle as he laughed, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes rather than the pathetic, pitying ones he'd been fighting back moments before.

Well. Another plate or two wouldn't hurt.

* * *

I actually have trouble watching the show because Geralt is just kind of mean. He's so much better in the books...even if it is a lot of fun to send my friend pictures of Henry Cavil every time she complains that she's thirsty.

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anthropwashere · 3 years

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our indestructible days ch 2

ch 1

Heads up for bodily trauma, but like... why else do you read anything I put out, deadfic or otherwise

Sig's been in over his head since the beginning. He's just a butcher when it comes down to it; a man content with his lot before all this madness came and threatened all of it. Izumi now, she's the one meant for greatness, for fighting monsters, for saving the world. It's a wonder every day that someone as incredible as her loves him.

Izumi. God, he hopes she makes it through this. It's starting to look like he won't.

It's just four of them left now. The General, the Ishvalan, the chimera, and him. Scar and Jerso are too injured to stand, let alone fight, and Armstrong's only on her feet out of sheer stubbornness. He's the least hurt of all of them, but what can he do against this monster? Even if he could get close he doesn't think he could bring himself to lay a hand on it, considering....

This thing, this homunculus, has taken control of Ed somehow. It's wearing him like an ill-fitting coat. Ed's automail seems to be giving it some trouble; the arm dangles like an afterthought, the leg drags when he tries to walk. Maybe that's why Ed—Ed's body—hasn't moved far from the hole in the floor. Not that it needs to, with the range these shadow-mouths have. It could have killed them all in seconds, but it's been toying with them so far. It's picked off the armed soldiers like they were ants to be crushed idly underfoot, laughing with Ed's laugh. Now it's finished with them and turned Ed's eyes on the last of them.

Even if there weren't long teeth and slitted eyes wrapped up in the shadows at its feet, Sig would know at once Ed's not the one in control anymore. That cold smirk, his narrowed eyes, the way he licks his lips whenever those shadows score a hit. Is Ed even in there still? Hopefully not. Hopefully Ed is gone, dead or buried too deep to see what' s happened. He's a good kid. He doesn't need to see this.

Sig doesn't understand how this—whatever this is—happened. He's in over his head. Izumi would know what to do, but she's not here. They're on their own.

Armstrong curses. Sig risks a glance at her. She's got her uninjured hand to a new stain at her side. He has no idea when that happened. "Guns are useless," she snarls. "We've got nothing! Unarmed, wounded, and he's just standing there with that smug look on that brat's face!"

"He's toying with us," Scar rasps, wiping blood from his face with a shaking hand.

"Of course he's toying with," she retorts. "That arrogant creature was named well."

Behind them Jerso manages a breath of wheezy laughter. "Never—hh—thought it'd be—hggkh—be like this, when I went."

Sig grimaces. He's never liked that fatalistic talk, heard too much of it from Izumi in those first couple of years after she'd tried to bring their baby back. He opens his mouth to try and offer some small kindness before the end—he hates that kind of talk, but he knows what the end of the line looks like—but he's interrupted by an inhaled shriek. He looks sharply at the homunculus in time to see the shadows writhe like the legs of an overturned beetle, its many eyes lolling and many mouths contorting. Ed's body claps both hands over its mouth as it—he?—staggers. "Nngh—n-no. No! What the hell did you do?!"

Armstrong leans forward, eyes wide. "Is that—? Fullmetal!"

Ed, it has to be Ed—twitches badly at the sharp ring of her voice off the concrete. His eyes bulge over his hands as he looks at them, hunched as if he's in pain. The shadows at his feet ripple like disturbed water. "I-I—no, don't—hhgkh—"

"Don't let him grab hold of you!" Armstrong barks, but makes that awful strangled shriek again and the shadows flare and writhe in a new pattern, gouging concrete and metal alike. Ed's face contorts into something like cold fury, hands falling to his sides. "How dare you?!" He—the homunculus—demands. "Your body is mine! Your soul is forfeit! Return to my Stone before I—ah!"

Eyes and teeth lash, shrinking back from Sig and the others. "Get—out," Ed gasps. "Get—out—of me. I don't—nngh!"

"Be silent, human!"

"I—won't let you—hurt anyone el—aghh!"

"What can you do to stop me?!"

Back and forth, shadows spasming, eyes and teeth winking in and out of existence. Ed's hanging on by a fraying thread, and there's nothing Sig can do to help him. He can't get any closer, not with the way those shadows so erratic. He's a bystander. He can only watch and hope Ed comes out on top. "Come on, Ed!" He calls out, feeling foolish, but it seems to help even if only a little. Ed's hands crawl up and squeeze his skull, clinging even when it's clearly Pride doing the shouting.

"Keep you—here—won't let you hurt them—"

"Please, you can hardly stomach your own body now—"

"—s-shut up—"

"Do—ah! Do my abilities disagree with you, Edwa—"

"I said shut up!"

Ed claps and presses both hands to his chest. Red alchemical light splashes across his body, scattering the shadows to scraps and dust. Pride steals his body back in time to be the one to scream.

"Aaugh! What do you think you're doing?!"

Ed sways, laughing weakly. "I. I'll burn you out, Pride. From the in-inside out. If I have to."

"No!" Pride's flat eyes fall on Sig and the others. "I'll kill them!"

"Hahaha! You were already gonna do that! Find a new threat!" Ed claps his hands again, but Pride wrestles back in control before he can do whatever alchemical attack he did before. The red light arcs like a lightning strike from his outflung hands. Deep cracks fracture the ceiling where it strikes. Pipes burst, spitting steam and an oily fluid. One of them screams again; it's impossible to tell who.

Armstrong curses again. "They're going to bring this whole floor down on us if we don't do something! Scar, you're the only alchemist here—do something!"

Scar clears his throat, eyes never leaving Ed. "I don't have the strength to fight either of them."

"A door then," Sig suggests. "Can you make us an exit?"

Scar's eyes flicker to him in surprise, then back to Ed. "You'd leave the boy behind?"

Sig exhales, suddenly exhausted. If they survive this Izumi's going to kill him. "We're in no position to fight something like that. Ed's strong. He'll beat that thing, or he'll drag the fight out long enough for the others to help him finish it off."

Jerso coughs wetly, struggling to sit up. "You can't—Elric, he needs help—"

But Scar shifts in Sig's grip. "You're certain."

"It's the only option," he replies. "We'll just get in the way. If Ed were to hurt any of us by accident he'd never forgive himself."

"Then—"

"You're just a human!" Pride shrieks, a dozen mouths distorting Ed's hoarse voice. "You're weak! What's grounding you here?!"

Teeth scythe dangerously close, carving out a deep half-moon shape in the wall not a foot from Armstrong's head. She doesn't so much as flinch, baring her own teeth at one baleful red eye glaring down at them.

"I don't retreat from the battlefield," she bites out. "And I'm not the sort who would leave a child to fight in my stead!"

Red light lances across the ground, leaps up the wall behind them, and transmutes a roughshod door in the blink of an eye. "Get out of here," Ed snaps out. Around him shadows blister and burst, teeth nearly as long as he's tall fencing him in. "This isn't your fight, General! Go!"

"Ed," Jerso calls out, but Ed reels back, choking. His automail arm falls limp as his face twists. Pride staggers forward, shadows clawing toward them.

"The General is more than welcome to try and cut me down," he sneers. "If she's as skilled as they say, she'll only succeed in killing you faster—"

"Shut up," Ed cuts in, automail hand springing to life to cover his eyes. "Shut up, get out, get out of here, get fucking out—"

"Come on," Sig mutters, lugging Scar towards the door. "General, can you help—"

"DAMN this dead weight!" Pride rages. "You've lost. Now give me control!"

Sig looks over his shoulder to see Pride lunging after them, but his left leg—Ed's automail leg—remains stubbornly fixed. His many eyes swivel back to glare at Ed's body. "Let GO, Fullmetal!"

"Not on your life!"

"We need to leave," Scar rasps. "Now."

"That's—my leg," Ed grinds out, and for the first time he sounds like himself again. None of the shadow mouths echo him, twisting his words. It's just a teenager's voice, worn out and ragged, but human. "That's mine. It was made for me, and you can't have it!"

"Ed," Sig calls out, hoping—

—but it's Pride who meets his eyes.

"Is that so?" The homunculus asks, all his outrage suddenly, terribly absent. And without warning a mouth jumps from the floor to bite cleanly through Ed's left thigh.

Sig bellows, barely hearing Armstrong and Jerso shouting too over the sound of Ed's punctured scream. The automail clatters to the floor, a ring of severed muscle glimpsed before shadows swallow it. Ed unbalances. There's a horrible sound, flat and wet, as Ed's new stump strikes the concrete. He stiffens like he's grabbed a livewire, another horrible gasp feathered between his teeth, before his eyes roll back in his head. He collapses, and as if a switch has been flipped the shadows vanish completely.

Silence perches, all of them too stunned to move. Unconscious, Sig thinks desperately. Ed's unconscious. Not dead yet. He's not bleeding that fast. If he's quick he might have time to stop the bleeding before the shadows come back. He makes to move but Scar digs in his heels with a growl.

"We need to leave," he repeats.

"He's going to die."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Armstrong says bitterly. She's barely spoken before red light sears across the wound. Sig, for all that he's already seen this trick before, finds himself struck mute with astonishment as he watches bone and muscle and skin knit themselves together out of nothing. A thigh, a knee, shin and calf, ankle and foot, five splayed toes. A leg, whole and hale, spun from nothing but light in a matter of seconds.

The shadow beneath Ed's prone body turns ink-dark, sprouting narrowed eyes and a thin grimace. Ed's body sits up a moment later, shaking his fraying braid out of the way. "Well," Pride says, sounding bored. "That seems to have quieted him for now." He leans back on Ed's hands and lifts the new leg to inspect it. The eyes of his shadows remain fixed on the four of them.

"Fuck," Jerso spits out weakly, hissing as Armstrong hauls him to his feet. "Y-you're a monster. You coulda killed him."

Pride laughs with Ed's voice, none of his other mouths joining in. It's somehow worse, to hear Ed's voice pitched wrong on its own. Too high, too malicious. "Edward Elric's immortal now," he says as he stands up, brushing himself off. "So long as I'm in his body, anyway. Now, where were we—"

Rumbling from above cuts him off, sudden and severe enough to make all of them nearly lose their footing. The sunlight above turns a stark crimson, brighter, and brighter, and blinding—

Sig falls back to the door, Scar scrabbling for the push handle. He hears the others shouting, and Pride screaming with Ed's voice as if the light alone hurts him—

They make a break for it, limping down some new unlit hall as the rumbling slowly fades. The homunculus doesn't follow them. In over his head, he thinks again, ignoring the wet heat running down his arm, Scar's wet gasps in his ear. Armstrong and Jerso aren't far behind, their footsteps heavy. In over his head. They just have to get out of here. Izumi will know what to do. She went up there. She was up there when that light went off. Let her live. Let her make it out of this alive.

She'll know what to do about Ed.

#fma #fmab #fullmetal alchemist #gore #my writing

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yoongi-sugaglider · 4 years

Text

Forget Me Nots

A wealthy young man falls overboard while vacationing with friends only to find himself with amnesia and a pretty young wife who seems determined to remind him what hard work and dedication really mean.

Warnings: Strong language, angry Min Yoongi inaccurately portrayed based upon the writer’s imagination,angst, eventual super fluff.

Pairing: Eventual Min Yoongi x reader

Word count: 2911

A/n: So this one came out a bit longer than normal hehe. But like, it’s time yall. To wrap this bad boy up and say goodnight to this series. The next chapter with be the epilogue!~ It’s been a real pleasure writing even thoguh I had some very serious writer’s block going in. But it’s just gotten so much love and that alone made me want to come back and write it. Y/n and Yoongi have had quite the journey yeah? Anyway! Hope yall enjoy!

<<Chapter Nine---Epilogue>>

She glanced up, eyes widening at the zombie like figure that stumbled from the employee exit of Rose’s restaurant. She’d set out from home at the end of his shift, knowing he wouldn’t want to take public transit to get home but fully not expecting the sight that shuffled towards her now. His once navy work shirt was now stained and darkened from all manner of food stuff and his once minty fluff of hair was plastered half haphazardly to his forehead.

Shaking herself out of her stupor she moved to get out of the car but stopped when Yoongi yanked open the passenger door with the last of his strength and toppled into the seat with all the grace of a limp mannequin.

“Sh...are….are you okay?” She stared down at the soggy pile of rags, startling when a single eye stared up at her through his sweat stiffened bangs and mumbled a single word.

“Home.”

“Right…” Shifting in her seat she turned the key in the ignition, waiting patiently for Yoongi to close the door and put on his seatbelt before pulling out of the parking lot and into the busy evening traffic.

The atmosphere in the small vehicle was strained. Though she was pretty sure that it was mostly just her. That single exhausted stare had reminded her far too much of the first moment they’d spent together.

The anger and disgust he’d displayed when speaking to her was such a contrast to the sweet man that’s made dinner for her and asked about her day. Frankly she was terrified that despite the bonding they’d managed everything would go out the window the moment she said the wrong thing.

She glanced over at the young man curled up in the seat beside her when traffic paused at a red light. He’d tucked his legs beneath him somehow, head resting against the glass of the window as he stared out at the hustle and bustle of the street outside.

Their gazes met for the briefest of moments in the reflection of the window but she quickly averted her eyes and refocused her attention on the red light.

They still hadn’t spoken by the time she pulled into the driveway, each lost in their own quagmire of thoughts and emotions as she unlocked the front door. Luckily she’d let the dogs out into the backyard before she’d left so they weren't there to greet them when they walked inside.

She stepped to the side as Yoongi brushed past her at the door. He only paused long enough to kick his shoes off before making a beeline straight for the hallway leading back to their bedroom, presumably with the intent of taking a long and much needed hot shower.

Her fist curled around her keys as she stood in the entryway for a moment longer rationalizing his silence. Rose has promised the shift was going to be an easy one, though nothing was ever easy in the restaurant industry, or predictable for that matter.

With a sigh she kicked off her own shoes, making her way into the kitchen and tossing her keys on the counter as she busied herself with the motions of making dinner. There was no point in dwelling on it now. What was done was done and she’d just have to deal with the fallout when it came. And hopefully it wouldn’t be nearly as bad as she was expecting it to be.

***

They still hadn’t spoken by the time dinner had been made and consumed and the dishes had been washed and put away. The living room was silent as they sat tucked into their respective corners of the couch. She scrolled through social media on her phone, eyes glancing over to his partially snoozing form every now and again to check on him.

The frown between his eyebrows had eased up slightly, though the tension in his shoulders was a long way from easing up. She couldn’t help but to sigh. Every cell in her being was screaming for her to speak. Ask if he was okay, ask how his day went or if he regretted any of it.

Before she could say anything though her thoughts were interrupted by a whine from one of the dogs laying at their feet, followed by a massive crashing boom that rumbled through the tiny house and rattled some of the dishes in the cabinets.

Yoongi jolted awake at the sound, wild eyes seeking out her frantic form as she bolted down from the couch to grab a hold of Champ’s harness. The three legged dog was in a full panic, struggling so harshly against the harness that had he been in a collar he’d have surely choked himself to death.

“Shh baby. I’m here.” her soothing tones seemed to calm the dog for a moment but another resounding thunderclap shook the house, followed by the roaring hammer of raindrops on the roof. The cacophony of sound sent the dog into such a frenzy he was climbing into his owner’s lap in a desperate attempt to shield himself from the sudden onslaught of sound.

Yoongi stared on in confusion, unsure on how to help and yet reaching out an unsteady hand just in case there was something he could do.

“Hey…” His fingertips brushed against her shoulder and her head whipped around, eyes filled with panic. He held his hands up in surrender until the panic faded slightly from her eyes. “Is there...is there anything I can do to help?”

After a calming breath she nodded, shooting him a hesitant smile over the trembling mass of fur in her arms. “In the laundry room is a kennel. It’s folded flat beside the washing machine under a pile of blankets. Could you bring it and the blankets here?”

Yoongi nodded, jumping to his feet and making his way down the hall to the laundry room. It took him only a moment to find the kennel in question, a massive metal monstrosity folded flat and leaning against the wall with a large pile of blankets on top. Carefully he lugged it to the living room, wincing at the scraping sound when he almost lost the blankets tucked under his arm and the kennel dragged slightly on the hallway floor.

“Where do you want it?” He huffed, leaning it against the arm of the sofa as he waited for further instruction.

After pointing out a spot for it she began giving him instructions on how to set it up, telling him in quiet tones to pull Kaia’s bed into the huge expanse. The second the bed was in place Champ was scrambling from her lap, shoving past Yoongi to curl up in the bed. He tucked his snoot beneath his tail, eyes shut tight with the tiniest of whimpers as Kaia climbed in calmly after him.

Thunder rumbled through the room, causing the two humans to flinch and yet in the safety of the kennel Champ was quiet.

