#no more asks nesting there for over a year my consciousness is free

[a-box-full-of-eneco]

I saw that Skitty with the black wings and instantly thought “One-Winged Skitty, Skittyroth” with is both hilarious and adorable.

been thinking abt how to respond for over a year i give up It took a while but at least have a one winged skitty hjsdf

#i havent played final fantasy but some internet search revealed to me this was referencing a character named Sephiroth #and then i contemplated about what to draw as response...for long #skitty #eneco #pkmn skitty #skitty art #pkmn eneco #my ask box is now empty again #no more asks nesting there for over a year my consciousness is free

[rws2871]

The Mercy Of Humans - Chapter 1: The Golden Rule

I had heard about humans. Everyone in the Galactic Confederation knew about humans. Descended from predators, they were often violent, even to each other. They were contrary, illogical, confrontational and worse, easily angered. In the three hundred narns since the humans discovered FTL, they had dozens of armed confrontations with many peoples, including several Confederation members.

Once, they had gone to war with a trade consortium because the Tloung-hi had blockaded the Ublot’s home system. A human cargo ship had contracts to deliver products to the Ublots and when they attempted to do so, the Tloung-hi destroyed them.

The Tloung-hi were unprepared for what happened next. Humans have a fetish for something they call ‘free trade.’ Add to that, humans as a whole took offense to the Tloung-hi destroying that one ship. You would have thought they were of the same nest but most of their people did not even know the names of the thirty some humans who died.

Several hundred human warships descended upon the Ublot system and completely destroyed the Tloung-hi blockade and then proceeded to hunt down any Tloung-hi ship within fifty light years. They only stopped when the Tloung-hi capitulated, offered financial restitution, and agreed to never attack a human vessel again. Needless to say, after losing more than a hundred ships, the Tloung-hi were fully prepared for the third demand.

When the Confederation offered the humans membership, the humans refused, citing the laws of the Confederation were incompatible with their Constitution, something about universal rights. I do not completely understand it all. But the Confederation leaders, those with real power, decided to isolate the humans and refused them passage in Confederation space. That did not work. The humans still travelled brazenly in Federation space and no members desired to challenge them militarily.

I sat outside the ruins of my home, holding my youngest hatchling, wondering when she would take her last breath. I was not alone. All over my planet, other parents did the same. Some already mourned.

It had been thirty-nine days since a series of solar flares had decimated my home system. Overnight, the planet’s infrastructure was completely destroyed. There was no power and little clean water. Crops failed and livestock died. What land not suffering severe drought was subjected to monsoons or hurricanes. Some of these hurricanes spanned entire continents.

In space, all our orbital platforms had failed. The largest had even crashed to the ground. Further out, past the fifth planet and in the asteroid fields, some platforms and factories survived. But not enough to help. We asked the Confederation for help but so far, none has come. Oh, they had promised to help. They claimed it would just take time.

Not in time to save billions of lives. Not in time to save my little Y’dochka. Tears fell down my face as I looked at my little girl. Her feathers had fallen out days ago. Her skin burned and painful to the touch. She occasionally regained consciousness, smiling up at me. Touching my face. Breaking my heart even further. I was helpless to save her.

I heard the crack of a distant sonic boom, then another. Dozens more followed. I looked up to see dozens, no hundreds of flaming paths as more debris entered the atmosphere. What now? More destruction? What had we done to displease the gods so?

But it was not debris crashing down. The objects slowed, changed directions and slowly I could see the outline of shuttlecraft. Ships I had never seen before. I stared in wonder as a second wave of booms cracked through the blistering heat. As far as the eye could see, ships dropped from space.

I felt a twinge of hope as one separated from the pack and slowed to a gentle stop over my home. Gracefully, almost delicately, the ship touched down. Steam hissed from exhaust ports and I could see the heat shimmering above the giant shuttle as the rear ramp lowered and dozens of beings ran out. Some pulling grav-pallets of cargo. One ran up to me and stopped.

Humans were the boogeymen of the Confederation . Nobody crossed them. Nobody really trusted them. Only criminals consorted with them.

Everyone knew that. I thought that. But I was wrong.

“Here,” the large human said as he dropped to my side. He had some sort of device on his shoulder that translated his words. “I have a medpac. We can save her.”

“But your medpacs will not work on Dalutians,” I answered. I dared not allow myself to hope.

“We planned for that,” the human waved a flashing metal wand over my child. “These medpacs are designed for your people. With the solar flares and your physiology, we knew we would need medicine for the burns and infections. Artificial skin to cover the worst. It has built in painkillers. But she needs fluids. I took a crash course on how to start IVs for your people.”

I must have looked stupid to the human. I just could not accept what was happening.

“Here. You are not as bad as her, but need some fluids, too. This has concentrated electrolytes and medicine to help you. Food will be ready pretty soon.”

The pouch he handed me, and it was a he as I had read that only their males had facial hair, was full of a cold fluid. I took the straw and drank greedily as I watched the man tend to my daughter. As he did, others dragged pallet after pallet out of the shuttle. Some started assembling some sort of prefabricated buildings while others ran through my little village, offering help where they found the need.

“Thank you,” I said softly. “I have nothing to repay you.”

“No need. We came to help.”

“But why? You are not part of the Confederation. My people have rarely even encountered yours.”

“So? You needed help. We had help to give,” the human never stopped treating Y’dochka. He had pierced the large artery in her left leg with a needle attached to a bag of greenish fluid. “Right now, there are over fifty cargo vessels in orbit with relief supplies and a dozen Nightingale class hospital ships. Once my people have the hospital built, we can treat the worst of your injured.”

“Even the Confederation could not… did not send this kind of help.”

“Shit, this is just the first wave. In a day or so, a hundred more ships will be here, then even more after that.”

“Your government sent so much?” I was dumbfounded.

“No. I mean, some of them are Terran Navy, maybe six cargo ships and all the Nigthingales. The rest are private ships with volunteers and donations from my people to yours.”

“Again, why? We are not allies. Your people even dislike the Confederation.”

“One, your people are not the Confederation. And two, we do not need allies. Alliances are political things and allies can betray you when it is in their best interest. We find that having friends is better.”

“But we are not friends.”

“We weren’t. But we are now. My name is Oliver Pierre.”

“I am Lakhul Solmnar. My daughter is Y’dochka. You said that most of your people are civilians?”

“Yep. An odd bag, too. Got two ships of nuns from the Sisters of Charity, four ships full of Mormons. They always show up where there are disasters. Two ships from New Damascus. They provided most of the medical supplies. About a dozen ships full of the crazy Vikings from Ny Österlen. They are the closest to your planet. And a bunch more.”

“I still find it hard to believe. Just… why you would help us.”

“There is a saying among some of my people. We call it the Golden Rule. ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’ Then there are others that believe in karma. Hell, old David over there was Boy Scout. He always says to do one good deed every day.”

“I do not know this word, karma.”

“It is a belief that the good or bad you do in this life determines your next one. Put simply, ‘What goes around comes around.’ I don’t quite know if reincarnation is real. But why take a chance, eh?”

I did not know what to think. It was all so alien.

“Ok. I have Y’dochka stabilized. We can move her to the hospital. She might need to go up to one of the ships for full treatment. These burns look pretty bad.”

The human carefully picked up my daughter as if she was a precious toy. My people were barely half the size of humans.

I followed him as he trotted to this freshly built hospital. Everywhere I looked, humans were doing the same for others in my village. I felt hope for the first time in weeks.

Yes, humans were a bit scary. They were huge and powerful. They were descended from predators. Maybe they are a bit prone to violence at the smallest provocation, or even contrary, illogical, and confrontational. I say, so what? In our time of need, when our allies sent platitudes and empty promises, when the trade consortiums waited to pick over the corpse of our system, the humans sent help. Out of all the known peoples in the galaxy, only the humans showed up in our time of need.

I tell you that the humans are also kind, compassionate, selfless, and even friendly, though I still do not understand their humor.

Allies? The human was right. My people needed less allies and more friends. From this day forth, I would thank the gods for that lesson.

#scifi #original story #oc story #original characters #original fiction #original work #part 1

[drabbles-of-writing]

Stitched Back Together

AO3

first Owl Fight attack, woo! The prompt for this one was “Luz and Raine hanging out”

Summary: Free of Kikimora's control, with scars carved into their skin, Raine is taken back to the Owl House. Awake in the middle of the night, unable to sleep after their whole ordeal, they officially meet Luz. Talking to one of Eda's kids really shouldn't be as intimidating as it feels.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When Raine first saw the kids, truly and consciously, there were thorns retreating from their eyes and scars etched onto their skin as Eda held them tightly.

Eda’s sclera had turned black, hands hooked into talons with wings arched over their heads, and was at least two feet taller than when they had last seen her. And there had been a lot to ask about there, and possibly some gawking, but this isn’t about that.

Because as soon as Raine could stand, Eda holding their hands tightly and almost brought to tears at how relieved she was to see them alright, to know there would be no more harm done to them, Raine noticed the two figures far across from them, holding back the few guards trying to intervene.

They recognized them quickly, from the photo that had twisted a hole into their chest, because Eda had kids and she had spoken of them with such desperation and love--

The girl had turned, and Raine knew then they hadn’t been imagining the round ears when they first saw the photo. She had the young demon they recognized earlier clinging to her back, and they both looked at Raine with confusion. The demon’s had been accusatory, but the humans, she had to be a human, looked nothing but curious.

It had all passed by in a blur, the escape from the guards and Eda bundling them into the Owl House, frantic as she continued to check them over, never slowing in her talking as the wings and sharp edges retreated back into her body, which Raine may have quietly mourned the loss of. They suited her.

The human and demon had watched from the background, occasionally offering assistance towards or around the two, but more or less giving them space as Eda fretted and explained all she could to Raine, clinging like she was afraid if she didn’t, Raine would vanish again.

They heard of what Kikimora had done to them, of what Belos had done to them, of what they had done. Of Eda’s acceptance of the curse, of the rest of the BATs being in the Conformatorium (something they both agreed on fixing as soon as they could), of everything that Eda could think to catch them up on.

There would be time to unpack all of that, to formulate plans, to talk about everything beyond what Raine had missed out on. But that could wait until another day, could wait until Raine had gotten rest, and a moment to reorient themselves.

And yet, they still found themself in Eda’s kitchen, nearing midnight, with a cup of tea that looked suspiciously like the one Lilith had liked in their hands.

They knew they should be asleep, it was late, and knowing Eda, there would be far more to fret about in the morning. Eda had offered her nest, but Raine had taken the couch, not exactly willing to voice their opinion on how Eda’s nest did not look comfortable.

They were thankful for it later, too, when they awoke after barely an hour of sleep with the feeling of vines wrapped around their throat and muffled, begging cries as their hands moved of their own accord.

They sighed and slumped against the counter, setting down the cup for a moment to rub at their wrist, where scars from the reaching thorns still lay. They faded the further the scars stretched up their body, but they figured the ones along their wrist and arm would last for the rest of their life.

It wasn’t too bad, a scar was really the best thing they could’ve asked for. They stared down at their tea, thoughts swirling and not even bothering to try and sort any of them out. Later, when their wrist didn’t have a phantom ache.

“Oh, hey.”

Raine startled, almost knocking their cup over as they whirled their head around.

The human stood in the doorway, looking a bit surprised at Raine’s reaction. She had clearly just woken up, hair a frizzy mess and eyes still blinking with sleep.

“Oh, um, hello.” Raine said, forcing themself to relax. “Sorry, is there something you need?” They asked, wrapping a hand around their tea.

“I just came here for a snack,” The human shrugged, breezing right by the counter and towards the cabinets. 

Raine nodded, mostly just to themself, and went back to staring into space, trying to pretend the awkward tension hadn’t suddenly arisen.

They realized after a moment that the girl had paused in what she was doing, hand still in the cabinet door, but taking nothing out. They looked up for a moment, and caught the girl watching them with a contemplative look on her face until she realized she had been staring and jerked back to shuffling through the cabinets.

“So,” Raine said, in some attempt to break the tension, leaning their arms across the counter. “You’re Eda’s kid?” They said, grimacing slightly at how off that had come off sounding.

“Er, yeah,” The human said, frowning at the cabinet before shutting it again and opening a different one. “And you’re...Raine.”

“You’ve heard of me, then?” Raine guessed, taking a sip of their tea.

“Vaguely,” The human admitted, opening another cabinet door. “I know you’re--er, were, the head of the Bard Coven. I know Eda mentioned some group called the BATs you lead. I know that...Eda knows you.” She said, voice becoming more mumbly as she spoke.

“Ah, Eda didn’t speak of me much, then?” Raine inquired, telling themself that they shouldn't really be surprised.

“Not until you, uh, had the whole...thing happening.” The girl nodded. “Then Eda got really worried and me and King asked why she was so worked up, and then she told us you were an old friend, which I maybe halfway trust, and that you had this group with the BATs...and I still don’t think I understand it completely.” She admitted with a sheepish look.

“Sounds like Eda.” Raine chuckled, shaking their head slightly as they smiled down at their tea. “Wait, halfway trust?” They added right after, back straightening.

“I mean, I trust you mean a lot to Eda,” The human said, her raiding of the cabinets forgotten. “And I trust Eda means a lot to you,” Raine did not flush at that, thank you. “But pretty much everyone Eda knows she has a very complicated relationship with, and I’d be surprised if you were the one exception.”

“Ah,” Raine said, rubbing the back of their neck. Is this what it felt like to be interrogated by a kid? “You got me there. We haven’t...seen each other in a while.” They admitted.

“How long?” The human asked, interest sparking in her eyes as she leaned next to the cabinets.

“Erm, two...maybe two and half decades?” Raine said, lifting a hand and tilting it. “Titan, it sounds much longer than it feels when I say it out loud.” They murmured.

“Oooh, another piece of the mysterious backstory!” The human grinned, perking up, all the hesitation from earlier melting away at a probably concerning speed. “Why’d ya stop talking?”

“Ah, well, you know,” Raine said, flushing again as their ears pressed back. “Just...a split, really. Seeing other people. Eda had some things she still needed to work out, and I suppose I had to reflect a bit, too.” They mumbled.

“Wait,” The girl narrowed her eyes, and when Raine focused on where she was again, they pulled back when they realized Luz was on the other side of the counter. “Are you one of her exes?” She gasped, eyes wide.

“Oh dear,” Raine sighed, face falling in their hands.

“You are!” The girl exclaimed, and they sincerely hoped it didn’t wake anyone else up. “Man, and I thought all her exes hated her from how she talked about some of them.” She whistled. “Explains a bit, though.”

“Is that so?” Raine mumbled, knowing that they were blushing up to their ears.

“Yeah, I mean, explains why she seemed so freaked out. She's gotta know you pretty well.” The human said casually. “She goes all out when she gets attached, as I’m sure you know.” She added with a light tease.

“Oh, I know.” Raine sighed, memories of holding back a feral Eda back in Hexside from mauling Odalia still vivid in their mind. “And, since we’re talking, I apologize, but,” They said, raising their head from their hands when they were sure they didn’t look like they’d had a nasty sunburn across their face. “I don’t believe I...caught your name.”

“Eda didn’t mention it?” The human blinked, graciously taking the change in conversation.

“She might’ve, but I’ll be honest, I caught maybe two of every five words she said.” Raine admitted, flicking an ear. “I’m sorry, but I figure I should ask now before it turns into something where I ask at a much worse moment.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” The human waved her hand. “You went through a lot. My name’s Luz.” She said cheerfully, offering a hand. “The other little guy is King.”

Raine blinked at it for a moment before reaching out and taking it, giving a single shake until Luz pulled back. She was practically rocking on her heels from how excited she seemed, and Raine may have allowed a small half-smile in return.

“Have you lived with Eda long?” Raine asked, because they could still remember Eda’s pained explanation that the kids weren’t hers hers, and found themself wondering where in the world she had picked up a human.

“Few months,” Luz said. “Four, maybe? I dunno, the calendars here are different from the human realm.”

“Four months?” Raine blinked, surprised. “I would’ve thought you’d known her longer.”

“Nah, I’m just a recent addition.” Luz shrugged, looking away with a hint of nervousness. “King’s been here for years, though.”

“Huh, odd.” Raine said with a shrug as they went back to drinking their tea. “You act a lot like her, I would’ve thought you’d have picked up those habits from her.”

“I do?” Luz repeated, straightening.

“Yes?” Raine lowered their cup. “When she was younger, at least. Very curious, couldn’t leave any questions unanswered. And stubborn. And maybe a little too attentive for her own good.” They added with a lighthearted tone.

“Oh, yeah, that-that sounds familiar.” Luz coughed into her fist, and Raine smiled at her embarrassment. “You knew her when you were younger, then?” She asked, and Raine chose not to comment on the slight diversion in conversation.

“Since Hexside,” Raine nodded. “I want to say we were eleven or so? Maybe twelve. Never had a moment of peace since.”

“Aw, Eda’s backstory just keeps getting more and more convoluted. At least yours isn’t as crazy as Lilith or her moms. Even after the whole mind-control thing.” Luz said with a fiery curiosity in her eyes, and Raine was impressed at their lack of visible reaction to how casually Luz brought up the mind-control. Another thing like Eda, Raine thought. No amount of answers would be satisfactory, and treated every odd thing like it was just another day.

“Well, I’m glad I got her daughter's approval. Wouldn’t want to fight my way in now, would I?” Raine chuckled, tilting their cup back and finishing the last of it.

When they lowered their cup again, Luz was staring at them like a spooked rabbit, hands gripping the counter. They blinked slowly, brow raised in confusion.

“I-I’m not,” Luz stuttered, coughing to clear her throat and forcibly releasing the counter. “I’m not her daughter, you thought I was her daughter?”

“You aren’t?” Raine frowned, ears perking up. “But you said you were her kid.”

“That’s--I thought you meant--like when Eda just casually calls me and and King kids, or when I’m out with my friends and she’s watching us we’re just ‘her kids,’ you know?” Luz said, looking a little frantic as she did so, wildly waving her hands around. “Not--no I’m not, related to her or anything--”

“Oh, I knew that.” Raine brushed it off. “But Eda told me you and King were her kids?”

“I--when did that happen?” Luz asked, near sounding like a demand.

Raine hesitated, for a brief moment. They doubted someone like Eda would so casually tell a teenager and young demon about that time she, you know, almost died, and it really wasn’t their place to tell them as such if she hadn’t.

“The last time we spoke.” They settled on. “Before the...thing.” They said, mimicking Luz’s words from earlier. “I learned she had kids, and I told her that if she had something to lose, she had to get back to them.”

“I...oh.” Luz said quietly, slowly relaxing and turning her head down to stare at the counter.

“I’m…” Raine hesitated. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep, I didn’t know it was a touchy subject--”

“No, no! It’s not, you’re fine.” Luz waved them off. “I just...didn’t know Eda had said it like that.”

Raine would’ve thought something along the lines of ‘Eda didn’t tell you she thought of you as her kid?’ if they didn’t know that Eda was the same person who hadn’t even truly thought of them as dating until Raine had introduced her as their girlfriend with earshot. She’d been so touched over the whole ordeal that Raine had to remind her, repeatedly, that they had been dating for over a month. Apparently knowing, and having a title for it, were two very different things.

They wouldn’t be surprised if this kid was the same. 

“She cares about you, you know that, right?” Raine asked softly, and Luz looked up to meet their eyes.

“Yeah,” She said, cracking a small smile. “I know.”

Raine nodded in satisfaction, stepping around the counter to set their cup in the sink. It was late, they could wash it in the morning. How Eda could've ever thought about leaving a kid like her, they don't think they'd want to know.

“She cares about you, too.”

Raine paused, going still as one hand lightly gripped the edge of the sink.

“I know,” They said, almost surprised that they believed it so easily, inhaling as they set their shoulders back. “It’s almost scary how little that seems to have changed.” They mumbled.

“For the both of you, huh?” Luz teased.

Raine whirled around, ears pressed back as their face lit up again, being greeted with the girl's smug face that she had to have picked up from Eda, it was almost uncanny. 

“I--you--she just--there was--shouldn’t you be asleep at this hour?” Raine managed to strangle out, getting a gleeful giggle out of Luz as they did so.

“I got hungry,” Luz shrugged simply, her smug expression never falling.

“Then grab a snack and go to bed.” Raine huffed, crossing their arms, as if that would hide the embarrassment as they stepped aside.

“I will, once I find where Eda put the cookies. She keeps hiding them from King and doesn’t tell me where she put them.” Luz muttered, stepping up to the cabinets again and opening a new one.

“I think that means she’s hiding them from both of you.” Raine raised a brow.

“She should find better hiding spots, then.” Luz said, retracting a hand from the cabinet with a container full of cookies in her hand, shaking them. “Cover for me if she asks why some went missing?” She asked, a pleading look on her face.

“I’ll cover you if one goes missing.” Raine bargained, and Luz gave them a disgruntled look before sighing and taking a single cookie from the container.

“Can’t believe you.” Luz huffed good-naturedly, putting the cookies away.

“Just because you're Eda’s kid doesn’t mean I’m going to let you get away with everything, Titan knows how Eda would’ve ended up if that happened.” They muttered, shaking their head. “I fear the day you and Amber meet.”

“Who?” Luz tilted her head, taking a large bite of her cookie.

“One of my crew, she’s about your age.” Raine said simply. “I think you’ll get along. Now go, shoo, I’m willing to bet tomorrow will be quite hectic, and you need your sleep.” They said, herding Luz out of the kitchen.

“I’m going, I’m going!” Luz said, smiling as she lightly batted at Raine’s hands, darting out of the kitchen. “Remember, you saw nothing.” She warned, walking backwards as she narrowed her eyes on Raine.

“Lips are sealed, I was fast asleep the whole night.” Raine said, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. “Though I figure she’ll find out, anyway.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got backup now.” Luz said, shoving the last half of the cookie in her mouth before slipping away through the doorway that led to the staircase.

Raine chuckled, shaking their head as they pushed themself off of the doorway. They should probably hit the couch again, too. Eda would only fret more if they were falling asleep all day tomorrow.

“Oh, almost forgot!” Luz said, head suddenly poking through the doorway and causing Raine to pause. “Welcome to the Owl House,” She said cheerily. “Since I take it you’ll be staying a while.”

Raine’s ears flicked back and they mumbled under their breath as Luz’s smile only widened, and Raine couldn’t help but mirror it.

“Night!” She chirped, vanishing around the corner yet again.

Raine watched the place where she’d vanished again, rubbing their wrist and noting it didn’t ache as much as before. 

“Goodnight,” They said to the empty air.

#the owl house #toh #luz noceda #raine whispers #eda clawthorne #king #BATs #mind control #luz #raine #talking #late night conversations #fluff #with like minor hints of angst i suppose #fics #ao3 #writing #my writing #owl fight #stepparent raine #just raine and luz interacting after raine is no longer messed up as they SHOULD #minor raeda #teasing

[tf-vigilante]

A better life

Hi guys ! After years of reading exciting stories from other authors, I decided to start writing by myself. English is not my native language so I'm sorry if I make mistakes. Feel free to comment, react and make suggestions for the future ! Any feedback is appreciated.

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My existence and my origins are a mystery. For most people I do not really exist... I think that I am more a power that has become consciousness by itself, an entity whose purpose is to transform, to make the world as it should be, or rather as I wish it to be. I am particularly powerful to transform men into what they deserve. I take pleasure in trapping them, punishing them by transforming them into another version of themselves. But not often the one they would like...

Will (on the left) and Dan (on the right) had decided to work out together at the local gym that evening. They had been buddies since high school and now in college theyr were the two kings of their little town. Popular and charismatic, they were also arrogant, disdainful, true bullies and terribly homophobic.

I watched, invisible and ethereal like a ghost, the two young men doing their workout. Then I followed them to their car, thinking about how to use my powers over them. With malice I took possession of the car radio to talk to them directly with a robotic voice.

Good evening gentlemen, I will now cancel your status as an oppressive alpha male in order to restore peace and balance in your environment.

“What the fuck is that ?” asked Dan while driving. 

“I fuckin dunno bro. “ answered Will. “I’ll turn it off !” He tried, in vain. 

You are not allowed to stop the process. I detect that most of your pride comes from your muscles and athletic habits... starting physical changes... starting reality adjustment...

Suddenly the two friends could feel a wave of weakness running through their bodies. With painful creaks, their bodies began to shrink, both in muscle and size. Years of gains form working out disappeared. I mischievously watched the biceps, abs and pecs diminish in volume. The muscles were deflating like balloons and the bones were cracking.

“What’s happening ? Dude stop the car !” The poor Will was looking at his now thin arms, horrified and on the verge of crying. Funny how it is easy to break strong and fearless boys with that simple change... 

“I... can’t... need to drive back home...” Dan was the dumbest of the two. I could force him to continue drving without breaking a sweat. I’m a nice spirit, his car seat came closer to the steering wheel by itself to allow him to drive even with his smaller body. Talking about the car, it also had to change. The boys were too focused on their bodies to realize that the car interior was also smaller to suit their future life. The loud black Jeep soon transformed into a cute blue Fiat 500. In the back of the car, the two gym bags vanished without a trace. In mere seconds, their sportswear changed into casual clothes, a simple t-shirt and jean shorts. Then I took a break in the changes for the rest of the drive back home, leaving them shocked, lost, screaming in fear for the loss of their precious pride...

20 minutes later, they arrived at Dan’s small flat. Will ran to the bathroom to see the damages in the mirror. I followed Dan in his living room / bedroom. It was a stereotypical jock room : messy with stuff and clothes everywhere. This wouldn’t do for my projects for them. I took control of the TV and turned it on. I appeared on the screen as a handsome news presenter

Tonight our guest is Daniel ! But I’m affraid he doesn't deserve any applause for his disgusting flat. I am committed to turning this into the perfect love nest. What do you think of that?

Terrified, Daniel unplugged the TV and my face disappeared from the screen, which turned black again. But the mischief was done, and soon the whole flat grew larger with extra rooms and much cleaner. Photos of the two young men appeared at some places. Fearing a mental breakdown of my two subjects, I instantly change their reality. They are now living together under the same roof. Daniel knew something was wrong. In his mind, a part of him was screaming to run, to flee before it was too late... But he couldn’t. 

Will came out from the bathroom, confused and demoralised. They looked into each other's eyes and the magic took effect. The two young men were captivated and mesmerized by this sight. Their homophobic personalities were fighting against new feelings for each other. Daniel suddenly felt the need the need to reassure his friend :

“I’m so sorry I don’t know... how to reverse this...” He was about to stop talking but words came by themselves “Babe come into my arms it will make you feel better...”

