#had the urge to paint a weird beast so here's this

[gallusgalluss]

a guy 🍉

[youryanderedaddy]

Best Friends Forever

 Summary: Your best friend finally has you back after all these years, tied up on his bed and ready to learn your lesson.

Tw: nsfw, non-con, slight mention of blood, threats, choking, slight degradation, dirty talk, cursing, infantilization, possessive behavior, patronizing behavior, overuse of petnames, slight dom vibezz 

You knew your boyfriend was a lost cause, an addict so gone he would have done anything for a fix, but you never expected him to stoop so fucking low. 

 You had woken up in a suspiciously familiar place, laying on sheets oh so soft, puffy and white you simply couldn’t mistake the bed you were on. The walls were painted in black and blue, a combination so deeply engraved in your mind you couldn’t shake off the feeling you weren’t trully conscious, but dreaming of a happy yet distant memory of the past. It took you less than a second to realize you were in his room - the one where you had spent so many joyfull sleepless nights back in your youth. The relief was short - lived, though, because the moment you tried to move around, you became aware of the tight rope keeping your sore limbs tied to the wooden bed frame. After a while of twisting and thrashing around while screaming at the top of your lungs for help you finally heard the door open. You hoped you would at last be able to go home now, still desperate to believe this was merely a prank, a way for your junkie of a boyfriend to scare you into giving him money.

 “There is no use trying to escape the bonds, my little love.” His voice emited through the small room, low, smooth as butter and softer than ever. You tried to lift your head and catch a glipse of the person talking, just to make sure you weren’t imagining things or going insane. And there he was in all his glory, the boy, no, the man you knew well looking so different from how you remembered him, but still it felt impossible not to see the many similarities - from the unruly dark curls to the warm gray eyes that used to be your only guide during times of misery and pain. This was none other than your childhood best friend and you had absolutely no idea why you were tied to his bed. “Oliver, why on earth am I here?” You asked as soon as the initial shock had worn off, completely forgetting to address the weird petname the student had called you.

 He smirked slightly before crossing the distance keeping him away from you, and carefully sat down by your left side. He reached out to stroke your cheek in an affectionate way, his fingers lingering for a moment too long for it to be considered a mere platonic gesture. You tried to turn your head away from the warm touch since it made you feel uncomfortable and left you with so many new questions. “I missed you so much, precious.” Oliver took a deep breath and smiled at you, gently moving your jawline so you had no choice but to face him once again. “I was so happy when that disgusting piece of shit you call a boyfriend offered you to me.” The man bent to your shoulder-level and whispered in your ear, his tone so full of sick satisfaction you could swear there was honey dripping from his mouth. “I paid a lot of money to have you back, sweetheart.” He licked his lips in an obscene, suggestive way and you had to supress the sudden urge to vomit as you finally remembered exaclty why you had stopped contacting your best friend once you had started college. The boy used to be clingy, obsessive even, but you could have never guessed it was that bad.

 “Oliver, please untie me, you are scaring me.” You pleaded in a tiny voice, hoping to summon what was left of the goodness he had tucked away deep in his heart. In response the male only chuckled and shook his head as he placed a small kiss against your neck, causing you to shiver in discomfort and disgust while you were mentally debating whether you wanted to kill him or your ex boyfriend first. Soon your spiteful thoughts were replaced by panic when your captor brought his hand to your t-shirt and started unclasping the small buttons one by one. You couldn’t help but turn red from embarassment the moment you felt your nipples harden under his palm and you became painfully aware you weren’t wearing a bra underneath. Your former friend had your tender breasts exposed to the cold air in a matter of seconds, his terrible fingers already pinching and pulling at the erect tips. “You have such pretty tits, darling.” He said huskily while squeezing your boobs, licking and biting the stretched skin. You hissed in pain and squirmed in a desperate attempt to move away but the rope was holding you in place, tightening around your sore injured wrists even more. 

 “I have wanted you for so long, angel.” The student admitted quietly, his stormy eyes fixed on yours, his stare so intense it could burn a hole through you. “Tonight I will make you mine.” Oliver declared with a clear sense of confidence and claimed your lips in a quick rough manner, muffling your pitiful whimpers like a man starved and hungry for flesh. The forced kiss and his deranged words made your stomach turn but something in his longing gaze told you there was a lot more in store. The guess, much to your horror, was soon confirmed when the dark - haired male reached down between your parted legs and easily slipped your panties down to your ankles. With your last bit of protection gone you felt awfully vulnerable, literally naked in front of the beast too keen on the past to see how much he was hurting you right now, in the present. You wanted to scream the second his fat grabby fingers pried your folds open, but choking on your desperate sobs proved easier at that moment.