“Just toss the blankets over the top. But keep the door open, that way they can come out once the storm is over.” Y/n sighed, bracing herself on the side of the sofa as she stood and nodded in approval when Yoongi created the perfect dark cave for the two pups to cuddle within.

“Huh...that actually worked.” Yoongi wondered aloud as he made a few final adjustments to the blankets before returning to his corner of the sofa.

She nodded, joining Yoongi in tucking herself in and shooting him a tired smile. “I think it’s an instinct thing. Wolves usually hide out in caves during storms. Or at least I think they do. Some call to their ancestors or something like that. Either way Champie boy’s terrified of storms and this is the only way he stays calm.”

“Ah...that explains why your friend Rose called him Thunderchicken at work today when she asked about him.”

She snorted,a soft smile curling her lips as she stared lovingly down at the kennel. “He’ll protect me from every dark shadow and passing car at the drop of a hat, but come rainy season he’s nowhere to be fun.”

Yoongi couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought, reminded of the few moments he’d spent alone with the dogs and the shepherd had gone charging at the windows anytime a car honked or a person walked by. “We all have our weaknesses. Man and beast alike.”

She tilted her head,nose crinkled as she grinned in his direction. “Oh? And what’s your weakness oh great Man Beast?”

His laugh came out almost as a bark, catching her off guard and sending her into a tizzy of giggles that had him grinning from ear to ear.

“Honestly? A good strong cup of coffee and a nap. Nothing gets me weaker than a good long nap.” At that he yawned, though it was quickly interrupted by a flicker of the lights.

“Oh...well…” Y/n began to speak but the moment the power went out and the house went dark she yelped, launching herself across the sofa and right into Yoongi’s surprised grasp.

He sat, motionless, afraid to startle the trembling form in his grasp any further. She sniffed, clutching his clothes desperately as another rumble shook the house.

“Looks like Champ’s not the only thunderchicken huh?” Yoongi mumbled, clutching her closer as she struggled in his grip and smacked him weakly on the chest. He chuckled, fingers carding through her hair as she eased up in her struggles and collapsed back into him.

“Stupid…” She mumbled, face radiating heat that she prayed didn’t transfer through his shirt and into his skin to alert him to the effect his proximity was having on her.

They continued on like this for the rest of the night. Even when her breath had slowed to an even rhythm and her body had relaxed fully into his he refused to move. His heart pounded against his ribs though his mind refused to admit the effect she was having on him. Eventually though it slowed, along with his breathing as well. As the final distant rumbles sounded in the far off distance the house was still, and all its occupants slept.

*** The next day dawned bright and clear. Yoongi groan, stretching long and hard in his place on the sofa, eyes blurrily trying to take in his surroundings. His nostrils twitched, catching the scent of heavy wafting towards him and dragging him from the remaining depths of his sleep deprived mind.

He rolled to his side, eyes greeted with the sight of a glorious steaming cup of black coffee. He grinned, bouncing himself into a sitting position as his long fingers curled around the mug and pulled it in to allow the steam to cascade over his face. He spotted a sticky note that’d been held in place on the table by the mug, grin spreading from ear to ear as he read his wife’s beautiful flowing handwriting.

“Went to the grocery store to grab some stuff for breakfast.

I could tell your day at work yesterday was tough so I let you sleep in.

Hope that’s okay

~y/n”

Champ hobbled over, pulling a grin from the man as he reached out a free hand to scratch absentmindedly at the pup’s head and ears. “Hi there buddy, feeling a little better after last night I see.”

The dog titled his head, goofy shepherd grin on his face as he sat at Yoongi’s feet and leaned in for more scratches. Their bonding though was interrupted by a knock at the door and a sharp bark from Champ who bolted towards the door, barking his head off as his tail wagged a mile a minute.

“Alright boy, easy. I’m coming, I'm coming.” Yoongi grunted as he shoved himself to his feet, regretfully leaving his cup behind as he moved Champ out of the way and eased the front door open.

“Excuse me Sir. I don’t mean to disturb you.”

Yoongi shook his head, a hesitant smile forming at the police officer’s apologetic gaze.

“No officer, it’s alright. But is there anything I can help you with?”

“Ah yes, I was assigned to the assault case of one y/l /ln. We were investigating the crime scene when we came across this phone. Once the case was closed we tried to get in touch with her to return the phone but haven’t had the ability to reach her.” The officer rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he held out the phone in question.

“I figured I’d try at her home but, it seems like since you’re home so I’ll just be able to give it to you.” He smiled kindly as Yoongi took the phone in hand.

“Thank you officer. I really appreciate it.”

After saying their goodbyes Yoongi shut the door and made his way to the sofa in the living room. His fingers curled around the familiar object, unsure why its weight felt so strangely right in his hands.

His fingers swiped across the dark screen, eyes going wide at the amount of missed calls and messages that scrolled across the screen.

47 missed calls, as many missed text messages and 4,762 missed emails. His eyes widened as he scrolled through the messages, names registered under the missed calls that at once felt familiar and strange when he uttered them out loud.

Tapping on one of the voicemails he inhaled sharply as twin voices boomed out of the phone’s speakers.

“Hyung!”

“Shut up Tae I got this!”

“Hurry Jiminie!”

“Yoongi hyung! It’s Jimin! We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days!”

“Hyung we miss you!”

“Tae come ooonnnn!”

“Sorry oppaaaa.”

A groan sounded through the speakers and the voice started up again. “I know you weren’t looking forward to the trip but you really should have come. It’s honestly been the most relaxing thing we’ve done together.”

“Oh yeah! Namjoon hyung tracked down the lady that you threw overboard!”

“Aish Tae don’t say it like that!”

“Namjoon hyung! What was the lady’s name?”

A third voice grunted out, though further back than the other two had been.

“Her name? I mean I didn’t really track her down, she works for the company we rented the ship from. But...her name is y/n.”

A high pitched screaming began in his ears as he looked up at the named woman that’d walked through the door at that very moment.

“Yoongi?” Her arms were laden with bags from the grocery store. She pushed past the dogs, giving him a hesitant smile that quickly faded at the look of rage on Yoongi’s face.

“When..were you going to tell me?”

“I’m sorry?” Placing the bags in her hands on the sofa she took a step towards him, though he jumped up from the sofa and backed away a step as he glared at her in sheer and utter disgust.

“I remember. Everything. When...when in the fuck were you going to tell me??”

"Yoongi please, let me explain.." She reached out as if to touch him but he quickly jerked his arm away.

Stumbling backward he blindly moved towards the kitchen, rage and confusion filling him as he tried desperately to make sense of what he'd learned.

"You lied to me. Day in and day out, you fucking lied. About who I am and what our relationship is." He growled, the high pitched whine beginning to sound even louder in his ears as he braced himself against the counter.

A throbbing began to form between his eyes and he growled again as he sensed her presence behind him.

"Yoongi please, I didn't want this to happen. I swear I didn't want to lie. About you...about us...any of this."

She reached for him again but he turned quickly to glare her down.

"You didn't WANT to lie!?! How's about telling the fucking doctors you weren't my wife? How about admitting to me that I'm some...fucking idol or some shit?" He shook his head, trying desperately to clear the spots from his eyes so he could focus on the betrayal that was her desperate gaze.

" I know, and you're right. At any point in time I could have stopped this. But you were in such a delicate state. The doctors were afraid the damage to your memory was permanent! That it would only get worse over time! And I just...I wanted to take care of you. I needed to. To thank you."

"To fucking thank me?? For what? And fucking how?? Again, you fucking lied to me. You let me believe I was some...some stay at home worthless piece of shit of a dish washing husband. You...fucking Christ woman you let me fall in love with you…"

He shook his head again, willing the words to continue to spew forth, hoping the anger would keep him on his feet. And yet, the buzzing in his head continued to grow. The black spots became clouds that grew to surround the edges of his sight. And once again he was falling.

Once again his vision was fading to a single pinpoint. Her face. The worry and regret and fear in her eyes.

The tiny forget me not earrings nestled snugly in her ear lobes.

At first there was only sound. And then….nothing.

#bts boulangerie #yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #bt min yoongi #bangtan suga #suga amnesia #yoongi amnesia au #bts yoongi amnesia au #yoongi imagine #bt angst #bts fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #bts x reader insert #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #my writing

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rallis-fatalis · 3 years

Text

Home is Where the Spirit is

Across a river, in the depths of ancient magic, or even in her very dreams, Rallis had a knack of making friends in the most unusual places. That trend seems to continue as her journey brings her to the wizarding town of Yanille, where she uncovers a whole new world of wonders, and quite literally at that. Friends will be made, relationships will be mended, and many cats will be pet as Rallis finds a family and a home that she can truly call her own.