As they were getting closer and closer, I could feel their willingness to resist. Daniel was already asking himself why he called his buddy “Babe”. They were slowly starting to become a cute couple I told myself when they started cuddling. 

Their homophobic beliefs were infuriated and disgusted by this scene. But they were slowly fading, already in passenger seat of the boys’s life. I turned my attention more specifically to Will. He was the worst of the two in his previous life. I needed to make sure to break his spirit. In Daniel’s arms, Will or should I call him Willy now, started to feel more sumbmissive and dependent on Daniel. Before meeting them, him and Daniel were both 23 yo. I took 5 years of age from Willy to gave them to Daniel. Now Willy was 18 yo and Daniel 28. 

Willy was a teenager who just graduated from high school but he was madly in love with Daniel for a year already. He moved in with his boyfriend only last week. I gave Willy a beta male personality, seeking guidance, attention and security from his boyfriend. Daniel worked as a chef in a local restaurant now...

They kissed with fondness and passion for quite a while. I was proud of my first achievement with this cute couple. Willy moaned with pleasure when he felt his boyfriend’s beard stubble on his neck. 

“I will cook us a nice meal for dinner honey.” Said Daniel with kindness.

“Can I stay with you ? I love watching you cooking !” answered Willy with a much higher voice than before. Shrinking his adam apple was a nice addition for him. 

“Of course my little koala. Come here...” 

Willy then lowered his hand under his boyfriend’s underwear and started to jerking off the hairless dick. “Mmm a little Willy will have a tasty whipped cream for dessert...” continued Daniel with a sensual voice.

I left them at their new life. Some straight remnants in their minds were still fighting but they wouldn’t for long. I liked leaving them knowing that by my powers they became the kind of men they hated. But the world will be a better place with Daniel and Willy than with Dan and Will... 

#maletf #reality change #mental change #straight to gay #straighttogay #transformation #cute #first story

[hankwritten]

Lies, Damned Lies, and Valentine’s

Day 7 of the valentine’s day event, Whole Team

“Have the RED team vandalized us in the middle of the night?” Medic asked, gazing around the common room which had been papered with tiny hearts. “What is with all the pink?”

“Ach, it’s Valentine’s day, boyo!” Demo told him with a hearty slap on the back. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

Medic adjusted his glasses, which had fallen out of place with the overzealous display of masculine affection. “My wife and I are…estranged. I have not celebrated a Valentine’s day in a very long time.”

“Well, so long as you made your cards, you’re celebrating just fine.” When Medic didn’t respond, Demo pressed a, “you did make some cards, right lad?”

“Cards for who? I told you I have not spoken to-”

“For the team ya quack,” Demo snorted. “We always make cards for each other on Valentine’s day.”

“…Like kindergarteners,” Medic asked drily.

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud doc,” Demo elbowed him. “It’s a tradition.”

Medic crossed his arms, and kicked a small paper heart that had fallen on his shoe. “Well no one told me about it.”

At that, Demo finally paused. “Ah, I suppose everyone forgot to mention it to the rookie. Don’t worry though!” This time, Medic dodged the pat aimed at his shoulder. “Everyone knows you only got here a month or so ago, they won’t hold you to any obligations.”

“What a relief.” Medic rolled his eyes.

He was able to put the ridiculous conversation out of his mind thanks to the oncoming battle, slinging on his pack with a feeling of purpose. Dealing with REDs and avoiding Spies took most of his concentration, as a day that he went about distracted was a day he’d find quite a few Sniper shots through his head. However, as much as he’d dismissed Valentine’s by the midday break that afternoon, it appeared his teammates hadn’t.

He’d followed Heavy to the cover of the sentry nest, but as his partner was filling up Sasha, he noticed that Engie had laid out a few pieces of folded paper on top of the dispenser. Medic wandered closer. It took him a moment to parse what he was seeing, but then he remembered the travesty that had become of the common room and realized Demo had been dead serious about Valentine’s Day. Engineer’s valentines were spread out neatly, all unique, all cheerfully signed by members of the team. Scout had draw a rather good rendition of the man himself standing next to his sentry, a little heart between them. Sniper had written ‘THANKS TRUCKIE’ in block letters. Even Soldier had put in some effort, as he had used red, white, and blue construction paper to make what might have been the shape of Texas if you squinted enough.

Nearby, Pyro was showing off their own collection. Scout had also drawn a picture for them (of Mayor Balloonicorn), which they had delicately set in the grass, their other cards out before them. The one from Engie they were attacking with vigor, since the Engineer had been forward thinking enough to glue tiny pieces of candy to the folded paper.

“They’re all real nice Pyro,” he was chuckling. “Though maybe put them back in your pocket? Don’t want them to get dirty.”

Pyro nodded, and began shuffling them back into a pouch within their chemsuit.

“They take this very seriously, don’t they?” Medic noted absently about the pair.

Heavy, having loaded on the ammo required, turned and saw Medic mulling over Engineer’s cards. “Oh, da! Every year. We do not spend holidays together, so for team, is closest thing.”

As he spoke, he reached into his front pocket. Something with Demo’s handwriting dashed all over it appeared in his hand, obnoxiously saccharine with its copious hearts and overuse of the color red. Yet the Heavy Weapons Guy displayed it proudly, and Medic offered him a wry smile.

“I had no idea,” Medic mused.

“…Team forget to tell you?” Heavy rumbled. “Heavy see. Heavy wondered why doctor did not give him one.”

Medic coughed lightly into his hand. “I wasn’t aware until this morning-”

“No, is alright. Heavy’s little joke.” He patted Medic on the shoulder, which was (surprisingly) more reserved than Demo’s attempt at the same. “We kill RED babies, that is gift enough, da?”

Medic agreed, and followed him off into battle. However, this time the threat of the loving spirit stuck, and Medic found himself skewered on the end of the Spy’s knife more than he was comfortable with. He tried to shake himself, to forget his teammates’ foolish obsession, but one thought kept rankling him: he might have not known to send out cards, but why hadn’t anyone gotten him anything?

They returned to BLU base with an embarrassing loss on their collars, though you wouldn’t know by looking. Everyone was in the common showing of their haul, passing around heart shaped cookies that someone had made last night and stuffed in the fridge. Medic tried one, and nearly gagged on how much sugar had been crammed into such a small package.

Apparently everyone had gotten the same memo about Demo’s cards, as each one came with a tiny novel vodka attached. Demo peeled off the last one (from Soldier with a picture of a shovel on it, saying simply I Dig You) with the utmost care, lining them up next to his whiskey bottle.

“Look!” he grinned to Soldier. “Me scrumpy’s birthed a litter!”

Soldier, who had taken to taping his own cards to his helmet, slapped him on the back. “Congratulations! You’re a grandfather!”

Scout, like Pyro, couldn’t help but flaunt his, claiming that he got the most out of anyone. When Sniper pointed out that everyone got seven cards, he pivoted to say, “yeah well mine are the best, quality over quantity Snipes.”

Medic shouldn’t have been irritated. He didn’t care about Valentine’s Day, not in the slightest, so why was he getting so terse about his teammates’ holiday cheer? Of course they didn’t get cards for the rookie, they probably would have gotten cards for their old Medic, not him.

That thought itself would have put anyone in a sour mood, but the tipping point was when he walked the corner and saw Spy delicately arranged bits of red-hued paper into a manila folder, smiling slightly as he set the last one down. Medic was close enough to read, saw Sniper’s handwriting, and also that the poem it was quoting was incomplete. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. / I love thee to the depth and breadth and height. The next two lines were missing— Medic knew enough of poetry to glean that—which meant Sniper probably had the other half. All shuffled always with the other ones he’d gotten from Scout and Engie and Demo and whoever, but the most important thing Medic could determine from the display was all those people had given Spy valentines too. Spy. Medic’s eye twitched. Before he knew it he was barreling past Spy, out past the others in order to get to the hallway. There were a couple exclamations of confusion, a few calls asking what was wrong, but Medic ignored them all.

He didn’t need their obligatory attempts to include him, he could see when he wasn’t wanted.

“Doctor! Wait!”

He considered not stopping for the deep voice behind him, but unless he wanted to go charging off onto the battlefield, his path would eventually take him back around base. He sighed, and turned to face the man behind him.

“Can I help you?” Medic snapped. There was no use pretending he wasn’t miffed.

“What is the matter?” Heavy asked. “Have not seen you this angry before.”

“Well that is not a big surprise considering we barely know each other, apparently.” Medic crossed his arms.

Heavy furrowed his brow. Always a man of few words, he either didn’t know what to say, or figured it was better not to antagonize Medic further, and so he settled for waiting for his teammate to elaborate.

Medic relented eventually, shoulders sagging as he exhaled. “I realize I am not…part of the team so to speak. I understand I am not as close to you all as your old Medic was, and I do not blame you for not including me, but it is still…difficult to watch everyone open cards and…not receive any myself.” God it sounded so childish when he said it allowed. He was a doctor for god’s sake! He should be above such petty jealousies.

As his self consciousness closed in, he hunched, and failed to look at Heavy. It took the man saying, “doctor did not get valentines? Is not possible,” for Medic to turn back around and see him shaking his head. “At very least, Heavy give card.”

“You…?” Medic unfolded his arms. “When?”

Heavy raised an eyebrow. “Did doctor not check locker?” When Medic blinked, Heavy added, “is where we put at start of day, so none get lost.”

“…Just like in kindergarten,” Medic finished the thought and pinched the bridge of his nose. “God I am such a dummkopf.”

Heavy chuckled, clearly glad to have resolved the situation. “Medic is far from. Come, we look now.”

So Medic did come, entering resupply and walking to his locker, taking a moment to brace himself as he grasped the handle. He turned it. Immediately, he was hit with an avalanche of purple, pink, and red, an absolute tidal wave of valentines rushing out to greet him from where they’d been conglomerating inside his locker like a clogged artery.

There were so many, decorated all with his class symbol or words of thanks. Pyro had made at least four, decorated with crayons and rainbow drawings, sticking slightly where the paint hadn’t dried. Medic picked one off the floor. Scout had drawn Archimedes beautifully, which was astounding considering the two hadn’t gotten along since the Über incident, and it must have been quite a strain to sit still long enough to capture the bird’s likeness. Engie had detailed out a list over every time Medic had saved his bacon in the past month, Spy had written something long and oddly heartfelt, Soldier had gifted him a coupon for one free haircut. The list went on.

It took Heavy gently touching his shoulder while he read Sniper’s uncharacteristically kind letter to realize he was holding his hand over his mouth. He cleared his throat, but despite that still couldn’t find words.

“Medic is part of team,” Heavy stated, matter of fact. “We appreciate. Do not forget that.”

Medic’s eyes fell on a large card, tucked behind the Quick-Fix in the back of the locker so it hadn’t come tumbling out with the rest. This one was unquestionably from Heavy. Medic wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did.

Delicately, he reached out and took it, seeing it was nearly the size of a proper book, made out of two pieces of paper tied with a string. He gently gazed over the words inside, drinking them all in, and then softly spoke, “thank you mein friend.”

“Is no trouble.” Heavy squeezed his shoulder, and Medic could tell his friend was smiling by the chuckle in his voice. “Now! We go. Back to party, doctor should get to show off his cards too.”

“Yes, lets. But ah…not this one though,” Medic finished, softly folding Heavy’s card back up. “This one I will keep here.”

Heavy smiled. “If doctor likes.” With that, Medic followed him back to the party.

#dontneedavalentine2021 #heavymedic

[ragingbookdragon]

The Bursting of Sunsets

Vasco x De Sardet

Word Count: 1.5K Warnings: None

Author’s Note: And we’re back at it again with my bullshit. Enjoy! -Thorne

           Vasco wasn’t particularly fond of nobility. They made him uncomfortable—and that was putting it lightly. More so, they enjoyed staring and poking at him as if he were a mythical creature instead of a normal human being. In fact, they buzzed around on the Naut ships like flies on honey. So, the idea that Vasco had to transport, not one, but two nobles, gave him the urge to have someone slam his head between his cabin door and the doorframe until he stopped twitching.

           That being said, his first impression of the Legate he was giving passage to had already intrigued him. He’d known the man all but an hour, and even then, he could see that De Sardet wasn’t cut from the usual, “I’m-a-prick-noble” cloth. De Sardet was polite, extremely so. Kind, if Vasco was feeling generous with adjectives. He’d never seen a noble smile so much as if he were genuinely happy, and yet, the Legate’s face looked as though it was going to split in two—it confused Vasco to no end.

           What also confused Vasco was how someone so obviously self-assured was also incredibly awkward. De Sardet had to be about six-foot-two, taller than the Prince and Vasco, and just barely taller than the Master-At-Arms who was with them. He was fit too, unlike the new governor who was at best, coltish. No, the Legate was solidly built, the type of build that drove men and women wild with lust-filled fantasies that kept them up all night, and Vasco could see it, even over the man’s clothing. But God, the man was so awkward—and for someone that strong, it didn’t seem reasonable. And it only got worse when it came time for them to board the Seahorse.

***

           De Sardet had certainly broken a sweat during the fight with the colossal creature, enough that he’d shirked his jacket and undone the first few buttons of his shirt to cool off faster. Constantin had taken his coat for him, still congratulating De Sardet over his phenomenal fight. However, De Sardet didn’t feel as overwhelmed with amazement as his cousin was. He felt troubled, deeply troubled. The look in the creature’s eye before he put it down stirred something in his chest. It wasn’t a look of hatred the being had given him—it was one pleading for mercy, and it made him sick to his stomach. Still, he did what he had to do, and that was push on, which was seemingly simple until he was at the brow, then the sick feeling in his stomach morphed into an even more troubling feeling.

           Constantin had run up the brow as soon as Vasco got the welcome out of his mouth, and the captain turned his attention to the other two.

           “Your cousin’s enthusiasm is most…impressive,” he observed, turning his golden gaze to De Sardet and the Master-At-Arms.

           The Legate nodded. “This journey is his long-awaited chance to prove his worth.” Something soured in the man’s face. “His father is a very demanding man.”

           “More likely he’s just happy to be free of this hornet’s nest,” Kurt scoffed, turning his attention to De Sardet. “So Green Blood, ready to get your sea legs?”

           When no response came from the man save a choked noise, Vasco couldn’t help but stare at him, watching as his face dropped and anxiety took hold.

           “I—uh…perhaps it would be best if I were to…wait,” De Sardet muttered.

           “Nonsense Green Blood. You heard the captain. The next ship will leave in months. You’re needed on Teer Fradee by then.” De Sardet gaped at Kurt, but before he could speak, the Master-At-Arms said, “One step. That’s all it’ll take.”

           The Legate let out a heavy sigh and looked down at the brow before lifting his foot. He held it there for a moment, hesitating, then he shook his head and stepped back.

           “I—I can’t do it, Kurt. I can’t,” he all but whimpered.

           Vasco glanced between them as Kurt started to sigh. “Is there something wrong?”

           Kurt met his gaze. “Green Blood’s got an irrational fear of being off solid ground.”

           De Sardet’s head shot up indignantly and he hissed, “It is not irrational! Boats—” he saw Vasco’s face pinch, quickly correcting to, “Ships sink all the time! I do not want to drown in the middle of the ocean!”

           “Your excellency, I assure you, I’ve made many voyages across the seas. I’m young, I will admit, but you’re in good hands.” Vasco encouraged and De Sardet turned his hissing onto him.

           “I’m not doubting your ability! I’m just not getting on this ship! I can’t!”

           Kurt sighed and gestured to De Sardet. “Oi, Green Blood, can I see your rapier?”

           Albeit confused, the Legate obliged. “Yes? Is there something wrong?”

           The Master-At-Arms shook his head. “Not yet.” He handed the blade to Vasco. “Hold that for a moment, would you?”

           Vasco took it and was just about to ask when Kurt motioned for De Sardet to come.

           “Come ‘ere.”

           De Sardet did, and before he could even understand what Kurt was planning, the soldier sunk his curled fist straight up into the Legate’s abdomen. He heaved forward, letting out a woosh of air, cheek brushing down Kurt’s arm as his consciousness faded and Kurt looked to Vasco.

           “If you would, give that to Constantin while I take Green Blood to his quarters.”

           Vasco could only nod, shocked that a commoner would dare strike a noble in such a fashion.

           As they ascended onto the deck, he asked, “I assume he’s not going to be happy when he wakes?”

           Kurt snorted. “He’ll be stuck in the middle of the ocean. If I’m lucky, I’ve knocked him out for at least a week.”

           “And you’re not afraid of the repercussions?” Vasco inquired.

           “I’ve known this dainty since he was twelve. If I was afraid of repercussions, I’d’ve been gone the first time I knocked him sideways.” Kurt gave him a knowing stare. “Contrary to your belief that nobles are all arsewipes, Green Blood’s a good one.”

           Vasco all but recoiled. “I never said—”

           “You didn’t have to,” Kurt interrupted, adding, “It’s all in the expressions.”

           That was all he offered before carrying the unconscious noble below deck, slung over his shoulder, and Vasco felt like he’d been verbally slapped across the face.

***

           Evening had rolled over the water, and after the fifth gasp from Constantin over the sunset on the water, Vasco was ready to shove him overboard—though he did share the sentiment. There was nothing quite like watching the sun bathe the ocean in a glow of orange as far as the eye could see. It was ethereal, and he was glad that he could witness it every day, because it always felt like the first time he saw it. Six years old and standing on the deck of Cabral’s ship, heart bursting in his chest with every changing second as the colors danced across his face. It was—

           A howl shattered the memory and every man and woman’s attention turned to the hatch and they watched in surprise as a very disheveled and shirtless Lord De Sardet, stumbled up the stairs and onto the deck. Kurt though, found it absolutely hilarious as he was wearing a shit-eating grin.

           “Green Blood!” he greeted. “Enjoy your nap?”

           The Legate spun on him, fury in his eyes and tone as he yelled, “You kidnapped me!”

           “I did no such thing. I merely manipulated your journey and arrival onto Captain Vasco’s ship.”

           “That. Involved. KIDNAPPING. ME.” He put his hands on his head, eyes directed to the open water. “Oh my god, I’m in the middle of the ocean. I’m gonna die.”

           “Dear cousin, you’re not going to die. We’ll be there as soon as you know it,” Constantin soothed and De Sardet glared at him.

           “I’m going to kill Kurt first and then you, I hope you know that.”

           His cousin smiled. “Relax. It’s not that bad. We’ll be fine.” He glanced at Vasco who’d started down the stairs from the quarterdeck. “Won’t we captain?”

           Vasco nodded. “Your cousin is correct, excellency. I swear we’ll reach Teer Fradee safe and sound.” De Sardet opened his mouth to make a retort, but Vasco added, “Your excellency, please, trust me.”

           De Sardet’s mouth snapped shut and suddenly he looked rather embarrassed with himself.

           “I—” he started before clearing his throat and nodding. “Of course.” He turned, starting to make his way back towards the hatch. “I’m going…to retire for the evening. Perhaps…sleep off this ridiculous mentality.”

           When he disappeared, no one dared laugh, yet, and Kurt looked at Vasco with astonishment. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fluster Green Blood that quickly” he pulled a look that gave off an impressed feel. “Well done, Captain Vasco.”

           There was one more thing that Vasco knew about De Sardet, his feathers were easy to ruffle—and Vasco seemed to enjoy it.

#vasco x de sardet #de sardet x vasco #greedfall fanfiction #greedfall fanfic #greedfall #vasco fanfic #vasco fanfiction #vasco #de sardet #de sardet fanfic #de sardet fanfiction #constantin d'orsay #kurt

[malewifegrantaire]

The Birthday Thing

READ PART ONE HERE

PART TWO: Guess who’s coming to dinner hang out for no apparent reason (as far as Grantaire can tell)?

Combeferre had inadvertently ruined the rest of Grantaire’s week. It wasn’t his fault, of course. He couldn’t be blamed for Grantaire’s Incredibly Bad Brain. But still, “I just know Enjolras and I know he likes you” is a very reckless phrase to pepper into a conversation with someone of Grantaire’s constitution. He could hardly fall asleep that night because the words I know he likes you were clanging too loudly against the bars of the jail cell he called a mind. He didn’t mind too much though. The clanging was because Enjolras liked him, which made all of the noise sound a bit like music.

Grantaire picked out an outfit for the party and laid it out like he was a little kid excited for a school trip. Embarrassed with himself, he threw the entire outfit into his clothing hamper so he wouldn’t have to look at it lying out on his dresser anymore. Which was obviously a mistake, because now the clothes were are wrinkled and they were touching his actually dirty clothes. Which meant now he had to do a half load of laundry on a weekday, which he really didn’t like doing.

As he folded his laundry, Grantaire felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Huh. It was from Combeferre. Odd.

hey, are u free? sorry lol i am bored and wanted to know if u wanna hang out ??

Very odd. Maybe the wrong number? Just to be safe, Grantaire texted back:

grantaire is folding laundry right now, like a responsible adult.

Two texts back:

very interesting use of third person..

i can help if u want! i love 2 fold things

So this was Grantaire’s life. He used to be young and wild, and now he’s the sort of person that makes plans with people who text him sentences like “i love 2 fold things.” He typed his response.

uh, sure? might get boring, but i’ll never say no to an extra set of hands.

About fifteen minutes later, Combeferre was inside of Grantaire’s apartment. “You got here fast.” Grantaire said.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“Aren’t you always?”

Combeferre took in Grantaire’s apartment, which gave Grantaire such a wave of self-consciousness that he thought he might be sick. It was a fine apartment, kept clean mostly because Grantaire hardly spent any time in it. The ceilings were far too low for Combeferre.

“This is a really nice place.” Combeferre said. “Have you lived here long?”

“Five years, I think.” Grantaire said. “I think the landlord thought I’d have left by now, but, well. I’m still here.”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s nice. Good windows. Not easy to come by.”

Grantaire laughed at that. “Hey, was there something you wanted to talk about? Or are you just here to admire my big beautiful windows?”

Combeferre looked slightly embarrassed. “Uh, the latter, I guess.” he said. “I mean, just what I texted, I was bored, and I guess . . . I don’t know. I guess I thought we could just hang out?”

Now it was Grantaire’s turn to be embarrassed. Of course. Combeferre is the sort of person who’s actually, you know, decent. He was just trying to be nice and Grantaire was accusing him of having an ulterior motive. Way to go. Grantaire cleared his throat. “Well, thanks for coming. Feel free to park wherever. I only did a half load of laundry so I’m finished folding, sorry. I know how much you love to fold.”

“I went through a very intense Marie Kondo phase.” Combeferre grinned. “Let me know if you ever need your closet to be reorganized.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Grantaire said. It was dawning on him that, being more of the roaming type than the nesting type, Grantaire almost never had people over his apartment, and therefore had very little hosting experience. So he did what he always did in situations like this - said what people say in movies and books and all that.

“Can I offer you a beverage of some kind? I’ve got . . . tap water. And orange juice. And maybe beer?”

“I’m alright, thanks.” Combeferre said kindly. Combeferre’s fridge was probably fully stocked with sparkling water in every flavor for guests to sip on, the bastard. He sat down in a little chair by the kitchenette. “What, what is it?” he asked, looking at Grantaire’s expression. “Why are you - what’s funny?”

“Everything is too small for you in here. It’s like shoving a Barbie doll into a Polly Pocket house.” Grantaire said with a laugh. Combeferre tucked his long legs a bit closer to himself.

“Well, Barbie is a good role model, so I’ll take that.”

“I think an averaged sized woman or two might disagree. Anyways, you’ve got impeccable timing.”

“What do you mean?” Combeferre inquired.

“I mean that someone must have wanted us to hang out today. God, the Fates, some non-denominational arbiter of Destiny.” Grantaire was doing that thing he always did where he ended sentences in a way that begged the listener to ask him to explain himself. Why he chose to speak in these irritating circles? We will likely never know. Grantaire sure as hell didn’t.

Combeferre rolled his eyes, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. “You’re impossible.”

“It’s been said before.” was Grantaire’s reply. “What I mean to say is I’m literally never home. Not literally-literally, but, you know. This apartment is basically a glorified storage unit that I visit when there is absolutely nothing else to do. So the fact that you happened to be passing by on a laundry day...”

“... a work of divine intervention?” Combeferre finished.

“I’d go so far as to call it a miracle if I believed in that sort of thing.” Grantaire said.

Combeferre’s next question caught Grantaire off-guard somewhat. “So you’re an atheist, then?”

Grantaire had never actually seen a shrink, but he had the passing sensation of being sprawled out on some brown leather fainting sofa. Maybe that’s what this was, a psych eval. He’d get a message from the official Les Amis de l’ABC e-mail account later in the week saying “sorry, R, you’ve been deemed mentally unfit to be a part of this organization. We know the Musain is public property, but if you could avoid the premises during our scheduled meeting times we all think that’d be for the best.”

“Well, yeah, aren’t all of the lefties heathens nowadays? At least that’s what Twitter tells me.” he said. His paranoia would not rob him of his (debatable) sense of humor.

Combeferre just shrugged. “I guess if I had to call myself something I’d say I’m agnostic.”

“Huh!” Grantaire said, genuinely surprised. “A member of the ‘namby-pamby, mushy pap, weak-tea, weedy, pallid fence-sitter’ brigade, are we?”

Two things occurred to Combeferre at once: One, that Grantaire was quoting Richard Dawkins, and two, that Grantaire could not have been certain that Combeferre would recognize the quote when he said it. Grantaire was both the sort of person that committed Dawkins to memory and the sort that didn’t really care if someone mistook his references for a string of improvised insults. The more Grantaire spoke, the more Combeferre became aware of how little speaking they’d ever done.

“I guess I just think one can never be sure.” Combeferre said.

Grantaire thought now would be a good time for a subject change. “So, how is party planning going?” he asked.

Combeferre sighed. “It’s . . . it’s going.” he said. “Well, okay, I’m being dramatic. Courfeyrac is actually the one doing most of the planning. I just get weird about stuff like this. I want Enjolras to like everything, you know?”

“I don’t think Enjolras is capable of disliking anything you do.” Grantaire said in a way that to the untrained ear might sound like a veiled insult, but that Combeferre suspected was an attempt at genuine sincerity.

“Well, thanks.” Combeferre smiled gratefully. “I just want him to have a good time.”

“He will. It’s the rest of us you’ll have to work to entertain.”

“Well, Courfeyrac has a slew of party games he’s preparing. Oh, and, uh, Enjolras mentioned he’s glad you’ll be able to make it. By the way.” Combeferre said, which made Grantaire blush, which made Combeferre smile.