 “Aww, don’t cry, angel.” Oliver growled playfully and slid his index into your tight entrance, quickly adding a second one before you had the time to adjust properly. “I have to prepare you, baby, otherwise my cock may just tear you apart.” He remarked in low sickening voice, the excuse too crude and vulgar to be an act of caring. You whined as your walls clenched down tight now that there were three fingers stretching your hole, and you berely managed to utter “too full” before your friend pulled you for a deep kiss again, his tongue devouring your mouth, leaving you breathless and queit while sucking in the sweet pained moans. “You can take it, babygirl.” The man groaned against your swollen red lips and grabbed your hips in a strong hold - you were sure there would be purple bruises there tomorrow.

  Eventually, after half an hour of pushing his fingers in and out of your channel, lapping at your neck and leaving wet love marks all over your collarbone, the student was satisfied with his work. He had turned you into a whimpering mess and was ready to thoroughly enjoy the fruits of his labor, whether you liked it or not. “I am going to put it in now, precious.” Oliver pecked you on the cheek just to lick the salty trace of tears off your puffy skin. “I will force my whole length in your perfect little pussy.” Your captor bit your sensitive earlobe and you broke down in tears like a kid, the threat ringing in your ears like the gospel. “This might hurt a bit so I advise you to stay still and relax, baby.” The way the man continued casually, almost cheerfully, as if he wasn’t about to brutally rape you, made your skin crawl, but there was nothing you could do. You were all tied up, powerless to stop him. Suddenly, without any warning, his hard thick member entered you, piercing pain spreading through your whole body. The student panted in pleasure as soon as he thrust his manhood into your heat, the way it sucked him in leaving him high and blissful. You let a few miserable whimpers, the ache too much to bear, his moves too harsh, sudden and deep. 

  “Don’t give me such a-agh tormented expression, my love.” Oliver quickly shushed you by putting his hand over your mouth and pressing down to prevent any noise that might have escaped. His gaze was lustful, insane, but also loving in a twisted, perverse way. “Fuck, I love you so much.” He muttered, his voice gentle for a split second before going back to being taunting and mocking. “I used to be so angry each and every time you dated another guy, another asshole who was only after your body.” The man was rambling now, his face turning red at his own vicious thoughts, his growing anger reflecting in his cloudy pupils and his painful thrusts. “You always chose them over me like a stupid little bitch ...” He whispered dangerously and lifted your body towards his own so you could take his hits even deeper, so deep that you could feel the tip of his member kissing your cervix. “Well, now you don’t have a choice, angel. I have claimed you and I will keep you here forever.” You were crying out in agony, your pussy clamping down around the enormous length slapping again and again against your core. It burned so bad you wished you could dissapear somewhere far away just so you could have a moment of relief. “Oh, sweetheart, I know it hurts, but it’s almost over, you can take it for me, right?” The male cooed at you, switching back to that disgusting, infantilizing baby voice you had already grown to despise. When you failed to respond he gripped your throat, squeezing so tightly blood rushed to your cheeks and you inhaled sharply though your mouth only to feel the suffocation cut your breath short. “Answer me.” He barked through gritted teeth and you nodded frantically, desperate to gasp for air and cling onto dear life. 

 “Good girl.” Your former friend purred, pleased with your obedience, and let go of your neck, grabbing your hips instead. You coughed and drooled pathetically until you managed to resume your breathing, but the man, still buried deep inside you, seemed too caught up in chasing his own pleasure to notice how badly he had hurt you. Fortunately for you Oliver was really close, that much was obvious by his furious shoves at your abused cervix and his low growls each time he lowered his head to kiss you. Soon he came with a loud moan, painting your walls white, your ruined hole dripping with his seed and your blood. 

 Your captor seemed satisfied afterwards, peaceful in a way - there was a small smile adorining his cold lips as he wiped the tears off your face and squished your bruised body against his strong frame in a tight hug. You bit your tongue to stop the tears from overflowing once again, but to no avail. He let you sob in his arms until there wasn’t liquid left in your red, puffy eyes. 

 “You did very well, my love. I am really proud of you.” Oliver kissed your temple gently, resisting the temptation to graze you all over again with his lips, tongue and fingers. “I will help you clean up, then I will fix you some nice dinner.” He murmured in your ear, tickling the heirs on the back of your neck with his warm breath. “Doesn’t this sound good, baby?”