The sun broke through the shady covering of the treetop overhead, dappling Rallis the sleeping blue dragon underneath with dollops of gold. A beam of light peeked through the gaps in the leaves and shone right on her closed eyes, making her groan annoyedly. She covered her face and rolled over, only for the grass beneath her to tickle her nose. She sneezed and whined as she finally sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with a yawn. It was very bright and sunny out for having just woken up. Perhaps it was noon or soon to be. Rallis pulled a pilfered banana out of one of her pack pockets and enjoyed her sweet breakfast as she listened to the birds above her and flicked her tail in the sun. It had been quite some time since Rallis left Varrock to go on her own adventure by herself. For exactly how long she wasn't certain, she never was good at getting a feel for and remembering the passing of time of any kind, but the full moon had come at least twice. So maybe two months? She couldn't be bothered to remember. In that time, though, she had certainly caused some trouble, and right now she found herself having to hide from an entire city because of it. Not long ago Rallis had helped a native of Karamja steal something of his back from a spoiled rich man in Ardougne and she may have stolen something for herself as well, something that was as of right now very poorly hidden in her pack. When she returned to Ardougne after her successful mission, the city was on high alert. People were interrogated and searched, some even jailed, all because that spoiled brat didn't like that his stolen goods had been taken back. She could feel some of the knights of the city wanted to question her, likely due to her obviously different appearance, so she ran off before she could be considered suspect. She ran south, exploring Yanille, petting larupias, enjoying the hot tubs of Corsair, and just having fun seeing all the new things the world had to offer. Rallis finished her banana and left the peel for the nearby gopher to feast upon. She was currently hanging around a short ways north of Yanille, keeping an eye on the people who came and went, looking to see if any of them might be knights, and keeping an ear trained on news from the north. She wanted to continue exploring but she couldn't get past Ardougne until things calmed down. How obnoxious. Rallis flopped against her overly stuffed pack with a huff. The thing had been nearly empty when she started her adventure and now it was bursting at the seams with goodies she found. And she was starting to get tired of all the nasty bugs trying to raid her pouches for her fruit while she snoozed outside. She wished she had a place to store her stuff where no one could find it. Or a nice place to stay, like her old cave with her family or her rooms back in Taverley and Varrock. Traveling was nice, but having a place to call her own was nicer. She threw her pack on and brushed the grass off her clothes and made her way back to Yanille. There had to be something to do to pass the days until Ardougne calmed down. Everywhere she went, Rallis was greeted by harsh glares and mistreatment due to her unusual appearance, until people came to learn she wasn't going to burn down their town, that is. Yanille was no different, but the people here seemed to be even more on edge with her. They whispered things about her being a spy for the ogre shamans or things of the like and she was thoroughly interrogated upon entry into the city. When they realized she didn't even know what an "oh-grr" was, most left her alone, but there were still a few guardsmen and mages that gave her a nasty stink eye when she passed through the gates once more. She ignored them and walked through the town to see if anyone needed any help. She couldn't quite put a finger on it, but there was something about Yanille Rallis loved far more than any other town she had been to thus far. Perhaps it was how magical the place was. Perhaps it was how secluded from other cities it was. Perhaps it was how wild and natural most of the lands around it were. Or perhaps it was something she just couldn't identify. Either way, Rallis knew she liked the place and she was starting to grow almost happy her illegal shenanigans in Ardougne had forced her here. As she walked through town looking for something to do, a black cat came up to her. He sat down in front of her and stared expectantly. "Hello pretty kitty!" Rallis chirped. She knelt down and held a hand out. The cat sniffed her claws and rubbed his face against them with a purr. Rallis purred back in kind which only seemed to make the cat happier. "You're so cute and friendly, kitty cat! Where did you come from?" The cat said nothing and continued to rub his face against her hand. Rallis scratched his head with her other hand and the cat flopped on the ground. She scratched his chin with one hand and his belly with the other. He closed his eyes with a purr and enjoyed the warm stone beneath him as he was pet and scratched. "You're so friendly for a stray I've never met. And you're so silky and soft too. Someone must look after you. Did you get lost?" The cat continued to lay down and purr as she pet him, without a single care in the world. Suddenly, a scream and small explosion shook the quiet. The cat jumped up with a start and ran off as a burst of smoke puffed out of a now shattered glass window of the Wizard's Guild. Rallis could see the other windows quickly being thrown open by the wizards as they coughed and shooed the smoke out. It didn't seem like a dangerous affair but she figured she would check to see if everyone was alright anyway. Rallis turned to say goodbye to the cat but he was already long gone. She ran toward the guild with a frown. Hopefully she would find the kitty again later so she could continue petting it. Three wizards were lugging the charred remains of a table out of the guild. The poor table had been mostly reduced to ash and smoke and it reeked of chemicals. Zavistic, the guild leader, oversaw the train of wizards carting out burnt supplies with a sigh and a shake of his head. Rallis wrinkled her nose and bounced over. "What happened?" Rallis asked. "Blow up a death rune?" "Hello again, dragon. No, nothing like that. Some fool simply mislabeled some of the chemicals upstairs and someone else set fire to the lab tables upon mixing them. Everything is fine, save the poor tables." Someone came with a half burnt chair and tossed it outside. Rallis choked. "It's so stinky! At least you're all fine though. Need some help?" "Thank you but I think we'll be fine. Everything is almost cleared out and the fires weren't big by any means. T'was simply a small accident. Though I suppose we will be doing work on the floor for the next week or so." Another table, half burnt away, was tossed onto the pile of ruined furniture. Someone called 'that's it' from above. "'That's it,'" Zavistic snorted. "That's most of the things we had! What a day." Rallis took a look at the discarded wood. Not all of it was beyond repair. Some pieces were salvageable. "I can fix you a couple things if you want," she offered. "I'm good at building stuff." The guild leader was surprised. "Oh really? You're an incredible mage, a skilled botanist, and a builder now? Aren't you the accomplished monster." "Uncle Cake said I am a 'dragon of many talents!' If you have tools, I can make tables." "I'm sure I can find something." After some searching for a hammer and other things the wizards thought might be useful, Rallis got to work. It was incredible watching the dragon cut through the wood scraps with such speed and accuracy. Sometimes she didn't even need the saw they found for her, claws working just as well. While some wizards went back to work, others watched as they pretended to study. Zavisitic was impressed. Rallis was already getting to work on making the scraps into a table. "Where did you learn to build so quickly? I've never seen a beast build a table out of scraps in minutes!" "Falador," Rallis answered as she measured. "I was just as fast there too. I've always been good at building things for as long as I can't remember." "You mean can?" Zavistic corrected. "No." The wizard scowled. What a weird creature this visitor to Yanille was. As he was about to go off to continue his own work, a black cat strolled up to Rallis and sat down next to her. The dragon in turn chirped happily and pet the cat as it contently purred at her side. "Is that your cat?" Zavistic asked. Rallis shook her head. "Nope! I bumped into him on my way into town today. Isn't he adorable? He's so cuddly!" "But... it's a black cat," he said. "That's a witch's cat. Ominous if you ask me." "Black fur is no different from any other color. He's a sweet little thing who's keeping me company." The wizard grumbled. "Well when you start getting bad luck don't come whining to me." He left Rallis to her work. Rallis spent the next hour or so fixing and carving a set of tables for the wizards, stopping to pet her new feline friend as she worked. Perhaps she would have to find his owner and return him when she was done. Though she did enjoy his company, she had to admit. She almost wanted to keep him as a traveling buddy. As Rallis was testing the stability of the second table, the cat jumped to attention and hissed toward to eastern entrance of town. She tried to see what he was so upset about. "What's wrong kitty cat?" The sound of clinking armor grew closer as a group of Ardougne knights strode through the entrance. The cat hissed and ran off and Rallis paled. The head of the Yanillian guard went to meet them. Rallis braved getting close enough to listen while remaining hidden behind some bushes. "...to believe the culprit is a mage. The mansion they robbed could have only been broken into with the use of powerful dispelling magic. Have you seen any suspicious characters that might be our suspect?" Rallis whined. So they were here looking for her. She had to get out of here fast. Carefully, Rallis made her way closer to the western entrance to town. She squawked in dismay at the group of knights stationed there as well. They had blocked both the exits. She could try climbing the walls, she figured, or maybe try to squeeze through the hole that led under them. The former would grab their attention though and the latter let out right next to one of the guard barracks. What was she going to do? Something soft padded her leg. The black cat was back and it had something in its mouth. He gently placed it on the floor and meowed. Rallis picked it up and gave it a look over. "This is a magic tablet. I've never seen one with this design though. Kitty cat, did you steal this from the wizards?" The cat ignored her question and began to walk away. When he realized his friend wasn't following, he meowed and motioned to her with his tail. Keeping low, Rallis followed the cat to the western part of town. The cat led her dangerously close to the knights standing guard by the western entrance. They were chatting with the local guard and telling them to keep an eye out for suspicious activity. A dragon hiding in some bushes trying to follow a weird cat could definitely be considered suspicious activity. The cat bounded right out into the open and hopped onto an odd circular stone sculpture Rallis had passed by on her first trip into town. She had no idea what it could be, but it was certainly out of place and held some faint kind of magic. The cat curled onto the sculpture's steps and looked at the stone ring that stood behind him with a meow. The guards were confused at the weird cat but ultimately decided it wasn't worth their time. It was just a cat after all. They went back to the knights by the entrance and Rallis edged closer to the stone sculpture. She slithered quickly behind it and laid flat on the ground, hiding as best she could behind the raised almost stair-like base of the sculpture. "What now?" she whispered to the cat. The cat slammed his paws on the sculpture where he stood, then walked toward the edge of the stone ring and vanished. Rallis' ears shot up in surprise. "Where did you go, kitty?!" Some of the knights were heading her way from the eastern entrance, meticulously taking in every detail of the town. There was no way they wouldn't see her. Rallis hissed and flattened herself more, gripping the tablet worriedly. 'What am I supposed to do?!' The tablet burned in her hand for a moment. '...Break it here? But I don't even know what it does.' The knights were getting closer. She didn't have any other options. She slammed the stone as hard as she could against the base of the sculpture. As the tablet turned to dust in her hand, the ring of the sculpture crackled into a shower of purple sparks. The knights and the guards ran over at the commotion. Rallis whined and hunkered lower as they drew closer. They would spot her any moment! Something grabbed her roughly by her pack and yanked her through the sputtering magic before it fizzled into nothingness, leaving everyone left behind to their confusion. _________________________________________________ "Really? This is what you had me waste my power on?" An excited meow. "It looks weird. Smells weird too. I can't believe you had me rescue this thing." Rallis jumped up from the noise with a gasp and immediately wished she hadn't. She felt sick and the view around her was disorienting with how suddenly different from Yanille it was. She fell back to the ground and smacked her head on something metal. She clutched her head with a whine and glared at whatever she hit. It was a metal ring, similar in size and structure to the stone ring of the statue in Yanille, only this one was made of intricately woven rusted bronze in the shape of vines. Something poked Rallis' leg and she turned around with a start. A creature was looking down at her, some kind of weird bipedal cat that stood only a couple inches taller than her. It had pale dusty brown fur and rows of menacing black spines running over its body. It almost looked like if you forced a larupia to stand upright. It scowled at the dragon with its empty white eyes. "What are you? And what's your name?" the creature asked. "R-Rallis. My name is Rallis. And I'm a dragon." She was surprised the beast spoke to her in Common and it just added to her confusion. She looked around slowly, taking in her surroundings. She was sitting in a grassy clearing surrounded by huge thick trees. Flowers of various colors sprouted throughout the clearing, little splotches of color to break the monotony of green. Two old crumbling stone statues of dragons stood proudly overhead. "A dragon?" the cat creature before her snorted. "I guess if you want to be. Not like any dragon I've seen though." They addressed a figure next to Rallis again. "What did you do to get caught up with a beast like this?" A happy meow answered back. Rallis turned to find the same black cat from earlier sitting by her side. "Kitty!" She began to scratch the cat under its chin and he purred loudly, rubbing his face against her. "Well I'll be..." the creature said. "Sissel really does like you." "So that's your name?" Rallis cooed. "Sissel. What a nice name. A nice name for a nice kitty. Is he yours?" "Is he my what?" the creature growled. A row of black spines bristled on the back of its neck. "Your friend? He didn't seem like a stray, he's too well fed. You must take good care of him, he's so silky and such a sweetheart." The creature calmed itself, running a hand over its spines to flatten them. "Sorry, I thought you were going to ask if he was my pet." It spat the word out like poison. "Sissel is owned by no one, as are all cats, but I do take care of him." "So you are friends!" Rallis chirped. She pulled herself from the ground. "Hello friend of cats who is also a cat! What's your name?" "...Sen," they muttered. "Nice to meet you then, Sen! Thanks for saving me from those knights! I was about to be in a lot of trouble. Where am I now?" "Where I live," they answered. "It's a refuge for... lots of things. Sissel was watching you and thought you might have need of this place." "I did! Thanks for saving me, pretty kitty." Rallis picked up Sissel and carried him. "I know you said this is your home but where exactly is this? It almost doesn't feel... real. Like it's... how do I put this... not in the world?" Sen nodded. "That's because it's not." They pointed to the bronze portal frame behind Rallis. "Through there is your world of Gielinor. This place is its own small world, in its own pocket between worlds. It's a home for those who need one, and it's very difficult to access, making it safe and private. You'll find creatures from many worlds call this home." "That's so cool!" Rallis exclaimed, stars in her eyes. "Are you from another world then?!" Sen ignored the question and turned away. "The human that found this place built a castle on the highest point." They pointed to the mountaintop in the distance. A block of white and green sat on top. "You may stay there as long as you like until you have no more need of this place. I will be there too if you have need of me. Please don't have need of me." "Wait!" Rallis called after them as they sped away. "I don't know how to get up there! Please show me!" Sen growled as they quickly skirted through the forest and up the winding mountain path, ignoring Rallis' questions as they went. The dragon was pestering them with countless questions and they didn't feel like opening up to a total stranger. They soon reached the mountaintop, the house looming before them. Rallis finally shushed as she took in every detail of the vine covered dragon adorned entrance. "Here is the old human castle," Sen began. "You are free to stay as long as you like and in any room you like except mine. Top floor, claw marks on the door, can't miss it but please try to." "Thank you," Rallis said. "But please, before you go, I have so many questions! Like--!" Sen hissed the dragon into silence. "I know you have questions! I heard it the whole walk up here! I'm not answering them, I'm taking a nap. Ask Sissel your damn sea of questions." Rallis blinked at the cat in her arms. "I don't speak cat. I can't talk to him!" "You don't?! What kind of useless dragon...?" Sen angrily muttered to themself as they ripped out a spine from their shoulder. They crushed it into pieces in their hands, enchanted something unintelligible until the crushed bits started to glow, and finally threw the spell glowing in their hands at Rallis. Rallis flinched as the spell splashed in her face and faded. Sen grumbled and walked through the entrance to the massive house. "Another one wasted on a dragon that can't speak right. Congratulations! You can understand cat now! You're welcome!" They slammed the door behind them. Rallis blinked at Sissel in her arms. "So I can understand you now?" "You can," Sissel meowed. Rallis' eyes went so wide they nearly popped out of her head. "I CAN UNDERSTAND CATS!!! This is amazing! I have so many questions, pretty kitty! But first, how are you? Thank you for helping me! Are you doing okay? Do you need anything? Oh my god I can't believe I can understand cats!" She very excitedly ran into the house with Sissel as he gave a tour of the place. The interior of the house was as overgrown with wildlife as the exterior. A rectangular garden filled with weeds and vines crawled up the supports of the rooms surrounding it. Some plant life even crawled its way into some of the rooms. Most of the furniture was smashed or rotted away from time and neglect. Despite the disarray, Rallis could surmise the place was built like a one-stop shop. Storerooms for herbs and seeds, a workshop to craft in, a now crumbling library, and more resided downstairs. Upstairs held traces of vaults meant to store valuables, rooms meant to access an incredible amount of magic that now lay inert, multiple bedrooms, and rooms Rallis couldn't even identify the use for. Sen's claw scuffed room was at the end of the hall. There was a staircase that led to what Rallis assumed was the roof but something was barring it shut from up top. Every way she turned held more secrets and she was growing more excited by the second. "This place is so cool!" she told Sissel. "Do only you and Sen live here?" "Yomiel and Eve do too. They are two other cats, friends of mine. We three stay by Sen's side and assist them in their work, which has unfortunately been at a standstill for many lives now." "What do they do?" "Search and rescue," the cat explained. "Like what I did with you. This place used to be the home of a human summoner that would help spirits and creatures in need, no matter what world they came from. Sen was one of those in need, and as thanks for being rescued they stayed here to help the summoner and became best friends. The human passed on eventually and Sen didn't take it well, and now they refuse to leave this place and continue their work. Now we three, Yomiel, Eve, and I, do most of the work while Sen grumpily sleeps the days away." Rallis felt bad for the poor old cat beast. "Anything I could do to make them feel better?" Sissel smiled. "That may or may not be one of the reasons I brought you here." "Aww, you didn't just want to help me out of the good in your heart?" The cat hissed in such a way it sounded like he was laughing. "I never said our rescue services were free!" Sissel led Rallis back downstairs and into a broken down room, far away from Sen's room. He whispered even still. "I would like you to help get my patron back on their feet. Give them some kind of motivation, or some spark of hope. Sen hasn't seen a reason to continue existing without their friend leading the way, and they're starting to fade out of existence because of it." "There's always a reason to keep going!" Rallis said adamantly. "How can I help?" Sissel motioned to the broken down room they were in. "I was hoping you could bring this place back to its former glory. I saw you work, you could easily rebuild this place. If Sen saw this place back to its old self, maybe they'll return to their old self too." "I can do that!" Rallis cheered. "I'm good at gardening and building! I'll do it! But I need things to build with, and help too." "We can assist you with that," Sissel purred. He slithered behind a post and vanished for a moment before returning from underneath a shattered chair with two other cats, one hellishly red and the other an unnatural purple. "Meet Yomiel and Eve," he introduced. Rallis squealed. "You're all so cute and pretty!" She held out her hand to give them a pet. Eve meowed and rubbed her face down Rallis' arm while Yomiel hissed defiantly. "Call me cute and pretty again, I dare you," the hellcat hissed. "Would you prefer handsome and cool?" Rallis cooed and held her hand out. Yomiel gave her a grumpy side eye and rubbed against her hand once. "Yes I would!" He strode over to Sissel's side and sat down with his tail around his friend. "What are we doing then? Better be good or else I'm going back to sleep." "We're going to help our new friend here fix up the place!" Sissel decreed. "Oh that sounds like fun!" Eve meowed. "How can we help?" "I think we should start with the garden first," Rallis said. "Let's dig up all the nasty weeds and make this place a bit less of a jungle." The three cats meowed in agreement and the four got to work.

The three cats were excellent at ripping up some of the smaller weeds of the garden. Rallis used her much bigger claws to rip out the sturdier shrubs. The upturned dirt poofed into the air with every weed pulled, and Rallis and Sissel couldn’t help but have a bit of a dirt war as they worked. They kept their laughter hushed so as not to alert Sen. Up above the garden, perched in the vine nests that formed the roof, curious quarking and chirping commentated the scene below. Odd green wyverns with rainbow feathered wings were watching every movement of Rallis and the cats with wide eyes. Rallis smiled and called them over to help. The green wyverns were more than happy to have something fun to do and stripped some of the overgrown ivy off the walls, clearing up some of the windows from the second floor for probably the first time in a century.

Other flying beasts saw the wyverns line their nests with the soft ivy and wanted some for their own nest. Rallis called the newcomers down to the garden and the creatures excitedly took away the pulled up weeds for themselves. Soon the entire garden was cleaned of any trace of weeds, a blank canvas ready for paint. Yomiel and Eve meowed proudly and Sissel vanished to find a plant to celebrate with as the first thing to grow in the new garden: catnip. Rallis helped him plant it and the three felines took a much needed break by it. She took a moment to smile at the work done so far. It was already a remarkable difference. The ground was actually traversable now and ready to become something beautiful, the walls shone pristine and white for the first time in ages, and the whole house felt more open and inviting. Once the rooms were cleared out and cleaned up, Rallis could definitely see how this place could be a rescue and rehoming base.

Rallis looked around for the next room to tackle. In cleaning the garden up, a large stony entrance appeared in the ground in the center. Sissel informed her that there was a forge and workshop down there, though it hadn’t been used since the summoner’s time. The dragon decided to take a look. The stony entrance descended into the cliff the house stood upon and branched into two paths once the light from above disappeared. To the left was the forge, a metal dragon’s head with its mouth open wide drooling over a large basin. Though there was nothing in the basin, it was obvious lava or heated metal poured out of the dragon’s mouth to heat up whatever one was working on. There were even bins in the basin that seemed to have once held molten glass, liquid gold, and other crafting materials. On the wall held by hooks were tools to work with, all surprisingly still in good condition. Unfortunately, the forge wasn’t active and it seemed only a fire-breather would be able to get it working again, something Rallis was not. She left it alone and went down the other path. Light broke the darkness as she continued to walk and she gasped once sunlight fully illuminated where she was standing.

The second path opened into a large stony cavern, reminiscent of her home back in Taverley Dungeon, though this one was much bigger. The sunlight illuminating the cave didn’t come from above like she was expecting, but rather from a huge hole in the side that broke the side of the cliff. Rallis leaned out the sunny entrance in awe. She was standing high above the world, the only thing above her the house held up by the peak of the cliff. Below her was a view straight out of a painting. The dense forest below thinned and disappeared in the near distance, framing a pure crystalline lake that shimmered like diamonds. Terrestrial creatures lounged by the lake edge, sleeping in the warm sun or dipping their tails into the lake to cool off. Aquatic creatures swam under the pristine surface, sometimes coming up to grab a snack or nibble on a sleepy tail thinking it was food. Screeches filled the air as beasts of all shape and color flew overhead, vanishing into the mist that bordered the pocket dimension. It was a sight to behold.

“This place is amazing,” Rallis whispered. “How could anyone be unhappy here? It’s a paradise! I wouldn’t mind living here, that’s for sure.” She was determined even more now to show Sen this place was worth living for.

Other than the pretty view, there was nothing Rallis could do down here. She made her way back up topside and asked the cats what to do next.

“Fix the kitchen!” Yomiel hollered. “Maybe that'll make Sen actually want to cook for us. I'm tired of the usual garbage.”

“Ooo that's a good idea,” Eve agreed. “Make sure you make a space to keep milk! I love milk.”

“Alrighty! Let's get to work then!” Rallis exclaimed. The four ran off to the kitchen, a decent sized room connected to the open garden on the first floor. The entire kitchen was buried beneath layers of grime and dust. The floor was brown and crunchy with dead leaves and dirt. The racks held cobwebs as heavy as the rusty pots and pans. The cabinets were bereft of food and held only bugs, which Yomiel promptly chased after and killed. The wood kitchen table and benches were starting to rot from mistreatment and age. This place was a disgusting nightmare.

“Geez, it looks like no one has set foot in here since the God Wars!” Rallis said. “Don't any of you use this place at all?”

Sissel and Eve shook their heads. “It's not like we can cook,” Sissel said. “And Sen doesn't eat. They're a spirit. They live off magic and will, not food. We find our food elsewhere, usually from the farms of your world.”

Yomiel crashed through a cabinet and bit down on a roach, killing it before eating it whole. Rallis gave a disgusted face. “Or if you're Yomiel, you just do that,” Eve said disgustedly.

Rallis sneezed at the dust cloud that had floated up with all of Yomiel’s bug chasing. “Let's get started then. We should dust and wash everything so we can see what needs to be fixed or replaced. Once everything is all cleaned and fixed, I can make you guys a great big meal! How does that sound?”

The three cats meowed excitedly and got to work. Rallis swept out the dirt and leaves and investigated the state of the wood table and benches. They were damaged but salvageable. She would just need to find some extra wood to carve a few new legs and some polish to seal them against the elements. Yomiel continued to chase out the bugs and rip off any cobwebs he could find. Sissel dusted the cookware off and dropped them into the thankfully functioning sink for him and Eve to wash. Yomiel wanted nothing to do with water and instead helped Rallis find some wood to work with to help fix the furnishings. Where these cats were always vanishing to and how they were returning with things much larger and heavier than themselves Rallis had no clue, but she decided the ways of cat magic were not for her to understand.

In no time at all, Rallis had ripped off the rotting table leg and made a new one to replace it. She took a break from the hard work to admire the now sparkling clean kitchen. There was some sawdust on the floor now, but otherwise the stone tile glistened underfoot. Sissel had a wet rag in his mouth, having just finished scrubbing the last hard to reach corner of the floor. The cookware was all cleaned and drying now, the ones too rusted to use anymore put in a pile to be melted down and made anew. Yomiel slithered out of a drawer, the tip of his tail dusty from cleaning out the edges. All in all, the kitchen looked brand new, save for the benches that needed some new wood for the legs. The three cats hopped over to Rallis to join her on a break.

Eve smiled as she looked at their work. “Oh, I haven’t seen this place look this beautiful in so long. I’d cry if I could.”

The sun was setting now, a calming blaze of colors. Yomiel curled up in a fading sun spot with a purr. “It’s nice to have a place to lie down that’s not completely foul.”