Grantaire hated that. Not just when Combeferre did it, when any of them did. Making faces or little comments, as if they were in on some big secret. It’s like they were proud of themselves for noticing Grantaire’s little crush, like they knew something funny or scandalous or cute. But they didn’t know anything, not really. Grantaire didn’t have a crush on Enjolras at all. It was more like a religion. Maybe he’d been too quick to brand himself an atheist earlier.

His annoyance with Combeferre soured the rest of their conversation. He became mean, curt, and downright humorless. This wasn’t at all fair, he knew. Grantaire probably annoyed Combeferre every third sentence (maybe every third word) and that had never stopped Combeferre from being his usual amiable self. There was another difference between the two: Grantaire lacked both grace and graciousness, and Combeferre, it seemed, never ran out of either.

“Well, I guess I should be leaving.” Combeferre said after a while, rising from the squat chair he was sitting in.

“I guess.”

“Uh, thank you for having me over. We should do this again some time. I had fun.” Combeferre lied.

Grantaire smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “Yeah, why don’t we all do brunch some time? You can bring your friends, it’ll be a real party. Everyone can sit around admiring my huge windows. What a blast!”

Combeferre knew he was joking, but he couldn’t decipher the punchline. What would be so bad about having all of their friends over for brunch? Why did he say the word “friends” like that, all sardonic and italicized? Combeferre almost asked him, but instead he just shook his head and smiled.

“Okay. Well. Bye!”

Grantaire waved lazily. “See you around.”

Under normal circumstances, the phrase “Enjolras mentioned he’s glad you’ll be able to make it” would have found itself fluttering in the pit of Grantaire’s stomach. Instead, there was something else sitting in there. Something that felt a bit like failure, a bit like guilt, and - most surprising of all - a bit like affection.

This is precisely why he didn’t like having people over.

#LOL this was fun. #next up: the actual birthday thing! #ok tags time #grantaire #combeferre #les amis #les miserables #my fic #uhhhhh what else.... #cw alcohol mention #it’s sort of blink and you miss it but you know #again it’s peripheral but might as well: #e/r #i’ll come back if i think of anything else

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 15 - Feelin’ The Same Way

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

What happens when two people try way too hard to act normal?

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

Hi all! Thank you so much for being SO patient. I definitely expected to have this up at the very latest yesterday, but alas that’s no he way the universe intended it to be. HOWEVER, expect the next chapter at my normally scheduled time (I have a little fun something planned for next chapter)! 

I hope you enjoy and as always feel free to like, comment, and reblog. I LOVE interacting with you all!!

Masterlist

<<<Chapter 14

And I'm feelin' the same way all over again Feelin' the same way all over again Singin' the same lines all over again No matter how much I pretend

 “Now, why is it I’m not surprised to find you here?”

A deep and boisterous voice jolted Hermione fully awake. Sitting ramrod straight in the old squatty armchair, the pieces of parchment previously spread across her lap slid off, floating to the floor in all directions. She’d been dozing, stuck in a perpetual state of semi-consciousness since three in the morning. Never fully asleep. Never fully awake. Glancing at the old grandfather clock in the corner she saw it was nearly seven. Bringing a hand up, Hermione ran her fingers through the nest that was currently her hair, grimacing when she met several tangles and knots. Looking around her with bleary eyes, she found Sirius Black standing before her, arms crossed as he stared down at her in curiosity.

“Sirius, I—” she began to apologize, realizing only then that perhaps she wasn’t allowed to freely roam the house as she did the Burrow. But Sirius cut her off, giving her an amused look.

“Relax, kitten. You’re fine. I should have known you’d find the library before long. It’s lucky that you brought your own reading material though. Remus and I haven’t finished clearing the shelves for cursed books,” said Sirius casually, bending down to pick up one of the many pieces of parchment that lay at his feet.

Hermione stood, crossing the space between them, and snatching the parchment from his hand before scrambling to pick up the rest of the loose papers. She didn’t know how much Fred and George fancied sharing their inventions – even if it was with someone as innocuous as Sirius Black. “Cursed books?” she asked, hoping the question would distract the older wizard from her suspicious actions.

Whether it truly did or not, she couldn’t be certain. But either way Sirius took the bait with good humour, sitting casually on the couch in front of the library fireplace. He settled into the old cushions with a contended sigh, kicking his leather-booted feet up onto the coffee table and spreading his arms wide across the back of the couch. He sat with all the pomp and circumstance of a royal. Apparently, twelve years in Azkaban and another two on the run did nothing to quell his aristocratic upbringing and all the self-assuredness that came with it. The expensive material of his dark green button up shirt matched the extravagance of Grimmauld Place well, Hermione thought, – even if the house still held a generous layer of cobwebs. The Sirius Black that sat before her was nothing like the Sirius Black she’d known before. Even after observing him for quite some time the night before, his appearance still threw Hermione for a loop. He looked good – healthier. No longer was he the gaunt, crazy shell of a man she’d met a year and a half ago. Instead, he looked like he’d gained some weight back, the shadows under his eyes were nearly invisible, and there was a spark to him that was previously missing. Clearly his newfound freedom had done him good. Although, from the sounds of his heated statements at dinner the night before, you’d think he was still locked up in a cell. Sirius was none too pleased about being stuck in his childhood home. Hermione, while sympathetic, felt the very muggle sentiment of ‘Beggars can’t be choosers’ come to mind.

“Yes, cursed books—” Sirius twisted his face in a mixture of disgust and disdain “—meant to cause harm to anyone who touches them if their blood isn’t completely pure. Dear old mummy was many things, but tolerant of those unlike herself was not one of them. Of course, that shouldn’t surprise you. You had the pleasure of meeting her likeness yesterday.”

Hermione’s face twisted as well thinking about the horrible portrait and the vile insults the woman had screamed. That had been Sirius’s mother? Suddenly his disdain for the Black family home made a bit more sense. “Yes, I remember quite well. She seemed lovely,” her words dripped with sarcasm as she dropped the pile of parchment down onto the coffee table and sat on the opposite end of the couch. She pulled Fred’s cardigan tighter around her body, fighting the slight chill of the early morning. It may have been the end of July, but last nights storm was still wearing off.

Sirius let out a barking laugh, throwing his head back. “Oh yeah. Real saint of a woman.”

“I can’t imagine how idyllic your childhood must have been.”

“Sunshine and rainbows my dear.”

“Does that mean you did, in fact, get the pony you always wanted for your fifth birthday?”

“Just one pony? You clearly underestimate the generous nature of my family.”

“Oh of course. How silly of me.”

The pair chuckled lightly, sending fond smiles in each other’s direction. It truly was good to see Sirius in better circumstances and in better spirits, thought Hermione resolutely.

“So, what are you doing this early in the library? Hoping to do a bit of early morning reading?” asked Hermione, putting an end to their clever repertoire.

“No, I was actually taking a morning sniff around the garden and a certain furry feline mentioned you were in here,” said Sirius with a wry grin.

“I was wondering where Crooks had gone. I haven’t seen him since last night when Kingsley Shacklebolt nearly toppled over him on his way to the loo,” giggled Hermione, remembering the way the large authoritative man had nearly fallen straight into Emmeline Vance’s lap.

“Yes, he’s been staying out of the way since. I sent him up to the attic to keep Buckbeak company for a while. Hope that’s okay.”

“I’ve learned it’s not really up to me to decide the comings and goings of my cat. The most I can do is make sure his food dish is full and offer the odd scratch behind the ear when he fancies it,” Hermione admitted.

“Well, that’s not unheard of for Kneazles – even part Kneazles like Crookshanks,” sniffed Sirius.

“Buckbeak is here then?”

“Yeah! Wish I could give him room to spread his wings a bit more. He had loads of space last year when we were on the run, but Dumbledore thinks it’s best if I stay put here. No matter how vile it is. Apparently, I’m the Ministry’s number one scapegoat.”

“Lucky you.”

“I know. It’s difficult being so popular—” Sirius smiled wryly and brought a hand up to rub at his neatly trimmed facial hair “—I’d set him free of course, but I worry the ministry might catch sight of him. That and we’ve become rather attached.”

“Shall I start drafting the marriage license?” Hermione asked, giving Sirius a cheeky look.

The older wizard’s shoulders shook as full body laugher racked him. “You’ve gotten funnier,” he observed.

“Bad influence,” Hermione responded, thinking fondly of Fred and George and her time performing mental gymnastics the previous year. Everything was a joke with the Weasley twins. Everything was a witty comeback, a good one-liner, a clever repartee.

“Not my godson’s, surely?”

“No, Harry’s not nearly as funny as me.”

“Hah! Now that I don’t believe. He’s too much like his father.”

Was he? Hermione wondered. Everything she’d heard about Harry’s father lead her to believe that he was more like Fred and George than Harry. Sure, Harry was good at quidditch, didn’t care much for schoolwork, and had a special fondness for sarcasm, but despite his best efforts he tried his best to fly under the radar.

“How is he, by the way? My godson that is.” Sirius shifted, turning towards her, and taking on a more serious tone.

“Okay, I think. Last I heard from him was a week or so ago. He’s miserable at his aunt and uncle’s but that’s to be expected—” she paused, considering whether to say the next part “—Dumbledore told Ron and me not to write to him too much. At least not about anything serious. He doesn’t want to worry him after…well after everything that’s happened.”

“That’s a load of dragon shite,” scoffed Sirius. “He’s old enough and Merlin knows he deserves to know what’s going on more than anyone.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. Sirius wasn’t wrong. Harry did deserve to know the truth. Glancing again at the clock, she saw the large hand was now pointing decidedly south. People would start waking up soon.

“Well, I’ll have to pay Buckbeak and Crooks a visit sometime today—” Hermione stood, picking up her stack of parchment and stretching. The muscles of her back ached in protest; sleeping upright really did nothing for her spine “—perhaps my cat will pay me the kindness of putting up with my presence.”

Sirius laughed again, standing himself but lingering behind as she made her way to the door. Hand on the large brass handle, Hermione paused. There’d been something on her mind since the night before. Sitting around the table as order members chatted and filled themselves with Molly’s famous roast dinner, the overwhelming darkness of their situation slipped through the cracks of mild-mannered joviality. She couldn’t ignore the whispered snippets of conversations carried over from the Order’s meeting or the way they looked at each other as each member left for the evening – as if the weight of some grave responsibility rested upon them; as if it might be the last time they saw each other.

“Things are different now, aren’t they,” she murmured the words, still staring down at the handle in her grasp. She knew Sirius would be honest with her. He was always honest with Harry – to a dangerous level in her opinion. Somehow, he didn’t see them as children the way everyone else did. A fact she was both hesitant about and grateful for. The room was quiet, almost too still, as Hermione waited for him to answer. Surely, he expected her to say something. How could she not? What was going on, this war, it affected her differently. Certainly not in the way that it did Harry, but still. As a muggleborn, as a…mudblood, she was more vulnerable than most and she’d certainly done nothing in her life to fly under anyone’s radar.

“I’m afraid so, kitten,” Sirius sighed, and she didn’t need to turn around to know that his shoulders were no doubt slumped in exhaustion. War was a tiring thing.

“Should I be worried?”

“No,” Sirius answered, too quickly for Hermione’s liking. “The only thing you should be worried about right now is continuing to outwit every poor sod at Hogwarts.”

Hermione turned then, looking over her shoulder and giving the older wizard a reproachful look.

“Hogwarts is the safest place for anyone these days, Hermione.”

“Are you so sure about that?” Hermione left Sirius with the question hanging in the air, turning, and exiting the library with haste. She knew the statement was entirely out of character. Perhaps Sirius was unaware of that, considering he knew very little about her. But she couldn’t help but be shaken by her own doubt in Hogwarts and the abilities of their headmaster. She had a bad feeling about the upcoming year. Maybe her endless nightmares were turning her sour and cynical. Maybe she’d read too many bias-ridden articles in the Daily Prophet. Or maybe it was watching her best friend cry over the dead body of a fellow student.

“Wotcher, ‘Mione,” called a voice in surprise as Hermione collided with a tall, unyielding body. Bringing out a hand to stabilize herself, she was met with the shock of damp skin. Once her vision focused, she realized in even more shock that she was currently touching the bare expanse of a pale and freckled chest. Wide and firm, the muscles flexed under her fingertips. Please don’t be him, please don’t be him, she chanted in her head before looking up slowly. Drats. Of course, it was Fred’s chest she was currently groping. She should move her hand away. She really should. But she couldn’t. He was unfairly handsome with his hair freshly washed, droplets of water running from the wet strands at the nape of his neck down his shoulder and meeting her hand in heavy rivulets. He smelled good as well – warm and spicy and fresh like soap and myrrh with just a dash of peppercorns. Damn him. 

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” joked Fred, stepping around her and walking backwards towards his room. “Where’ve you been this early?”

“Just looking over your notes.” Hermione held up the parchment and watched as Fred’s eyes lit up.

“Wicked! Want to go over them before breakfast?”

“Um, sure. I just need to go and change.”

“Yeah, yeah. Take your time. Do all your girly stuff and meet me and George back in our room when you’re done.” Fred smiled and it took everything in Hermione’s power not to drool. It should be illegal to walk around this house in nothing but your trousers.

Still, she was going for normal. So, she opted for letting out a very unladylike snort instead. “Girly stuff?”

“Sure—” Fred shrugged “—you know. Hair, makeup, outfit, terrorizing small villages—whatever takes you lot so long to get ready.”

“Are you under the impression girls need to strike fear into the hearts of innocent people before they can drink their morning cuppa?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. You certainly scare me,” said Fred, widening his eyes teasingly.

“Hmmm good. Give me ten, alright?”

“Only ten?!” cried Fred disbelievingly as he turned away from him.

“It’s a nearby village!” Hermione called after him, earning herself a loud guffaw from the Weasley twin.

She tried not to let Fred’s laughter go to her head. Sirius had just been stroking her ego in the library; Fred’s reaction was nothing but equal to that surely and she didn’t get all flustered from Sirius’s compliments. However, only five minutes later Hermione caught the sight of her stupidly pleased grin in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. She rinsed her toothbrush and set in down to dry. Gripping the sides of the porcelain sink in her hands she braced herself against it and stared hard into the mirror.

“You can’t have him Hermione. He has a girlfriend,” she told herself quietly feeling an overwhelming sense of dread. “An incredibly tall, gorgeous, talented girlfriend that you don’t even hold a candle to. Why would he want you? He probably likes her because she spends all her free time doing cool things like quidditch,” said Hermione, voice taking on a woe is me tone.

Continuing to stare into the mirror, she assessed her appearance. George had been astute in his assessment of her the day before; she had gotten taller. Her father remarked that this was probably the tail end of puberty making its mark as she now surpassed her mother’s height by two inches. Her mother agreed with this statement when Hermione begrudgingly admitted she was in desperate need of new bras. It wasn’t just her body that had changed either, she mused staring hard at the angles of her face. She’d lost some of the roundness to her face, the softness of adolescence melting down to sharper angles. The cut of her cheekbones was more pronounced, her jawline was harder, and her chin had more of a point to it. Despite the changes, Hermione couldn’t help but still feel very plain. Sure, she was much prettier than the year before and even more so than the years before that, but she didn’t compare to the other girls at Hogwarts. She didn’t have Lavender’s pretty blonde waves, Pavarti’s smooth flawless skin, Fay’s high cheekbones, or Emmy’s sparkling blue eyes.

And those were just the girls in her year, sulked Hermione as she exited the bathroom and popped back into her bedroom to drop off her toiletries. There were the older girls too. The ones with more confidence and more experience. How was she supposed to compare to someone like Angelina Johnson? The Gryffindor seventh year had a good four inches on her, and it was all leg. Not to mention she was about as athletically fit as a girl could get. Hermione’s body wasn’t awful she thought, she had gotten more curves over the last few months and she was considerably thinner these days. But that was due more to the lack of sleep and stress. She didn’t have lean muscles from hours working out of the quidditch field.

“I could play quidditch if I wanted,” Hermione said petulantly to herself.

“Hah! Good one.”

Hermione turned in surprise to see Ginny entering their room. Great.

“I’ve seen you on a broom Hermione and while I love you dearly, you’re completely rubbish,” said Ginny very sweetly but honestly.

Hermione sighed.

“Why is it so bloody cold in July?” asked Ginny. The younger girl gave an exaggerated shiver and dug into the contents of her dresser before pulling out a thick pair of socks.

“I’m sure it will wear off soon. The weatherman said we’re due for a heatwave soon before I left home,” Hermione informed her, grabbing her wand, and tucking the stack of notes under arm.

“Weatherman? Like on the television?” asked Ginny curiously. Ginny had chosen Muggle Studies as one of her electives – really to please her father than for her own amusement. Hermione had been helping her and she was picking things up surprisingly well.

Hermione nodded, looking down at her own sock ladened feet. Reaching once again for Fred’s cardigan, she stopped herself. He did say it was hers now, but wearing it so often felt a bit like overkill. She was supposed to be acting like she wasn’t in love with him. So, instead Hermione dug into the wardrobe and pulled out one of her new jumpers – a green knit pullover that fit well over her t-shirt. She paused to put it on before heading for the door.

“Where are you off to this early?” asked Ginny, sitting down on her bed, and pulling out a copy of Seeker Weekly. She flipped through the pages casually.

“Summer homework,” Hermione lied.

“Have fun,” Ginny called after her, although her intonation implied that she thought nothing about doing summer homework sounded fun.

Hermione crossed the hall, knocking on the twins’ door lightly.

“Come in!” one of the twins called from the other side. Hermione turned the doorknob, cautiously entering the room. Her eyes darted back and forth for any signs of suspicion. You never knew with Fred and George. Hermione always had to be on her guard. During their time together at school, she found they were respectful enough to keep her out of their pranks as she was helping them. But that didn’t mean she was exempt from the odd exploding ink bottle or charmed book.

“Guard down, Hermione. You’re here on business – no pranks today,” said George in good humor.

Hermione relaxed a little, stepping fully into the room and crossing to where Fred and George sat on their bed.

“So—” she began, slipping into the business-like manner she usually took when she worked with them on their inventions “—I’ve read through your notes and I have to say I’m quite impressed boys.”

“You read through them all? Already?” asked George in disbelief.

“Are you that surprised?” snorted Fred. “Go on ‘Mione. I believe you were saying something about us being devastatingly handsome geniuses?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and took a seat on the bed as well, crossing her legs and sorting through the parchment. “Alright, walk me through it.”

The pair of them looked at her in confusion, side-eyeing each other before responding in unison, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m sensing a theme in some of these products. So, walk me through it. What’s your elevator pitch, so to say?”

“Our what?” asked Fred, scratching the back of his head.

“Honestly, and you two call yourselves aspiring businessmen. An elevator pitch is a short speech you give to explain your idea or product. For example, imagine you’re in a lift at the ministry and an investor walks in and you only have the few minutes during your ride to convince them to give you money for your product. Elevator pitch,” Hermione explained, watching at understanding washed over their faces.

“Brilliant, these muggle things,” smiled Fred, looking to George.

“Right, well how many times have you wanted to skive off class or get out of a meeting or event but didn’t have a proper excuse?” began George, putting on all the airs of a professional showman.

Hermione’s opened her mouth to say that she’d never once considered skiving off class, but Fred cut her off.

“We’re speaking to the general public here ‘Mione. Keep your personal biases to yourself, please.”

Hermione snapped her jaw shut, screwing her mouth to the side.

Fred smiled smugly before picking up where George left off, “You wished you had the excuse of a sick day, but your acting skills just aren’t up to scratch.”

“Instead of agonizing over how you’re going to properly convince Madame Pomfrey you’ve got a pounding headache—”

“—or prove to your boss that you really have been on the toilet all day—”

“—try a sweet from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes’ Skiving Snack Box!” cried George.

“Fever Fudge.”

“Fainting Fancies.”

“Puking Pastilles.”

“Nosebleed Nougat!”

The pair were really getting into it now.

“All you’ll need to get out of any class, appointment, or event—”

“—with none the wiser.”

They ended their speech with wide smiles, clearly pleased with themselves. Hermione looked at them for a moment. As much as she didn’t agree with the implied usage of the products, she couldn’t deny that many students would want them.

“How…how do you like it?” Fred asked, looking nervous as Hermione considered them.

She smiled. “I think you’re going to sell out before you’ve even finished making them,” Hermione answered honestly. “But—” she continued, putting a pause to their mounting excitement “—we have a lot of work to do before then. There are large gaps, and it looks like the only one you’ve made any progress with is the nosebleed nougats.”

“Yeah, about those—”

“You haven’t figured out how to stop the bleeding, have you?” Hermione asked, cutting George off. Although, the question was really more of a statement.

“How did you know?” asked Fred.

“It’s all in the notes, Frederick,” said Hermione exasperatedly, jabbing a finger into the pile of detailed drawings and messy handwriting. Merlin, this was going to be a long morning.

“What about banewort?” suggested George, an hour later. They’d put as much brainstorming into the Nosebleed Nougats as they could for the time being, finally settling on ground mustard root as the best possible clotting agent to stop the bleeding. Now they’d moved onto Fever Fudge.

“Only if you want to kill your customers!” exclaimed Hermione, shooting George a look of exasperated disbelief. She paced the floor of the bedroom, wracking her brain for what could possibly induce fever without causing permanent harm…or death.

“That’s nightshade mate,” she heard Fred whisper to George.

“How was I supposed to know that?” George whispered back.

“I don’t know, maybe five years of potions classes?” said Fred sarcastically.

“You’re the one that got an Acceptable in potions!”

“Yes, but I failed Herbology!”

“Can you two please shut it for just a second? Please?! I’m trying to think…” Hermione continued to pace, feeling her hair growing in size. It always did when she was frazzled.

“Oh! Hermione!”

“I said shut it!” Hermione growled, spinning on the spot, and glaring a hole through Fred.

Fred stared back at her in surprise before crossing his arms and sitting back. “Fine,” he said with contempt.

Hermione immediately regretted her outburst. “What is it Fred?” she asked with an exhale.

“Nothing.”

“It was clearly something.”

“Yes, but then you yelled at me.”

“You’re being a child.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“Just spit it out Frederick!” Hermione picked up a pillow from the empty bed and hurled it towards Fred, knocking the petulant expression off his face. It was immediately replaced by a mischievous smile and Hermione’s blood ran cold. Before she could even take a step, Fred had leapt from the bed and lunged for her. In the last second, Hermione darted out of his way bounding onto the empty bed and landing on the other side, so the distance of a mattress lay between them. She picked up another pillow and held it defensively in her hands.

“Go on, throw another pillow. I dare you,” challenged Fred, leaning lighting on the mattress in front of him, fingertips steepled on the dark grey duvet.

“Tell me what you were going to say,” Hermione said back, feeling her blood race through her veins, heart beating loudly in her ears as she stood light-footed, waiting for Fred to pounce.

“Throw the pillow.”

“Tell me.”

“Throw the pillow!”

“Tell me!” shouted Hermione, swinging the pillow back and chucking it across the bed with all her strength. Unsurprisingly, Fred caught the pillow easily and Hermione let out a shrill scream. She turned, darting for the door, but Fred vaulted the bed and reached her just as her fingers brushed the brass of the doorknob.

The burly ginger’s arms wrapped themselves around her middle and hoisted her up into the air as she kicked and yelled, “Put me down Frederick!”

“Such a violent little lion! No wonder they sorted you into Gryffindor! Is that the best you can do?” asked Fred, throwing her down onto the bed. Hermione bounced, the mattress surprisingly springy for its age. Huffing, she blew the hair out of her face just in time to see Fred swinging a pillow down at her. She brought her hands up in front of her face, blocking the strike and grabbing hold of the pillow tightly. With a hard tug, Fred came toppling down over her, but still the fight was on. In a mess of knees and elbows they grappled over the pillow, laughter bubbling up from their chests. Soon the real reason for their confrontation was forgotten and instead each party fought simply for the sake of winning.

“Aha!” Fred exclaimed triumphantly as he successfully pinned both of Hermione’s wrists down on the bed. Hermione breathed hard, glaring up at Fred and realizing she’d been bested. She gave one last effort to break free, bucking and twisting her body, but remaining weighed down by the boy above her. Hermione let out a groan of frustration.

“Now, now. Don’t be such a poor loser, ‘Mione. Maybe this’ll teach you to not start fights you’re no match for.”

“In case you’ve forgotten I terrorized an entire village this morning before I got here. You’re barking if you think I’m frightened by you Frederick Weasley.” 

They both laughed, hearty full body guffaws, at the inside joke until their sides ached and they simmered down into small giggles that forced past their lips. In that moment Hermione was struck by just how full Fred’s bottom lip was. She stared at it, unwillingly, before her eyes flickered back up to find Fred looking down at her. He looked at her very much the same way he had the night of the yule ball and then again in the hallway the night before.

A throat cleared from inside the room and their heads snapped to the side to see George still sitting on the other bed, looking at them like he’d just witnessed a unicorn walk through the door on its hind legs eating a bag of crisps. Hermione looked back up at Fred and then at their bodies closely pressed together with sinking realization. Fred jumped off of her, nearly toppling onto the ground as he did so. Hermione in turn, half scooted, half crab walked across the bed until she was flush with the headboard. She could already feel a brilliant flush forming on her face as the room stood silent, Fred staring hard out the window, George smiling widely in scandalous amusement, and Hermione glancing nervously between the two and the door. It was on her third pass over the door that it swung open, revealing a very annoyed Ron.

“There you are! Come on, mum’s got breakfast ready and then she has a whole list of chores,” grumbled Ron, leaning against the doorframe giving the three of them an odd look. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing! Let’s go down for breakfast, I’m starving.” Hermione scurried off the bed and towards the door, thanking Merlin and those who came before and after him for Ron’s impeccable timing.

What was that?! she asked herself as she descended the stairs, letting Ron’s whinging over chores fill the space her thoughts could not. Her body felt hot and flushed. She reached for the bottom hem of her jumper and lifted it over her head, extricating herself from the suffocating layer. Suddenly the day wasn’t so chilly. In fact, a cold shower sounded quite swell.

Ron may have given her a perfectly timed exit from the room, but there was no escaping the self-satisfied grin on George’s face at breakfast. Of course, he found the whole thing amusing. It was only her pitifully pathetic crush on his brother and her complete lack of self-control when it came to Fred pushing her buttons. She should have never thrown that pillow. Surely, they both knew now. At the very least George knew. At worst Fred knew. It was most likely why he wouldn’t look at her. Why he sat at the opposite end of the kitchen table. She could kick herself. Barely a day with the Weasleys and she’d made an absolute fool of herself. Good going Granger.