 You closed your eyes and nodded slowly.

[drakenology]

www.pornscape.com/janitors-closet-kirishima

janitor’s closet - kirishima x reader

categories: cunnilingus, blow job, riding, exhibitionism, slight degradation, unprotected sex, cussing, cervix kissin’, nasty hook up in the janitor’s closet.

author’s note: welcome to the pornscape! i hope you guys enjoy this event and this piece as well. please check out the others who have participated and as always, cum again ;). read the other works here

Hanamura Corp; a place known for legitimate business. Every employee including yourself was very capable of their job and it was wonderful to be a part of. But God was it fucking boring. Everyone there just ignored each other, did their job and clocked out once their shift was done and over with. With the exception of a few women you’d talk to around break time,  The entire building was often so quiet you forgot other people worked there.

One thing that made your job a little bit exciting was the escapades that took place every Wednesday in the janitor’s closet. The janitor who worked mostly Wednesdays was quite possibly the most gorgeous man to walk those halls.

Ejiro Kirishima; a sweetheart who worked as a janitor here at Hanamura Corp for a few years now. What he was doing working as a janitor and as not a male model was a mystery.

He was tall; 6′11 to be exact, with long red hair he often had tied back in a messy bun, strands of his hair cheekily escaping from the sides. Not to mention his body. Eijiro was an absolute beast of a man; his entire body was ripped. His arms were gigantic and covered in tattoos. The women of the facility often gossiped about the ginormous janitor who came by their cubicles with a warm smile and a tip of his cap. 

“God, he’s so sexy. I’d like to just jump his fucking bones.”

“I wonder what he’s like in bed. Probably an insatiable beast.”

“I just know his dick is huge. Fuck, I can only imagine.”

She guessed right. His dick is huge. How do you know that? Because you’re the one fucking him in the Janitor’s closet every so often. Every Wednesday when he worked, he’d walk past your cubicle and tap you on the shoulder. You’d turn and practically drool at the sight of him, knowing that in a few hours you’d be getting railed until you can hardly walk back to your desk. How this became so routine? Hell, you’ve long since forgotten. But who gives a fuck about the details?

“See you at noon?” He’d whisper in your ear, chuckling when you nod meekly. 12 o’clock was the time everyone usually took their lunch break which had proven to be the perfect time to get fucked on the job.

Once the clock struck 12, you slide your panties off under your desk and tuck them in your briefcase, a rule set by Kirishima to ensure that your cunt is exposed and ready for his filling. You walk towards the janitor’s closet; the one next to the women’s room and stand there to wait, awkwardly waving at the women who came out of the restroom with a weird stare. Suddenly the door opens and someone pulls you inside. 

Finally. He kissed you hard, his big stern hands grabbing and caressing your ass as if he owned you and everything attached to you. You moan into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist when he lifts you and pins you against the cold steel supply shelf. “Miss me, gorgeous?” Kirishima asks, his lips ghosting over yours as he hikes your skirt up over your ass, biting his lip when he feels you’re completely bare underneath. 

“You’re such a little slut for me, taking your panties off to come and get fucked in the janitor’s closet.” He starts kissing your neck, nibbling slightly to mark you just a little; he can’t help himself. 

You’re already getting so hot, your slick pooling at his fingertips as they run along your folds. He stands you on your feet and turns you around, getting down on his knees to worship your ass. His hands slap each cheek firmly, causing you to flinch and lean into the wall, ass sticking out for him. 

Before you can speak, his hands spread your ass apart, spitting onto your pussy. His tongue starts lapping up your slick folds as his hands squeeze your ass, your nails digging into your palms as you groan into your sleeves. You’re mewling so much you could swear someone could hear you, Kirishima’s thick fingers now sliding inside you while he stands on his feet. 

“Gotta get that tight cunt ready for me, baby. You like that?” He huffs into your hair, pumping his fingers inside you at a slow pace. You nod as you back your hips into his hand, Kirishima grabbing one hip to keep you still. 

“So eager. Stay still would, ya?” Kirishima taunts, speeding up his fingers as he smacked you ass to scold you. You yelp, the sting from the hit fading into blinding pleasure as he fingered you, your cunt squelching and making obscene  noises as you feel your legs turn to pudding. 

“Kiri I c-can’t, you’re gonna make me c-cum!” You whine, chewing on your bottom lip. 

“That’s the idea. Mm, cum all over my fucking fingers.” He urged, his fingers diving deeper into your greedy walls, your cunt sucking him inside as you cum with a hard clench. Kirishima smirked and pulled his fingers out of you, sticking them into his mouth with a moan at your flavor. 