“This truly is wonderful,” Sissel said. “I knew I was right in following my hunch to bring you here.” He headbutted Rallis’ arm in thanks. “Hopefully this will give Sen some hope. Perhaps they will even work with us on the rest of the house. That would surely make Allahan happy.”

“Who is Allahan?” Rallis asked.

“A name that is never to be spoken in this house ever again!” a new voice snarled.

The four jolted to attention. Standing in the entrance to the kitchen was a furious Sen, spines flared and stance ready to attack. “What did you do to this place?!” they hissed.

“We were just--!” Rallis started, but Sissel hushed her with a wave of his tail.

“This was my idea, Sen,” the black cat told them calmly. “I roped Yomiel, Eve, and Rallis into this. Do not be mad at them.”

“I’ll be mad at whoever I damn well please! You do all of this and bring up his name?! What are you trying to pull?”

“Sen, you are dying,” Sissel said very seriously. “You sleep in your room all day and do nothing to keep this place as the beacon of hope it once was. It has rotted for centuries and so have you. Look at your fur! It isn’t even orange anymore! Your spines are nearly see-through! You’re one mistake from fading back into the spirit world and becoming familiar fodder! You are just like this place, abandoned and breaking. But look!” Sissel motioned around the kitchen and garden with his tail. “This place can be mended and so can you! Please, we just want to make you and this place great again. I’m tired of seeing you suffer. Allahan would be too.”

Sen roared. “DO NOT SPEAK HIS NAME IN THIS PLACE!”

The three cats cowered behind Rallis and the dragon bolted up from the floor with a snarl in return. “Don’t shout at your friends like that! They’re trying to help you! Your friend wandered into an entirely different world from his own, searched for a complete stranger they had to put their trust in that would help, and spent all this time making a plan to help you feel better! And you yell at him? You’re a terrible friend!”

“I don’t want to hear anything from you, you unwanted pest! You don’t know anything about what’s going on here!”

“I know enough to know that you don’t deserve your friends!” Rallis sassed back. “And I bet this Allahan left because he realized you weren’t a good friend too!”

The three cats cowering by Rallis’ feet gasped in fear. Sen froze, their eyes wide with newfound fury. Their claws slid out, their spines stood bristling, their fangs shone in a maddening snarl, and the beast leapt onto Rallis with a roar. The dragon yelped as she was tackled to the ground. The three cats ran off and hid in a cabinet, watching in fear. Sen tried their best to bite Rallis, but Rallis knew what to do. She grabbed the large cat beast’s mouth and held it shut, eliciting an angry growl from Sen. Sen scratched at the hand holding their mouth shut, leaving a mark down Rallis’ arm. Rallis hissed through her teeth, pulled her feet up, and launched Sen off her. The beast howled in surprise as they tumbled out of the kitchen and into the garden. They were weak and hadn’t had to fight in a long time. It was quite obvious they were rusty.

The three cats ran out from their hiding place. “Stop it, Sen!” Sissel shouted. “There’s no reason to fight! Just talk it out!”

Sen just roared in response and flashed their claws. They launched themself at Rallis and missed spectacularly. Rallis spun around and grabbed the large cat by the fur and yanked them toward the hole in the center of the garden. Sen yelped as the dragon tossed them into the cavern below.

“I’ll try to talk some sense into them, don’t worry,” Rallis called out to the cats as she ducked into the hole. “Stay out there where you won’t get hurt!”

Sen ungracefully flopped down the steps and landed at the stony bottom with a huff. They were too weak to rise from the nasty fall. Rallis leapt down and crouched over the tired defeated beast. “Done having a tantrum yet?” Rallis said.

Sen growled back. Were this back in the day, this damn dragon would be dead and mounted over the fireplace. But as it was, just that little display in the kitchen wore them out like they had just fought off an entire army single-handedly. They could barely stand up from the floor. “I want to bite through your stupid ears and give you a piercing to remember.”

“You don’t look like you could if you wanted to. Getting angry makes you tired. I know that firsthand. I used to get angry at Denulth all the time and then I’d be really tired in the morning, which made me angry, which made me more tired, which made me… well you get it. Uncle Cake said when I’m angry like that, I should talk my feelings out. Why don’t you try it with me right now?”

Sen snorted. “I’m not spilling my life story to a stranger.”

“That might be the best person to spill it to,” Rallis tried. “People you don’t know have different… oh what’s the word… Per-something. The word that means a new way of seeing something. I can never remember it.” Sen still didn’t seem convinced and turned their head away grumpily. “Hey,” Rallis tried again. “I’m not gonna hurt you with what you tell me or anything. I just want to help. I like helping people! Also, I don’t really think we’re strangers anymore considering I just spent all day fixing your house.”

Sen looked up at the face looking back down at them. That damn dragon had a doofy smile and kind eyes. She really did look like she wanted to help, and for no other reason than to be kind to others. It really reminded them of--.

They shook their head. Don’t think about him. Not now. Sen relented. “Fine! I’ll talk! Stop looking at me like a stupid sappy kitten.”

Rallis smiled and held a hand out for Sen to take. The cat grumbled as they took it and peeled themself off the floor. Rallis happily trotted over to the hole in the cavern wall so they could at least have a pretty view of the sun setting on the lake while they talked. Rallis sat down and patted the floor for Sen to sit beside her. They begrudgingly took their seat. For a moment, neither of them said anything, the two of them just watching the sun set over the lake, listening to the birds and the beasts sing as they flew by. It was so peaceful, Sen couldn’t help but calm down a bit.

Rallis nudged the cat beast with her tail and looked expectantly. Sen grumbled. Where would they even begin? So much pissed them off lately that it was hard to pinpoint one thing to talk about. Rallis sensed they needed some help so she prompted them.

“You were pretty mad about me and the cats cleaning up and fixing the place. Why?”

“Because there’s no point,” Sen grumbled.

“No point to fixing it up a bit? But you live here. And the cats. And the wyverns in the nests up above and all sorts of creatures. Don’t you want to live somewhere nice?”

“I don’t care. Nice, messy, clean, ruined. It doesn’t matter. If this place broke to bits tomorrow, nothing would change.”

Rallis squinted at Sen. “I think… you’re lying! I think you care a lot about this place! You wouldn’t get all mad if you didn’t care like you said. So instead of trying to lie to me and say you don’t care, why don’t you tell me why you do?”

Sen growled. They didn’t want to. This felt uncomfortable and weird. And yet something compelled them to speak. “What do you know about this place? I imagine Sissel talked while you were with him.”

“Not much. He said this place used to be a base for search and rescue. He said you were rescued by the person who made this place so you helped him until he died, and then the place started to break down.”

Sen muttered something under their breath about Sissel being a lousy chatterbox but continued talking. “Yes, this place was created and owned by someone before me. A summoner from another world that was a master of breaking through the fabric of space and time to traverse the universe. He could call portals that would lead to the far reaches of the galaxy. He could even enter realms mortals normally couldn’t and lived to tell the tale. He wanted to use his power to help as many creatures as he could from all over the worlds. He found this little world and claimed it as his own and created this place as a base to help anything in need. They could leave once they were better, or stay and live their lives here or in another world that accepted them. He dedicated his life to his work and I have nothing but respect for him.”

Sen paused for a moment then cleared their throat. Why had they gushed like that?! How embarrassing. “Anyway, this summoner rescued me in his travels. Saved me from a much bigger hungrier spirit trying to eat me. I’m from the spirit realm, see, so I’m not meant to exist here for long. But I wanted to after he saved me. I wanted to serve and help him. I would even stoop so low as to become his familiar. He accepted my request to help him and instead of binding me to his person or some degradable object like most summoners do, he bound me to an idea, the idea of saving those in need. So long as I was willing to help his cause, I would remain in this world, and I gladly served him. For years we went on rescue missions, saving beasts from death, helping some raise children here in safety, sometimes even taking in an entire species to help transport them to a better world. We were a three creature army, him, Sissel, and I.”

“Your cat friend was there too?” Rallis asked.

Sen nodded. “Sissel was his actual familiar. He’s from the same world as Al- ...the summoner. Sissel too lives like I do, immortal so long as he remains bound to an idea. Along the way we also found Yomiel and Eve and invited them in the same way.” Sen sighed sadly as they continued. “Not many years after, the summoner died. He was growing weak with age and went out on a rescue by himself. I felt something was wrong and ran after him, but I was too late. He was killed saving a creature in need, just as he had always done, only this time he was attacked by a pack of humans that wanted the creatures extinct. They killed him for helping ‘the enemy.’ I can’t stand those miserable closed-minded creatures.” They ended their tale with a growl.

“I’m sorry,” Rallis said. “He sounded very nice and like a truly good person. It’s nice to know that somewhere there are people willing to help creatures like you and me. It sounds like you also like him very much. Why would you want what he left behind to fall to ruin? Wouldn’t you want to keep this home looking nice and clean, ready and able to continue helping creatures from around the worlds?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Sen snapped. They placed their head in their hand for a moment to gather themself. “He died that day doing what was right. Even though he was a good person, a saint to the worlds, he died. The creatures we spent countless years saving have died. Their children we helped care for and raise have died. Any creature that has passed through here will also one day die. What is the point of continuing this pointless endeavor knowing that every creature will one day die, no matter how much we work to help them, no matter how good or kind they are?”

Rallis’ ears drooped. What a terrible depressing thought, the realization you will outlive all those around you no matter how much you help them. Rallis shook the thought out of her head. She wasn’t ready to think too hard about that either. But she would think about it enough to help Sen.

“It does matter. What that man did mattered. What you did mattered. Just because those you help eventually pass on doesn’t mean what you did didn’t matter. You made their lives better. You made their childrens’ lives possible. You gave them a second chance to be the best they could be. Isn’t that enough, knowing that without your help these creatures would have been miserable and died slowly and painfully and maybe not even exist anymore? Isn’t it enough to know you helped them live the life they were meant to?”

Sen went quiet. A large part of them wanted to say no, it isn’t enough. The end result was always the same. They all died. Allahan died… No matter what they did. No matter the healing spell Sen used, no matter the potion or bandage, no matter the herb or magic or cureall, their best friend had still died in their arms. Because he was mortal. Because no matter what help you give or receive, one day you will die. But another smaller hopeful part of Sen was shouting that it did matter. The time they spent saving lives mattered. And it mattered now more than ever. So why were they getting so mopey and letting their home go to ruin?!

“I… don’t know,” Sen admitted. “I don’t know if it’s enough. Once he… Allahan… died, I didn't want to exist anymore. I didn't want to be where he wasn't. I didn't want to help anything anymore. It didn't matter if he wasn't here. A lot of me still feels that way.” They sighed. “I was mad at you and the cats started to fix the house because… because I wanted this place to rot. I wanted the ideals that bound me here to rot with it. I thought maybe if I did that, if I let go of everything that meant something to me here, I could fade away and see him again. But now I realize I'll never see him again and I have only brought myself closer to returning to a realm I hate with no way to return, and I fear it's too late for me to come back. I'll likely fade away in a few months.”

Rallis’ face melted into a look of sorrow. She said she would try to help but this was a lot to unpack and she was more used to being the one venting and not being vented to. Is this what Grimro went through when Rallis shoved her issues onto the unsuspecting vampyre? Rallis thought about what she said next carefully, trying her best to think what Grimro would say to make this better.

“I’m sorry,” Rallis finally broke the silence. “I wish I had all the answers for you but I don’t. But I want to help as best as I can! You’ve gone through a lot but I think you can come back from this. And your kitty cat friends think so too! Even though one of your friends is gone, you’ve got other friends that care for you that are still here. And I’ll be your friend too! Let us all help you! Take it one day at a time, and find something that makes you even a little happy every day. If you can do that, things will get better, I know it! We won’t let you disappear on us and we’ll show you there’s a reason to keep going!”

Sen gave the dragon an odd look. “You are one weird beast. I barely know you and yet I find myself opening up to you and you actually listen and try to help. Hmph, this whole day has been quite unusual.” They paused for a moment and took the view in, the setting sun on the lake, the creatures below heading home for the night that would soon fall, the tranquility of a haven that existed nowhere else. “I… I don’t want to leave this place. But I feel like I don’t belong here anymore. Without my friend, I just feel lost, like I have no purpose. I don’t know what to do.”

“You do belong here and you do have a purpose,” Rallis assured. “If you didn’t, your friend wouldn’t have saved you and stayed by your side for so long. Why don’t you start finding your new place by helping the four of us fix up the place tomorrow? We only got two rooms done and there are a lot to go. An extra pair of paws would help a lot.”

“Hmm… Alright, fine, I’ll help you all out tomorrow. Maybe fixing up this place will feel at least a little productive. You can stay here if you like. There are many bedrooms upstairs, but I’m sure you can imagine they aren’t exactly well kept or clean.”

“Thank you! And that’s fine with me,” Rallis said. “I’m used to sleeping outside or in caves anyway. A bed of any kind is always nice!” She gave Sen a big smile. “I’m glad I could help you at least a little bit. Tomorrow will be even better!” She gave the cat a hug, careful of their spines, and quickly dashed back upstairs to tell the cat trio what had happened.

Sen fluffed out their fur. Getting hugged after so long felt weird. But they didn’t hate it. They watched night take over the sky for a moment longer and thought to themself. ‘What a pest your familiar brought home, Allahan. Bubbly and sticking her nose into others’ business. She reminds me a lot of you when you were younger. ...I really miss you… And I’m sorry I haven’t been taking care of this place… or myself. Maybe tomorrow things will change.’

That was enough thinking and moping for one day. Sen joined Rallis and the cats upstairs and showed Rallis to her room before crashing for the night themself.

Over the next few days Rallis, Sissel, Yomiel, Eve, and Sen spent their time cleaning up the entire house, from the bottom pits of the forge in the cliff to the tallest peak of the library and observatory. Every new room uncovered wowed Rallis and Sen couldn’t help but snicker at how amazed the dragon was at everything, like an excitable child at the fair. Working and actually doing something other than sleeping all day felt good. Cleaning wasn’t as epic or noble as saving species but it gave Sen more of a purpose than they had had in a long while. Rallis didn’t get around to fixing most of the damaged furniture, apparently the feline trio were stealing the supplies from a lumber worker and Rallis reprimanded them, but cleaning the whole base was a solid first step.

The five hard workers rest up in the kitchen after a long day of work, Sen actually making use of the now usable kitchen for the first time in who knew how many years. They made fish for everyone. The cats jumped onto the table, excited to have an actual meal for once. They had been extremely grateful of Rallis’ help talking and listening to Sen and they worked even harder once Sen decided to get involved. They were sure to sleep well after dinner tonight. The three cats and Rallis were so hungry they didn't speak, their mouths too full of delicious food to talk, until Sissel noticed something and almost spat out his meal in shock.

“Oh my goodness!” Sissel exclaimed. “Sen have you looked in a mirror lately? Your fur! I swear it's more orange now!”

Sen hadn't noticed. They looked at the fur on their hands and sure enough it was no longer the dull faded brown Rallis had seen when they met for the first time. It was turning a pale orange.

“Your spines look more solid as well,” Eve said. “They're blacker and less see-through.”

Sen craned their head to take a look at some of the spines on their shoulder and Eve was right as well. “Huh,” was all they said.

“You're starting to look like a larupia now!” Rallis said. “I love larupias!”

“As do I. Why do you think I chose to look like one in this realm? Just don't expect me to sprout a tail or walk on four legs.”

“I think you look good even without a tail,” Rallis smiled. “Are you gonna look even better later?”

Sen looked down at the table. “I… I guess I will. If I keep working anyway. As long as I continue pursuing the idea I'm bound to, I will recover. I never thought I would. It feels… good.”

Rallis smiled wide. “That's good! I'm glad you're getting better! I told you you could! Now you gotta work to be the best you can be! We could go back to Gielinor and adventure together, finding all sorts of creatures in need and taking care of them! We could be the best duo ever!”

Rallis’ excitement was contagious and Sen couldn't help but smile a small smile. “I don't think I'm ready for that. Let's take it slow. I don't think I'm strong enough to leave this world and explore others. It will take time to become what I once was, if I even can at all.”

“You can and you will!” Rallis exclaimed. “And I'll keep helping you. If you can't leave to help creatures, then I'll just have to bring them here so you can help them! Oh I hope you're ready to meet all kinds of new friends to help!”

The three cats at the table looked excited at the idea. “Take it easy, dragon,” Sen huffed. “Curb your enthusiasm. This place isn't fully functional yet. Don't bring home all of Gielinor at once.”

“Aww all right. I'll help fix this place up too, I promise. I used to build stuff for people’s homes in Falador and Varrock all the time. If I find supplies, I'll bring them back and help out here! This place will be back to work in no time!”

The five chattered excitedly about the idea until dinner was done. Night fell soon after. The cats had fallen asleep, the world had grown dark and quiet, and Rallis took one final fond look at the work they all accomplished before quietly opening the heavy front doors to leave.

“You're going back to Gielinor then?” a voice asked from the darkness, stopping the dragon in her tracks. It was Sen.