  Fred was mortified to say the least. Barely a day with Hermione and he had completely lost his mind. What on earth had possessed him to manhandle her like that? And in front of George no less. He’d never hear the end of it now. He could already hear his brother’s self-righteous words in his head: What about Angelina? What about Ron? I thought you said you didn’t have feelings for Granger. Lying to your twin brother now, Freddie?

What an absolute nightmare. He couldn’t even look at her, too afraid of the reproachful stare she was sure to give him. She must think him a real tosser now. Fred Weasley, the boy with a girlfriend, wrestling around with his little brother’s girl? She isn’t his girl though, said a small little voice in the back of his head. Yeah, but she’s as good as and once again I have a girlfriend, Fred answered back. He could do with a hard pillow to the head now, he reasoned – anything to get his mind off the way Hermione’s body had felt under his. The softness of her as she laughed sweetly below him, hair fanned out on the mattress. If he thought the memory of their kiss last Christmas was hard to forget, then this might as well be permanently branded onto the inside of his skull.

He spent the rest of the day avoiding her, choosing the chores on his mother’s list that were sure to keep him the busiest and furthest away from the bushy-haired fifth year. Unfortunately, that meant he was pruning the overgrown Shrivelfig tree in the garden and mucking out Hippogriff dung in the attic. They were tasks that would have taken him easily no time at all with magic, but he decided to leave his wand behind seeing the hard and nasty work as both a time consumer and a strange form of penitence for his previous behavior that morning. Maybe if he wore himself out, he wouldn’t be so bloody horny.

“Alright there, Freddie?” asked George, tinkering with a spitting teapot when Fred finally emerged from the attic and back in their room.

“Piss off,” Fred grumbled. He was tired, sticky, and smelled like Hippogriff dung. The last thing he wanted to hear was the bout of teasing George had undoubtedly been saving up since that morning.

“Someone’s in a mood again. I thought maybe all that physical exertion would have left you in better spirits.”

“You know, surprisingly, spending the day knee deep in Shrivelfig juice and Hippogriff shite really hasn’t left me too chuffed,” Fred bit back. He pulled his filth-covered shirt off and threw it on the floor before searching for his towel.

“Now brother, you and I both know that isn’t at all what I was referring to,” said George condescendingly. He placed the teapot down on the desk and gave Fred a knowing look.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” responded Fred, finding his towel underneath a pile of brightly covered packaging. He gave it a good shake before slinging it over his shoulder and making his way to the door. He needed a shower.

“You can’t avoid this forever!” George called after him.

“I said piss off!” Fred called back, only earning him a great roar of laughter from George as he slammed the door behind him.

He saw Ginny in hallway as he stormed towards the bathroom. The poor girl became another victim of his bad temper as he lifted two very rude fingers when she’d wrinkled her nose and told him he smelled like Bubotuber puss on a hot day. She called him a berk in return which Fred allowed, because she was right. Why couldn’t George just leave it alone? He’d been dogging Fred for nearly a year now about Hermione and it was grating on his nerves more than ever. No matter how many times he told his twin he didn’t fancy the girl, he still pressed on. It’s because he knows you’re lying, thought Fred irritably. Twins – they knew too much. Although Fred reasoned if George truly knew everything about him then he’d know well enough to let it be. Fred was dating Angelina. Ron liked Hermione. Hermione liked Ron. End of story.

The cold water did nothing to simper Fred’s foul mood. He carried it with him all through dinner, snapping at Ron twice and earning him a sharp dressing-down from his mum. So, when dinner was over, he opted to skip dessert and head upstairs instead, shooting George a look that said, ‘If you follow me, I’ll kill you’. Thankfully, George heeded his warning and left Fred to do as he pleased. He spent most of the night making fake wands. When he finished with that, he attempted to see how long he could balance items on top of each other using a simple levitation spell. His best time was thirty minutes and twenty-eight seconds, levitating the desk, a chair, and three books all on top of a single galleon, before they toppled over in a large crash. His mother’s scolding yell traveled all the way up from the ground floor and put an end to his little game. Finally, when the sun had set for the day, he reasoned he could go to bed. Maybe a fresh start would set him right. But the world was cruel and so sleep evaded him like the plague. Sitting up after nearly an hour of tossing and turning, Fred threw back his covers and grabbed his notebook and a few books from the desk before storming out of the room.

To his great relief the library was empty when he entered. The clock in the corner told him it was nearly ten at night. Everyone was probably in bed or headed there. George of course had been nowhere in sight when he’d left their room, but he was probably listening to one of Sirius’s old war stories. Turns out Sirius Black had been quite the prankster in school as well – much like Fred and George, though not nearly as committed as they were, Fred thought. Sitting down on the couch, he grabbed the moth-eaten afghan from the back and draped it over his lap then opened his book and began to read. Fully immersed in a chapter on boils and their healing droughts, Fred failed to hear the library doors open.

“Oh!” a startled voice broke him from his concentration, and he looked up to find Hermione standing before him. “I didn’t think anyone else would be up this late,” said the witch bashfully.

Fred glanced to the clock again to see the hands pointed to nearly one in the morning. Had he really been reading for that long?

“I can…I’ll just go,” stuttered Hermione, turning to exit the library.

“No,” said Fred a bit too forcefully before clearly his throat and evening his voice. “I mean, I can leave if you want the space to yourself.” He made to rise from the couch.

“Oh, don’t do that. You were here first. I don’t mind sharing if you don’t,” said Hermione, chewing on her bottom lip in an irritatingly distracting manner.

Fred swallowed thickly. A small part of him did care. It cared very deeply. But he needed to act normal. Friends could read in the same library as each other. So, he put on his best impression of calm and unbothered when he answered, “Not at all.”

He relaxed back into the couch, surprised when Hermione seated herself on the other end. Maybe he hadn’t offended her as badly as he thought he had. If he had, he assumed she would have taken the chair instead.

“It’s a bit chilly in here.”

“Want me to light a fire?” Fred asked.

“Could you?” 

Fred nodded his head, reaching for his wand only to realize he’d left it in his room. “I don’t have my wand,” he said sheepishly.

“Oh, that’s alright,” responded Hermione, curling her legs underneath her and opening her book.

Fred glanced down at the blanket covering his lower half. “Do you want the blanket?”

Hermione looked up from her book. “Wouldn’t you be cold?” she asked hesitantly.

Fred shrugged. Probably, he thought, but the least he could do is put up with a bit of cold for her.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it,” she said flippantly.

“Just take the blanket. It’s no big deal.”

“Really, I’ll be okay Fred.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about it.”

“I’m not!”

“At least take part of it,” cried Fred, internally groaning when he realized what he’d said. Why did she have to push his buttons so well? It made him forget himself.

“What? You mean like share it?”

Fred hesitated. He was balancing a thin line. If he backtracked now then it would make it seem like he had some reason for not wanting to share the blanket, but if he pushed too far then it might imply some ulterior motive.

“If you want. Blankets big enough for two.” He shrugged nonchalantly. Hermione stared at him and then the afghan for a few moments, most likely weighing the pros and cons of sharing a blanket with her friend’s creepy older brother. Finally, she scooted closer on the couch, having made her decision. Fred sagged in relief, untucking the blanket from around his legs and draping it across Hermione’s lower half as well. They were closer now but not too close, the space under the afghan heating up quickly from their combined body heat. Fred had to admit, it was nice – being warmer that is. It was quiet as they read. Or at least as Hermione read. Fred couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to the witch besides him, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She was wearing his cardigan again. It hung on her in an unfairly attractive way. His mind drifted to images of her wearing his cardigan and nothing els—stop, he scolded himself. Looking back down at his book, he tried to focus on the words in front of him but instead all he could think about was the uncomfortable tension between them. He needed to do something to put things right again.

“Pigeon berry,” he said, breaking the silence.

“What?” Hermione looked up from her book in confusion.

“For the Fever Fudge – pigeon berry.”

“Really?” said Hermione in surprise, but not in a rude way – in the way she always sounded surprised when a thought was brought up, she had not previously considered. Fred had come to know the tone quite well the previous year.

“Yeah, it has similar effects as nightshade but it’s not nearly as dangerous.”

“It can still be lethal though,” countered Hermione.

“I thought of that—” Fred closed his book and placed it on the coffee table, reaching instead for his notebook and opening it to the notes he’d made earlier that night while the thoughts were still fresh in his mind “—if we concentrate it to get an exact potency and then use small amounts, diluting it with Moondew, we should be able to get the side effects without it being dangerous.”

Hermione scooted closer, looking down at his notes in hard concentration. After a moment, she looked up at him with a wide smile. “That’s brilliant Fred,” she breathed.

Fred shrugged. He’d been doing that a lot that day. One would think he was trying too hard to act cool.

He fully expected Hermione to move away from him once she’d had her fill of his notes, but she didn’t. Instead she stayed nearly glued to his side, their legs and arms touching under the blanket as she returned to her book. They read on for a while longer until Hermione broke the silence with a large yawn. He watched her bring a hand over her mouth and then shake her head back and forth, blinking rapidly as she tried to stay awake. She should go to bed, thought Fred. She looked bone tired. The shadows he’d seen hints of since she arrived were more prominent than ever under her eyes and there was a desperate bloodshot look to the whites of them.

“Why don’t you go to bed ‘Mione?” he suggested lightly.

Hermione shook her head. “No. I can’t.”

“You sure about that? ‘Cause it looks like you’re about ready to pass out any moment.”

Hermione shook her head again. “I can’t…I-I don’t want to. I’ve been…I’ve been having nightmares again,” she whispered her admittance, staring through her book now more than at it.

“Do you wanna’ talk about it?” Fred asked hesitantly, remembering their conversation in the hospital wing the year before and how she’d told him about her nightmares then too.

Hermione was silent and Fred waited patiently as she mulled over his invitation.

“I’m scared,” she finally confessed, closing her book, and laying her head on his shoulder. Fred stiffened for a second, surprised by the intimate action, but then relaxed, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and comforting her as best he could.

“To tell me about your nightmares?” he asked dumbly.

Hermione gave a small hollow laugh. “No, about everything – You-Know-Who, Harry, the war.”

“Everyone’s scared, ‘Mione. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Really?” questioned Hermione, lifting her head from his shoulder, and looking up at him with those large Firewhisky eyes.

“Anyone with good sense is at least. Probably why Percy’s not. He’s not speaking with mum and dad right now actually. Did Ron tell you that?” He didn’t know why he felt like that was the moment to share his family drama, but it seemed to work as a good opening up point. Hermione relaxed further into his chest.

“No. Why?”

“Well, Percy’s in full support of the Minister. Thinks Dumbledore is barmy and thinks mum and dad are equally as barmy for continuing to support him. He told them as much too. It caused a big row. Mum and dad try to play it off to the rest of us like there’s nothing to worry about, but we’re not dumb. I know they’re worried about what’s going to happen now that You-Know-Who’s back. I’ve walked in on them arguing in the kitchen a couple times already this summer.” He could still remember the seething voice of his mother and the tired expression on his father’s face before they both smiled at him, mum asking if she could get him anything.

“Dumbledore asked us not to write Harry about this place and what we’re up to. He thinks the Ministry is going to start intercepting mail.”

“Hmm,” responded Fred, not surprised by that at all.

“It feels strange to be going back to school while all of this is going on. Everyone’s always said the safest place is Hogwarts and I’ve always believed that, but it’s getting harder. I just can’t shake this horrible feeling that things are about to take a turn for the worst.”

Fred didn’t know what to say, which was odd because he usually had something to say about everything. But in that moment, he was at a loss for words – mainly because he felt the same way. He tried not to think about it, but it was always there sitting at the back of his mind. They were quiet for a while, both staring into nothing in the quiet stillness of the library. The lamps were getting low now, the light becoming dimmer as time ticked by and the oil burned down. The weight of Hermione’s head on his shoulder became heavier and he glanced down to see her eyes closed, long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. Her lips were parted as she breathed deeply.

“Hermione,” he whispered softly, rubbing her arm, and giving her a gentle shake.

“Hmm?” she roused slightly, crinkling her nose in sleepy irritation.

“Time for bed,” Fred whispered, trying again to softly wake her.

“Just a little longer, please?” Hermione mumbled, turning her face, and snuggling into him further. Fred sighed. He was strong, but not strong enough to say no to that.

“Okay, ‘Mione. Just a few more minutes.”

The room was considerably lighter. That was the first thought Fred had upon opening his eyes and taking in the library around him. Sitting there, Hermione snuggled into his side, his own eyes had begun to droop heavily. He had closed them for only a second and then next thing he knew he was horizontal on the couch as the sun peaked through the tall, galvanized steel windows. He blinked, bringing a hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes. The weight and warmth of a second body brought him fully to consciousness and he looked down to find Hermione snuggled between the back of the couch and his side. Fred lay on his back, Hermione still tucked under his right shoulder, her arm circling his waist and head resting on his chest. Her brown tresses spread around her in a wild nest, a single loose curl tickled the underside of his chin and he brushed it aside with his free hand. Their lower halves were a tangle of legs and blanket, her shorts riding up to show bits of bare leg peaking through the afghan. It was very intimate, and Fred thanked Merlin he wasn’t sporting his usual morning salute to the day.

He should get up. It would be easy to slip from Hermione’s grasp and slide off the couch. She’d wake up alone and figure he’d gone to bed and left her there for the night. But he didn’t move. A small, selfish part of him, the same selfish part that convinced him to kiss her all those months ago, made him stay. He might not get another moment like this and he wanted to relish in how nice it felt for just a few uninterrupted seconds. His eyes traced the freckles on the bridge of Hermione’s nose and the line of her parted lips. Merlin, she was beautiful, and he was fully and entirely undeserving.

Even if he weren’t with Angelina, what would Hermione Granger want with him? She was the smartest witch of her age and he was the bloke who’d barely gotten three OWLs and planned to make jokes and pranks for a living. She was going on to change the world or something close to it. Why she even bothered to be friends with him and George he couldn’t understand half the time. He didn’t really understand what she saw in Ron either. He was barely better than him. Ron got better grades and he’d done all the same heroic stuff her and Harry had. But still, he didn’t deserve Hermione one bit either. No one did, he thought in a moment of clarity.

He sighed, trying not to focus on the way his heart clenched in his chest when Hermione tightened her grip around his middle and snuggled further into him, letting out small breathy sighs in her sleep. The moment was almost tranquil and if he had it his way, he’d lay there forever. But, as Fred found, it was usually moments like that, that were meant to broken in some of he worst possible ways.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Chapter 16>>>

Taglist:

@theworldisugly-22

@aoonai

@sjh-07-10

@is-it-madness

@i-d-e-g-a-f

#fremione #fred weasley #hermione granger #fred x hermione #slow burn #romance #fanfic #fanfiction

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Walk Me Home - Ch 5

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension. 

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 3777

Author’s Note: Eternal thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ , @fangirlxwritesx67​, and @cracksinthewalls​ for editing, revision, flailing, and generally knocking sense into me when I’m being stubborn. Decided to give Wednesday posting a try and also get a chapter up a little earlier to make up for lack of posting. Be prepared to brush your teeth after this one. The fluff morphed into cotton candy when I wasn’t looking. Also, be prepared, the next chapter is short, but...intense? Yes. Let’s say intense. 

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 5

Kimber drifts gradually back to consciousness, feeling warmer and safer than she has in decades. She draws in a deep breath, stretching luxuriously, and then stilling suddenly. This bed is not her bed. This blanket is not her blanket. She has a brief moment of panic before she opens her eyes to find Dean’s face inches from hers, smooth and relaxed with sleep.

She’d only been able to let him go last night long enough for him to grab his own quick shower and change into sleep clothes. Then, in wordless agreement, they’d settled under the covers of her bed. They’d woven limbs together, pressed close without a word of discussion or thought of awkwardness. 

Just as she was falling asleep, she felt his cheek press against the top of her head, and he’d murmured a single question. She nodded her consent, and his lips met her forehead, just as soft and warm as she remembered. Then sleep asserted its claim.

Kimber lies still in Dean’s arms now, afraid to move and wake him. She’s never seen him this peaceful and relaxed, even back before life took more of a toll on him. With his guard down, she can finally see all the fine lines etched by a hard life spread over his features, adding depth and detail to his face. 

In the early morning light filtering through the threadbare curtains, she can just make out a sparse sprinkling of gray in his hair, and she smiles. Time may be catching up with Dean Winchester, but he is definitely not worse for wear. 

She shifts a little, freeing a hand, and he grumbles in his sleep, his arms tightening for a second before relaxing again. She strokes his hair back gently, combing her nails lightly across his scalp, and he shivers against her. 

She’s never seen him this vulnerable, this soft, even when they were younger. She has to strangle down the urge to trace his facial features with her fingertips. Whatever this is between them is strained by absence and misunderstanding but has somehow managed to survive the years. Touching him so intimately without his knowledge or consent…

No, she thinks. I want to ask him, I want him to hear him say yes. I want him to ask me to touch him.

Instead, she snuggles closer, closing her eyes and resting her face on his chest again, basking in the safety and warmth of his embrace for as long as she can. She is mortified when, five minutes later, her stomach lets out a growl so loud that it actually rouses Dean from his sleep. His arms tense as he stretches and frowns, eyebrows lowering with concern.

“You hungry or just really happy to see me?” he rumbles, his eyes closing again. She giggles, embarrassment abated. Then she becomes acutely aware of the rat’s nest that is her hair and what tastes like a truly horrific case of morning breath. She disentagles herself from his legs and rolls from his grasp, smiling to herself at his muttered protests. Snatching her previous day’s clothes, Kimber slips into the bathroom to perform whatever damage control she can manage under the circumstances. 

Thirty minutes later finds them at the diner across the parking lot, downing coffee with mutual, silent appreciation. Dean’s brother Sam is expected imminently, and Kimber has no classes or office hours today, so they are mostly ready to begin the investigation.

“We need to sweep your office and house for hex bags,” Dean says, between sips of his second cup of coffee. “Your house will take a while, so why don’t we start with your office to get it out of the way?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kimber agrees, frowning. “I’ll know if anything is missing, out of place, or new. Maybe you and Sam could check out the spots of the other accidents?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, then his eyes focus on something over her shoulder, and he nods a greeting. She turns to see a ridiculously tall man in a suit headed in their direction. It takes her longer than she’s proud to admit to reconcile this giant stranger with the slumped, defeated boy she last saw in the backseat of the Winchester’s car.

“Sam?”

His smile is warm, if a little hesitant, and she stands. They fumble between a hug and a handshake, finally settling on the former before seating themselves. A waitress drops off another mug for Sam, along with coffee refills all around, and they waste no time filling Sam in on the little they know and what they have planned.

“Actually, Sam,” Dean adds, glancing askance at the egg white omelette the waitress places in front of his brother, “I was thinking you could interview the victims at the hospital, see if they noticed anyone out of the ordinary or had contact with anyone that sounds like our stalker.” 

Sam nods, his mouth full, and turns questioning eyes on Kimber. She closes her eyes, pushing as much distraction from her mind as possible.

“He was...on the shorter side. I’d say I probably have an inch or so on him. Younger than me, but I don’t know by how much. I’m really bad at judging age, I’m sorry. Unshaven but not a full beard, kind of rough-looking. Really pale. He never looked me in the eyes, so I didn’t see his eye color. Dark, shaggy hair.”

She shrugs, spreading her hands in apology. “I don’t remember much else. Dark blue windbreaker? It’s been a few weeks, and I didn’t think I’d have to point him out in a line-up or anything.”

Sam shakes his head quickly, swallowing. “No, Kimber, it’s fine. That’s more to go on than we usually have. I’ll talk to the victims, see if anyone stands out in their minds. You two have a solid plan. I’ll give you a call after I visit the hospital, see what I can find out.”

He hesitates, his eyebrows knitted together. “Kimber, I know you’re under a lot of strain, but could you go over the incidents one more time so I have the basics before I go talk to them? I wouldn’t ask, but I need to know what to expect.”

She can’t repress the shudder than runs through her stomach, but she shakes it off and rolls her shoulders. This is just an information exchange. She can handle that. She may need a drink or two afterwards, but she can get through it one more time.

Sam listens attentively, his forehead wrinkled, mouth set in a thin-lipped frown as she recounts the series of accidents plaguing her department. He exchanges some sort of troubled, wordless communication with Dean before glancing down at his folded hands. After considering for a long moment, he speaks, his words measured and careful.

“It definitely sounds like someone has a grudge against your department, at least, if not you specifically. All the victims are friends or work closely with you. We don’t know if any of the other victims got a doll like yours. That’s something for my list. You sure you can’t think of any reason, anything at all, that might make someone target all of you?”

She shoves down her mounting frustration, feeling impotent and slow. If she could think of anything at all helpful, she would have shared it by now. 

“I really can’t, I’m sorry. I just don’t interact with that many people outside of the department, and we all get along fine, as far as I know. No special treatment, no recent honors anyone could be jealous of. I checked in with my hunter contacts that I’d helped out with witch cases in the last few years, even a few non-witch cases that were still open, and I got nowhere with that. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Sam sighs, nodding before finishing the last of his coffee. “Figured it was worth asking. Okay, I’m heading out. Dean, I’ll give you a call in a few hours.”

Dean nods to Sam, and the younger Winchester excuses himself, crossing the crowded restaurant with a few long strides before disappearing out the door.

Kimber turns back to Dean, her eyes wide with shock she’s barely managed to suppress until just now. He frowns, taking in her expression, looks down to inspect his shirt, then back up, his face comically confused.

“What? Do I have food on my face?”

“What did you feed him after you left town?!” Kimber keeps her volume low but can’t keep the wonder from her voice. “Growth hormones? Steroids? Jesus, he’s over a foot taller than the last time I saw you both, and he was already thirteen then!”

Dean barks out a loud, sharp laugh that earns him a reproving glance from a passing waitress. He bites his lip, covering his mouth with his hand, only partially successful at smothering his snort. She can’t help but smile, a little embarrassed at her outburst, but still…

“No, just lots of fast food. Good, healthy, all-American diet. Almost had to get a full-time job, just keepin’ him fed and clothed. Kid grew out of shoes and jeans like nothin’ I’ve ever seen.”

There’s no mistaking the fondness in Dean’s voice, almost more paternal than brotherly. And the off-hand comment about keeping Sam clothed and fed...Kimber’s heart twinges, but she carefully keeps her face as relaxed and amused as she can.

“Ready to go?” she asks. He nods and stands, lifting the check from the table to take up to the register. He offers her a hand, an inviting smile curling one corner of his mouth, and she does her best to smother the butterflies in her stomach as her fingers slide into his.

…

“I promised Sam I’d go to opening night,” Dean said, something like an apology in his voice. “He’s only working tech, but he’s really excited. It’s been a while since we’ve stayed anywhere long enough that he could get involved like this.”

Kimber squeezed his fingers, pulling her coat closed with her other hand. The temperature had dropped over the last few days, and the evening was brisk as they walked hand-in-hand to the high school.

“Dean, are you kidding? You’re taking me to a play, dinner, and meeting your family all at once. Three birds with one date!” She skipped a little, swinging his hand with hers, flashing him her most exaggerated grin as she let her eyes go wide and kooky. He snorted, glancing away to hide his smile.

He stopped suddenly, tugging gently until she stepped closer, her expression relaxing. His knuckles slid gently down her cheekbone and under her jaw, lifting her chin. He kissed her, a sweet, chaste brush of his lips over hers that sent her pulse dancing. Her cheeks warmed under his attention, and he pressed his lips a fraction more firmly against hers before straightening.

His eyes sparkled in the light from the streetlamp overhead. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” 

She popped up on her tiptoes to kiss him again, marveling at her own bravery as her hands clasped the sides of his face, locking him in place. Before he could recover, she grabbed his hand, tugging him into a run down the sidewalk, and they arrived at the school, breathless and laughing. 

The performance of Oklahoma! was pretty standard for high school. Simple dance sequences, fair to decent singing (for the most part), and about forty minutes longer than Kimber preferred. They waited afterwards for Sam to make his way from the lighting board, and he shyly offered his hand to Kimber, who accepted, smiling and squeezing his fingers just a little.

The three of them arrived at the diner, relieved to see most families were celebrating at the more expensive restaurants across town. Sam looked over the menu, his eyes as hungry as the growl that escaped his stomach. Kimber didn’t miss the sad look he shot Dean before closing the menu and setting it down. 

When he ordered an ice water and peanut butter sandwich, Kimber’s heart cracked. 

“Sam, it’s my treat tonight. You did a great job; Mrs. Hasker never lets eighth graders work the soundboard, so go nuts. Order whatever you want. It’s your night.” 

Sam, eyes wide with hope, glanced at Dean, who looked torn between shame and relief. Dean cleared his throat, shot a grateful smile at Kimber, then nodded at Sam. 

“You did good, kid. Go for it.”

Sam’s face brightened, and Kimber couldn’t help but mirror his expression as he ordered a strawberry milkshake, double cheeseburger, and cheese fries. Kimber discreetly jabbed Dean in his ribs, and he side-glared at her, suppressing what was very definitely not a manly squeak of surprise. 

“You, too, big brother,” she said, her eyes narrowing pointedly. His lips thinned, his expression pinched. She knew she was hitting a nerve for him; it was fine to accept dinner invitations at home, and fine for her to treat his little brother, but paying for him on a date was an entirely different matter. He visibly wrestled with the simple decision, frustration and pride warring with want.

She softened her expression, placing her hand over his clenched fist. “Please?” She mouthed. “It’s okay.” He glanced at Sam, who was happily chatting with the smiling waitress about the performance, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Dean’s face. 

“Double-bacon cheeseburger, and chili fries, please.”

Dinner with the Winchester boys was a delight that Kimber never forgot. Though Dean teased his younger brother mercilessly, liberally sprinkling descriptors like “geek” and “nerd” in his comments, she saw the way his eyes would linger on Sam as the younger boy inhaled his meal between answering questions about his classes and the performance.

“Are you going to take AP classes, Sam?” Kimber asked. He seemed so keen and motivated, she couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t want to.

“I want to, but we move so much, I don’t think I could keep up with the curriculum,” he admitted, his expression falling. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Kimber lowered her voice conspiratorially. Sam leaned a little closer, intrigued, and she smiled at his eagerness. It was like looking at a mirror of herself just a few years ago.