“Good fuckin’ girl. On your knees.” He demands, pointing towards the floor. You obliged, moaning when you see him take his cock out of his uniform pants. Good lord, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing it in all its glory.

He was impossibly thick and long, prominent veins running along the shaft and a perfectly soft and spongey head; the one that kissed your cervix with every thrust. You open your mouth for him, tongue lolling out as he sticks his cock inside. Your lips wrap around him, moaning at the taste of his skin as you bob your head. Kirishima takes a fistful of your hair and fucks your throat, hissing when you gag and drool all over his cock. Your hands start grabbing at your breasts, unbuttoning your top to pull them outside of your bra. 

“God, look at you..” Kirishima groans, you giggling when he pulls you off his cock with a lewd “pop” sound. “Such a dirty girl.” Kirishima takes his thick cock and slaps it against your wet lips, pressing between them to get your mouth open again. Sucking him off got you so wet; the sounds of slurping and gagging. All of his dirty words laced with pleasurable grunts stirred your insides as your cunt ached with need.

Every time his cock hit the back of your throat you moan, reaching your hand down to help relieve the ache in your core. 

“Shit..” Eijiro moans at the state of you, a usually prim and proper business woman on her knees for him looking so fucking sloppy. 

It was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, taking his hand to pinch and play with your nipples as you suckle on his dick head, taking it and slapping it against your tongue with a love struck look in your eye.

He burned that image of you in his mind, wanting to revisit this moment later when he was alone while bucking his hips to get you to wrap those soft lips around his cock again. Your fingers rub lazy circles on your swollen clit, moaning around his dick as he fucked your mouth. 

“So fucking sexy, baby.” He hissed, pulling his cock from your lips and sitting on his haunches. 

“C’mere.” He demands, slapping his thighs to get you to sit in his lap. You straddle his waist, his length resting on your slick cunt. He grinds your hips against his, the under side of his cock rubbing against your swollen clit with a groan. Kirishima lowers his hand and gives you the filling you’ve been craving all week, pressing his length against your weeping hole and pulling your hips down onto his length. 

The dull stretch caused you to grab onto his shoulders and hold tight, bouncing on his cock slowly to adjust to his monster of a cock. It was all so delicious; Kiri running his thumb along your swollen bud with a satisfied grunt. 

“Fuck, I’m cumming already, Eiji- shit!” You wail, breathy moans leaving your lips as he ruts his hips upwards, one of his big hands grabbing at your breast, the other rubbing your clit in soft circles. 

“Fuckin’ hell, baby..” He groans, rolling your hips into his as his hands run along your soft ass, striking it harshly. You’re drooling into his shoulder, holding onto the shelf that contained cleaning supplies for good measure, trying to keep up with his movements. With all the shaking, all the cleaning products started toppling over, loud clangs of the metal shelf echoing through the small closet to mask your loud moans. 

You both let out breathy half giggles, melting into each other’s bodies as Kirishima reached up to wrap your hair around his hand to yank it, attacking your now exposed neck with hot kisses and nibbles. He stands on his feet, fingers pressed into your ass to keep a tight grip on you as he lowered you onto his cock. You see stars as Eijiro picks you up and drops you onto his thick cock, scrambled sentences leaving your mouth as your mouth hangs open in bliss.

Kirishima kicks over a bucket, the stupid thing in his path as he pressed your bare back against the cold concrete wall. He rolls his hip into yours, lips wrapped around one of your nipples, nibbling lightly. Grunting and high pitched whines fill the closet, your bodies practically sticking together from the heat you both omitted. Tongues intertwined with each other, hands traveling along naked skin as he hit your g-spot over and over again in a blind rage. 

“F-Fuck! I’m gonna cum for you, baby.” you squeal, toes curling so hard you feel a cramp coming on; Kirishima bucking into with more fervor as you both reach a climax. 

“’M gonna cum inside you. Gonna make you my fuckin’ cum dump.” He huffed, your eyes rolling to the back of your head with every hit against your cervix. 

You both grunt; Kirishima painting your insides white as he rests you both onto the floor, grinding his hips a few more times before pulling out his flaccid form. Your back laid flat on the cold floor, looking up at him with clouded eyes from all the tears you shed from your encounter. Sex with Kirishima made working at this stuffy place so much more worth it. As he looked down at you he helped fix your clothes, the timer on his watch beeping to signal it was time to get back to work. 