“Yeah,” Rallis nodded. “I should get back to adventuring now, not that this wasn't an adventure too. I need to continue seeing the world and trying to find information I'm after. I'm hoping enough time has passed now that I won't get arrested by the Ardougne knights.”

Sen gave a thoughtful grunt, then silence. “...You could… stay here. If you want. Sissel really likes you. And Eve. Even Yomiel does too and he hates everyone. You're… part of the family now.”

Rallis looked at the imposing entrance to the home once more, the vine covered dragon ornaments beckoning her to return. Rallis never thought she would ever have an actual house to live in. She figured she would spend the rest of her days in caves, then once she became an adventurer she figured outside or the odd inn or friend’s place would be where she stayed. But a whole house, no, a whole castle to call her own? She couldn't have expected that at all.

“I can't stay here all the time. I need to get back out there and learn things. And there's still people to help! If I wasn't an adventurer, I wouldn't have met you after all! But coming back here when I need a break or a place to stay would be really nice. And I want to see all of you again too. So I will accept your offer and stay! Just not all the time.”

Sen walked closer and held out their hand. “Then goodbye and safe travels. And when you return, it will be a welcome home.”

Rallis took their hand but instead of shaking it, she hugged the cat beast. Sen huffed and let it happen. Rallis smiled at Sen once she broke the hug. “If this is home, that means we're family now! And we're gonna be the best family ever!”

Sen blinked slowly. ‘Family… What a thought. I guess I don't hate the idea.’ They shook out their fur and went back to business. “Here. I have these for you.” They held out a stack of stone squares with runes engraved along the edges. “Break one of these at any portal frame you find and you can return here. I remember there being a good few portals in Gielinor so no matter where your travels take you, you should be able to get home. And I can always make more if you need them.”

“Thank you. I promise I'll come back. I should get going now, before it gets too late. Make sure you take care of yourself and keep pursuing your own purpose! And remember, take life one day at a time!”

“Yeah, yeah, I will,” Sen dismissed. They waved Rallis off. “Now get lost, dragon. Go explore.”

Rallis smiled and waved goodbye. She dashed down the mountain, into the forest, and through the clearing where the bronze portal frame lay, activated and ready to take her back to Gielinor. She took one last look around and jumped through the purple glow. The grass beneath her feet turned to stone as she returned to Yanille. She was in the middle of the stone portal frame, inactive and silent in the black of night. Rallis looked around warily for the knights that were here a week or so ago, but not a soul was out and about. She breathed a sigh of relief and bolted out of town. She was ready to continue her adventure, and she couldn't wait to tell her new family all about her findings once she returned home.

#osrs #runescape #my writes #oc tag #lets start 2021 off right and finish a fic

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dawnwriterimagines · 5 years

Text

Slashers reaction to you passing out while being really sick...

Thomas Hewitt:

You had gotten a cold from running after an escaped victim in the rain, you had both slipped in the mud, but you were quick enough to get back on your feet and stab the guy in the chest. You, however, couldn't see clearly in the dark terrain around you, losing your way home for almost an hour before Thomas found you.

He had been so worried, having followed to after another victim had gotten loose in the basement, going through the tunnel to the back door. She never made it outside.

Once you had gotten back to the house, Thomas having carried you the whole way, you were shivering and had a small cough. You told everyone it was nothing, even as Luda Mae and Thomas brought you a warm blanket and a cup of hot tea.

The next day, Thomas woke up to you holding back hoarse coughs as you left the room to go to the bathroom. Closing the door behind you, Thomas followed you down the hall worriedly, before stopping outside the bathroom, listening as you coughed violently.

He knocked, whimpering in worry, behind the door, waiting for you to open the door. You opened the door, having calmed slightly, holding a tissue to your nose with a sniffle, "Hi Tommy, I'm sorry, I woke you didn't I?" Your nose was stuffy and your throat was parched.

Thomas shook his head, before stepping closer to you, placing his hand on your forehead like Luda had once dine for him. You were really warm, almost burning, he knew that wasn't a good sign.

He whimpered before he took you in his arms, noting how you didn't do anything to stop him, just laying your head on his chest, exhausted. He took you down to Luda Mae, who prepping breakfast, once she saw you, she immediately panicked and ran over.

"Oh, dear, you're running a fever," Luda Mae dabbed a wet cloth onto your forehead. You took it from her to rest it on your heated skin, sitting in the bench of the table, with Thomas staring you down, worried.

You shook your head, "I'm fine, really. No need to worry," of course, no one believed you, with you coughing violently suddenly. Holding your neck in your hands, your coughs sound hoarse and dry, almost painful. Luda Mae rubs your back as she tells Thomas to get you a glass of water, he speeds off to the kitchen, his hands shaking as he pours a glass.

For the rest of the day, you've been babied by Thomas, you actually couldn't have been happier. Charlie held his tongue after finding you sick and weak on the couch, Thomas cradling you. He came up next to you both, you were almost worried that he was going to take Thomas away for another patrol, but he only replaced the now warm cloth in your hand with a cool one, before walking away.

It was late afternoon when you woke up, you were on the couch, an empty glass beside you. The TV flickering with moving pictures. You groaned as you sat up, your head throbbing horribly, you placed a hand on your head before standing. Grabbing the edge of the couch, you nearly tipped over, you wanted to sit back down, but your head was killing you, and your throat felt like to was closing up. You needed to find Luda, you wanted to find Thomas, "...come on, boy. The sooner you get this done..." you cult hear Charlie lecturing Thomas outside. "Don't go hollerin' charlie!" Luda.

You began walking towards the open door, everything felt like it was moving, you could hardly walk straight, you felt like you couldn't breathe. You couldn't make it to the door, you felt your knee's buckle before your eyes rolled back and you fell with a thud, whimpering before going quiet.

It went silent outside. Before there was multiple footsteps echoing off the porch, Charlie was the first to enter, being the closest to the door. "Fuck! Hey, darlin', what..." he kneeled down, just as Luda Mae entered, gasping horrified before calling for Thomas.

Thomas, who had lugged a few slabs of meat to the farm house, paused, almost dropping the meat before placing it back in the pile and rushing to the house. His heart was throbbing and he didn't know why.

He entered and nearly collapsed, there you were, your head cradled in Luda's arm's, she immediately told him to take you to the bedroom. Thomas quickly scoops you up into his arm's, his chest hurts as you only lay limp, breathing forcibly.

You're gonna be ok. You're gonna be ok. He took you in his arms, sniffling, he rushes you upstairs as Luda and Charlie follows. Once he's in the room, he lays you down on the bed, taking your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks almost painfully as he urges you to awaken. He grits his teeth, whimpering sadly as you breath heavily, sweat beads blossomed along your forehead, running down your neck. He could only imagine the suffocating heat that you were currently enduring.

Luda Mae dips a cloth into her bowl of water, sitting at the edge of the bed and leaning forwards to set it on your forehead. A cup of water at your bedside, he takes it quickly and sits you up, tipping the cup to rest between your lips, as you awaken slowly. Thomas sits beside you as you quietly down the glass in one go, taking it from your as Luda replaces the rag once more.

You better believe that Thomas hardly ever leaves your side after this, you're glued to his side for the next week, month, or was it a year? Even after you're back to your vibrant self, helping him with the meat and such, there's never a day where Thomas takes you for granted.

That one day, where you had almost slipped away from him, he'll never forget. It was the scariest moment in his life, he knew he had to appreciate every moment he had with you because no matter how strong you were he had to remember just how fragile you could be. He was meant to protect you and that he would always do.

Jason Voorhees:

You lived with him in a swamp, it was always damp and winters were probably the worst they could ever be, so it wasn't a surprise when you'd get a small cold. But, after a victim had shoved you into the freezing lake, nearly drowning you if it weren't for the lack of a current beneath the ice. You climbed up from the hole in the lake, shivering violently, your skin turning blue as you collapsed on your back once you were out.

Jason hadn't seen what had happened but did hear your scream as he cut down an escaping victim before she could get to the road. His unbeaten heart clenched painfully as he quickly turned around towards the cabin, running desperately he made his way to the lake.

He saw the victim fumbling with tying up his wounded ankle, having twisted it when pushing you into the lake, slipping on the ice. Jason lunged forwards before the boy could register, his machete coming down on his head, a weak scream came from his mouth before he choked on his blood. Taking the long knife with him, the boy sank to the ground, dead and spared with a quick death.

Jason, then turned, hearing rapid breathing from the edge of the lake, the frozen surface now cracked and wet. He walked forwards before he felt his throat close up and a panicked sob bursting from him. There you were staring up at him, your body shaking uncontrollably as you fought to speak, maybe even scream as your blue, cold lips struggled to take in a proper breath.

Taking you into the house, he set you down on the couch, he sprints into the other room, grabbing all the blankets he could find. Seeing you clinging to the warm pillow on the couch, he instantly began taking off your damp coat, remembering the procedure. You shivered and stammered, "I-i didn't see h-him...I-I'm sorry," you sniffled, taking your shirt off as jason wrapped you in the thick blanket.

Jason shook his head, looking at you in disbelief, how could you be blaming yourself in a time like this? You hadn't seen him, he should've finished them off all at once in the first place, he was being reckless, and he put you in danger. However, you had your eye's closed shut, jason slowly taking off your pants and draping another blanket over your body, guiltily. He wished, more than anything, in this moment, that he could say something, anything to express how sorry he was. But, all he could do was show you, through his actions.

The days went by, you stopped shivering by the next day but you had ran a fever, he had cuddled with you every night, making sure you were wrapped up in almost a dozen blankets before he wrapped his arm's around you. He didn't actually have any body heat, being the undead, but he tried his hardest.

You had begun getting better, or so he thought, you began hiding the heavy coughs and forced breathing at night or when he went to gather firewood for the fireplace. You wanted him to stop worrying, he had already done so much and you wanted to help out for the day. You could still the blood stains from last week, staining the wooden floors, crusted over and dry from the brittle winds.

So, you shrugged off the covers, leaving one around your shoulders as you started to stand to your feet, whimpering lightly as you did so. You knees felt like they were about to buckle, your body threatened to lean forwards and collapse. You felt your head spinning and your throat burning, you looked around for a glass of water, rubbing your eyes weakly as you begin to make your way to the kitchen.

However, just as you're near the cabinets you then feel your knee's buckle before your eyes are rolled up, sudden light-headedness getting to you. You stumbled before you dropped to your knees and fell backwards with a thud.

Outside, Jason perked up before turning towards the xabin, before he realized that he hadn't put anything close to you to have to drop like that. He bolts into the cabin, nearly bursting through the closed door, his body goes stiff and his heart almost bursts out of his chest, agonizingly.

He sniffles as he rushes over, his hands shaking and he cries silently, his hands finally cupping your face, he rubs your temples in his effort to wake you up. He knows if he had normal skin, you'd have felt freezing right now, he should known, the couch wasn't the best place, the bedroom was the warmest in the house.

He quickly scoops you up, whimpering sadly, pressing his forehead to yours as he walks to the room, his eyes on you. He hopes you don't stay like this for long, now, he just doesn't know what to do, only warm you up further.

He takes the blankets and drapes them over you once more, before sprinting to the kitchen, maybe a hot towel? However, the water was only cold so he boiled it over the fireplace, his hands, burning, gripping the handles as his jackets sleeves slowly began to catch fire. Pulling away, he pours as cup of hot water before running over to the room, he nearly drops the cup when he sees your eye's fluttering open.

He almost gasps before he's making his way over to you, happily cradling your face and placing a chaste kiss on your forehead. He's surprised when your hand comes up to grasp his own on your cheek, pressing it firmly against your skin, "You're so warm..." you moan.

After this, you're hardly aloud to go outside anymore, as if you were before the incident at all. Once you're better, Jason cuddles you to death, wrapping his arm's around you every night. He doesn't wait on his victims anymore, once they reach the cabin, it's over, their finished before they know it. And get used to seeing this hunk roasting his own hands on purpose, no matter how often you scream in shock and tell him not too. Once it's cold, he knows what to do, even if it's not that great for his undead health.

Jason learned that night how much you truly mean to him, he didn't know if he'd lose you the moment he found you nearly frozen on the lake. He wanted to make every moment with you count, even if it meant you had to stay in here to be protected. He wanted you to be his family forever, he couldn't bare it if you'd left him. He knew he loved you to bits.

#thomas hewitt imagine #thomas brown hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #slashers x reader #thomas hewitt #jason vorhees x reader #jason x reader #jason voorhees

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xoruffitup · 4 years

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Flip Ficlets (Part III?)

Since the first time I saw BlacKkKlansman, I wondered what was going on in Flip’s head when Ron asks why he’s not taking the investigation more personally, and Flip answers “Rookie, that’s my fuckin’ business.” My brain supplied...

What if Flip had a girlfriend of color during the investigation?

Pt ii: This wouldn’t leave me alone

All it took was some nice Flip gifsets on my dash, and suddenly I wrote more of this. Here we’ve got the flashback scene to when Sarah first found out Flip was a cop, Flip getting dragged (somewhat) against his will to a disco, and Sarah’s feelings a few years in on being with a white guy.

Not beta’d or anything, just had fun.

Flip has no idea how he got talked into this.

“Hell no. No way,” had been his gruff reply when Sarah leaned away from the telephone to excitedly call, “Patrice and Ron are going to a disco tonight!”

It was a Friday evening after a long day and an even longer week. Apparently Ron had other ways he liked to recover, but Flip’s ideal Friday night usually involved reclining in a horizontal position. Definitely not dancing.

“You’re such a drag,” Sarah drawled, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “Well, I’m going. You can either come along, or accept that I’ll spend all night dancing with other guys. And you never know, some of them might be hotter than you.”

Well, that was how right there.

Flip had just stared for a long second, then blinked slowly when Sarah twirled out of the bedroom in a spangly dress that flashed plenty of shoulders and thighs. His mouth suddenly very dry around the urge to march her straight back into the bedroom, he managed, “Sarah, I have nothing to wear.”

She’d just grinned, the glitter on her dark eyelids shimmering phosphorescent.

“Just wear my favorite shirt. The red one. I’ll be satisfied.”

Flip made a passing attempt to tame his hair before pulling his boots on. (Boots to a disco. There was no hope for him at all.) Before Sarah could pull her coat on at the front door, he’d drawn her close enough to kiss her mostly-bare shoulder appreciatively. She breathed out fast and gave his hair a brief, playful tug.

“No time for that, babe. Let’s go, let’s go!”

Flip released something between a sigh and a grumble of acceptance as he grabbed his own coat and followed her out the door. The sooner they left, the sooner they’d be home when there would be time for that.

“Brother!” Ron crowed as Flip and Sarah approached him and Patrice outside the club entrance. Flip dutifully extended his hand for his and Ron’s customary handshake-slide.

“Your glitter! You look dynamite,” Patrice greeted Sarah, immediately enveloping her in a hug.

Ron’s grin – beneath an afro boasting fresh volume – could only be described as shit-eating.

“I didn’t think there was a chance in hell she’d get you to come out.”

Flip sighed, his gaze sliding indulgently towards his girlfriend. “Looks like hell hasn’t frozen over yet.”

The moment they passed inside, Ron noticed Flip’s demeanor shift and stiffen a bit. He seemed to hunch his shoulders a bit, in a mostly futile bid to make his towering frame less conspicuous.

Not that he needed height to draw looks.

Sarah, while making it look perfectly natural and effortless, made sure to always be touching Flip. Whether linking her hand with his or staying pressed to his side, she made it clear he’s with me – he’s no trouble.

Ron navigated them to the bar and secured the first round of drinks. Just before Patrice dragged her off to the neon-light dance floor, Sarah tucked a kiss against Flip’s cheek and made the vaguely threatening promise, “Don’t get too cozy at the bar here, I’m coming back for you.”

Once the girls slid off into the dancing crowd, Ron raised his glass for Flip to toast.

“I always did want to see your moves, soul brother,” Flip joked, even as his gaze compulsively jumped from each set of potentially hostile eyes to the next. Without Sarah right there pressed against him, he couldn’t quite suppress the instinct.

“I’ll only show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Hate to break it to you, but even after all your tutelage I still don’t have a funky bone in my body. Probably a lost cause.”

Flip took a long sip and spotted Sarah over the rim of the glass, dancing at the center of the floor. Immediately, he found himself soothed.

Ron nudged his elbow into Flip’s side. “It’s all about the woman, partner.”

With some difficulty, Flip tore his gaze from Sarah to peer at Ron.

“What now?”

“All you gotta do is let your woman lead. The rest comes naturally, trust me.”

“I don’t know. Trusting you has landed me in some pretty deep shit once or twice.”

“Flip. It pains me that you don’t trust me as a reliable authority on disco.”

“Well. More of an authority than me, I’ll give you that. Though that ain’t saying much.”

“Sure as hell isn’t. Nice boots, by the way.”

“Fuck off.”

Ron just grins, looking to be having an absolute delight of a time.