“Most AP classes follow the same guidelines across the country, almost week by week. Mr. Schaeffer is the AP coordinator at our school, and he’s pretty cool for a teacher. If you talk to him, explain your situation, I’ll bet he could get you copies of most of the AP curriculum, maybe even some spare textbooks, so you could keep up with it as you guys move around.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Dean for confirmation. Dean shrugged, affecting disinterest as he leaned back to drape an arm around Kimber’s shoulder. 

“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean drawled, “but Kimber’s the top of our class, so she’s probably got some idea what she’s talking about.” He let out an exaggerated huff of air as Kimber’s elbow connected with his side, doubling over as he pretended to fall out of the booth. 

Sam peppered Kimber and Dean with questions about their classes for the rest of the night and didn’t even have to be convinced to have an extra large slice of celebratory pie to finish the meal off.

The three of them stayed late enough at the diner that Kimber was obliged to call her parents on the pay phone in the corner to assure them that she had not, in fact, been kidnapped and left in a ditch on the side of the road. The temperature had dropped considerably, so when Kimber’s mother offered to give all three of them a ride home, Kimber accepted without thinking.

“My mom will be here in about ten minutes,” she announced as she slid back into the booth. “She’s going to give you two a lift back to the motel on our way home.”

Dean’s expression fell sharply, and Kimber’s heart sank. 

“You didn’t-”

“Thanks!” Sam said, unintentionally speaking over Dean. “It got so cold out all of a sudden. Say, do you think I should talk to Mr. Schaeffer tomorrow?”

“The sooner the better,” she said, shrugging on her coat. Sam nodded, slurping down the last of his drink and loping off to the bathroom. She glanced over at Dean, who was sitting stone-faced, a muscle twinging above his jaw.

“I didn’t mean to...I mean, I should have asked, Dean. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s eyes closed, his jaw clenching as his lips pinched tight. Kimber waited, feeling the sting of tears prick at the back of her eyes. She’d crossed some unspoken line between them, and she didn’t know what to do to fix the moment. It had been such a good night, up til then.

“I...I’m not mad...at you,” Dean finally ground out. “Just...just gimme a second.”

He scrubbed his face with both hands, then glanced back towards the bathroom before speaking. He kept his eyes on the table-top, his hands clenching and unclenching on the cheap formica.

“I’m not...used to accepting hand-outs. I can take care of Sam, Kimber, I don’t need...you didn’t...you didn’t have to.”

She opened her mouth, fully ready to defend herself, but he held up a hand. 

“I know. I know what you’re going to say. I get that it’s not a hand-out. I know you don’t...I know you aren’t lookin’ down at us. I’m not used to…”

He cleared his throat, then reached out to her, his eyes still firmly on the table-top. When he spoke, his voice was low and thick, his words measured. 

“I promise, I’m not mad at you. Can we leave it at that for now?” He turned pleading eyes in her direction, his hand palm-up on the table. Her fingers were in his before she realized she’d moved. Mouth too dry to speak, she nodded and allowed herself to be pulled up from the booth.

Sam came barreling back from the restroom then, saving them from further awkward conversation, and they bundled up against the chill. By the time Kimber’s mother arrived, Dean had relaxed enough to greet Mrs. Harper pleasantly, and when they reached the motel, he leaned up to kiss Kimber’s cheek before climbing out of the backseat with Sam in tow.

The next day at school, Dean was a little distracted, almost distant. He walked her home that afternoon in almost complete silence. They were a block from her house when she couldn’t take the tension anymore. She stopped short, biting her lip as tears stung her eyes. To her shame, her throat started to clench, choking any attempt at words. 

Dean looked back at her, concern and confusion clear on his face at her sudden stop. 

She swiped the heel of her hand across her cheeks, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry about last night,” she managed, less coherently than she would have liked. “I didn’t mean to...I didn’t...I’m sorry I ruined the evening.”

Dean was in front of her in an instant, thumbs wiping the tears from her face, lips pressed fiercely against her forehead. 

“No, sweetheart.” His tone was rough and resolute. “I told you I’m not mad at you. Last night was...Last night was wonderful. I haven't seen Sam that happy in a long time. It’s been a rough few months. Sam and Dad have started fighting. Dad expects a lot from him, but not the usual good grades kind of ‘a lot.’ And when Dad pushes, Sam pushes back, and I…”

He dropped his forehead to hers, and Kimber pulled in a shaking breath.

“I didn’t want to drag you into our mess. You are perfect, and Sam and I both had a great time last night. Thank you. For dinner. For making Sam so happy. For everything.” He pulled back a few inches, catching her gaze. “Please don’t apologize again.”

She nodded, unable to answer aloud. He searched her eyes until he was satisfied, then nodded.

“ ‘M gonna kiss you now, so Imma need you to hold back on the tears for a minute. People will think I’m a terrible kisser if you cry through the whole thing.”

She laughed, and he caught her off guard, pressing his lips to hers before deepening the kiss. His fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head until he found an angle to please them both. His tongue swept, feather-light, across her lower lip, and she melted.

They came back to Earth a few moments later, jolted from their universe by enthusiastic honking and shouting from a passing car full of guys from one of their classes. Kimber hid her blazing face against Dean’s neck as he nodded, grinning and waving at the other boys.

Instead of pulling away, Kimber linked her arms around his neck, shivering against a biting breeze that swept past. Dean’s arms constricted, pulling her close enough that she felt his heartbeat against her chest.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Dean whispered, his words nearly lost in the breeze. Then he pulled away, linked his fingers through hers, and walked her home. He kissed her once more on her doorstep, holding her face between his warm, calloused palms, eyes closed. 

He rested his forehead against hers briefly before stepping back. He tried to deliver that smooth, carefree grin from their first study session and failed miserably.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said. Then he turned, flipping up the collar of his jacket, and stuffed his hands into his pockets as he headed down the walkway. She watched him go, wanting nothing more than to run after him. The set of his shoulders, the tense bend of his neck, told her to hold her ground, though. 

Something else was eating at Dean, and she knew him well enough to know that needling him wouldn’t get him to open up. He needed space and understanding, and she would just have to sit on her frustration. He asked for so very little, the least she could do was give him some time to work through whatever was going on. She just hoped it wouldn’t take too much time for him to open up. She hated seeing him so distant and miserable. 

When Dean finally turned up that evening, he was thirty minutes late for dinner. His father glowered at the pair of them from the driver’s seat of a sleek, black muscle car, while Sam slumped, miserable, in the back. Kimber realized with cold, painful clarity that they had, in fact, no time left at all.

…

Chapter 6

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #SPN #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #original character #original female character #teen dean #teen sam #teen winchesters #witchcraft #angst #romance #drama #high school romance #high school sweethearts #fluff #sugary sugary fluff #one of my favorite chapters #Next chapter we'll get some more plot I promise #like #stuff will actually happen to further the plot #i am still going with the word intense #i might even add trippy #mua ha

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Three

(AO3 counterpart here.)

TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO

Redpaw gazed at her mother.

It wasn’t fair, really, how peaceful they had managed to make her appear in death. Her eyes were closed serenely, her fur neatly groomed, mouth closed and cleaned of froth. She looked as though she was just asleep and having a nice dream. As if this whole ceremony was a joke. As if she would wake up any minute.

It was stupid. She wasn’t coming back. Why taunt everyone like this?

“Roany?”

Redpaw managed to tear her eyes away to meet her stepmother’s. The cream molly, Palefeather, was looking down at her with love and concern.

“How are you doing, honey?” she asked softly.

It was a stupid question, but Redpaw knew she meant well. She took a breath and looked down again.

“You wouldn’t think the white fury was in her blood,” she said. She was grateful that her voice was at the right volume, quiet but audible, because she had no say where it was herself. “She’s… she looks content.”

“She does.” Palefeather stepped in beside Redpaw, and the two stood in silence together.

Cats walked by them, pausing to crouch and whisper their respects to Thornfang – not touching her, as was custom of handling a white fury body – and offering a sympathetic nod to Redpaw and Palefeather before moving on. The Clast were shifting around in groups to swap stories about one of the most well-loved warriors in the community; how she had been unmatched in her battle strategies and hunting skill, how she had been a wonderful friend and a hilarious storyteller, how brave she had been in leading away the rabid dog that had gotten through the Hillock border, sacrificing her own safety to trap it in a currently dry gash in the earth that the dog had broken its neck falling into after it had bitten her. It was a shame she never became deputy, they said. She would have been a legendary leader in time.

Redpaw didn’t want to hear any of it. She pinned her ears against her head and shut her eyes tight, trying to mute out everything, but the conversations dug into her mind and latched on with terrible little claws, forcing her ears to stay open. Her own claws scraped against the stone floor.

Palefeather must have noticed, because she started grooming Redpaw’s head, purring quietly. Redpaw latched onto the sensation and focused as hard as she could on the feeling of a rough tongue and a soothing purr. Gradually, she relaxed.

“It’s not fair,” she murmured eventually. “She shouldn’t be here right now, on the ground.”

Palefeather paused her ministrations to reply. “She isn’t, Roany. She’s in StarClan now. She’s safe and happy. We’ll see her again one day.”

Redpaw opened her eyes halfway, returning her focus to her mother’s body. She wasn’t satisfied with that, but she couldn’t bring herself to argue against her stepmother. She knew that Palefeather needed that comfort as much as she did. She just sighed, shut her eyes again, and leaned into her only living family.

 Over the next week, Redpaw hunted alone. The rest of the Clast knew to leave her be – though perhaps Palefeather had a paw in that. Redpaw said nothing to anyone and ate very little of what she brought back. More often than not, she was out in the night while everyone was asleep, just to ensure that promise of solitude.

One evening, as she stalked, sniffing the air, she caught something new. A cold scent, that smelled of the dark and the mist. She frowned and stood straight, opening her mouth to taste it.

Very odd.

Very interesting.

Redpaw looked around in the moonlit hollow, thick with grass and cut through by a stream. She could swear that, under that chill, she had caught the scent of another cat.

“Is someone here?” she asked, calling just loud enough to be heard across the way.

You could say that.

Redpaw flinched. The voice was there, seemingly in her ear, close as a thought, but she couldn’t distinguish who it was or if they were near her. She looked around again, but even with her feline eyes, no one popped up out of the shadows.

Then, there – something thin, dim, a silhouette under a lone tree.

She relaxed and approached a few steps. “I didn’t know anyone else was awake.”

I’m always awake, the silhouette said. Sleep begets nightmares.

Redpaw frowned. Why couldn’t she define how this voice sounded?

“You’re not from the Clast,” she said.

The sensation of eyes regarding her, half-narrowed. I wouldn’t know anymore.

Redpaw didn’t know how to respond to that. She stopped walking and squinted, trying to make out whoever this was. They seemed little more than a shadow.

Who…?

I know about your mother, they said suddenly. I’m sorry.

Redpaw’s head went back a little and she blinked. “No one’s left the Clast this week. Why would you know about-?”

Saw it. Their long, narrow head tilted to the side. Wanted to stop her, but that never works. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer molly.

Redpaw stared. “You saw her and you didn’t come to the vigil?”

I wouldn’t be welcome in most of our society. They gazed at her silently for a moment. I can’t tell you how much I regret her fate.

Redpaw was confused by this riddle-talking… whoever they were. She still couldn’t make out their features, and it was starting to unnerve her.

Still, she could remain polite.

She recited Palefeather’s current mantra. “At least she’s happy in StarClan now.”

The silhouette rippled suddenly, violently. Don’t follow that hollow sentiment, Redpaw. It’s not true.

Redpaw flinched and took a step back, somewhere between offended and alarmed.

StarClan is the last place you want her to go, they said – and their voice did not get louder in her head, but it became more intense, more powerful.

Redpaw didn’t know what she wanted to say, but she managed a, “Why not?”

The rippling ceased and there was a long, low breath… or perhaps it was the breeze. When you go to sleep, call for her. Dream tonight. You’ll see.

Then they were gone.

It took Redpaw a moment to realize that she was alone. She blinked, looking for that silhouette, and then turning this way and that, a little afraid. No one was with her. The scent of cold and dark and damp had vanished.

Redpaw told no one about her encounter – something in her advised against it, and she followed her instincts. She was lucky that most of the cats had retired to their nests by the time she got home. Hardly anyone lifted their head to even greet her. She took her nest that she had pushed to be a little further away from the usual cluster in each house, curled up, and shut her eyes, trying to will herself to become sleepy.

“Mother,” she whispered under her breath, to avoid catching any attention. “If you can hear me…”

Something creaked.

She opened her eyes and startled. All around her was a grassy, beautiful clearing. Flowers in a scattered rainbow of colors caught the sunlight that warmed Redpaw’s pelt. Redpaw recovered from her shock and shook it out of her fur. She inhaled deeply, blessed with the scent of prey and ground just drying from the rain.

She seemed to be alone, but hesitantly, she called, “Mother?” and, after a pause, quieter, “Is this StarClan?”

There was an odd sensation, like Redpaw’s sight shuddered, and something sun-bright was in front of her. She squinted, eyes relaxing slowly as it dimmed, until she recognized her aged spitting-image in front of her.

“Mother,” she breathed. Elation straightened her posture and her fur flared with excitement. She stumbled a step forward.

Then she stopped.

Thornfang’s eyes were wide, darker than they were in life, sunken in. They bulged with terror. Her claws sunk into the grass, her tail bristled like a coyote’s. Why did she look so gaunt?

Redpaw looked at her mother. Thornfang looked at her.

“Run,” she said.

The ground burst open behind her, rocks splitting and jutting out skyward. Redpaw fell to her stomach as the earth shook. All around was a deafening, grinding groan, slow and strained.

Thornfang started forward. Something eye-searingly bright shot up out of the opening in the ground. It wrapped itself around Thornfang’s sides and jerked her up off her feet.

“Run!” Thornfang shouted, voice cracking in animal terror.

Then she was pulled into the hole, and the earth shook again, violent. It crumbled away, closing in on Redpaw until she had nothing under her paws. She half-fell, half-floated in the

 in the

  She saw it.

  She screamed.

   Hush.

Redpaw shot up out of her nest, hyperventilating. She pedaled backwards until she hit a stone wall, too terrified to think straight. She was on the verge of passing out, and she knew it, and it scared her, as if she might return to that thing once she lost consciousness.

In front of her was the dark figure, free of the shadows. They stood tall, thin, long, and unnaturally calm.

And shush, they said. Now Redpaw knew their words were in her head – no one so much as flicked an ear in their sleep. For it may be listening.

The very last string of sensibility grabbed at Redpaw’s heart and held on, ordering her to slow her breathing. She was barely able to obey, taking deeper, more elongated breaths, until she was merely trembling and not frozen in place.

The silhouette nodded once. Come.

They turned and walked out of the house. Their tail was like a snake, but it seemed to be fading at the tip.

Redheart looked around to ensure that no one had awoken – they hadn’t – before shakily following the figure out of the silent, night-stained settlement and towards the area they had first met.

You saw it, then, they said at last. You know now.

“I don’t know what I saw!” Redpaw cried. “My mother- something- it got her-“

Yes. They turned to her, an oddly comforting look on their face. It was StarClan. Or the thing pretending to be StarClan.

Redpaw listened in horrified silence as they explained a truth that she would carry with her for the rest of her life.

I’ve been trying all my afterlife to warn everyone, they concluded, but it’s done a good job of ensuring everyone flees or tries to kill me or alerts it to my location. I am merely a devil now to most.

Redpaw wanted to weep. She maintained her composure and lowered her head. “Then you’re…”

The Runagate, they said quietly. Yes. You are one of the only ones that know about me. About my truth. About the truth.

Redpaw’s head jerked up immediately. “There are more?”

What little Redpaw could deduce of their face twitched, like it was wryly amused. One, at least. The veil doesn’t touch him. It may do good to find him.

Sudden and slight, there was a spark of anger in Redpaw’s heart. She latched onto it, warmed it, let it begin to turn into a small flame of righteous determination. “I’ll try. I'll find him as soon as I can. I can’t… I can’t shoulder this alone. I don’t know how you did.”

The Runagate’s entire posture relaxed, and the voice in her head had a smile in it. I don’t anymore.

 ---

 “Then that’s how you two met,” Darkpelt said, almost in awe. “All this time, the connection was there, and no one knew.”

“Greyleaf didn’t know her.” Mistface shook his head. ���I would’ve heard about it.”

“No,” Greyleaf replied with a sigh. “You wouldn’t have. I never told you.”

Mistface stared at him, eyes wide.

“I never told you about any of this.” Greyleaf had settled down as Redheart’s tale went on, but now his tail tapped the ground in stress. “Nor Mama, nor my mentor. I couldn’t tell anyone. I didn’t know about the whole truth, at first.”

Flyfang cleared her throat, her voice still ragged. “I guess you have your side to tell, then.”

Greyleaf closed his eyes. “I guess I do.”

#warrior cats #steorra #arc three #chapter #chapter three #that is a reference to coraline before you ask yes #greyleaf #redheart #darkpelt #flyfang #mistface #the runagate

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Happiness Begins

Part 13

Summary: Jensen and the reader find time in their busy schedules to go out on a second date. 

Word Count: 4.9K+

Warnings: Language, a brief discussion of emotional abuse, protected sexual intercourse, oral sex (male receiving) 18+ only

Author’s Note: I just want to start off by thanking everyone for their patience with this one. Things have been hectic in my life and my anxiety has been on high, which for me means I shut down anything that requires more than 10% of my attention. Anyway, I hope this makes up for it. As always, I love to hear what you think, so don’t be shy!

Catch up with the series masterlist and check out Alexandra’s Library for more works by yours truly!

The apartment was still dark when Y/n unlocked the door upon her return. She could tell Jared had yet to return, as he usually leaves a trail of evidence when he does. He would have left out something he pulled from the kitchen to munch on, or more likely, he would have left a light on. It was a bad habit of his, not turning off the lights, which drove her insane. 

She sighed with relief realizing he had yet to return. As she made her way to her room, she hung up her coat on its hook. She didn’t turn on a light until she was in her room. It took her no time at all to strip out of her clothes and into some warm pajamas. As she moved across the hall to the bathroom to remove her makeup and wash her face, she realized that she couldn’t stop smiling. It was a small smirk that refused to leave her lips. She bit her bottom lip, trying to will it away, but that only seemed to make it grow. And it was all Jensen’s fault.

It had been longer than she cared to admit since she had been on a first date that was as amazing and theirs. Her first dates usually consisted of bad small talk and not enough alcohol. Granted, they also tended to be the only dates she would embark on. Her mother wasn’t lying when she said it had been a long time since she had a serious relationship. Since Alec, she had only ever ventured towards friends with benefits relationships. Their breakup had broken her, for a long time. It took her years to gain back the self-love and confidence that she possessed today. And that still was nothing compared to what she once was. The emotional abuse she experienced at his hand made it nearly impossible to trust any guy enough to let him close to her. But with Jensen, she didn’t need to let him in. He had somehow found his own way in without her even knowing. He didn’t know everything, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care if he found out. The truth behind her break up was one that she didn’t even tell her family. Her mother couldn’t understand why she hadn’t had a boyfriend since, and Y/n couldn’t blame her for that. No, it was Y/n’s fault for not telling her. But Jensen… Jensen was safe and calming, and she found she would tell him anything he wanted to know. They had a lot to learn about each other, but she had never been more excited about it. 

Her phone screen was lit when she came back into her room. She shut off the lights and crawled into bed with it. There were a few messages from Jensen.

I had a good time tonight, regardless.

Did you decide if I can take you out again?

She chuckled to herself as she read. He was the softest guy she had met. But she couldn’t let him get off that easily.

I had a nice time too. And I decided that you cannot take me out.

She watched as the bubbles popped up immediately, indicating he was curating his reply. 

It was the baseball analogy wasn’t it?

A snort fell from her. He would bring that up.

Yeah, and well, I figured that I should repay the favor this time. Let me take you out. A girl’s gotta woo her man too. 

His reply came quickly again.

Oh, so I’m your man now? 

Don’t get ahead of yourself Ackles, it’s a figure of speech. 

Ouch... that hurt, Padalecki. 

Somehow, I think you’ll forgive me. 

Always. Now get some sleep, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, and you can tell me all about this date you have planned.

She didn’t want to admit the clutch that his reply had on her heart. Jensen always somehow knew exactly what to say, even if she didn’t know it was what she needed. She bid him goodnight before plugging her phone into its charger and snuggling into bed, her grin even wider than before. 

****

Commotion in the kitchen jolted her into consciousness the next morning. She could hear voices talking, their timbre low. Curiosity got the better of her, and she climbed out of bed to see what the ruckus was. She wiped the sleep from her eyes as the sunlight from the common room of the apartment hit her when she opened her bedroom door. 

“Ah, look who decided to grace us with her presence.” From her angle in the hallway, she could see Jared pouring out a shake from his blender into a cup. He had on his workout out gear, likely ready to head out to the gym.

“Us?” Her voice was timid as she made her way into the kitchen. As she made her way down the hallway, she could see the ‘us’ in which Jared was referring to. 

“Yeah, us.” Jensen spoke up from his seat at the island bar top. He was also clad in workout clothes, a water bottle sitting on the counter in front of him.

“Well, I would still be sleeping if you two weren’t making the most noise you possibly could out here.” She growled at her brother as she made her way over to the coffee maker. She could feel Jensen’s eyes on her as she poured some coffee into a mug. His gaze was making her feel self conscious in her state of undress. Granted, he had seen her naked, but that was a far cry from the dried drool in the corner of her mouth, and the rats nest that was currently her hair.

“It’s almost eight o’clock. This is sleeping in for us.” Jared pointed out as he turned to her. 

“Ugh, you and your facts.” She grumbled and took a sip of her coffee. The liquid warmed her body on its way down, and she had to fight the clichéd sigh. Jensen chuckled from his place at the counter and her eyes flickered to his for the first time. She glared at him, having hoped to hide pre-coffee Y/n from him for a little longer than this. There was no going back now, she supposed.

“Please tell me you two are going to the gym to leave me in some peace and quiet.” 

“We were just heading out, your majesty.” Jared bowed in front of her. “I just have to grab my jacket.” He skirted off down the hall and into his room. His absence left her a small window of opportunity to mess with Jensen a little. Sure, she respected his wishes, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t frustrating. How could you not look at the man and be frustrated? She was a warm blooded American woman after all. Two could play at this game. 

Y/n made her way around the island and stopped to lean an elbow on the counter, putting her right in Jensen’s line of sight.

“You know, if you wanted to see me again so soon, you could’ve just asked.” She kept her voice low, as Jared had left his door open behind him. 

“I did, and you said no remember?”

“No, I said you don’t get to take me out. There is a distinct difference there.” Jensen narrowed his eyes, trying to pick up on what she meant. “Chew on that a bit.” With that she pushed off the counter and headed back for her room. Jensen was a smart guy, and she knew he would catch up with her at some point. 

As she passed the desk in her room, she picked up her laptop and climbed into her bed. Today was her day to catch up on things for her business. She had a photo shoot that was coming up soon that she needed to finalize details for and book a plane ticket to New York. They had a lot to get done before Ashley went on maternity leave, and she was determined to do it. That had been their compromise after the whole debacle. They were to shoot everything they needed now, and it will be strategically posted to both of their social media profiles later when the collection launches. They were exceedingly lucky that their schedules lined up perfectly. She had a long weekend off from filming soon, and she needed to take advantage of every opportunity that she could.

Once she settled all that, she would dive into planning something special for Jensen. Who says that a guy has to do all the romantic stuff in a relationship? Equality and stuff, right? She was determined to figure something out, and she liked to think that she knew him well enough to make it a night to remember. 

The task was harder than she anticipated. Jensen just wasn’t a gooey guy. He was a Texan boy and though that meant he was a gentleman, it also meant that getting him back for making her cry was damn near impossible. Not to mention, as much as she hates to admit it, he knew a lot more about her than she knew about him. 

Eventually she gave in, deciding that she would go with the humor approach. She was going to make him laugh until his ribs ached and ply him full of alcohol. They will have a damn good time if it killed her. The place she had found to take him to was a dive to say the least. Definitely a place the Winchester brothers would find themselves on a crack hunt. But that was part of the charm of the evening. As well, it meant it would be less likely someone would spot them. All she needed was to wait until Jared was out of the way. 

****

It was a quiet day on set. They were working on a few scenes on the bunker stages, which meant no fun work for her. She was mostly present to make sure the guys didn’t get too shiny. Hell, even Trish had the day off. That’s how little her services were needed. 

She sat in one of the uncomfortable cast chairs, her one leg crossed over the other, bouncing mindlessly as she scrolled through social media. The director called cut and she hopped up from her spot to run and check on Jared and Jensen. 

Jared sat down on the map table so she could reach him. “I wish you could come home this week with me.”

She smiled at her brother with a slight roll of her eyes. “You’re just saying that so I can babysit for free while you and Gen do things I want to know nothing about.” 

“Hey, the kids miss you.” Jared acted offended by her words.

“Wow, you aren’t even denying it.” Jensen piped up from where he stood next to them. He crossed his arms over his chest with a smirk. 

With an exaggerated gasp, she pointed the brush in her hand at Jensen. “Yes! Thank you. Just hire a babysitter like normal people and leave me out of it.” 

“Whatever, smalls. You’ll understand one day when you have kids. And I won’t be there to bail you out when you and your baby daddy want some alone time.” Jared stood as she indicated she was done with him. Her nose wrinkled at his choice of words. Out of all the terms he could have used, he went with ‘baby daddy’? 

“Fine by me, wanna know why? Cause I’ll have hired a babysitter.” She shoved his shoulder when he rolled his eyes at her. Jared’s action only served to fuel her annoyance with him, her  jaw setting while she thought of some retort, but Jared was too quick for her. 

“You know you seem a little cranky. When was the last time you ate?” She frowned, knowing it would prompt him to run off to the food table and get him off her back. “I’ll go grab a snack really quick. Jensen?” Jared raised his eyebrows as he turned his attention to Jensen. Jensen just shook his head as she glared at her brother. Jared disappeared from the set, leaving the two of them forgotten as the crew worked to set up the next scene. 

“You know, you and Jared’s bitch faces are disturbingly similar.” Jensen said as she indicated for him to sit as well. As she tucked away Jared’s makeup and swapped it for Jensen’s, she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Probably the dimples.” 

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” He grinned as he looked up at her. Her heart stuttered in her chest from his gaze. Every time he looked at her like that, it seemed to take her breath away. It was hard to describe, but the simple adoration and the way his skin crinkled at the corner of his eyes just did something to her. 