“Ya know, we don’t have to wait to see each other once a week. I could fuck you like this every day, every night...” Eijiro said, wiping the sweat from your brow. 

“Are you asking me out?” You tease, sitting up to button up your shirt.

“Depends.. are you saying yes?” He asks, raising his eyebrow as he adjusts his pants.

“Maybe.”

[irrelevantwriter]

House Call

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids, reader being scared and horny, Rio’s BDE (y'all know what's up)

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: Part 1. Rio shows up unannounced to talk business. Among other things. 

A/N: It’s here...it’s happening. It took me a whole 2.5 seconds to become obsessed with Rio once I started watching GG. Ya’ll know how I roll. Anyway, this is me just dipping my toe into the water. I didn't get too deep with a plot (spoiler alert: there isn't any). It’s essentially just reader-insert into the show’s current plot, but with some smut thrown in. For fun. I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

*Added a Part 2! Read it here.

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

***********************

“You okay?”

The sound of your friend’s concerned voice filled the line, pulling you back to the moment and the conversation you’d been engaged in before you’d burnt yourself in the spray of hot water.

“Yeah, just washing dishes.” You explained, cradling your cell between your shoulder and cheek as you maneuvered dirty dishes under the spout of water.

“So the meeting with the principal? How’d it go?” Rachel asked, getting you back on track.

You sighed, beginning to scrub at a stubborn coffee stain left behind on one of your favorite mugs.

“Fine. The kids are still having a hard time with the divorce so it’s…” You paused, unsure of how to describe the child-like brooding your son and daughter had taken to participating in since you’d separated from their father.

“Tense? Difficult? Weird?” Rachel listed off helpfully.

“All of the above.” You deadpanned, still scrubbing.

“You take the rest of the day off?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta figure out what I’m going to do with these kids. Paul said he’d come over later to talk it over.”

“How incredibly thoughtful of him.” Rachel replied, sarcasm and disdain dripping from her words.

“Well, it’s a start. And as much as I’d like to tell him to fuck off, I can’t. He’s still their dad.” You explained for the hundredth time, feeling the stress of your situation with your ex starting to creep into your body. Your shoulders felt stiff and your head began to throb with a dull ache. It was a familiar reaction these days. One you loathed.

You opened your mouth to steer the conversation elsewhere when the doorbell rang, chiming throughout the empty expanse of your home.

“Paul?” Rachel asked, obviously hearing the alert of someone’s company over the phone.

“I guess. Look, I’ll call you later.” You said with another sigh, this one more tired than annoyed. You gave up on the stained mug and moved onto drying it, shutting the water off as you did.

“Okay. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” You ended the call, aware that you were short with her, but unable to feel sorry for it. You had plenty of other things to worry about, none of which involved your shitty ex or his new girlfriend.

You placed your cell on the counter and turned to make your way to the entryway, mug still clutched in your hand. The ceramic cup dropped to the floor and shattered into pieces when you saw who was already in your kitchen. You gasped, clutching your chest and yelping at the familiar man in black, the dark ink splattered across his throat the first thing you noticed. Your heart leapt, your body going rigid at the unexpected visit. Pop-ups like this were never a good sign.

“I let myself in.” Rio supplied, voice low and thick with authority and charm. He wore a smirk, lips upturned at your surprised reaction. He always seemed amused by you. That fact only served to unsettle you further.

“What’re you doing here?” You managed to say between shaky breaths, fear making your own voice quiver.

“Just checking in, mama. Can’t I do that?” He challenged with his arms spread wide, daring you to say otherwise.

You didn’t.

You went to move around the large kitchen island but the shards of broken mug prevented you from getting far on bare feet. Rio took notice and strode towards you, all clean lines and hooded eyes. He had a swagger about him that radiated. It sent a clear message about the kind of man he was. Confident. Skilled. Smart. There was an ease in his movements, but a beast lay in wait inside, ready to strike when the need arose.

His piercing gaze took in your dress, uncaring of being discreet or polite. He appraised you from the tips of your painted toes to the top of your head. It was as unnerving as it was thrilling. He crowded your space. He always did. While the scent of him filled your nostrils. Something spicy, but pleasing. It sat in your nose, and you knew from previous experience that you’d smell it for hours after.

You swallowed, wanting to avoid his close proximity. You hastily bent down to gather what you could of the jagged pieces, moving around his sneaker-clad feet that stood before you. You tried to ignore his presence, tried to appear calm and composed. It was an uphill battle. The man always knew how to throw you off. He knew how to keep people on their toes. It was yet another facet of him that you both coveted and despised.