When the girls rejoin them, and Sarah – all laughter and heaving heartbeat and smudged glitter around her eyes – shimmies in against his side again, Flip feels like a whole new kind of interloper.

She glows, the most enticing star that’s ever burned in the night sky, and no matter whether in a club frequented by whites or blacks, he’d still look utterly out of place with her.

Sarah loops her arms up around his neck and pulls playfully. “Time to face your fate.”

Flip tries to shoot a beseeching appeal to Ron, but only catches his back as Patrice tows him towards the flashing lights of the dance floor.

There’s no hope for him now.

“Honey – I’m gonna make you look a fool.”

He already looked the fool the second he stepped in here in his boots and worn flannel – even if it is Sarah’s favorite. But Sarah – her sashaying hips, hair flips, and light feet could put this whole place in the palm of her hand.

“Not with me, you won’t,” she promises brightly, seeming to have full confidence in the same power of the leading lady espoused by Ron.

Flip hates it, he really does. Never in his life has he been a dancer. Especially not in places where he’s a magnet for attention.

This is her night. It’s for her.

So he says nothing, and lets her slight, small hands pull him deep into the crowd of people on the dance floor.

In desperation, he recalls what Ron meant as advice: Let your woman lead. The rest comes naturally.

And somehow – his miraculous goddess of a woman makes it so easy. Her back to his front, Sarah holds his hands against either side of her hips, letting him feel the sway and dip of her movements. She presses back against him just enough to nudge him into the rhythm. Over her shoulder, Flip can see her smile as he gradually matches her pace. And it… isn’t so bad, moving where she moves, savoring the weaving of her body against his and just letting himself sink into equilibrium with her.

After almost three years together, the familiar yet no less spectacular shape of her small body pressed to his carries all the sure-footed reassurance of a bright blue, sunny sky.

She lets her head tip back against his shoulder, grinning between songs.

“Like I keep telling you, you’re not so bad, babe. Even for a white boy.”

Apparently not everyone agrees. Before Flip can make a joke in return, a young man detaches from the crowd with an impeccably styled afro almost to compete with Ron, armed with a charming smile all for Sarah.

Smoothly managing to avoid even a glance at Flip, the guy offers, “I couldn’t help but notice this gorgeous sister dancing near me, who looked like she might be in need of a proper partner. Might I be of service?”

Flip almost admires the guy’s nerve. He knows Sarah well enough to stay quiet and let her handle this herself.

Sarah just tucks herself closer to Flip, smiling sweetly at the guy. “Nice of you to offer, but I’m perfectly fine with my boyfriend here.”

The guy’s mouth opens in abrupt surprise. He finally looks at Flip now, reassessing.

Flip stays silent, but can’t help himself resting a possessive hand at Sarah’s shoulder. He looks somewhere other than the guy’s face, and makes every effort to temper his glare. While Flip concertedly doesn’t watch, the guy finally gets lost.

“What a presumptuous jerk, right?” Sarah looks up at Flip through her lashes, indulging him.

Flip keeps looking out into the crowd, a slight frown clinging to his lips despite his full knowledge that the guy was no threat.

Sarah is just about to poke him into dancing again when he mumbles only just audibly over the music, “If you want to have a few dances with a partner who knows what he’s doing… I won’t mind.”

Sarah just stares up at him for a long moment, before cracking an amused smile.

“How much did that hurt to choke out?”

“Nearly stuck in my throat.”

Smiling to herself and the happiest she’s been all night, Sarah draws herself closer against him and hooks her arms up around his neck, making Flip meet her eyes.

“You came out with me tonight. You’re the only one I want to dance with.”

The music slows into a gentle, easy beat and this – this Flip can handle just fine. He rests his hands at her waist, before sliding his arms around her and drawing her all the way in. Her breath is warm and soothing against his neck, as she hums in approval near his ear and settles into a slow, pleasant sway to the music.

This, Flip doesn’t mind one bit.

“Then I’m the luckiest son of a bitch here tonight.”

He wonders if the glitter on her face is rubbing off against his neck and shirt right now. He finds he really doesn’t care.

Sarah twirls her fingers in the hair along the back of his neck. She always loves when he lets his hair get long. She nestles in closer as Flip keeps them rocking back and forth. It’s her favorite place – wrapped in his arms and nearly enveloped in the breadth of his body.

Times like right now, Flip still can’t believe that, somehow, he’s to her taste. She’s the most beautiful woman in the place, and she’s spent the last three years with a lug like him. There are a hundred good reasons why she might never have given him the time of day – not the least being his job and the fact that her clubs, discos, and bars aren’t meant for him.

And yet – way back when, she was the one to kiss him first. She’s the one who keeps a hard line with her parents, who keep prodding her to “dump the pig already.” Three years and she’s still immovable.

Flip will never quite understand; he’ll just keep doing his best to treat her right and not tempt his good fortune.

The sweeping droplets reflecting off the disco ball dapple across her dark skin. Her long weave of braided hair is a bit mussed, and she’s warm and sweaty in his arms.

He dips his head, resting his lips near her ear.

“I can’t wait to get home and make love with you.”

She goes onto her toes, stretching up towards him in a way that’s simply sacred.

“You’ve been working late this week. I think you owe me an all-nighter.”

“’till dawn, at least.”

“Maybe straight through breakfast. We’ve got no plans tomorrow.”

And Flip wouldn’t even be surprised if she means it. She’s the tiniest woman he’s ever shared a bed with, but by far the most voracious. Keeping her satisfied is his supreme joy.

They only last another two songs. They find Ron and Patrice to say their goodbyes, before Sarah leads their way out with Flip’s hand gripped tight in hers.

He doesn’t plan on letting her go for the rest of the night.

Maybe not ever.

~~~~~

Flip had wondered when to broach it. Dreaded it.

On their third date, he thought it improper to put it off any longer.

“You haven’t asked me what I do for a living.”

Sarah had sat back in her seat across the diner booth. She knew that it had perhaps been intentional. She liked him so much so far. Perhaps she was scared of thinking of him separate from this – out doing things other than holding doors for her, waiting for her to initiate reaching for his hand before he so much as kissed her goodnight, smiling his crinkly smile and laughing his deep laugh at her jokes.

“I suppose I haven’t.”

Flip pushed fries around his plate, simultaneously relieved and deeply regretting steering the conversation this way.

Still. He knew putting it off any longer would only make it worse.

“I’m a detective. I… work down at the station.”

Her body stiffened. Her hands, which had been laid on the table as if in consideration of touching him, withdrew to her lap. Her jaw went rigid, mouth drawn tight.

“So you’re a cop.”

He only barely had the heart to look at her. Still, he nodded.

“You could say that.”

She crossed her arms, shifted on the seat. He wondered if she was weighing the option to walk out right then and there.

Instead, she asked in a voice deceptively light and difficult to parse, “You do fancy undercover work?”

“Sometimes. It’s not so fancy though, usually just listening to wire taps all day.”

She stared at him – gaze assessing and harder than usual, but not entirely closed off. Not yet, at least.

“You ever arrested people?”

“It’s in the line of work.”

“People like me? Who never done anything wrong but live in a world where others don’t want us to?”

Flip took a deep breath. He was already jonesing for a cigarette.

“I have arrested two black men, yes. But two who’d done quite a bit wrong and only after we had reliable evidence against them.”

Her eyes took on a fierce glint now.

“You ever been the type to flash your lights and pull over a black driver just to rough them up a bit?”

Flip’s mouth twitches into a frown, his tone turning a shade less gentle. “Do I seem the type?”

Sarah doesn’t give an inch of ground. “No, you’ve gotta tell me. Because you could be a very different person when you walk out that door than the one sitting here with me. For all I know, you may be the type who thinks it’s fine to bag a black woman, but wouldn’t blink an eye if you saw one of my brothers beaten on the streets.”

Flip sat back, all thought of food gone along with any trace of resistance. He kept fitting together then discarding answers – each more deficient than the last. Whatever he says, he knows it can’t entirely quell her misgivings. Only his actions and time can do that.

He doesn’t say that the barber who cuts his hair is black. He doesn’t say that he mows the lawn for the elderly woman across the street from him, who happens to be black. He understands that just like his presence here across the table from her, that doesn’t prove anything.

“I can tell you that no, I’ve never pulled over anyone of any color if they weren’t speeding. But I know that’s not enough. All I can do is ask for the chance to take you out again and start proving it.”

She took him in for a long time, simply assessing the sincerity in his expression – weighing the future burden of inevitably navigating the chasms between their experiences and views of the world. Would he understand that some of those chasms could never be crossed; but it was his responsibility to see them anyway?

“I should just warn you - I’m difficult to please,” she said, the hint of a smile returning in just the corners of her lips. “But I’ll give you that chance. From what I know of you so far, I think you’ll make it count.”

She rested her hands up on the table again, leaning in again over her seat.

On the other side of the booth, Flip relaxed. She was still there. He realized part of him hadn’t expected anything after this conversation. He’d thought it wasn’t even worth hoping for – that she’d still be comfortable spending time with him once she knew everything.

But she’d given him a chance, and Flip intended to earn and treasure her trust.

He slid his hand across the table, just so his fingertips could brush across the back of her hand. He waited, but she didn’t pull away. She just gave him a small, budding smile.

“Let’s go get a drink.”

~~~~~~~~

Since the day she first met him in the bar where she used to mix drinks, Sarah has always felt completely and utterly safe with Flip. He’d come over and interposed himself between her and three guys who’d been harassing her as she tried to leave from a shift. He’d walked her out to the parking lot, offered to drive her home, and she’d never wanted to be parted from him since. It was more than simply trusting him – more than knowing with absolute certainty that he was a good, honorable man who respected and provided for her.

It was his size, when they were out together and a pair of hostile eyes fled in the opposite direction when they caught sight of him at her side. It was his carrying license and shoulder holsters – the only weapons she’d ever known with certainty would never turn against her, but would only ever be used in her protection. It was the way his presence beside her at the grocery store made the checkout person smile at her with a brightness she’d never known before. It was the way no white man sneered or smirked at her across a crowded room anymore, ever since Flip became a permanent fixture.

For a long time, she never told him these things – afraid he would feel she was using him. Sarah never troubled herself with such qualms. She knew she loved Flip for the right reasons. All the advantages to being with him had only made themselves known after she chose his company, after all.

Of course, not all her friends and family would call them “advantages.”

“How could you?” her now ex-friend had hissed. “Racist cops are out there running us down like dogs, and you’re fucking one.”

Sarah had just fixed her hair, unperturbed. This was nothing she hadn’t already considered.

“If you respect me as a woman and friend, you’d trust me to never betray my people like that.”

“But that’s what it sure sounds like.”

“Know what I think? I think it sounds like you’re doing the same thing as those racist cops. Which – I’d care to note – Flip isn’t.”

“How could you even compare-“

“It sounds like you’re trying to tell me they’re all the same, but I thought we were more evolved than that.”

Sarah doesn’t shrink from her black pride. For a while, she wondered if it was a type of passing – enjoying the freedom from harassment thanks to her intimacy with a white man. Wondered if she had crossed some invisible line without realizing, and was now separated from her brothers and sisters.

But then she’d get groceries or go to the butcher on her own, and nothing had changed. Not really. Except she’d go home and be even more grateful for the warmth of Flip’s arms and the soft scrape of his beard when she kissed him.

Home was safe. Home was where he was. And so she stopped worrying about any of it.

Then he finally asked.

She’d been out late with some friends – a little tipsy when she rung him at the station to come pick her up from the club.

It wasn’t one of the clubs they usually frequented – one that was a bit more mixed. She and her two friends had only been outside for all of a few minutes before two burly white men started jeering from across the street. They crossed the street, but were only just approaching the girls when Flip pulled up. But they’d been close enough, and Flip was trained to read violence in body language.

He’d swung a sloppy park job, jumped from the truck, and blocked their approach. He’d flashed his badge in case the contempt in his glare wasn’t loud enough. Maybe it’d be enough to scare them off such behavior for good.

He’d had Sarah’s friends squeeze into the truck and dropped them off before bringing Sarah home. She remained silent – mostly because she wasn’t a talkative drunk, but Flip perceived different reasons entirely.

They were in the kitchen – Sarah chugging water, Flip hovering in the doorway, unsure if the comfort he wanted to give would be welcome – when he asked.

“Is it ever… too hard?”

Sarah needed a moment to focus on him. The kitchen lights were so bright. The concern and anxiety in his expression was a lot to take in.

“Is what?”

He huffed a slow sigh, lifting a hand to rub across his mouth for a moment as if feeling the shape of each word as he considers them.

“Being with someone who looks like me. Who looks like…. That.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Sarah had filled and downed a second glass of water, willing herself sober.

When she looked at him again, she knew he hadn’t asked for any reassurance for his own sake. He wasn’t asking for her validation or forgiveness, nor was he trying to indirectly make some ‘we’re not all like that’ statement. The question had been solely for her sake – the rest of the world be damned.

And that… that makes her answer for him; with an answer no less true.

She comes to stand near him in the entryway to the kitchen, watching him look between her face and scanning her body, as if still reassuring himself nothing happened. She waits until he relaxes slightly, until she has his attention completely in the present moment.

“Flip. Baby. You don’t look like them. Not to me.”

She reached up to touch his cheek, to trace she shape of his mouth as he pressed a small, hesitant smile against her fingers. His hand on her hip was gentle and warm.

They got ready for bed in silence. Flip helped with undoing the back of her dress and sliding her head and arms into her pajama shirt – her coordination not quite at peak performance.

In bed, the lights out, Flip pulled her close and wrapped her up more tightly than usual. He kissed her ear until she’d gone utterly relaxed and content. At first, she burrowed her face in close against his chest, breathing in all the comfort he offered. She luxuriated in the strength she could feel at rest in his arms – alongside the tender circling of his fingertips along her back.

Suddenly, she had more to say. She lifted up just enough to find his eyes in the dim bedroom. She stroked his hair back from his face, leaning close.

“You look like the guy I don’t bitch about cooking dinner for. Who picks me up without a single complaint when it’s the middle of the night and I’m drunk. Who can fuck real good but love even better. The guy who doesn’t think he’s noble for treating me well – it’s just what anyone should do. You look like the guy who doesn’t ask if it’s a place for whites or colors, when we go out. The guy who says my hair’s beautiful, even though you’ll never understand why it takes so long to get it done.”

She leans a little closer now, her hands coming up cup his jaw, fingers gently stroking over his beard.

“You look like the guy I trust to keep me safe. The only guy I’ve ever known where it actually makes me feel better, knowing you keep a handgun in the closet. That’s what I see, Flip - the guy who gave me what means the most. A home where I know I’ll always be safe.”

As much as it enrages him, tonight had hardly been an isolated incident. Sarah had plenty of stories of experiencing such threats – some of which Flip had witnessed firsthand. But he has no power over people’s cruelty or small-mindedness. Neither of them do. All he can do is look out for her. And the whole time, part of him had just waited until it became too much for her. Until all his skin color represents became too burdensome to keep in her life any longer.

So this – it means something to him. She doesn’t see him as a turncoat or defector from enemy lines; still hovering in her line of vision. To her, he has always been behind her own line – on her own side, in private from the rest of the world.

“Sarah, I swear I’ll always protect you. Until the day when this world is less fucked up and you don’t need it anymore.”

“Mm…. but what if I still need you?”

Flip nuzzles the top of her head, draws her in a little tighter.

“Then I’ll still be there.”

She’s half asleep, head pillowed against his chest and his arms still twined around her, when she murmurs, “Flip?”

He rumbles out, “Hm?”

“Tell me you love me.”

Truth be told, he’d been thinking it. Just nervous to say the words – as he perpetually was, no matter that it wasn’t anything near the first time.

Flip opened his eyes to press a kiss to her forehead, then three more down the side of her half-asleep face. Warmth bloomed in him at her contented sigh.

“I love you. More than I know the words for.”

She rumbled a sigh, her head nodding sleepily against his chest as her lips curled in a smile.

“Good.”

#BlacKkKlansman #Flip Zimmerman #Flip fic #Adam Driver

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thenovelartist · 6 years

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Road to Redemption

The kingdom was slowly being torn apart by the war that loomed over them. Every available man was being called to join the army, and those with training were being asked to serve as knights. His father would be furious, hence why he had to be careful. Mother, on the other hand, had caught wind of his plans and stopped him before he could slip out into the night. However, instead of stopping him, she gave him a large, emerald encrusted ring—a gift passed down for generations—and kissed his forehead, wishing him the best of luck. He returned the gesture before swearing he would bring honor to their name again, something they had lost in a careless act by his father.

Signing up was easy. He hid his identity well and signed up under a fake name so word wouldn’t reach his father. He asked people to call him Felix Agreste because, unfortunately, he had to keep the last name in order to restore honor to his family line.

That’s when a gangly looking youth came in. The older men laughed at him. His black hair was only just long enough to tie back into a little queue and his face was devoid of any sort of hair. Yet here he was, signing up for a leadership position. They didn’t want to let him in at first, but the man with a surprisingly high voice was persistent. Eventually, they called up one of the men to participate in a swordfight with the lad.