“So, Jared leaves first thing tomorrow morning, and I was thinking, if you were interested, we could go on that second date.” Her voice lowered as she finished her sentence. Both of them glanced around their immediate area for any prying ears on the set. 

“I would love that.” Being next to her was growing increasingly difficult. Jensen was fighting every instinct inside him that wanted to reach out and touch her. Especially considering they hadn’t had a moment alone since their first date, and that was two weeks ago. There wasn’t even a small chance to sneak a quick peck to her lips. He was seriously reconsidering his adamance about keeping sex out of the equation. And she wasn’t helping the situation, either. She was antagonizing him, that he knew for sure. Women did it all the time around him. Swaying their hips and ensuring that their breasts were the best accessory to whatever outfit they chose to wear. He refused to play her game though. Taking things slow was the hardest decision he had ever made, but his previous relationship patterns were consistent. Each one started out hot and heavy, and each one burned out before they even had the chance to see the light. Even though whatever it was they had going between them was new, he knew that he did not want this to turn out like all the others. Something in his gut was telling him this could be different, and he was determined to keep them from fizzling out. 

“Good, I’ll text you.” Her voice brought him back to the moment. He had to remind himself to just take it day by day. To take in each moment as it comes. He was committed to remembering the little things about their time together. Like the way the tip of her tongue was now fixed in the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on her work. Or the obvious excitement in her voice at the prospect of setting up their next date. 

“So banana or apple?” Jared appeared next to them, popping the bubble they had unintentionally disappeared into. Y/n snapped closed the powdered foundation in her hand and kept her gaze on Jensen. 

“Oh, banana for sure.” 

****

“I’m kind of regretting keeping you in the dark for our first date right now.” 

“Stop worrying, you’ll have fun.” She whined for the third time that evening. She had only given him as much to go on as he had given her for their last date, and it turned out that Jensen was an even bigger baby about surprises than she was. 

“I’m sure, but I’m just curious as to why you insisted that I wear jeans and cowboy boots.” Jensen fiddled with his legs, looking down at his weathered leather boots on his feet. 

“Ah, but it’s all part of the fun. Besides, the wait is over, we’re here.” Y/n pointed out the windshield as their uber turned into the gravel parking lot. The building that they had pulled up to was, for the most part, nondescript. The only hint as to what was inside came from the various neon signs that indicated the brands of beer they sold. 

The deep bass of the music playing inside could be heard as the two exited the car. Jensen still had a skeptical look on his face as she came around and grabbed his hand to drag him inside. The chaos that reigned behind the door hit them in the face as they entered the bar. The long bar on the south side of the building was the main focal point as they made their way inside. It sat directly across the way from a stage where a live band was currently playing something neither of them recognized. The theme inside was anything but subtle, and he immediately recognized where they were. 

“Really? A honky tonk bar?” Jensen had a wide grin on his face as she turned back to him. 

“Well, you can take the girl out of Texas…” She trailed off, not needing to finish her idiom. Her lips were pursed as she tried to fight her smile. “You like?”

“You know, I think I do. This is honestly the last place I ever expected, but man I do miss home sometimes.” Jensen continued to follow her to a few open seats at the bar. He slipped his arms around her waist as she flagged down the bartender and ordered two beers and four shots. 

She slid two shots to Jensen and kept two for herself when they arrived. “Here’s to Texas.” She held up the shot and Jensen tapped his own against it.

“God bless Texas.” He agreed before the both of them downed the amber liquid. Y/n immediately picked up her second shot and threw it back with a hiss. She shook out her head as she fought against the burn in her throat. 

“Come on Ackles, keep up.” She picked up the large pint of beer and disappeared into the crowd of people dancing. Jensen smirked to himself before throwing back his second shot and setting off after her, his own beer in hand. 

****

The front door to Jared’s apartment flew open, bouncing off of the small decorative table that had the unfortunate incidence of being placed where it was. The small potted plant that sat atop it shook in its place from the force. 

Jensen and Y/n were attached at the lips as they stumbled inside. His hands fumbled to find the handle to close the door behind them as he refused to separate from her. A giggle fell from her lips as he growled in frustration and finally relented. He fastened the deadbolt before turning back to her. With a breath, he allowed himself a second to take in her flushed cheeks and kiss swollen lips. Even after a night of dancing, drinking, and yes, bull riding, she looked as beautiful as ever. It was corny as shit, but there was nothing he didn’t love when he looked at her. And right now, he felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

“What?” Her self-consciousness picked up under his intense stare. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had something on her face.

“Nothing, just admiring the view.” He answered honestly. An eye roll was her only response. Jensen always said sappy shit like that, but she would be lying if she said that she didn’t love it. Frankly, his open affection was uncharted territory for her. Sure, she had slept with her share of willing men, but both of them were just looking to get off. Niceties were not on anyone’s minds. With Jensen, it was different. She could actually feel the admiration, and to describe the way it made her feel would be impossible. Words cannot express that warmth. 

“You’re not half bad yourself, Ackles.” She purred as she took his hand and pulled him down the hall. He followed happily, allowing her to drag him through the door and push him down onto the edge of the bed. She snuck her way between his thighs, hovering over him. His heavy eyes flitted up to hers as he drew his neck back to look up. 

“This view looks familiar.” She cocked her head before catching his lips in hers again. The high of feeling his barely chapped yet still pillow soft lips against her was one she would chase over and over. It radiated heat throughout her, only to be intensified where his wide palms rose to rest against her hips. 

“Y/n-”

“Shhh,” Now was not the time for talking. No, she just wanted to feel him, to be able to commit these moments to memory. Including his heaving chest and lust blown eyes. And Jensen didn’t have any will to object to it either, not when her fingers were tugging on the soft hairs on the base of his skull, the action getting him more and more excited. 

He chased after her lips as she sank down to her knees in front of him. He lifted his feet at her insistence, allowing her to pull off his boots and socks. Both of her hands pulled back her hair to toss it over one of her shoulders before she raised back up off of her calves. Heavy breathes fell from Jensen as he leaned back and supported his weight with his arms behind him and watched her reach for his belt. The metal jingled as she pulled it open, not once taking her eyes off of the half wrecked man in front of her. There was a smug satisfaction at knowing how undone he had come already, and she hadn’t even touched him yet. 

A hum of contentment left her lips as she continued to take off Jensen's jeans and briefs while he took care of his shirts. “Did I mention how lucky I am?” She asked him as she lazily stroked his half hard erection.

“Jesus,” He groaned and ran his hand over her head and through the locks along her shoulder. “You have my cock in your hand and you’re the lucky one?” Her only reply was a gentle nod of her head before she wrapped her lips around his reddened tip. Jensen sucked in a breath at her sudden warmth before letting it out in a low moan. 

It was like a symphony to her ears, the noise jolting her core with arousal. “Mm, lucky.” She asserted as she coated him in her saliva and took as much of him in her mouth as she could. Jensen was making delicious noises as she worked him over, sucking him for all he was worth. In no time, his thighs were clenching against her sides and she could tell he was close. With a soft pop, she took her mouth from his throbbing cock. Jensen whimpered, fully frustrated by her removal before he fell back on the bed in a heap. 

“Oh my…” He watched her as she shed her own clothes and went in search of a condom. She motioned for him to move up the bed and tossed him the small packet she had secured. 

“You can call me Y/n.” She drawled in a bad southern accent. The bed bounced as she playfully jumped onto it. The movement gave Jensen temporary issues as he worked to secure the condom on himself. Once it was finally on, he moved to sit up, but she stopped him, pushing him back against the comforter. His rough hands found her waist as she straddled his hips. She bucked forward, rubbing her dripping pussy against his cock, causing both of them to hiss. 

“How’s about I call you amazing?” He smiled up at her as her right hand fell onto the bed next to his head. She kissed him deep and swift, savoring the taste of his tongue in her mouth and his breaths mixing with her own. 

“That works too.” She supposed, lining him up with her entrance and sinking down. Her chin fell to her chest as he stretched her, cascading her hair into a curtain around their faces. The tip of her tongue was turning white where she had it clenched between her teeth as she tried not to cry out. Her memory of that first night had not done either of them justice. It was hazier than she had thought, because she was sure she would have accurately remembered this feeling. Frankly, she was kind of pissed that she hadn’t gotten the clear picture. Sure, she had felt it in the morning, but that was nothing compared to the fullness she was experiencing now. 

“You good?” Jensen had his knowing smirk on as he repeated the phrase she had chastised him for that first night. Without a word, she fixed her hair back over one shoulder before she raised her hips up and lowered them back down in a slow, calculated movement. Jensen grunted, his fingers digging into the soft curve of her hips.

“Are you good?” Jensen laughed at her quick retort. That was a fair response, he assumed, as she repeated her movement. Quickly, she had to adjust her support, moving her hand higher near his head and bracing her left hand against his chest near the base of his throat, before she could set a pace with her hips.

The room quickly filled with the sound of her skin against skin mixing with her deep moans and Jensen’s heavy breaths. He had planted his feet, meeting her thrust for thrust, his hands helping to bring her back down to him. Jensen took over every sense she had, and she wanted nothing more than to freeze this moment right here and hold onto it for as long as she could. Fire was now burning through her veins as the coil tightened in her belly. She wasn’t sure how much longer she was going to last, her body racing to the edge. 

“Y/n,” he warned her through gritted teeth, not needing to say anything else. A loud moan that emanated from the back of her throat was all she could offer him in confirmation that she was right there with him. “You’re doing so good baby, riding my cock. Come for me, Y/n.” 

She captured his lips again as she finally fell over the edge, her pussy clenching tight around him. Their mouths met in heated tongue and teeth as Jensen gave her another few good thrusts before following her off the cliff and emptying himself into the condom. Under trembling legs, she forced herself off of him and dropped in a sweaty heap on his right. Her hands searched him out as she worked to slow her breathing, her fingers eventually making their way through the longer locks on the crown of his head. Her gaze fixed on the paint lines across the ceiling as she allowed herself to come down.

“You know, I thought you were going to fight me on this.” She mused as Jensen rolled over her, his arm folded against her stomach to support his head just below her ribs. 

“What do you mean?” He asked as he kissed her sternum, just below her breasts.

“The whole, ‘let’s not make this just about sex’ thing. I just thought you wanted to wait.”

“We did wait… for the second date.” He joked before turning serious again. “Besides, it’s harder to argue when you don’t believe your own words?” He had a content smile still on his face as she played with his hair. She searched his face for any hint he may be lying to her, but she couldn’t find anything hidden there. 

“Okay, I just didn’t want you to feel pressured. I didn’t pressure you, did I?” 

“No, no pressure.” He promised with another kiss against her sweaty and flushed skin. Jensen laid his cheek against her belly, her fingers still in his hair. The two remained that way in silence for a moment or two before Jensen spoke up again.

“What did you mean earlier, when you said you were lucky?” His brow furrowed as he adjusted himself to get a better look at her face. 

“Hmmm, well, I was referring to the fact that millions of girls would pay out the ass to be on their knees in front of you, and I got to do it for free.” She had to cut the moment with an ounce of humor. Jensen pinched her side as he frowned at her. She yelped before squirming out from underneath him. “I’m serious, if this acting thing doesn’t pan out, you could make a killing.” 

“You’re not funny you know that?” He tried to chase after her, but she was out of the bed before he could blink. He threw one of her pillows across the room at her. She caught it with a huge smile and headed back to the edge of the bed. 

“I’m hilarious.” She countered and tossed the pillow back to him before jumping back onto the bed. “For real though, I don’t think I could even express to you just yet how lucky I feel right now.” 

Jensen accepted her answer, inviting her back to his side. The two of them snuggled back into each other, content to just listen to the sound of their own breathing. That was until something hit him. 

“We really need to stop fucking in Jared’s homes.” He wrinkled his nose and she fell into another fit of laughter.

“Could be worse, it could have been his bed.” She got out in between breaths. 

“Yeah, well, I like my head attached to my body.”

A/N 2: I struggled with whether or not I want to make the reader’s previous relationship abusive, because I don’t like the idea that she needed something horrific to happen to her to push my plot agenda. Eventually though, I came to the unfortunate conclusion that the fact remains that it is an unfortunate reality for a lot of women, and that I can make it about more than just a plot device. 

If you or someone you know is suffering abuse at the hand of a domestic partner, I want you to know that there is help. Visit https://www.thehotline.org/help/ for more information.

Part 14

Forevers: @spn-impala @22sarah08 @turtlepad @callmekda @chaldei @hobby27 @casualfestivaltrashpainter @cowboysnwinchesters @tranquility-or-chaos @pikabootoyouchu @dawnie1988 @grease222 @frackinawesomeninja @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @polina-93 @clarinette07 @moonlight-babeh @suckerforfanfic @witandnargles @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @geeksareunique

Et Cetera: @jbbarnesgirl @hillface89 @arses21434 @thevelvetseries @sslater34 @mrsirishboru @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @encounterthepast @facadeformyrealblog  @supernatural-bellawinchester @screechingartisancashbailiff @rebeccathefangirl @squirrelnotsam @heartinmyhead1 @1d-killed-me @samsgirl93 @deans-baby-momma @deanmonandnegansbitch @woodworthti666 @supraveng @onethirstyunicorn @heartsaved @know2grow @littlewhiterose @surprisinglysarah @stoneyggirl @carryon-doctor-lock @thebookisbtr @youaremyfiveever

#Jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x plus sized!reader #jensen ackles x plus size!reader #jensen ackles x sister!padalecki #jared padalecki x sister!reader #sister!reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles fic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural rpf #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn fic #spn rpf #rpf #alex writes #mine #happiness begins

[pressedinthepages]

Chapter 5: Hunt

Summary: The hunt begins, and an injury brings forth discussions, and an offer is made.

Series Masterlist

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24382063/chapters/60071566

Words: 3240

Tags: @whitewolfandthefox   (Add yourself to my taglist here!)

Warnings: nightmares, blood, undressing, almost-nudity, feelings

A/N: This one was a fun one to write, then it got feelings-y, which is still fun, but not the same as writing a badass harpy battle.

    You are running, the wind biting your nose as your hair whips across your face. The ground is hard under your feet, your heart pounding against your chest in a rapid tattoo. The trail is steep, causing the muscles in your thighs to ache. You can smell blood on the air and you run faster, the scent growing as you approach the cliff at the end of the trail. You can see the body from here, the hulking figure curled on itself with its back to you. You drop to your knees next to him, rolling him onto his back. 

You hold your breath as you take in the overwhelming amount of blood soaking the red-striped fabric. Eskel isn’t breathing, and you claw at his chest to try and find where the blood is coming from. No matter where you look, you can’t find any wound, and the blood just keeps flowing under your fingertips. His eyes are closed and his skin is deathly pale, and you can’t hold back the sob that flies from your lips. You curl your fingers into his jerkin, the leather stiff under your grip. You pull his head to your chest, cradling him as you cry out into the vast nothingness. The ground shakes beneath you and something calls your name and clench your eyes shut as you brace for the worst…

You open your eyes, Eskel leaning over you with his hands on your shoulders, shaking you awake. His golden gaze is filled with concern, but you feel his grip relax as you blink into consciousness. He lets go and sits back on his heels, letting you sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes. You haven’t had such a vivid nightmare in years, only occasionally being awoken by a vague sense of discomfort. 

You rise to your feet, slightly too awake, but adamantly ignoring the pounding ache behind your ears. Eskel stands too, once more placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asks, looking deep into your eyes and searching for anything out of place.

“I’m fine, I just hope I didn’t wake you…” your voice is cold, you don’t want his pity, but you can’t help the apology in your tone as you pull away to pack up the camp. 

Eskel turns as well, rolling up his own bedroll and stowing it onto his horse. Scorpion, you think, what an odd name for a horse. 

“Nah,” he murmurs, only loud enough for you to barely hear him over the cool morning breeze, “I’d been awake for a while, just meditating. But you cal-” he stops. You hear him take a sharp intake of breath before continuing, “You were tossing around, I know what a nightmare looks like. I couldn’t just watch you go through it.”

You turn to face him, finding him standing at Scorpion’s side, absentmindedly scratching at the rough scars on his cheek. You draw closer, looking into his eyes and finding not pity, but pure empathy. You gently place a hand on his arm, stopping the scratching with your touch.

“Thank you, Eskel,” you whisper, squeezing his arm lightly under the black chemise. You are thankful, too, that he has yet to put on his armor, not quite awake enough to face the real him looking exactly like the version in your nightmare.

You force yourself to step back once more, loading the last of your equipment onto your horse. She nudges into your shoulder as you call, “All set, wolf?”

“Mhm, hang on,” he replies, and you glance over your shoulder. You see that Eskel has finished dressing, fingers still doing up the laces on his jerkin. He kneels to the ground right next to where Lil’ Bleater is still slumbering, huffing a small sigh as he does. He scoops her up, deftly tucking her into his shirt in a clearly well-rehearsed move. She only lets out a soft bleat, not thrilled with being awoken but apparently content with being wrapped in Eskel’s warmth.

Eskel rises, one hand holding the bottom of the large lump now lining his shirt. He catches your eye, and you smirk at him, teasing lightly at just how spoiled his little goat is. You murmur soothingly to your horse, stroking her mane sweetly before telling her to stay put. She trods to stand at Scorpion’s side, the two of them making fast friends while camping. 

…

    The walk to the far edge of the woods is silent, other than the occasional snore escaping from inside of Eskel’s shirt. The trees begin to thin, offering a view of a steep cliff through the morning fog. Your ears twitch at the sound of high screams and aggressive flapping, the harpies having apparently made their nest at the top of the cliff. 

    The ground is littered with stray feathers and leaves, the soil saturated with blood. The air smells of death and decay, which you know will only get stronger the closer you get to the nest. Eskel silently gestures to the left, where you can see a gentle slope leading to the top of the cliff. You nod before slowly moving, your steps light on the forest floor so as not to attract unwanted attention too soon. 

    The sound of the beasts fades a bit as you make your way along the edge of the trees, not quite far enough away to justify leaving the cover just yet. Once their screams are only heard under the sounds of the nearby stream do you stall, looking back at Eskel to make sure that he is ready. He holds up a hand and steps away, bending low at the base of a tree a few steps further into the woods. You see him make the sign for Axii, and you know that he has set Lil’ Bleater somewhere safe and made sure that she wouldn’t leave. 

He returns, and you both draw your silver swords. You reach into your pack to find your oils and potions, offering him the small bottles to use for himself as well. You both make your way forward, breaking free from the trees and keeping your eyes up to watch for any stray visitors. As you begin to ascend the slope, you can tell that there are likely around ten harpies at the crest. It should be easy pickings between the two of you, having both taken down numerous larger beasts over the years.

You both move to flank either side of the nest before rushing into the center of the fray. The beasts take notice of you instantly, screaming and diving towards you. Eskel’s back presses against yours and you move in tandem, swinging and casting signs in every direction. You step forward and he steps back, covering each other instinctively even after all of these years. You both take down harpy after harpy, swiftly moving towards the central nest. You can feel the crackle of latent chaos behind you, Eskel’s magic bubbling and spilling into the air.

Before you can throw a samsum bomb into the branches of the nest, Eskel yells your name, causing you to turn to him and see him cast Aard in your direction. You fly backwards, preparing to land in a crouch, but you feel the sharp scratch of claws along your shoulder and down your arm. You land gracelessly, dust flying around you as you scramble back to your feet. Blood trickles down your arm and you switch your sword to your other hand as you take in your surroundings. 

Eskel is focused, swinging with the precision of a well-oiled machine. You find yourself gawking at him, a heat blooming low in your stomach that you had long forgotten was there. His jerkin swings as he spins, catching one of the last harpies with the tip of his sword. She falls to the ground and Eskel lunges, thrusting his sword deep into the beast’s abdomen. You see the last harpy turn and dive towards him and you close the distance between the two of you. 

Just as she is about to plunge her claws deep into his back you jump between them, casting Igni as you move. The harpy plummets in a burst of flames, screaming and writhing until, with a quick slash of your sword, you remove her head from her body. 

The air is still, suddenly silent as you turn to face Eskel once more. You can hear his heart now, escalated for a witcher but still inhumanly slow. His hair is disheveled and there is a tear in one of his gauntlets, but he is otherwise unharmed. His golden eyes travel over your figure, and you know that he is trying to see if you are harmed as well. He stops at your arm, the sharp smell of your blood filling the air. 

“You’re hurt,” Eskel says, stepping forward and offering his hand to help you. 

You shake your head, “Honestly, it’s nothing I’ve never dealt with before. Hell, it’s not even the worst that something got me this year.”

You move towards the harpy on the ground in front of you, crinkling your nose at the scent of her burnt skin. You take out your dagger and you hear Eskel do the same behind you, dismantling the beasts to refill your supplies and collect your rewards. 

The two of you make short work of the bodies, the pain in your arm settling to a dull ache. You know that the bleeding has not stopped yet, but it is slow enough to not be concerning. You whistle for your horses, loading your saddlebags with your trophies. Eskel drops one of the samsum bombs into the nest, the small explosion burning away all evidence of the beasts that lived there not so long ago.

“Want a hand wrapping that up?” Eskel mounts Scorpion as he asks, taking the reins casually as he watches you. 

“You know what? If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to have some help with cleaning this up,” you grab the reins with your uninjured arm and walk alongside your horse, not wanting to agitate your wound further by trying to climb into the saddle. 

He nods and you begin the trek back to the camp. You take a deep breath in as you walk, the scent of the herbs in the forest, and oranges cutting through the metallic smell of your blood. It calms you, and you allow yourself to drift, relaxing into the steady sound of Eskel’s heartbeat from above. 

He clicks his tongue, slowing Scorpion to a stop as he dismounts just inside of the treeline. He vanishes for a brief moment before reemerging, Lil’ Bleater nipping at his heels. It seems that her calm demeanor has dissipated, bleating at Eskel loudly for attention. She trots up to you and gently nudges against your leg, apparently deciding to walk beside you for the time being. 

You make your way back to the clearing around the stream, leaving your horses at the edge while you clean up. Lil’ Bleater bounds through the grass, energy threatening to burst at the seams. 

You begin to rid yourself of your armour, slipping the sheathes for your swords from your back. You raise your arm to remove the sturdy fabric of your shirt, hissing when your shoulder stretches and the wound flares with a fresh burst of pain. Eskel is at your side in an instant, silently moving to take over where you had left off. 

His fingers pull at the strings tying the front closed and they loosen, already starting to take the pressure off of the broken skin. You slide your uninjured arm out of the sleeve while Eskel gently pulls the other sleeve down. The leather angers your tender skin and you feel the trickle of fresh blood seeping into the wound. 

Eskel sets the clothing down, leaving the torn sleeve facing upwards so that any blood on the fabric won’t spread. You look down at your arm to assess the damage. Your white chemise has a long tear in the sleeve and the edges are stained a bright red. The smell of copper has only intensified with the exposure of your injury. You can’t get a good look at it though, the light fabric of your shirt sticky with blood. 

Eskel seems to be thinking along the same lines as he steps closer to you. “May I? We need to get that cleaned,” he says, not meeting your eyes. He’s always been a bit bashful, you think, a timid deer trapped in the body of someone who shouldn’t be able to feel such trivial nonsense. You nod, lifting your arms slightly so that he may help. 

The laces at your chest are already untied, you tend to leave them that way so that they won’t restrict your movements. You feel his fingers at your waist as he tugs your chemise from the waist of your trousers. Eskel carefully slides his hand up under the fabric, pulling it away from your frame as you thread your uninjured arm down from the sleeve. You duck, Eskel lifting the neck of the shirt up and the rest of it following until only your wounded arm remains clothed in the sticky fabric. He gently peels it away, small goosebumps forming along any skin not drenched in your blood. The shirt falls to the ground in a cascade of white and red, casting a scent of copper and sweat and the forest floor into the air as it crumples on the ground.

You stand before Eskel clad only in a brown leather corset, only tied tight enough to offer support for your figure. You can tell that he is conflicted, trying to be polite and not look anywhere deemed inappropriate, but he also needs to look at you to help you. 

“Hey,” you joke lightly, “I know my shoulder is gorgeous, but it is just a shoulder.”

Eskel huffs out a short bark of a laugh, the tension in the air beginning to melt away. He leads you to sit at the edge of the stream atop of a rock, and you take a deep breath in an attempt to quiet the thoughts running around your head. He kneels in front of you before dipping a spare piece of cloth into the water, letting it soak before lifting it and gently running it down the wound. You shiver, but not from the pain or the chill of the water, but from the tender strokes that Eskel uses to clean the dirt and dried blood from your arm.

You’ve never been ashamed of being bare in front of someone, maybe apologetic at times for the numerous scars but never anything more than that. But in this moment, there is something strangely intimate between you, and while it is unsettling to say the least, you cannot say that you’d rather be alone. 

“You know,” you start quietly, his eyes flashing like the sun to yours before blinking back to your arm, “I thought you were dead too…”

Your voice trails off at the edge, unsure of where you were headed with that trail of thought. You see Eskel’s brow furrow and he turns your arm a bit, looking to be sure that you were completely clean. 

Apparently satisfied, he asks, “How is that? I haven’t exactly gone underground, and I hear about the others often enough to know that they’re alright.”

You shake your head as he moves to grab your ruined chemise from the ground, tearing away the bloodied parts of the fabric and rending the rest of it into long strips to be used for bandages. Damn, you think, I had really liked that one…

“Well, I had heard about you from time to time, but gods? Maybe twelve, fifteen years ago? I just stopped hearing about you. I know now why, people were still talking but not about someone who looked like what I thought you did.” As you speak, his hand moves to scratch at the long scars along his cheek. You long to stretch out a hand and trail your fingers across the angry skin, soothing it with a gentle touch that it has never known. You think better though, leaving your hands in your lap as you continue.

“I always feared the worst. I grieved for what felt like an eternity, thinking that I would never have the chance to see you in this world.” Your voice cracks a bit at the end and you tear your gaze away, watching the gentle trickling of the water along the stream to anchor and calm you. 

You sit in silence for a moment, both of you unsure of what to say next. You feel Eskel begin to wrap your arm in fabric, feeling a bit of pressure at the movement but only enough to know that it will be secure as you continue along the Path.

Eskel shifts and you bring your eyes back to him. He is still looking down as he works, but his mouth opens a few times as if to say something, but then thinking otherwise. Finally, he shakes his head slightly as if he has made a decision, finished bandaging your arm but still keeping his hand along the skin of your arm under your elbow.