You hissed, feeling the edge of one of the shards dig into the tip of your finger. You stood and sucked the tip into your mouth, trying to clear the area of the blood that had started to surface. His eyes were on you, watching you with interest and a certain level of lust that you didn’t allow yourself to explore. You stiffened when he reached for your wrist and pulled your finger away from your lips. He inspected the cut, his flesh warm and soft against yours. It was a side of him that eclipsed the man you’d come to know over the last several months.

“It’s not bad. I’ll be fine.” You whispered, attempting to pull your hand free of his. It was futile.

“Band aid?”

“Uh...yeah. In that drawer. Next to the stove.” You pointed in the direction of the drawer, holding your breath as he retrieved the item. This time, you watched him. Watched as he unwrapped the bandage and tended to your finger with all the care of a parent with their child. He held the appendage steady as he got ready to wrap it, but he stopped himself. He locked eyes with you instead, making you shiver.

“I make you nervous.”

It was a statement. A very true statement. And yet you found yourself shaking your head; ironic because your voice felt too unsteady to use.

Your heart stopped when he placed a tender kiss to the cut. The air around you crackled with heat and tension. It was unlike any feeling you’d ever been subjected to before. It was danger mixed with primal fascination...attraction. And it called to you like a raft in a sea of treacherous waves.

He ignored your silent response and sealed the band aid over your finger, ensuring the ends were smooth against your skin. He didn’t let go of you.

“Don’t lie to me, okay? Trust is an important thing. And we’ve gotta have it if we wanna keep doing business together.”

His calm demeanor and gentle chastising made you a puddle of obedience. Your need to please wasn’t just born from fear. It was something you’d been unable to come to terms with until now. You saw it for what it truly was. You wanted to please him. In as many ways as he’d let you.

You nodded in response, agreeing to his statement.

“Let’s try it again then, yeah?” He started, eyes roaming your face. “I make you nervous, don’t I?”

“The constant threat of my life makes it difficult for me to be calm.” You said, choosing to still be untruthful. 

You forced yourself not to fidget as his stare scorched your skin. His black eyes roamed across the open expanse of your collarbone and to the modest neckline of your wrap dress. He licked his lips as he focused on the measured breaths of your chest, your breasts rising with each pass.

“That’s not the only reason.” He retorted with a shake of his head. He leaned in close, noses almost touching as he spoke. “Don’t move.”

You said nothing as he bent down, continuing your failed task of picking up the broken bits of ceramic. You observed him dutifully gathering each piece, piling them into one large hand. His face looked pensive, as if he was trying to solve an equation in his head. You leaned against the island for support and bit your lip, unwilling to give into the lecherous thoughts that haunted you at night and managed to infiltrate your dreams.

“Nice dress.”

His compliment made you pause, looking down to meet that familiar smirk. He’d set what was left of the mug onto the counter, the floor relatively clear of large fragments. His fingers now played with the hem of said dress, the flowy material dancing in the air and away from your body.

“Thanks.”

Your voice was small. The apprehension so clear that you could both taste it. He found it funny. You found it humiliating.

He slowly straightened, taking the fabric with him as he gathered it to just above your knees.

“Color looks good on you.”

Again, the juvenile warmth of his praise sent you reeling further into anxiety’s waiting arms. Inwardly, you were responding to every lick of his lips and quirk of his eyebrow. Your thighs shifted restlessly against each other, waiting for that satiation that you hadn’t felt in forever. Outwardly though, you remained as skittish as a wild horse. You were as much on the edge of pleasure as you were on retreating.

“Thanks.” You said with a pleasant smile, wanting to conceal the yearning that bubbled just under the surface. You smoothed out the hunter-green fabric that rested against your abdomen, hoping to urge his hands away from you and the dress.

No such luck.

Instead, he ran his fingers up your skirt and along the outside of your thighs and hips, almost meeting the edge of your lace panties. Your traitorous body showed its hand, your nipples hardening in eagerness. Rio’s gaze predictably caught the action. And his face showed his approval.

“How long you been divorced?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion at his sudden curiosity. But the switch in topic had you alert again and somewhat clear of the fog he was so insistent on throwing you into.

“Why? What does that have to do with anything?” You questioned, stepping back from his body.

His hands fell away from you finally, but they didn’t stay idle for long. They skimmed over your hips, pressing your backside into the edge of the kitchen island.

“Answer me, mama.” He demanded, head craning down to meet your eyes. The intensity of his stare made you shift on your feet. He had an amazing poker face. A skill that left you envious.