Adrien was about to protest, saying it was almost unfair because the man they chose had to have at least ten years of experience on the gangly fellow. But the lad shocked everyone when he quickly and effortlessly beat the older man.

“Next time, I suggest putting up a fight instead of underestimating your opponent.”

No one dared questioned the young man again.

Adrien was quick to befriend him. He was known as Plagg Dupain, he learned. An odd name, but he looked a little odd. Adrien forced himself to recall the familiar last name, finally realizing that he was the son of Tom Dupain, the man famous for traveling to the eastern kingdoms and bringing back an exotic looking wife. He was aware the wealthy businessman had a daughter, one who was the talk of many town and the pursuit of many men, but never had he heard of the man’s son.

Still, they quickly became friends. They both had similar skill levels for their young age and worked well together to create battle tactics. Though they were paired with someone much older and wiser for now, they worked well on their own with very little interference from their older co-leader.

They pressed hard and far into battle, changing the tides of the war and significantly weakening the other kingdom.

Until that kingdom sent assassins.

Akuma, they were known as. Silent and deadly demons.

They took out most of the squad and scattered the ones who remained. Adrien stayed by Plagg’s side, unwilling to leave the man he’d come to think of as a brother. They managed to make it to the outer rim of their kingdom, where they were convinced they lost them. Still, they had to hustle back to their central base. They were targets, that much they knew. They had a reputation of being the greatest warriors in the king’s army and had overheard of the bounty on their heads.

They were just making it over the bridge leading from the outlying countryside to Agreste territory when the arrows flew. The second round hit Plagg in the shoulder. He nearly fell of his horse from the shock of it, but Plagg was hearty. He pulled himself back up on the horse and rode well.

Until the third round hit Adrien’s horse’s flank.

The horse reared from underneath him, nearly sending him flying, but it spooked Plagg’s horse, who sidestepped in surprise. Plagg already had poor balance from the strike of an arrow. He didn’t have a chance when his horse started bucking, too.

A fourth round of arrows, and this time, one flew directly by Adrien’s torso, getting trapped the fabric of his uniform. And in the chaos, he went tumbling over the side of the bridge.

The rushing water was cold. That was the first thing that registered in his mind. He popped up out of the water, sputtering as he reached for the nearest rock. He held tight, sputtering and choking out the water he’d taken on. He quickly wiped his eyes, just in time to see the flash of red rolling down the river.

Plagg.

Adrien let go of the rock in a heartbeat, allowing the current of the rushing river to take him closer and closer to his best friend. He was able to grab Plagg by the tunic, then, some hundred meters down from the bridge, finally got him to a bank.

Apparently, the way Adrien lugged Plagg upon the riverbank by his torso forced the water from his lungs. Plagg was coughing and sputtering as water poured from his mouth. Adrien smacked his back a handful of times, helping Plagg rid his lungs of the river water.

But the arrow was still in his shoulder, and Adrien knew he had to take it out.

He didn’t warn Plagg, going for the element of surprise and not giving him any time to prep for the pain that it would undoubtedly cause him. With a cry in that high-pitched voice of his, he collapsed back on the bank, passed out.

With the wound bleeding out, Adrien knew he had to wrap it, then get Plagg to a healer as fast as humanly possible. Looking around, he tried to locate where they were, and that’s when he remembered the hunting shack that sat at the edge to this particular property. One he’d been to a handful of times when he went hunting with a friend. It was at least a safe spot for now, so it would have to do.

He lifted Plagg up on his shoulder, carrying his friend the short distance to the hidden hideaway before dumping him on the bed. First things first, he had to wrap that wound. He stripped Plagg of the dark red cloak he favored so much, then of his outer shirt. The inner shirt was next, and Adrien paused to stare at the way his chest was bound tightly.

Adrien stared in surprise. When had his friend been injured? He’d been at his side the entire time. But as he looked him over, noticing the thin waist, the small frame, everything else began falling into place. The high-pitched voice, the childish features, the fact he never undressed with them or bathed around them…

Plagg was a woman.

…

Everything hurt. Marinette groaned as she felt a throbbing in her shoulder. That paired with the burning in her lungs and the throbbing of her head made it hard to keep conscious.

“Take it easy,” a familiar voice said.

Cool water pressed against her forehead, and she sighed at the relief. She was too weak to open her eyes right now, so she allowed herself to sink into the softness beneath her.

The nauseous feeling slowly ebbed, though the pain in her shoulder remained. She tried to open her eyes, but the lids were still heavy.

“Rest for now,” the voice repeated. “We’ll get you to a healer soon enough.”

“What happened?” she grunted, trying to recall where she was.

“You were hit,” the voice said, one she came to realize was her partner. Her very handsome, green-eyed, kind-hearted partner. “You took a tumble in the river.”

She grunted her acknowledgement.

“You hit your head pretty good, and that shoulder is going to need to be looked at.”

Slowly, she found the strength to open her eyes, immediately recognizing Felix’s face in front of her, reaching over to drape a cool, wet cloth across her forehead.

Slowly, she shifted, the pain in her shoulder immediate spiking.

“Stay still,” Felix urged, his hand pressing against her opposite shoulder to keep her down.

It took far too long for her mind to register that his skin was on hers.

With wide eyes, she looked down to find she was shirtless, her bound breasts covered only by a blanket she now clutched and pulled up tighter. The pain in her shoulder was roaring, but her panic was stronger.

He continued to stare at her, his expression unreadable. She swallowed hard as her heart pounded, a new realization kicking in. She was caught.

Her stomach twisted and she dropped her head in shame. “You’re going to turn me in, aren’t you?”

“No,” he said easily.

She lifted her head back up. “But… but I’m a woman. The law states—”

He shrugged. “I’m not turning you in, Plagg.”

She cringed at the bite at her fake name. One she’d chosen and was able to pass off thanks to her heritage. “Even though you’d be killed too if they found out you let me go?”

He nodded.

She stared at him again.

“Why are you surprised?” he challenged, handing over a canteen of water. “I thought you knew me better than that by now.”

Hesitantly, she took it. “But that was before you knew my identity.”

“Well, Plagg, for your information, I don’t really care that you’re a woman considering that you’re a skilled strategist and have saved my life and the lives of several others on more than one occasion.”

Again, she didn’t miss the bite in his tone. “Marinette,” she said. “My name is Marinette.”

“Marinette Dupain?”

She nodded. She hadn’t lied about her last name.

“The merchant trader’s daughter.”

Again, she nodded before taking a drink of the canteen.

“Explains a lot.”

She handed the canteen back to him. “What do you mean?”

“Never heard that Thomas Dupain had a son. Only a daughter.”

“So my reputation precedes me?”

“And it’s quite well known,” Felix explained. “I know many of my friends had their sights set on the exotic daughter of a wealthy merchant.”

She bowed her head. “That’s why I joined,” she admitted. “So I wouldn’t have to be the wife of whoever offered the best prospect.”

“But you’d have more of a choice than most women,” he countered. “One would say you were better off than most.”

“I didn’t care for any of the men my papa picked out. Normally, he’s good at listening, but when I’ve turned down as many men as I have, he’s more worried about seeing me happily settled with a family than if I love the man.”

Felix stared at her a long while before standing form his seat. “We should get you to a healer,” he said. “I don’t want that shoulder wound to fester.”

Her bottom lip quivered. “But… you’re going to have to explain—”

“That you got caught in the crossfires,” he finished for her. “That’s all that happened.”

She frowned, and her gaze sank to the bed she lay on.

“Are you awake enough to ride?”

She nodded.

“Then let’s go.”

He tossed her some dry clothes, then turned to allow her privacy to dress. After that, he helped her out of the hut and to her horse. She had no idea just how weak she was until she was in the saddle.

“You listen to me,” Felix warned. “If you think you’re going to pass out, you tell me.”

“I can handle myself,” she said, forcing herself to sit tall as though to prove it. “I’m not weak.”

“Never said you were,” he insisted. “Frankly, if anyone else was as pale as you are right now, I’d insist you stay off a horse.”

She watched him easily hoist himself up into the saddle. “Thank you, Felix,” she said.

He looked to her. “Adrien,” he said. “My real name’s Adrien.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at him, the name coming to the front of her mind. “Adrien Agreste? As in—”

“You aren’t the only one with a secret to hide,” he said. “I’m here to clear my family name. I just couldn’t do that if they didn’t allow the son of the infamous Gabriel Agreste to enter the army.”

They held each other’s gaze a while longer before Marinette looked away. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye just in time to catch a grin. “Come on. We should get you to a healer.”

#mlauyeahaugust #ml au yeah august #au yeah august #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #medeival

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marshmallow-phd · 6 years

Text

Insolent Housemate

Request: k, love. Take your time with this and I mean it because I just requested one and I know B requested one as well. (As a writing blog, we get it! So don't feel pressured!) But I love your writing and you, so I HAVE to send in another Jongdae request. Housemate / roommate AU, please and thank you! <3 - T

A/N: I got it done! And I somehow made myself squeal? Lol @noona-clock T, I hope you like it!

Genre: Housemate AU

Pairing: Jongdae x (fem) Reader

Part 1 I Part 2

Life had it out for you. At least someone up there who controlled the inner workings of the world’s events had a grudge against you.

It all started when you answered an ad for a roommate for a house. It all seemed too good to be true. An original four bedroom, the half attic had been renovated into a living quarters and the current residents were looking for an extra housemate to ease rent. They were all college students, just around your age. However, the listing had said it was four females that lived there. It was a typo with severe consequences.

You answered the ad without question. It was close to the university and the bookstore you worked at part time. You’d have a room to yourself and maybe even make a few friends. The deposit was sent to the landlord and you were given the code to enter through the gate. All your luggage with you, you walked up to the house, only slightly nervous. It took you a good amount of time to warm up to people. Typically, people had to approach you first. But you could do this. You told yourself that over and over.

The landlord had already informed your new roommates that you’d be arriving and they were all out and about when you did. Unpacking took very little time; you’d organize things better later as you got more comfortable and familiar with your new surroundings.

Feeling thirsty and needing to take your eating ware down anyway, you lugged the heavy box down the stairs and to the kitchen. That many steps just for food and water was going to get annoying real fast.

After everything was put into the empty spaces you could find, you filled a glass with water and glanced around the place, trying to get a feel of your new home. Then the front door opened.

Several voices intermingled and talked over each other, laughing about something. You froze.

The voices definitely weren’t female.

You were stuck in the kitchen like a statue, drink hanging in the air halfway to your lips. Four males stumbled into the kitchen and locked into place, their eyes on you.

“Who are you?” the tallest of them asked.

“I’m (y/n),” you answered, putting the glass down on the counter. “Who are you?”

“We live here,” the one decked out in athletic gear replied.

You nearly choked. “What? No, the advertisement said girls lived here!”

“You’re our new roommate?” squealed the one with a puppy-like face.

Groaning, you laid your head on the counter with a hard thump. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

***

The landlord refused to give you back your deposit despite the ad being his mistake. You’d already signed the lease and, as horrid as living with four boys sounded, it wasn’t worth losing the money to find a new place. Besides, they weren’t that bad. Well, three of them weren’t that bad.

Chanyeol and Baekhyun were quick to welcome you, understanding that the mix up wasn’t your fault. They went out of their way to invite you out when they left the house and include you in on conversations. To your own surprise, you often took them up on their offers and enjoyed speaking with them.

Minseok was a mystery at first. He didn’t talk much, but would often smile at some of the things the others were saying, proving that he was at least paying attention. It took time for you to get used to his cleaning first thing in the morning, but you soon joined in, much preferring to live in a sanitary house and participating in its upkeep made you feel a sense of pride.

It was your last roommate that gave you the most trouble. Jongdae whined when the situation was explained about the mix up on the listing. He whined when you couldn’t get your deposit back. He whined when the boys offered to take you out and get to know you, apparently ruining “guy time”. You often wondered how the others put up with him.

You were barely able to do it. It was something you just couldn't understand. You tried to be nice, to show him that you wouldn’t be a bad roommate. Occasionally, you made dinner for the guys. As a stress baker, you constantly made cookies and sweets that the guys ate up. Jongdae included, although he never let you see him eat it.

Jongdae, on the other hand, seemed to go out of his way to annoy you. He played his music so loud in the morning it woke you up as his room was right under yours. He hardly cleaned up after himself. His sentences were always short with you and he just didn’t seem to like you at all and you couldn’t understand why or what you might have done. What you hated more was how cute he was. Sure, all four of them were attractive to the point of your friends were constantly asking to come over, but Jongdae stood out to you the most. And that attraction just added to your irritation.

Today was the day that you snapped. The paper you were currently working on was worth forty percent of your grade and it needed to be perfect. Concentrating was nearly impossible with the sounds of gunshots, yelling, and car tires squealing against asphalt vibrating through the house. Sick of it all, you saved your paper, slammed your laptop shut and stormed down to the living room.

Chanyeol and Baekhyun were in Chanyeol’s room playing video games at a reasonable level of noise. Minseok was at work, leaving only one suspect left.

“Jongdae!” you yelled over the obnoxious action movie.

He barely turned his head in your direction and then paused the movie. “What?”

You scoffed. “Seriously? I’m trying write my paper and I could probably recite the last ten minutes of the movie, it’s so loud. Are you really that deaf?”

He just shrugged. “I like watching these movies on high volume.”

“Well, could you turn it down just a little bit?” you asked as sweetly as you could. “This paper is really important and its due next week.”

There was a moment of silence as if he were actually thinking about it. Then he turned back around, settling into the couch. “Nah, I’m good. I hear the library is quiet.”

Like a volcano on the verge of erupting, you were ready to let loose and give Jongdae a piece of your mind. You’d managed to take two steps towards his back when Chanyeol ran from the doorway where he’d been standing, watching you two. He grabbed you around the waist and lifted you up, making you feel like a cartoon as your legs kicked in the air.

“Let me go, Chanyeol,” you grunted, still fighting his too strong grip. “I just want to shove that remote down his throat.”

The front door opened and Minseok walked in, hanging his jacket up in the front closet. One look at you and Chanyeol and he knew exactly what had occurred. He turned to Jongdae. “Now what did you do?”

Scoffing, Jongdae turned off the TV and threw the remote down on the coffee table. “Of course you take her side immediately. I’m always the bad guy. Whatever.”

He stood up, swiped his keys from the counter and stormed out of the house. Once the door was shut, Chanyeol let you down and Baekhyun came out from his hiding place.

“So, what happened?” Minseok asked again.

You sighed. “I simply asked him to turn down the volume since I’m trying to write my paper. He said no and told me to go to the library. Which is super crowded right now due to midterms. Like he doesn’t know that I hate crowded places when I’m trying to work.”

That was the weird thing about your relationship with Jongdae. The two of you obviously hated each other, but you also seemed to know everything about each other. One time when the five of you went out to eat, you asked the waitress to leave off the olives from his pasta because he hated them more than anything but hadn’t realized that his dish came with them. When you were sick - without even asking - Jongdae put on one of your favorite movies and watched the whole thing with you even though it was a gushy romantic comedy. It was a strange two way street that you couldn’t quite navigate.

Chanyeol scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know what’s up with him lately. It’s like the smallest little thing sets him off.”

Minseok threw him a look. “You seriously don’t have any idea what it might be?”

“I’m not convinced that that’s the reason, Seok,” Baekhyun commented.

You frowned, hating when they had a secret conversation in front of you. The last one was over your coworker they thought was cute.

“What reason?” you asked.

The boys exchanged glances and then kept their mouths shut. Rolling your eyes, you left them without a word, not wanting to let them know your feelings were hurt for being left out. You reminded yourself that there would always be a gap between you guys no matter how close you got, being a girl living amongst boys.

Taking advantage of the quiet, you tried to finish up your paper. But your mind kept going back to Jongdae. Was something going on with him? Was something happening at school or with work that was making him so touchy? Maybe something was going on with his family?

If that was true and the other boys were just respecting his privacy, then you might have overreacted with Jongdae. Although, you did ask nicely. Did he take your sweetness as fake? Manipulative? You weren’t meaning to come off that way. Your mom always taught you it was better to fight meanness with kindness.

Completely unmotivated to work on school, you crept back down to the first floor and stepped into the kitchen. Breaking into your secret baking stash, you started on making Jongdae’s favorite cookies: chocolate chip, confetti cake cookies.

Used to the sound of your kitchen wonders, the boys had snuck into your work space, trying to swipe some chocolate or cookie batter. You caught them each time, stopping them from making off with your supplies.

The smell of the baking treats were making your own mouth water, but you had to fight with yourself. They weren’t for you.

Jongdae still wasn’t back when the cookies were finished, so you arranged them prettily on a plate and laid them nicely in the middle of his bed, hoping he’d be too preoccupied with the dessert to realize you’d been in his room without his permission. You hid away in your own space, reading a book on your bed and waiting for the potential fallout.

A knock came from your door about an hour later. Hesitantly, you got up from the bed and shuffled over to the door, opening it slowly. Jongdae stood out in the short hallway, hands behind his back and an apologetic look on his face.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” you whispered back.