“This morning, when I woke you?” You nod, waiting for him to continue. “You were screaming, crying out my name and I could smell the grief pouring from you, like waves on sand. I don’t know what you saw there, and I don’t need to. But I couldn’t stand to see you in so much anguish, especially not because of me.”

His voice drops to barely more than a whisper with the last thought. You can’t bear seeing him like this either, skittish and timid from a life that he never asked for. You know that many people are not exactly welcoming to witchers, but Eskel looks so defeated that you can feel an ache in your chest, tears threatening to fall from your eyes with the wash of emotion. 

You lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. He rises a bit to meet you, his hands wrapping around your waist and holding you close. You nuzzle into his neck and breath deeply, letting the scent of oranges and leather and steel soothe you once more. You’ve had more loving physical contact in the past twenty-four hours than you have had in years, and gods, you could get used to this.

…

    You’re dressed once more, only wearing a dark chemise under the straps for your swords. You’ve draped your thick leather jerkin atop the saddle on your horse, remembering that you had seen an armorer in town and resolving to have him stitch up the slice along the sleeve. You turn to look at Eskel, finding him already looking at you. 

    You’re still for a moment, neither of you ready to say goodbye. You let yourself take in every detail you can; his hair lightly drifting in the breeze, the scars along his skin, the goat bounding through his legs, his golden eyes deepened with the intensity of a thousand suns. You’re not sure if you’ll ever see him again, but for now, you want to take anything and everything to remember him by.

    “Come travel the Path with me.”

#hollow things #eskel x reader #fem!reader #female witcher

[bamby0304]

Her Saviours- Ch.30

Series Masterlist

Summary: During an odd case, the Winchesters came across Y/N, a scared young Omega girl who had been used as a lure for a nest of vampires. After rescuing her from the monsters, John and his sons took her in knowing she was in no state to live among ordinary people. But three Alphas and one Omega is a mixture bound for disaster.

Warnings: Explicit language. ABO dynamics. Angst. Violence. Kidnapping. 

Bamby

You sat on the hood of your truck… well… the truck you’d stole two days ago. It was about time to ditch it. Right now, however, you were focused on the flames in front of you. During the month you’d been on your own you’d managed to gank a total of three ghosts by yourself. Sure, it wasn’t like you were wrestling werewolves and wrangling wendigoes, but you felt pretty badass nonetheless.

This particular ghost had been a bitch to get down. He’d clawed you up like a damn cat. You’d barely had the strength to toss your lighter into his grave, which was located in the middle of the woods. His hands had been so tightly wrapped around your throat you knew for a fact there were already bruises forming.

Sam and Dean would kill you if they knew what you were doing.

You’d ditched your phone the second you’d ditched the Winchesters. Of course, you weren’t a complete fool. First you sent out a message to Bobby, letting him know you were safe but venturing off on your own. You knew he’d let the boys know as soon as they started pestering him for information.

Normally you went to him after a fight. Whenever you’d needed a break from either the brothers or John, you always ended up at Bobby’s. They knew that. It’s why they’d been bugging him last time you’d runoff. He might not have given away the details but they would have known, deep down, that you were there with him.

Not this time, though. No, you weren’t taking the risk. Having been gone for so long, Sam and Dean would have actually dragged their asses to Bobby’s to drag you back with them. Part of you kinda wished you could have seen the look on their faces.

With the flames dying down, you sighed and climbed off the truck. Slipping in behind the wheel, you turned her on, backed up, and decided to head south. You’d heard about a guy that had gone missing one state over, and how a kid who was witness to it was insisting he’d been taken by some kind of monster.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. If it turned out to be the kid’s wild imagination then you could always just move on to the next thing. Until then, you had nothing to lose, no reason not to go check this thing out.

…

Rolling through the town, you pulled out your disposable phone to check the time. It wasn’t late or anything, but you doubted the kid’s parents would appreciate you knocking on their door at this hour. So, instead of pursuing the case, you decided to stop by the local bar.

You left the car you’d picked up earlier that day on the side of the road a few blocks away from the bar. Carrying what little you had, you headed for the bar, hoping your suppressants would do their job and keep unwanted attention away from you.

So far you’d had some decent luck being out alone in society. An Omega your age would normally be with a mate or an Alpha or Beta carer. You were young and therefore presumably weak, timid, and… ripe for the taking.

With the way Dean, Sam and John stressed all the time, you had imagined you would’ve been harassed a million times over by now, but you’d barely had to shrug off a dozen Alphas during the month on your own.

You were really starting to believe things weren’t as bad as you’d feared.

The second you walked through the bar’s door all eyes turned to you. Perhaps I should rethink that theory…

Keeping your head held high, you made your way through the small crowd and headed for the first free table you spotted. Dumping your things on one of the free chairs at the table, you sat yourself down and focused on not paying anyone any attention as the gazes slowly drifted away from you.

“You okay, darlin’?”

Looking up, you smiled at the Omega waitress standing in front of you. She was pretty, red hair, a little bit of a tan that almost hid the littering of freckles all over her. She was tall for an Omega, and not as shapely as your kind normally were. She was different, charming looking but not in the typical sweet Omega way. No, she looked like she could handle herself.

Your eyes flickered to her neck, noticing the many scars on display. One sniff of her though and you could sense that those marks were all from the same Alpha. She was practically saturated in his scent.

“My man gets a little paranoid with me workin’ in a place like this. Doesn’t matter that I can kick his ass, he still frets over all these hungry animals.” She cracked a grin.

Lifting your gaze back up to hers, you smiled back at her. “I know a few Alphas like that, too.”

She nodded. “You’re pretty tiny, but I can tell you’d be able to knock a dog down a peg or two if you needed.”

It wasn’t the prettiest of compliments you’d heard but it made the Omega in you waggle with praise. You didn’t tend to feel that capable of yourself so for someone to suggest otherwise made you feel pretty amazing.

“Still, you okay honey? Young thing like you might be able to handle herself but that don’t mean you won’t stay outta trouble.”

“She’s not alone.”

Your back went rigid as all the hairs on your body stood on their end.

Their scents hit you then. You’d been so focussed on the Omega waitress, you hadn’t bothered keeping track of your surroundings. You didn’t think you’d need to with her watching your back in a way. But you could smell them now.

The unmistakable scent of ginger and musk, coffee and rosewood, with gunpowder and molasses.

Shifting in your seat, you looked over your shoulder at the two Alphas.

Dean was glaring at you with that disapproving look he’d perfected after having taken care of Sam as a kid. He was relieved- at least you hoped he was- he just wouldn’t show it until he was certain he’s made you feel guilty enough.

Sam, on the other hand, was filled with relief. Much like his brother, however, you knew he’d show more of his true feelings later. The younger brother was softer until you were alone with him. He could be scary if you didn’t find it so attractive.

“Darlin’, we got a problem here?” the waitress asked, eyeing the brothers. “I can get these two kicked outta here, all you gotta do is say the word.”

Chewing on your lip, you shook your head. “We’re fine. I know them.”

“Okay.” She relaxed a little, but with the way she was still eyeing the brothers, you knew she would stay true to her word and kick them out if you changed your mind. “Just wave me over when you’re ready to order.” Giving your arm a squeeze, she then headed off- not before giving the Winchesters one last warning glare.

Not caring about the death glare he and his brother were getting, Dean stepped up to you as Sam slid into the seat across from you. Your eyes were on the eldest of the two, though, as he continued to look at you with complete disapproval and disappointment.

“You have any idea how worried shitless we’ve been?”

“I can take a guess.” You shrugged, knowing your casual demeanour would only piss him off further.

His jaw clicked as he clenched it. “This isn’t funny, Y/N. You’ve been gone a month. We thought… we had no idea if you were even alive.”

It had been a thought that had plagued your mind with guilt during the time you’d been alone. Your adventure had not come easy. You knew everyone would be worried about you, and being an Omega meant you felt the need to fix that. You wanted to reassure everyone that you were safe and sound, but the only way to do that was to give in and give up.

Things just weren’t so black and white anymore. Hell, you were beginning to realise that they’d never been black and white. You were stuck between three Alphas who couldn’t or wouldn’t give you the commitment you needed. Without that commitment, you had other urges. You wanted to be your own self.

Being with the Winchesters had its restrictions. Dean and John had proven time and time again that you would always be held back. With Dean, it was only to a certain point, but it was still a point you didn’t like.

Leaving gave you space. You didn’t have to watch them flirt with anyone else. Dean was the worst, going from girl to girl. Sam was bound to join in eventually- and you hadn’t forgotten the year and a half he spent with Jess. John wasn’t around to be a problem but you could recall the countless times he’d picked to settle between someone else’s thighs rather than yours. Knowing they all had someone else to turn to, and chose to do so, etched away at your self-esteem and sanity.

You also got to escape the tension that had been growing between you and the brothers. Slapping Dean had been the last straw, but before then there’d been warning signs. Sam and Dean had been fighting and posturing over you for weeks. They’d been competing, both consciously and subconsciously, for a while and it had taken its toll on all of you. Running away meant running away from that.

“I needed a break. To be honest… I think we all did,” you countered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t think I don’t remember what made me run away, Dean. I slapped you.”

His gaze softened then, as his thoughts went back to that day. “You didn’t mean it.”

“In the moment I did,” you argued. “And whether you meant what you said or not, you still said it. We both made mistakes. We were going to keep making them.” You gestured to Sam then. “And you two were going to keep trying to dominate the other. I had to go, for everyone’s sanity.”

“We went crazy looking for you,” Sam spoke. You looked over at him, seeing some of that earlier softness in his eyes fade. “If you were so worried about our sanity you should have said something. Running away only made things worse.”

Again, you shrugged. “Not for me.”

“Sure,” Dean scoffed. “Say that to the bruises on your neck.” Shaking his head, he finally took a seat. “What the hell happened? An Alpha get to you?”

Tugging on your jacket’s collar, you tried to hide the bruises as much as possible. “It was a ghost, actually.”

Dean clenched his jaw again.

“You’ve been hunting?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” you answered honestly and shortly. “And before you get your panties in a twist, they’ve all been salt and burn cases. Ghosts only. I’ve been playing it safe.”

“We can see your fucking neck, Y/N. Is that really what ‘playing it safe’ is supposed to look like?” Dean barked.

The two of you just glared at each other, neither one of you backing down. It was a rare moment where you refused to give in to your Omega instincts and let the Alpha win. Having been on your own, it seemed you’d grown a rebellious streak.

“Okay…” Sam interjected, sensing that the tension between you and hit brother was only going to keep growing until someone snapped. It would inevitably end you you two fighting or fucking- neither of which you could do in public. “The case.” He looked to you. “Are you here because of the missing guy?”

“Yeah.” Nodding, you begrudgingly tore your eyes away from Dean and turned to his brother. “Heard some kid was a witness and insists it was a monster.”

“He was watching horror movies at the time,” Dean noted.

“And local police have now ruled out foul play,” Sam added. “Apparently, there are worse signs of a struggle.” He gestured to the file he’d set on your table. “I’ve done some research.”

A smile tugged onto your lips. “Of course.”

Dean rolled his eyes, staying on track. “Well, they could be right, it could just be a kidnapping. Maybe this isn’t our kind of gig.”

“Yeah, maybe not. Except for this,” Sam pulled out John’s journal from his jacket. “Dad marked the area, Dean.” He turned to a page and showed you and Dean. “Possible hunting grounds of a phantom attacker.”

Taking his father’s journal, Dean frowned at what was written on the page Sam had turned to. “Why would he even do that?”

“Well, he found a lot of local folklore about a dark figure that comes out at night,” Sam noted. “Grabs people, then vanishes. He found this too.” He took the journal back and flipped a couple of pages. “This county has more missing persons per capita than anywhere else in the state.”

As Dean took the book once more, you didn’t care to look at what Sam was showing. You were too distracted by the sight of the leather-bound book. It was the most important object in John’s life. He loved and cared for that thing like it was a living being. You’d been taught to respect and trust it. Seeing it again, after having been gone from the Winchesters for so long, you felt a strong pang of guilt, regret, and loneliness hit you.

“That is weird.” Dean closed the journal and gave it back to his brother, drawing your attention back to reality. “Don’t phantom attackers usually snatch people from their beds? Jenkins was taken from a parking lot.”

“Well, there are all kinds. You know, Spring Heeled Jacks, phantom gassers. They take people anywhere, anytime.” Sam really had done some research.

It was then that you realised you would have been going in blind. If it wasn’t for the Winchesters showing up, you would have dived headfirst into this case and either left thinking it was nothing, or died because you knew very little on phantom attackers.

Maybe this hunting alone thing isn’t something I should be rushing in to...

Sam sighed, putting the journal away. “Look, Dean, I don’t know if this is our kind of gig either.”

Not needing his brother to say anymore, Dean nodded. “Yeah, you’re right, we should ask around more tomorrow.”

“Right.” Sam hesitated a moment before he turned to you. “I saw a motel about five miles back… you’re joining us right.”

“Whoa, whoa, easy.” Dean put his hand between you and his brother, waving until Sam turned to him. “We just got here.”

“You can stay, but… I wanna catch up with Y/N. And we should really get an early start,” Sam suggested as he rose from his seat.

“Catch up?” you asked, looking up at him.

“You’ve been gone for a month. I just wanna know how you’ve been,” he assured you with a kind smile.

You returned the smile and nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I think we can manage a simple chat.”

Looking between the two of you, Dean sighed and got up. “Fine, we’ll head over to the motel.” He shook his head at his brother. “You really know how to have fun, don’t you, Grandma?”

Sam grinned triumphantly, proud and happy that he managed to win the argument- if you could call it that.

Rolling his eyes, Dean look to you then. “I’ll meet you two outside. Gotta take a leak.” Turning to you, he leaned in to kiss your cheek. “Wait for me.”

He was insecure, unsure, uncertain. You’d left without saying goodbye once… you got the feeling he would be worrying for a while.

“Sam and I will wait for you,” you assured him.

Pulling back, he gave you a short nod and then headed for the bathrooms.

“Come on.” Sam reached under the table and grabbed your two bags you’d stashed under there earlier. “I’ll show you where the Impala is.”

You followed him as he led the way, walking out of the bar. Now that you were with Sam, you felt fewer gazes lingering on you as you left. Before, when you’d been alone, the looks had been more intense, hungry. Now, they were mostly curious. You’d forgotten just how different things were when you were with an Alpha. 

“So…” Sam looked over his shoulder at you as you both continued to walk through the parking lot.

“So?”

“How have you been?”

You cracked a knowing smile. “You mean other than all the hunting and stuff?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Are you… are you okay?”

“Sam.” You came to a stop, looking up at him. “I’m tired. I’m stressed. I’m lonely. I don’t know where I stand. I’m an Omega with no direction. I want to have freedom, but to be honest, as great as this month has been, I’m not going to deny that it was lonely. I missed you and Dean like crazy.” You weren’t going to tell him that you cried yourself to sleep most nights. “Just like how I miss John. Maybe even more. I’ve never been on my own like that before. It was scary. But after a while… things got a little better. I really did think me leaving was for the best.”

“It wasn’t.”

He wasn’t arguing or accusing you. Looking up at Sam, you could see that he was just trying to explain his side of the situation.

“We got back to that motel room and you were gone. Dean… Dean went out of his mind. He and Cassie had talked and he’d explained everything to her. He ended things with her. Clean cut. She won’t be calling again unless it’s an emergency. You literally slapped some sense into him.”

At the mention of the slap, you flinched and looked away.

“He doesn’t care about it, you know. It was a shock, but… Dean forgave you the second he saw the guilt on your face. You regretted doing it right away, and hated yourself for it. I knew you were gonna punish yourself… I just didn't realise you were going to punish us in the process.”

“I wasn’t punishing you. Either of you. I just… I was tired of you two fighting over me. I was tired of not knowing where I stood with you. I was tired of having to compete for Dean’s attention. I was tired. I still am tired.”

“Running away isn’t the answer.”

“It sure did feel like one at the time.”

He watched you carefully. “Would you do it again?”

“If I got to go back in time? Yes.” You gave a short nod. “But am I planning on leaving again now? No.”

It was the truth. It didn’t mean you wouldn’t change your mind in the future, but for now you were certain you were going to stick with the brothers. The fact you’d randomly bumped into each other kinda made you think this is where you had to be. Plus, freedom was nice, but you missed the brothers. You were gonna make sure you had more say in your own life, but you missed having the Alpha presence.

A noise had you both tense and turn towards a nearby car. It had sounded like something had been pushed over.

Placing your bags on the ground, Sam pulled out a torch and got to the ground to take a peek under the car. He jumped as a cat hissed at him.

You laughed. “You alright there, Sammy? Did the kitty scare you?”

“Ha ha ha.” Turning off his torch, he got himself back to his feet, rolling his eyes at you.

“Come on, scaredy-cat. Show me where Baby is.” You grabbed one of your bags.

As Sam leaned down to grab the other someone jumped out from the side of the car. You opened your mouth to warn Sam, but before you could speak you felt something hard and heavy hit you in the head.

Falling to the ground with a heavy thump , you landed next to Sam as he was knocked out as well. You looked up at your grinning attackers, then everything went black.

Bamby

#alpha!dean fanfiction #alpha!dean x omega!reader #alpha!dean x omega!you #alpha!dean x omega!y/n #alpha!sam fanfiction #alpha!sam x omega!reader #alpha!sam x omega!you #alpha!sam x omega!y/n #her saviours

[hopeatermeetsgodzilla]

Chapter 19

“Sir?” Jonah raised his head from his computer, frowning as he saw Emily. The young woman seemed worried about something. “May I come in?”

He softened his face a bit. “Of course.” Emily nodded, coming into the room and sitting down in front of her boss’ desk. Jonah took his hands away from the keyboard, folding them over his desk. “What’s wrong? Are you afraid Monarch knows of our headquarters’ position?”

“No! No, it’s not about that.” Following Florès’ exposing of their takeover of Outpost 32 to the military, the Titan Liberation Front had had to leave in an emergency, coming back to their base in Boston. It had quickly been followed by Emily doing a quadruple check of the security system.

The only trace from Florès she had found was an encoded message on a Word document that hadn’t been there before.

Remember, Jonah doesn’t trust you...

“Well then, what is it about?”

“... are you sure waking all the Titans is the way to go?” Emily asked, frowning. When Jonah narrowed his eyes, she quickly tried to correct herself. “I-I mean I know they’re the only ones who can save the planet at this point and that not waking them would just delay the inevitable, b- but what if when we free all of them, we end up regressing back to the Stone Age-”

“Emmy.” Jonah suddenly cut her off. She flinched away. Emmy was a nickname her parents had given her before they had died. Jonah was pretty much the only person close to her who was still allowed to use it. “Why are you so worried? Humanity going back to a time were they held no impact on the planet is an ideal scenario.”

“I- it’s not just about that... it’s Ghidorah.” She started. “It’s- they’re not from Earth, they’re not going to restore the planet- they’re destroying it- it’s not going to be the co-existence you told me about, they’re a walking extinction event-”

“Kane.” Jonah started, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Are you telling me you’re having second doubts now? You were fine with millions of people dying, but you’re going to draw the line at billions of people dying?”

“That’s not what I said-”

“If we’re a sickness,” Jonah started, circling his desk, “and the Earth Titans are a fever, then Ghidorah is both the cure and the vaccine. It doesn’t matter what our intentions are: what’s important is that humans won’t be able to rise up again once they’re done, and the planet will only benefit from it. Do you understand?”

“... yes, sir.”

 “And if we do live to see this mass extinction event through...” He placed his hand on Emily’s shoulder, making her flinch. “I trust you and your talents will help us out, yes?” Jonah smiled down reassuringly at her, patting her shoulder.

... And you shouldn’t trust him.

Emily hesitantly nodded, remembering the message Florès had left her. “O- of course, sir.”

-

“You want me to teach you how to absorb energy?” Rodan nodded, San turning away from the coast to look at him instead, still not getting up. The sun was starting to set, and Ghidorah had made it very clear they were fascinated with the sky and the objects in it. There was also the fact they drew most of their energy from it. “Any reason why this sprang up?”

“I’m having difficulties finding food, and your brother mentioned you could teach me how to do it.” Rodan explained, sitting down and craning his neck up to look at San. “Something about being more spiritual.”

San nodded. “That is true. Ichi’s too clinical, and Ni convinced himself that if he allows himself to be vulnerable, he’ll die.” There was a pause. “Either way, neither can meditate if I’m not here. Can you absorb energy on your own, like, consciously?”

“Not consciously, I just start doing it automatically the moment I submerge myself in lava.”

“Partially, or fully?”

“Both. The more I’m submerged, the easier it is.”

San nodded. “Alright, that means you’re the unconscious type. We’re gonna try to meditate, okay? Okay. I want you to close your eyes, and breath in a pattern: 4 seconds in, 4 seconds hold, 8 seconds out. You think you can do it?”

“Yeah, I’m not an idiot.” Rodan hissed out, San giggling to himself before closing his eyes. Rodan watched the taller one do it a few times, before attempting himself. He started taking a deep breath. 1, 2- Heat, too much heat, feathers burned off, scalp burning, sides of mouth splitting, veins bursting, eyes burning, heart burning, too much light, no noise, nothing, lost everything-

“Hey, hey.” Rodan opened his eyes, craning his neck up to look at San. The blond had a worried look on his face. “You weren’t able to get it in. What went wrong?”

“I felt like I was burning from the inside out.” Rodan wheezed out in a shaky tone, before stopping and taking a moment to gather himself. When he spoke again, his voice was steadier. “Am I supposed to feel like I’m losing control of my powers?”

“You’re not. Probably. I don’t feel like I’m getting struck by lightning when I meditate, but I do feel like I’m floating... You said you felt like you were burning, right...?” San seemed to think for a moment, before holding his hands out. “Take my hands.”

“... alright?” Rodan hesitantly put his hands in San’s. He shuddered. Apparently, the cold from the ice had seeped into their very being. It felt as if frost spread were his hands touched San’s. Long fingers curled around his hands, and he shivered as he felt a shock run through his body.

“If you start feeling too hot again, focus on my hands, alright?” Rodan nodded, closing his eyes again as he took a deep breath. 1, 2- liquid fire in his lungs, in his heart, can’t breath, can’t talk, all alone- he squeezed San’s hands, all cold and long fingers and letting off small shocks each time they moved- shaky 3, steady 4. He opened one eye as they held their breath in, but quickly closed it again when he saw San’s were still closed. He let it out, and San giggled. “See? You did it!”

“Y- yeah.” Rodan couldn’t help but blush. “I guess I did. What now?”

“We continue. Try to find your own rhythm. I’ll follow you.” Rodan nodded, resuming the exercise as they slowly adapted to his own breathing- which was more along the lines of 5,3,8. He could practically hear his own heart beating, how the magma flowed in his veins. Slowly everything seemed to fade away, the only thing left being the hands he held. “Rodan?”

“Mmm?”

“Open your eyes.” Rodan carefully opened one eye, before looking around in confusion.

They weren’t on Mara anymore. The sky had become whirls of color he couldn’t put a name on, and the ground a flat expense of white sand covered by a thing layer of water. Thousands upon thousands of stars filled the sky. Rodan blinked in confusion. “What the...?”

“What, first trip to the Soul Realm?” Rodan turned toward San, and screamed in surprise, letting go of his hands. Instead of San, there was now a vaguely San-shaped golden floaty thing in front of him, three pairs of round white eyes staring at him.

“Wh- San!?” He exclaimed in surprise, the spirit nodding. “What happened? Where are we? Where did Mara go? Why do you look like that-”

“One question at a time, okay? First, we’re meditating. This is what happens when you successfully separate your soul from your body. This is the Soul Realm, or the place between life and death. Mara didn’t go anywhere, in fact our bodies are still on it, alive and soaking in energy. And I look like that because that’s what my soul is like.”

Rodan groaned. “Great. And I thought the moth’s whole deal was weird...”

San giggled. “Don’t be like that, fire bird. I mean, look at you! You’re practically wrapped in fire!”

“What are you talking about- woah!” Rodan looked at his hands. His sleeves had been replaced by feathers of fire, dragging after him like a train as he got up. He slowly moved his arms, watching the flames move in synch.

He slowly started laughing, running around in circles and watching the fire around him grow larger, brighter, encompassing him. He distantly registered San laughing along or telling him to spin as he danced around, but he complied anyway, flames growing with each gleeful pirouette he did.

“You’re even brighter than the precious Fire guardian!” Rodan came to a halt at that, the flow of flames around him dying. San tilted his head at that, Round eyes becoming ovals in an imitation of confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“... Quetz had similar flames?”

“Oh yeah!” San cheerfully said, seemingly obvious to Rodan’s distress. “She was really something to behold. A bloodlust that nearly rivals Ni’s, a flawless defense in her attack, and a passion-”

“-That shined brighter than the sun could ever hope to.” Rodan finished, his voice breaking a bit on that.

San tilted his head in curiosity. “... are you sure you’re alright? Each time the former Guardian of fire comes up, you get really sad.” Rodan said nothing, simply maintaining his lack of eye contact. “With how you and your people’s hierarchy work, I thought you’d be happy about a runt like you getting close to the top of the food chain-”

Rodan’s flames flared up again, this time in anger as he screeched. “WHY WOULD I BE HAPPY ABOUT MY MATE DYING-” The flame went back to a smolder as he realized in horror what he had just blurted out. There was no way they wouldn’t try to use that against him-

San looked impassive, but what he said sounded... horrified? “You... your mate died and you ended up taking her place!?”

“I- I don’t know why it happened either-” Rodan started, the pent-up frustration and anxiety and despair that had accumulated and festered over the years starting to come out as yellow flames started surrounding them. “It’s just- we were trying to start a family and one of the attempts finally took- and before I knew it the volcano we nested in erupted and we lost the eggs and I lost a wing and she choked on the smoke and I tried to join them but Terra wouldn’t let me die-”

Rodan came to a halt as he felt two hands come up to his face. San was looking down at him, all three pair of eyes narrowed. “How cruel.” He blankly stated. “Instead of letting you join her, your god- Terra, is it?- has decided to throw her death right in your face by making you her successor... are you not angry at her?”

Rodan grabbed San by the wrists, taking his hands away from his face. “Why do you care? It’s not like you ever lost anyone dear to you.”

“I have, actually.” Rodan’s eyes widened in surprise. He would’ve called bullshit, but something about San when he said it made him seem more... vulnerable. “Back when we lived in space. He often helped us, we had similar point of views, and he was very fun to be around. A bit similar to you, really. Losing him so suddenly is what drove us to come here.”