“Two years.” You dutifully supplied, leaning backwards every inch that he moved in.

“It’s been that long then.” He commented with a nod, a finger tracing along the neckline of your dress, hovering just above your cleavage.

“That long for what?” You asked, taking note of the subtle ways in which his face changed. There was no trace of the teasing, light-hearted flirting that you’d become accustomed to seeing from him. He was serious. Almost as serious as the times he’d threatened your life. His touch was more insistent, telling you what he wanted rather than hinting. His mouth lowered to your ear, his nose brushing against your neck in a far too erotic manner. Your fingers itched to anchor yourself to him. You denied the request.

“Since someone stretched you out.”

A gasp caught in your throat, though you didn’t know if it was more from his words or his touch. He’d managed to slip a hand under your dress, tracing the crotch of your panties with a dexterous finger as he spoke.

“Wh-what do you mean?” You stammered, knuckles tightening against the edge of the counter you were currently gripping.

“I mean…” Rio started, lips brushing against the shell of your ear with each syllable. His finger barely teased your slit, but his voice more than compensated for the lack of physicality. “You haven’t had someone here,” He emphasized the word with a firm press of his finger against the soaked material that hid your clit from view. “In two years. Maybe more.”

You whimpered, biting your lip as he continued to manipulate your body. Your head screamed at you to stop, to pull away. But the sensation of his body pressed so firmly to yours was far too comforting to deny.

“You don’t know that.” You attempted, though the effort was obviously pointless. It was true. Since your separation and subsequent divorce from Paul, you’d barely been on a date, much less had sex. Your body was fiending for it...for him. And he knew it.

He scoffed, finding amusement in your words. He pressed his finger along the same dampened area, seeing your eyes roll into the back of your head. He licked his lips when your hand shot out to grasp at his wrist.

“Yeah, I do.” He affirmed with a nod, finger still teasing over your lace-covered slit. “He stepped out on you, didn’t he?” He continued, his eyes taking stock of the way you responded to his touch.

You had trouble focusing on the conversation he insisted on having while his hand was up your dress and practically in your underwear. You didn’t feel the need to supply an answer anyway. He already had all the information he needed.

“He didn’t deserve you.”

You were jolted back to reality by his words, straightening your spine and pushing his hand from between your legs.

“And what? You do?” You threw back, agitation seeping into your tone. You felt like he was patronizing you. He was always one step ahead. Always aware of the skeletons in your closet before you were.

“Never said that.” He said with a shake of his head, not stepping out of your space. His hands were off your body now, but the stains they’d left on you would remain there. They wouldn’t easily be erased. And you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted them to be.

“Why are you here?” You asked, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

“Business.”

“A simple call or text works for that.”

“Wanted to come in person.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders. He wore an expression of smugness, as if he knew something you didn’t, which was often the case.

“What do you want then?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” He retorted swiftly, lips pulled into a thin line.

The seriousness was back, his eyes nearly swallowing you as all humor became sucked from the room. The nerves in your stomach came back full force, the fear aiding them in their efforts. He was challenging you, apparently done with your lying.

“I…”

You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to even begin. He was too intimidating. Just too much.

“I-I can’t.” You finished lamely, shaking your head and looking down at your feet.

He tilted your chin up, his mouth only centimeters from yours as he dared you to move.

“Just say the word.” He rasped against your lips, his free hand cradling your cheek.

You let yourself stare back, taking in his dark lashes and the angles of his face. He confused you on many levels, angered you beyond belief. He made your life a living hell. And yet, you wanted him more than anything. More than the money and the thrill of crime. And somehow he was privy to it all. And he wanted to give it to you.

So you were going to let him.

“Kiss me.” You breathed out, your hands finally coming to rest on his chest.

He needed no further encouragement. His mouth settled over yours in a tangle of lips and tongues. He tasted like mint, his lips much softer than they looked. The scratch of his facial hair only added to the moment as you pressed further into him, asking him to take more.

He did.

His hands were rough, but not unpleasant as they trailed along your body. They had the marks of healed scars. Not to mention the blood of those who chose to cross him. They were everywhere and all at once. Your breasts, your neck, your waist, your ass. He kneaded where he knew you yearned for more and tenderly stroked the areas in between. You struggled to keep up as his hips pushed into yours, his own yearning making its presence known.

“We shouldn’t do this.” You managed to say between heavy breaths, Rio’s mouth attaching to your neck and sucking near your throbbing pulse.

“Why not?” He mumbled into your skin, hands unwilling to slow down.