He sighed. “You didn’t have to do that. I was the one who blew up.”

“I know,” you nodded. “But I thought that maybe something was going on that made you so touchy and I just wanted to do something to make you feel better. Even if just for a second.”

He actually smiled at you. It was bright like sunshine and it made your heart flutter.

What?

Why were you reacting like this? Sure, Jongdae was cute, yes you were attracted to him, but this was an unusual reaction. Normally, you could push it away and forget about that fleeting feeling.

Now that you thought about it, you did try extra hard to make him okay with the living situation. Why was that? His personal feelings shouldn't be your first priority, especially at this stage. But you still liked to see him smile, hear him laugh. It made your day, you realized.

“I appreciate that,” he said, pulling you from your thoughts. “I really do. And I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting towards you. It really isn’t right. There is something going on, but it’s still not right for me to take it out on you.”

Opening your door wider, you offered, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jongdae shook his head. “No, not right now. I’m not ready for that. But-” He let out a long, deep breath and then pulled you into a surprise hug. His grip around your waist was tight, but comforting, his hands resting on the small of your back.

You laced your arms around his shoulders, letting your face rest in the crook of his neck. You liked it there, if you had to admit it. The smell radiating from Jongdae was intoxicating. He seemed to be taking in your scent as well from the deep breaths he was taking in through his nose that was buried in your hair.

All too soon, he pulled away. Part of you wanted to fight it, hold on tighter, but you let go as well, taking a step back. Not saying anything, he turned to go down the stairs, but stopped as soon as his foot hit the first step.

Over his shoulder, he asked, “Hey, um, would you like to get dinner tonight? You’ve gone out with each of the other guys one on one. Why don't don’t we finish it off?”

You smiled. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

#Exo #exo fanfic #exo scenarios #exo x reader #jongdae x reader #kim jongdae #chen #chanyeol #baekhyun #minseok #xiumin #exo housemate au #exo roommate au #kpop

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 5 years

Text

Life is Like a Boat [Portgas D. Ace] Chapter Two [Trust Me]

He'll be crushed … no one could survive that. Elva went pale; her ears jerked down in sadness. She wanted to look away, turn her attention to something other than what she was about to witness, but she couldn't. Her small body was paralyzed – the dirty floor seemed to have glued her in place.

In horror, Elva watched the lieutenant raise a large wooden mallet above his head, cursing the young boy who he towed back from the forest. The minute the pirates returned – utilizing the shoddy den Elva often lodged in – Porchemy ordered the voluble boy to be secured to a rafter in the corner of the room. He'd asked him to give up the location of Ace and their money, but he had refused, barking stubbornly that he would not. Porchemy was not happy; Elva could hear the teeth in his mouth grind together in annoyance. With a grumble, he slammed the head of the mallet down onto the small frame of the boy. The hammer bounced off him – his body sprang back with a sudden boing. Elva herself squeaked in surprise.

"Like I already told you, I ate the gomu-gomu …" The boy's statement was shut out by the delayed screams of the crew; they could not believe it either. He really is made of rubber.

Elva had never heard of a Devil Fruit before; she doubted few had. It sounded made up and she would have went on believing it, had it not been for the boy and display of this special ability. Where did he even get one? She was certain they were rare, because she had never before seen one, especially not in the woods at the base of Mt. Colubo. It did little to slake her interest, seeing it up close. Elva wanted to know more about it; these so called Devil Fruits.

Reality crashed down on her like a wave of ice cold water the minute Porchemy demanded someone to retrieve his gloves. She knew the ones he was referring to; a set of large iron gauntlets with spikes protruding from them. Elva had seen them before, but had luckily never been unfortunate enough be on the receiving end of the lieutenant's right swing. She feared for the young boy now – he was lifted in the air like a hunk of meat.

Porchemy gave the persistent boy a second chance; more than I should have given him. But, he still refused to answer. This made the lieutenant mad. He reared back his gloved fist and punched the boy in the head. The momentum of the swing tossed his slender body to the side, but the rope jerked him back, not allowing him the chance to escape.

A spurt of blood hit the dirt floor, provoking a satisfied smile from Porchemy. The boy started to wail and cry in pain – Elva dropped her eyes to the floor. It's going to be a long day for you, my friend.

The lieutenant punched him for nearly an hour, then decided to take a break. The sniveling boy had yet to spill the truth and honestly Elva wasn't sure why. She waited for Porchemy and his men to leave before standing on her unsteady legs and walking leisurely over to her sling bag against the wall, taking from it a portable first aid kit. It wasn't much – if fact it needed to be refilled – but as a novice doctor, surviving in a lawless community, it was necessary. Elva sighed and brought the kit with her, having to drag a tall wooden stool in front of the boy just to reach him. She pulled on a set of powderless exam gloves and began dabbing away at the dry, flaking blood on his round face. On contact, he flinched and opened his brown eyes; the lid above his right was engorged and discolored.

"It hurts … I'm scared." He's beaten, Elva thought. He'd been murmuring the same words over and over since Porchemy wounded him. Elva wasn't even sure he knew that she was there. It pained her to see this; he seemed like such a spirited person before all this began. Fat, warm tears sank down her red cheeks.

"Stop this … stop being so stubborn." Her voice was husky and so faint she almost thought the boy hadn't heard. "Why are you protecting Ace? It's going to get you killed."

The boy unexpectedly beamed. "He's my friend. Sabo too."

Elva was baffled; she couldn't believe how naïve he was. Her gentle strokes against his skin became rough as irritation took her. Some friends they are. She felt bad for him; his trust failed him. Elva sighed – her fingers eased up. There was no reason for her to cast her anger onto him. It wasn't his fault after all. "I'm real sorry about all this. There's honestly nothing more I can do without Lieutenant Lardass finding out. He'd punish us both." Her ears jerked up – the one tucked below the cloth dressing throbbed in protest.

"You're ears are real weird," the boy mentioned suddenly, lifting his brow. He noticed them drop a bit and laughed. "I've never seen ones like yours before. I like them." They reminded him of knives; pointed at the top.

Elva felt her cheeks go warm. No one had ever spoken about her ears like that; mocked them and yanked on them, but like them, this was new to her. "Thanks … I guess. They are good for hearing noises most people can't."

"Can they really? What am I saying?"

The friendly boy shut his eyes and began to utter something quietly to himself. Elva was confused at first, but she realized he was giving her a name; his name. "Luffy … Monkey D. Luffy." What a strange name. "I'm Sorin Elva."

Luffy let out a peculiar laugh. "Wait until you meet Ace and Sabo. They will like them too." He considered asking Elva more about herself; about her weird pointed ears and if she too ate a Devil Fruit, but her attention was trained on nothing in particular – blue eyes inactive as if she was broken. Luffy saw her ears spring up and jerked in alarm as she came to life.

"He's coming back," she uttered softly, dashing to get back to her spot on the floor. Elva moved the stool – in too much of a panic to care where she placed it – and shuffled over to the bag to deposit her kit. Her bare feet kicked up dirt as she trudged back to the corner, but she managed to lose her footing on the way and fell hard to her knees. The lieutenant soon returned – his crew bringing up the rear.

Porchemy noticed the brat and snorted in amusement. She was a clumsy one; her feet got her seized up when she tried to escape into the woods previously. He thought about asking her why she'd been up and moving around, but honestly he didn't care. There was still a job to be done. Porchemy ignored her for the time being and slid back on his gloves. The stubborn boy was right where he had left him, only he looked washed up; the old blood on his face was gone. He no longer was curious about what the knife eared girl had been doing; he knew. She was still wearing the rubber gloves on her hands. Think you're clever, do you? He'd have to show her the consequences of her decision.

"Oi, brat. Watch this," Porchemy demanded. He reared back his fist and struck the kid hard in the ribs. His little form bobbed like a lure in the water as he sobbed in pain. "Hear that? He's broken and there's nothing you can do about it. Want me stop? Make him spill."

Elva choked back a sob. How? She barely knew him, other than his name. Even if she had been close to him, she doubted that Luffy would turn in Ace and Sabo. He would die for them and it made her sick. "Where are they? Please … give them up … save yourself from this."

"I won't say," he said quietly. The lardass punched him again. It hurt so much, but Luffy refused to give them up. Elva was talking much too softly for him to understand, but he knew she wanted his suffering to end. She pleaded for it.

Porchemy had enough; his life was on the line. His captain would not allow him another chance if he failed. He drew his sword, intending to kill the boy. He wasn't going to spill the location of his friends, so there was no reason for him to live.

Yet, before Porchemy had the chance to drive his sword into Luffy, the right wall gave in and crashed to the floor. Pieces of broken wood rained down as two young boys emerged from outside – Elva noticed that each of them carried a long metal pipe. She wasn't certain who they were, but the minute Luffy cried out his name, there was no mistaking it; Ace and Sabo had come to rescue him.

Elva watched as both of them rushed the lieutenant. The dark haired boy was caught mid swing and suspended in the air by this throat. Porchemy was unperturbed by their attempt to attack him and began to choke the boy, but he failed to notice the other one sneaking up from behind until he was bashed on the head and knocked to the ground – Sabo was evidently the blond; Ace called his name.

Sabo dove forward and lifted a knife off a crew member Ace and he knocked over when they broke through the wall, then cut the rope that held Luffy. He caught him with ease and made for the door, calling out to Ace to follow him. However, his idiot friend had other plans. He was going to stay and fight.

He's insane. Is he asking for a death wish? Elva couldn't believe the nerve of him. Ace stood his ground; Porchemy wasn't intimidated by him in the least. She witnessed Sabo toss down Luffy – to aid the reckless boy – and hurried over to him, lugging her sling bag with her. He was considerably beat up and she only hoped that she had enough bandages to cover his injuries with. That would have to wait however, because none of them were yet free of Porchemy or his men.

In their way, preventing them from leaving was the pirate who carried Elva like a sack of potatoes. He made eye contact with her only briefly as she dug through her bag, averting his attention when the sound of metal on metal rang in his ears. Elva retrieved a mini glass jar with a cork lid and popped the top, lobbing the contents at him. The powder stuck to his clothes like glue and instantly brought out a reaction from him.

"The hell is this? It itches like crazy," he hissed, digging at his skin with his short, stubby nails. The sensation only seemed to worsen.

Maple samara and ground rose hips; makes a very nasty itching powder. Elva giggled in amusement. Her ears picked up on a sound; one of metal in the dirt. She turned just in time to see Porchemy drop – a wound to his forehead. He was out cold. They beat him … they really did it.

"Oi … Elva." She jumped as Luffy clutched her leg. His eyes rolled back and instantly he was out.

Elva squealed in alarm. She bent down to survey the damage, but it was clear that he passed out from exhaustion alone. Even so, his injuries were severe and Elva needed to patch him up before they got worse. "Um … guys. A little help."

Elva turned up her nose. "I certainly will not scram. You're all beat up and if not for me then you'd all be in worse shape than you are now." She had a point; all three of them were covered in bandages. Luffy was in worse shape than the others, but Ace made it clear he didn't want her assistance – she glared back at him as she dabbed away the blood from his nose. He was going to need to keep a plug in it just to stop the bleeding. The medical supplies in her bag were not nearly enough. She huffed in annoyance. "Look … I know you don't have a reason to trust me, but if I wanted you dead I would have told Porchemy back in the forest where you were hiding."

Ace snorted, "Nothing stopping you now. One act of kindness isn't going to change the fact that you're one of them." He noted the visible recoil in her movements; something troubled her. Yet, the sharp eared girl forced a smile and continued to tend to his injuries.

"You some kind of doctor, or something? I saw you back there with that powder. The hell was that stuff anyway?" Sabo tugged at the rim of his hat, seeing the way her ears bounced up in excitement. He was too annoyed with himself to admit it was cute; the hell kind of Devil Fruit did she eat?

Elva bobbed her head. "I am … or rather I'd like to be. And to answer your question, it was simple itching powder. I learned to make it from a book." Her ears slumped down; she nearly forgot about the volume she was forced to leave behind. No chance that she'd be lucky enough to find it. The pages were probably all ruined.

"Would have taken you for a spy, honestly. Those ears you have must be an advantage for them," Sabo mentioned.

More like a curse to me, the cheerless girl thought. She took a deep breath and stood, arching her sore back. Her fingers curled around the hood of her cloak and pulled it over her head, veiling them. She was embarrassed to display them for too long; people always had questions. Elva gave Sabo a gentle smile. "I wouldn't know … been a prisoner of theirs for as long as I can remember. That building you two wrecked was my home, now I don't have one."

"Doesn't matter," Ace snapped. "You can't stay with us, not now that Porchemy will be looking for you."

Sabo shot him a glare. "You can sure talk. That's a really bad habit you have there, Ace. Saying 'I'm not gonna run' to a real pirate like that. Why do you want to die so much?" He snorted in laughter. Sometimes he didn't understand his friend. "Now that you've gone and done what you do … there's no way Bluejam's men will ever forgive us. We're gonna be chased now."

Luffy – who had been crying the entire time – finally spoke up. His voice was unclear because of the amount of sobbing he was doing, but Ace heard him clearly. He was certain the girl had too because she narrowed her bright eyes in concern for him. It really pissed him off, especially when Luffy thanked him for saving his sorry butt.

"I don't get it," Ace barked. "Why didn't you spill the secret? Those men are criminals who easily kill women and children."

Luffy dried his tears, "But if I told them, then we couldn't be friends anymore."

This shot a pang of sadness into Elva's chest. She hated that Ace was so unforgiving to the rubber boy; he certainly didn't deserve Luffy as a friend.

"But it'd be still better than dying, wouldn't it? Why do you want to be friends so much with me?" Ace couldn't understand it; no one wanted him alive. It drove him mad; hot tears burned at his eyes. "Do you know how much shit you've put me through? After finally following me all the way here."

Elva clinched up her fists. Arrogant brat, she thought. After everything Luffy went through to protect his secret, he still didn't understand. "The hell is your problem? Have you no idea the pain he went through to protect you?" Fat, warm tears poured down her cheeks. "I begged him to rat you out, but he wouldn't. He … he chose to die; he would have died for you."

"Stay out of this. And scram already. We don't want you here," Ace snapped. His cold eyes made her visibly flinch. She knew nothing; understood nothing about him. Ace was the son of a demon. He honestly didn't care what happened to him, not when the world would be so much happier without him in it.

"But I have no one else to rely on," Luffy cried – everyone went silent. "I can't go back to Foosha Village and I hate the mountain bandits. If I didn't chase after you, then I'd be alone … and being alone hurts worse than pain."

A sob tore from the girl's mouth; Ace could see that she was trying to hold back more. He felt bad for making her cry. "What about your parents?" His attention drifted back to Luffy.

"My grandpa's all I have," the rubber boy uttered.

Ace scoffed, "So if I'm with you, then it doesn't hurt … and if I'm gone … it'd be a problem for you, huh?" He saw Luffy bob his head in agreement. He was confused. "You want me to live?" Again, Luffy agreed. No way could he have meant it, but something in Ace begged him to believe the boy. So he did.

Worse than pain, he says. I've always been alone. Elva wiped at her face, hearing the two begin to argue. She knew Ace was right; she needed to leave. Bluejam was still alive, probably looking for her. She'd only be a nuisance if she stayed – the girl slid her bag onto her shoulder. There's no freedom for someone like me. Elva planned to leave and turn her back on the only taste of freedom she ever had. She turned, but a hand grabbed her wrist. Sabo was next to her, shaking his head in annoyance.

"Those two are gonna need someone to patch them up when they get like this. Idiots, I swear."

Elva was too shocked to say anything. She merely nodded and listened as Sabo brought up the matter at hand; the issue with Bluejam. Curious as she was, Elva wasn't sure how any of it related to her. She had nowhere to stay – the only option was to return to the Terminal. Yet when Ace suggested they stay with them at the home of the mountain bandits, Elva was taken back.

"Consider it payment for helping us," he mentioned as they walked through the forest towards the temporary home. "And for destroying your shack."

Elva paled; you don't have to call it a shack. A gentle smile curled her lips. "What if Dadan doesn't like me?"

"She'll like you; probably more than Luffy or me. You have more to offer her, being a doctor and all." Ace rolled his eyes. "Trust me. She's an old bag, but a fair one. Work and you will have a place to stay."

"You still want me to scram?" Elva feared the answer, yet she wanted to know.

Ace felt a pang of guilt tear through his chest. He shook his head, trying not to insult her. It was always hard to express himself. "No … might run back to Bluejam and tell him about us. Guess that means we're stuck with you." He clenched his teeth and stomped forward, leaving her to join Sabo. She had Luffy after all to keep her company.

Thank you … for this chance at freedom. A hand took her own, giving it a tug. Elva glanced over at Luffy and paled as she noticed the mischievous gleam in his brown eyes.

"Have anymore of that itching powder left?"

#one piece #portgas d. ace #monkey d. luffy #sabo #oc #pirates #friendship

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