“Oh.” Rodan took a hold of San’s hand, squeezing reassuringly. “I’m so sorry for your loss... was his death brutal, or... ?”

“Oh, he didn’t die, firebird.” San started ominously, standing to his full height. “He betrayed us.”

“W- what?” Rodan’s eyes widened in horror. As far as he was concerned, once mated, you essentially pledged your very being to that person. And while a relationship between mates could die if given enough time, betraying them before breaking off was never an option. “Why would he do that!?”

“Weaker beings are afraid of what they don’t understand, and we are very hard to understand.” San stated, his voice back to it’s dissonant cheerfulness. “I mean, I’m very sure you’ve seen quite a few humans who didn’t like Titans and wanted them dead-”

Rodan didn’t process what came out of San’s mouth next. He was too focused by his arms breaking off, separated from his shoulders by tiny black, pointy sticks. He opened his mouth to scream, only for more sticks to lodge themselves in his lips and throat, chocking off any sounds that would come out of it. As those sticks started tearing into his chest, is vision went blurry, the entire world around him melding in a sick spiral of colors, gold at it’s center.

“Rodan!? RODAN! OPEN YOUR EYES!!!” Rodan opened his eyes, eyes turned to the ground and whole body shaking as he hyperventilated. He was back in the real world. ‘Hey, hey, it’s fine, you’re fine, there’s no danger- Look at me.” He slowly looked up. The light of the mostly set sun was casting strange, moving shadows on San, his glowing red eyes amplifying the strangeness of his sharp features. “What’s wrong?”

“C- Can’t breath-”

San frowned. “Breath, then.” He sang, his voice echoing onto itself.

Rodan didn’t know why he wasn’t ignoring the Ghidorah’s songs. Hell, they were the whole reason he had built up his immunity to all Calls, thanks in no small part to hanging out with Godzilla so much. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the pull of it. And he was too shaken to not listen right now. He took in a large gulp of air, breathing in short, quick bursts as San held onto his hands.

“Do you want to talk about what that was about?” San asked, tilting his head. Rodan shook his head. Revealing his relationship with Quetzalcoatl could’ve gone wrong very fast, and he attributed San having someone similar to a pure stroke of luck on his part. There was no way Ghidorah could’ve ever been hurt by beings so much smaller and weaker than them. He hoped the other wouldn’t push it.

But San just nodded, letting go of Rodan’s hands and gently bending forward as his breathing calmed down. It’s then he realized. “It worked.”

San blinked in confusion. “Uh?”

“The meditation, it worked!” Rodan cheerfully exclaimed, pushing his earlier thoughts in a corner of his mind. “I feel stronger then befo-”

“Rodan.”

“GAH!” Rodan turned his head, only to see Ni staring down at him and San. “I told you not to sneak up on me like that!”

Ni simply shrugged in indifference. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Oh, hi Ni!” Ni nodded at San, before kneeling down, facing Rodan.

“I found something you might like.” Ni told him, handing him a handful of something. Rodan’s eyes widening in surprise when he realized it was a handful of small roots, nuts and grains. “You told me you couldn’t eat the fish around the island anymore, so I tried to find something you could eat in the human settlement. It’s not a lot, but it should be better than rotten fish.”

Rodan smiled, bringing the handful of food to his mouth and swallowing. He then turned toward Ni, his face glowing a bit. “And it is. Thank you, Ni.”

Ni frowned, bringing a hand to Rodan’s face. “Are you sure you’re fine? Blood keeps rushing to your face.”

That snapped Rodan out of his relaxed state of mind. He jumped up, the flush growing bigger as he did so. “Of course I’m fine, whywouldntIbefine-”

“Rodan, it’s fine, sit down-”

“AnywayitsgettinglateandIneedtosleepgoodnight!” Rodan exclaimed, followed by a strong wind that carried him off to the top of his volcano. Ni and San could see his silhouette collapse at the top of it, followed by a strange, quiet shriek.

San turned toward his brother, smiling. “Good idea to find him food!”

Ni blinked. “I didn’t think my efforts to make him like me were working.” When San gave him a confused frown, he shrugged. “Each time I try to be nice to him, he keeps getting... flustered. Embarrassed. That’s not a good thing.”

“... He’s touched.” San blankly stated. “You keep giving him gifts, Ni. Of course he’s gonna keep blushing.”

“How did you figure out he needed food?” The two turned toward Ichi, who they knew had been watching them for a time.

San waved as their older brother sat down. “Hi brother Ichi!”

“He... told me?” Ni tried hesitantly. “It’s why I told him to talk to San. So he could learn to absorb energy without soaking himself in lava. Help him stay not weak.”

Ichi nodded. “Either way, good job. The both of you.” Ni sighed in relief and San beamed at the praise. His good mood only improved as Ichi pat him on the head. “If we continue like that, we’ll be out of this place sooner than later.”

#writing #My writing #Godzilla #godzilla gijinka #gijinka #emmy kano #alan jonah #Rodan #ghidorah #King Ghidorah #san ghidorah #ni ghidorah #ichi ghidorah #kevin ghidorah #rodorah

[bcbdrums]

Perfect

FFn link --> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13577191/10/The-Little-Ones

Here, have some romantic Drakgo fluff!

This was a speed-write; please forgive errors.

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

Drakken was still patting his face dry after shaving when he emerged from the bathroom. A sound somewhere between a whine and a growl brought his eyes immediately to the bed where Shego sat up leaning against the headboard. Her head was tilted to the side as she brushed her long hair—or at least, attempted to.

Her brush had clearly hit a tangle and her teeth were bared as she adjusted the position of her brush and tried again. The result was the same.

Drakken opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Shego's hairbrush became engulfed in green flames and was then thrown powerfully against the red, stone wall. It bounced off and fell into the moat, where steam rose in a hiss as the flames were doused.

Drakken pursed his lips. "Was that my brush?" he asked, his tone soft and slightly injured.

Shego's own lips were pursed, but not in anger when he looked to her. She nodded to the affirmative, but then she brought her hands to her face in a way that Drakken was sadly seeing more and more often as she tried to hide her tears. He hurried to her side.

"Shego?"

"I... I don't like being pregnant," she said, her fingers curling into fists on her cheeks so he could see her red-rimmed eyes.

Drakken bit his cheek and frowned. He knew she'd wanted to say 'hate'.

"What's wrong?"

"What do you mean, what's wrong?" Shego said, her fists pressing into the mattress so she could lean forward slightly as she glared at him. "I can't even brush my hair!"

Drakken looked to where her raven locks, still damp from her shower the night before, were draped over her almost nine-month baby bump. He thought she looked radiant. She of course, had other words for it.

The tears on her face and the steaming evidence of his ruined hairbrush in the moat directed his course of action. He knelt at her side and wrapped his arms around her. She gripped one of his arms tightly with her hands and cried into his shoulder. He let her go on for several minutes while he kissed her head and bit down on all of the platitudes he wanted to say to reassure her that it would all be worth it; he knew she didn't want to hear them.

When her cries stilled and her grip became less desperate, he slowly released her.

"Would you like some watermelon?" he asked, leaning back just enough to look at her.

She pursed her lips in defiance, but then gave in and nodded.

"Okay. I'll be right back."

Drakken left Shego sitting on the bed, her pajamas and the bed sheets still twisted and making her that much more uncomfortable. She tossed the sheets back and went about trying to straighten her pajama pants—a task made unusually difficult due to the fact that just sitting up on her own was now a challenge. Her abdominal muscles weren't at her command the way they had always been. And her back hurt immensely from the effort to compensate.

By the time she'd gotten her clothing mostly straightened out, Drakken had returned with a dish of watermelon. He held it out for her to take, and once she had he stepped away to the vanity. Shego took stock of herself again, barely sitting upright with her legs spread and knees bent to help give her some balance, pajamas a bit twisted and her hair a slightly-damp rat's nest over one shoulder.

She was a mess.

She felt tears coming to her eyes again when suddenly, Drakken appeared next to her holding up her hair brush.

"I can brush your hair while you eat," he offered softly.

Shego bit the inside of her cheek to keep her tears at bay as she nodded. She felt the slight dip of the mattress as Drakken attempted to crawl behind her. With effort she scooted forward to give him more space, and after a few seconds his pajama clad bent knees appeared on either side of her hips.

She felt the warm, familiar fingers at the back of her neck as Drakken parted her hair, attempting to take a small section of it unlike the way she had attacked all of it at once in her frustration. She held up the bowl of watermelon and stabbed one of the chunks with her fork and quickly brought it to her lips. The fruit was fresh and sweet.

Drakken finally got about two inches worth of hair free and draped it down over his knee. Shego watched as he started down at the ends as she'd taught him, slowly pulling the brush through to mind the tangles. She ate another bite of watermelon, fascinated by how different it felt just to have different hands pulling at her tresses. It was almost as if her hair suddenly had feeling itself, and Drakken's touch was gentle and soothing.

She couldn't help the relaxed sigh that came through her nose as he set the brush down and his fingers methodically worked on one of the tangles.

"You were never this patient with any of your inventions," she commented quietly, eating another bite.

Drakken didn't answer, but somehow, she knew he was smirking behind her.

"You're more important," was what he wanted to say, she knew. And she knew because he had said it before, so many times. And she always teased him for it, so he had stopped and taken to just smiling instead. A smile bloomed on her own face.

"If you had been this patient before, we could have taken over the world in year one," she taunted him before stabbing two watermelon chunks with her fork and placing them in her mouth.

A feeling of light slowly overcame her. She knew he was smiling as much as she was. His hands freed the tangle he'd been working on, and then he brought his hands back to her neck and his fingers felt along her scalp until he had parted all of her hair in the middle. As soon as the tresses were spread over her shoulders, she leaned back against his chest.

A barely perceptible grunt left his throat as he took on her weight, but she turned her head and kissed his jaw before laying her cheek on his shoulder and pressing her face into his neck. He continued brushing her hair.

"Maybe if I hadn't had a lippy side-kick distracting me, I would have had more patience," Drakken finally answered. His voice was soft and held only mirth.

Shego chuckled and relaxed against him. She pushed the bowl of watermelon aside and rested her forearms over her swollen belly, choosing to just enjoy the gentle feel of his hands in her hair and the strength of his chest at her back.

Minutes passed, their breathing and the working of the hairbrush the only sounds in the room.

"Maybe..." Shego finally said with a contented sigh, "everything is perfect."

She tilted her head back again and watched Drakken purse his lips to try to keep his smile from bursting forth as broadly as she knew he wanted it to.

"...Everything?" he finally asked.

Shego moved her forearms and palms over her belly, tugging her shirt down a bit self-consciously as she did so. She hated being pregnant. But she knew it would all be worth it in the end. For the rest of their lives, it would be worth it.

"Yes," she said, pressing her face into his neck again.

"Mm, lean forward," Drakken said. Shego braced herself with her hands on the mattress and obliged. Drakken brought the parting of her hair back together and brought the brush up to her roots, slowly pulling through the length of her tresses. He had untangled her hair much faster than she ever had. She was impressed.

"Your hair is so soft..." he murmured, almost awed.

Shego closed her eyes and sighed, relishing in the feel of his fingers pulling through her hair after the brush. Finally, she felt him set the brush down and gently pull her hair all over one of her shoulders so the ends wouldn't get tangled due to how they sat.

Shego turned and with a hand on his cheek, gently drew his face to hers where their lips met in a soft kiss. Drakken slowly moved out from behind her and helped her lay down, pulling a pillow under her head before he lay down on his side next to her. She laced her fingers behind his head and gently pulled him down into another warm, gentle kiss. The backs of his fingers stroked the hair next to her face as his lips caressed hers, slow and deliberate in their touch.

One of Shego's hands fell back to the bed as she sighed in delight, while her other arm linked around Drakken's neck to keep him close.

"Mmmh..." Drakken hummed against her mouth, the sound akin to when he tasted a decadent dessert. But his kiss remained tender and chaste.

Shego couldn't help the breathless, delighted laugh that escaped her lips.

"Oh... Drakken..."

#drakgo #drakken #shego #drakken x shego #dragko #kim possible #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #the watermelon saga

[grapefruitsketches]

Untamed Spring Fest 2020 - Days 24-30: Chapter 3, Nest, Part I (Day 26)

Part of my Songxiao post-canon fix-it fic series:

XXC Prequel | SL Prequel | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Also available AO3 (I finally remembered to post first so I can add the link here): link

2,824 Words

Chapter 3: Xiao Xingchen awakens to a sudden sound.

A quiet hillside. A light rain. A familiar taste of sesame which he delicately licked off his fingers. Brushing Zichen’s hand as they both reached for the fruit laid out on the blanket at the same time.

A shout, and Xingchen snapped into consciousness. He was in a bed. His bed. His bed in the Cloud Recesses guest house.

“Mmn, Zichen?” Xiao Xingchen pushed himself up to sit up on the bed and rubbed his temples, trying to wake himself up. As the fog of sleep left him, he was able to register what exactly had woken him, and cut himself off mid yawn, jolted into high alert. A shout? In Cloud Recesses? He patted the around next to him. First close, then, further from his side, becoming more and more desperate. He found only empty space. No Zichen.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stumbled, legs still asleep even if his mind was wide awake, towards the far side of the room, where he kept Shuanghua. He longed for the days he could comfortably sleep with Shuanghua within arm’s reach, but the first (and only) time he had tried to since his reawakening, he had been unable to sleep, kept awake by images of unconsciously reaching for it in the night. Swinging it. Zichen once again becoming its innocent victim. He had remained stiffly awake for the better part of an hour, exhausted, frustrated, until he had finally given up and moved the sword to its new resting place. A place that now seemed foolishly far from where he slept. He chastised himself for his own weaknesses, leaving him less able to protect himself, find Zichen, because of his own fears and lack of control.

Traversing the room seemed like it took an eternity, his ears still straining for any hint of what that shout had been, where Zichen was, but only catching a faint rustle of wind as it caught the branches outside. He finally reached the sword. Even now, though, he found himself unable to pull the sword from its sheath, not trusting it or himself to correctly identify a threat. Not until he knew where Zichen was. Despite this, his hand still gripped the hilt firmly.

What time was it? It was not a morning where they had Inquiry lessons, Xingchen knew. Was it a day when Zichen had guqin lessons without him? Had he gone to library to read poetry, as he had taken to doing recently? Those days when all he did was practice scales, precision, dexterity, no hint of the language Xingchen would one day understand? Leaving the room so as to let Xingchen sleep in, as he worked to extinguish the exhaustion that had haunted him since he reawakened? That would explain Zichen’s absence, but he usually at least woke Xingchen up to say goodbye before he…

The sound of the door sliding open, footsteps, and it slid closed again. Xingchen focused on the sword’s hilt, ready to draw but not wanting to until he was absolutely sure whoever (whatever?) entered was a foe, not a friend.

“Who is it?” he sounded far more confident, stern, than he felt. He was rattled. His voice was able to resist any effect, it seemed, but he received no answer.

The door slid open once more. Another sound of footsteps, Xingchen started to pull the sword from its sheath, not far, just enough to shorten the time it would take to free it, to swing it at any danger in one fluid motion. The shaking in his hands became apparent as the loosened sword struck the sides of its sheath, though it wasn’t clear whether the hand holding the sword or the sheath was more at fault. Memories of the last times it had been drawn. Against him, against Zichen. He shook his head. If Zichen was in trouble, he would get over that, he would draw the sword again, he just had to be sure that that was truly what was going…

“Xiao-xiong!” the voice was loud, urgent but cautious.

Xiao Xingchen huffed out a relieved breath, with several more breaths following in rapid succession. It was the unmistakeable sound of Wei Wuxian’s voice. He let Shuanghua fall comfortably, innocently, back into its sheath and dropped it, the sound of the sword clattering to the floor loud in the room’s quiet. Two hands met his now sagging shoulders as he caught his breath, boosting him so that strong arms could wrap around his chest. Xingchen let himself lean into them.

“Zichen,” he sighed, able to recognize the shape of this embrace anywhere.

“Wei-gongzi,” Xingchen added, panting, grateful for Zichen’s support, “I am sorry for… the disturbance.” He was ashamed to think of what Wei Wuxian must have walked into - Xiao Xingchen, poised to strike, (lethal) sword half-drawn, no threat in sight. And… had that been Zichen who had walked in at first? Had Zichen once again been met with the sight of the man who supposedly loved him prepared to attack, without any way to safely and vocally reassure him that he was no enemy?

“Xiao-xiong…” the sound of Wei Wuxian’s voice came again, still from the opposite side of the room, near the door, softer, apologetic, “I’m sorry we woke you - Song-xiong tried to quiet them in time but…”

“It’s… fine.” Xingchen replied, his heart pounding from the whiplash. Zichen was here, he was ok. No need for a sword. They were both safe, he swallowed, turning his face towards the sound of Wei Wuxian’s voice, “Who was it you were trying to quiet?” he was grateful that he was able to keep his voice mostly to its usual even cadence. Zichen didn’t resist as Xingchen lightly pulled away, gently releasing of Xingchen from his grip, apparently satisfied that Xingchen was now able to stand independently. There was a light caress, Zichen’s hand on his cheek, before Zichen’s hand dropped, reaching instead for one of Xingchen’s hands. The added comfort of fingers interlaced, palms touching, calmed his heart.

Xiao Xingchen thought he detected a smile in Wei Wuxian’s voice as he replied, “The shout was because Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen just arrived. Jingyi couldn’t contain himself.”

Xingchen nodded, “I am sorry to have interrupted their reunion.” His mouth was dry, his relief had become pure embarrassment at having overreacted so severely to an excited childish shriek. He displayed nothing more than his usual reserved smile, however.

Song Zichen squeezed his hand before letting go entirely. Xingchen heard the shuffle of papers, the gliding of a brush across a page.

Wei Wuxian read Zichen’s message aloud, “They should have known better, not to shout in Cloud Recesses. It’s not your fault. I am sorry you didn’t get the chance to sleep.”

Wei Wuxian added, “Song-xiong is right, you know. Jingyi’s just lucky he’s growing up now and not twenty years ago when the punishment would have been… more severe.” Wei Wuxian chuckled darkly.

Xiao Xingchen nodded, familiar with the Lan clan’s disciplinary reputation. “Jin Ling is… the Jin Clan Leader now?” he said slowly, trying to remember Zichen’s thorough briefing on current affairs through Sizhui’s patient voice, “And Ouyang Zizhen is… I’m sorry, I don’t remember that name.”

Wei Wuxian laughed, “Don’t worry about it. For all intents and purposes, right now all either of them are treated as here are as Jingyi and Sizhui’s close friends…”

He was cut off by a wail at the door, “Gentle Breeze!” an unfamiliar, sobbing voice shouted, in open defiance of any of the Cloud Recesses’ noise restrictions, “You’re a-a-alive!”

A pile of voice fell in after the sobs.

“I’m so sorry for the intrusion-“ Sizhui’s voice.

“Hey! You can’t just go bursting in on-” a second unfamiliar voice said, huffily.

“You’re one to talk. What if you had woken Xiao-xiong just now?” Xingchen knew that to be Jingyi.

“Shut up, you were the one shouting not two minutes ago even after Song-xiong-!” the huffy voice retorted.

A sharp exhale escaped from Xingchen, then another, and another in short succession. Zichen’s hand found his arm again and squeezed in concern as Xingchen raised his free hand to cover his mouth. But as the gasps became more obviously laughter, Zichen’s hand once again relaxed. Xingchen couldn’t stop laughing. Minutes ago, he had been in a panic, ready to fight any enemy that dared harm Zichen, only for this apparent foe to have been revealed to be merely a boy excited to see his friends. He shook with laughter, trying to breathe deep to stop his outburst, but taking longer than he should.

After the laughter finally subsided, Xingchen regaining his usual composure, Wei Wuxian introduced the two new voices in turn, Ouyang Zizhen still sniffling as he gave his name, Jin Ling primly stating what an honour it was to meet him. They both already seemed familiar with Zichen, who they each greeted with variations of how nice it was to see him again, and how well he looked.

“It is an honour to meet each of you.” Xiao Xingchen answered, smiling as he bowed in each of their directions, feeling awkward at the reverence with which these youths spoke to him. He was sure their golden cores were younger than even the most recent of his worthwhile deeds, “May I ask where you and Zichen met before?”

“Ah, Xiao-xiong,” Wei Wuxian cut in nervously, before any of the Juniors could speak, “these disciples… they were there when we met with Song-xiong four years ago.”

Realization dawned on Xiao Xingchen, “With Zichen… in… Yi City?” his blood froze at the town’s name, words he hadn’t spoken since his revival, thoughts he didn’t want to let in. A link he knew existed (Song-xiong… Yi City) but that he didn’t want examine too closely because of the further associations that town’s name would inevitably bring. He’d gotten only the bare minimum of an explanation of what had happened, and was vaguely aware that Sizhui and Jingyi had been there, based on minor corrections Sizhui had made while interpreting Zichen’s recounting of the events to Xingchen. He must have wavered, because suddenly he was aware that he was leaning on Zichen’s hand not just for comfort but for support.

“Yes.” Wei Wuxian answered slowly, carefully.

Xingchen nodded slowly, mind drifting off to another time… he tried to bring his mind back to the present, breathing in deep. He focused on the smell of tea, which was never quite absent from any place he and Zichen occupied for more than a night. The feeling of his feet grounded on the floor. Zichen’s hand on his arm. The faint sounds of breathing, his own, and more importantly, Zichen’s beside him. He breathed out, his shoulders relaxed as he remembered to bring back the smile that had fallen off his face at some point.

“Of course,” he said, taking a moment to purse his lips, subtly wetting them after his mouth had become uncomfortably dry, “I am glad you were all there to help Zichen.” When I could not. He left unsaid.

The sound of a brush being dipped in ink, writing on the page, but this time, the message didn’t seem to have been for him, because instead of translating, all Wei Wuxian said was, “Come on, you four. Time for lunch. Xiao-xiong, Song-xiong, you should join us for dinner, near the Western guest rooms where Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen are staying. Jin Ling claims his cooking is not to be missed. I don’t believe it, but you should come anyway.”

The minor protests Xiao Xingchen heard about how they were still full from breakfast quieted quickly. Xingchen could only assume Wei Wuxian, or more likely Zichen, had cast quite the warning look at the young cultivators.

“I hope to have more time to meet each of you later.” Xingchen bowed, earning a variety of cheerful responses as the five pairs of footsteps shuffled out.

He sighed as the door slid shut, carefully pulling Zichen’s hand off his arm. He made his way back to the bed and sat down, head in hands. The young cultivators’ enthusiasm was infectious. Xingchen hadn’t laughed like that in a very long time. Their pure joy at seeing him had been hard to resist. But… He rubbed his temples. They had been louder than anything he had been confronted with since his revival, and he wasn’t sure if his current headache could be credited to their volume, his lingering exhaustion, or that they reminded him of another young one he had once taken under his wing (a girl who probably would have been better off without him, one whose sacrifice could be credited for any life he or his partner currently led).

He felt tears again paint his face and he wanted to scream in frustration. Today was a normal day. He’d woken up alone but only because the one he loved was trying to help him get some more sleep, despite the excitement of close friends reuniting. These were good things. Safe things. So why did he feel so battered?

He pressed in on the sides of his head, as though trying to force its contents into a shape that made more sense. He was safe. He was, against all odds, alive. He was supported. He was someone who was - who had always been - so composed. Able to weather anything with a smile and gentle words. Now, here he was, once again breaking down into what were becoming daily tears over basically nothing. He had experienced some tragedies many years ago, but who had not? Hanguang-Jun. Wei Wuxian. Lan Sizhui. Zichen. All had lost so much, had suffered so much, had had to live through years, hard years, which he had blissfully bypassed, only vaguely aware of his self. But now here he was, unable to hold himself together because he had been treated poorly just one time. Because he had permanently lost just one person who was close to him. No, not lost. Had killed them himself through his own blind trust. He should mourn A-Qing. He knew that. She deserved at least that. She was a hero, and had been so innocent, wandering into a conflict that should have been Xiao Xingchen’s alone to deal with. But she, not Xiao Xingchen, had noticed the danger first, even though he should have known. He had been so foolish. Was he even grieving her in the way she deserved, or was he only using her to fuel his own meaningless self-pity? His sobs grew harder, now audible.

A gentle hand on his thigh. Xiao Xingchen shook his head, moving himself away from the touch. He wanted to hide away, isolate himself from those he might harm, those he might worry. He was not worth it. Not if even here, now, he cried. Not when he felt so sorry for himself despite being shielded from the world, supported.

A clumsy plucking of strings of a guqin in the corner of the room. Safe, the chord said. The second and most recent word Zichen had asked to learn. And then, the first he had studied: Love.

Xiao Xingchen’s breathing choked, his sobs now impacting his breaths. I know, he thought, So why am I acting like this? Feeling like this?

--

After Xingchen had drained his supply of tears, once his breathing had returned to something more normal and the hiccups had subsided, Zichen went and got them some food. Xingchen assumed he was not gone long, but he could not be sure since he had fallen into a doze (that might have been sleep) shortly after he left.

Despite not having eaten anything since last night’s dinner, and understanding that it was now mid-afternoon, Xingchen found he had little appetite upon Zichen’s return. Somewhere in his mind, he was aware that his stomach called out for food, had even heard it growl not long ago. But the bun wouldn’t slide down his throat like it was meant to. The dough stuck as it went down.

Still, he tried, sipping slowly at the broth provided, clenching his fist and jaw as he managed to mechanically get the soup down, bit by bit.

After far longer than it should have taken to eat this fairly light lunch (breakfast?), he finally finished his meal and carefully piled the bowls in the middle of his tray, feeling no better, just maybe slightly nauseous.

“Thank you,” he whispered, laying his hand out on the table, an invitation, and apology after pulling away from Zichen so violently earlier. His hand was picked up gingerly, as though it might break, and lifted, lifted, until he felt Zichen’s lips brush against the back.

Safe. Love. The touch said, just as clearly as the guqin’s chords, but just as hard to swallow as the meal he had just finished.

Next: Chapter 4, Nest, Part II: Dinner, featuring Jin Ling's cooking and a much needed conversation between Xiao Xingchen and Wei Wuxian (also Wen Ning appears, finally).

Chapter 4 should be posted within a day or two! It was meant to be part of this chapter, and is already written but unedited. This chapter became so absurdly long I just had to split it.

#the untamed #mdzs #cql #songxiao #xiao xingchen #song lan #wei wuxian #the junior quartet #untamed spring fest #still tagging that for organizational purposes sorry! #my writing #songxiao fix it series