“Things will get complicated.”

He pulled himself away from the crook of your neck, his thumb running over your kiss-swollen pout.

“Yeah, they will.” He said with a chuckle, that devilish smirk staring back at you.

It was all a blur after that.

Limbs intertwined together as you worked on the buckle of his pants while he pushed your dress up and over your hips this time. He harshly pulled the lace away, the elastic snapping against your thighs as it got caught before making its way to the floor. Your mouths didn’t separate, not even when he lifted you onto the counter. He pulled one side of your dress away, exposing the matching bra you wore underneath. Your pebbled nipples called to him and he responded, massaging the flesh with expert precision. You moaned and writhed like a woman possessed. Like a woman that hadn’t been laid in two years.

“Feels good?”

The roughened gravel of his voice made your walls spasm, the hint of self-assuredness causing a wave of arousal to seep from within you. You could only nod, wordlessly pleading with him to continue on. His touch ventured south to your spread thighs. You widened them, allowing him access to the place you needed him the most. He didn’t disappoint.

His fingers were long and probing as they penetrated your sex, slipping easily in. You gasped at the fullness, the stretch around him making your eyes squeeze shut. He let your body guide him as he rubbed at your clit, his fingers curling against your walls.

“I’m...god...I’m gonna cum.” You confessed, only somewhat embarrassed by the suddenness of your climax.

He worked hard and faster. Your nails dug into his back, your mouth landing on his shoulder as you struggled to not cry out. You bit down when the euphoria of orgasm washed over you, trapping his hand within you. He could feel every tremor he brought forth as you shook in his arms. It felt like it lasted for hours, your body unwilling to let the feeling be a fleeting moment in time.

“You still with me?” He asked, lips pressed to your temple.

You nodded, hissing when he removed his fingers from the confines of your body. You watched, feeling as if you were in a daze. He shifted his pants and boxers down, revealing his length to your ravenous eyes. The hand that had been so deeply embedded in you now wrapped around himself. He was long and hard, as rigid as his hands. You felt like a moth to a flame, hand reaching out to feel if he was real. He was.

You swiped your finger over the tip of him and were overcome with wanton pride at feeling the moisture that sat there. His jaw clenched in a way that you’d only ever seen him do in anger. He didn’t allow you to continue. In an instant he was wedged between your thighs, his body already pushing into your waiting sex. Even with the climax from his fingers, he was a tight fit. You both expelled breaths, his a mumbled curse and yours a throaty moan. You shut your eyes as a new burst of pleasure radiated from your core and traveled up your spine. There was only a brief moment of intimacy as he sat unmoving within you, letting your body adjust to him.

It was short-lived.

“Fuck...” He cursed as he began to fuck you into the counter, hands holding your hips in place.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lavished yours with kisses and bites, each thrust of his hips causing his teeth to graze your skin. The chill of the marble countertop beneath your bare ass cooled your overheated skin. You bit your lip so hard you could taste blood as he filled you over and over, each pass making your walls accept more of him. He was deep and hitting that gloriously elusive spot that sat within your womb. 

He cupped your breasts while you scraped your nails down his back, hearing him growl in response. The sound made you yearn to hear more. So, you did something you’d always wanted to do...you licked the ink on his throat. You decorated his skin with tantalizing kisses, your tongue aiding your actions. He shivered against your lips, the reaction making your walls clench around him. He was, at least for the moment, a slave to your ministrations. And it was a high unlike any drug you’d ever encountered.

It was animalistic fucking at its finest. He hit every nerve, soothed every ache. The union of your bodies was enough to send you sailing off the proverbial cliff, but his touch kept you tethered to solid ground, longing for more. He rocked his hips mercilessly into you, making your back arch at an almost painful angle.

“Right there, huh?” He teased, feeling you squeeze around him in raw desire. “Yeah, that’s the spot.”

You whimpered and tensed when he savagely rubbed your swollen clit, forcing your legs to tighten around him. He laughed, the sound ominous in your ringing ears. You could only hold on as he delivered the sweetest torture you’d ever felt. You spread your thighs wider, trying to get him closer than humanly possible. You opened your neck up to him, letting him have access to your bare flesh. You wanted him all over you and leaving a scorching trail of hunger in his wake.

It was manic. It was frenzied. It was passionate. And it all combined into a seductive elixir that made fireworks burst from within.

“Shit...I’m cumming.” You warned, feeling him double his efforts. Every muscle went taut with blinding pleasure as that coil finally snapped. You felt weightless, and yet the firm body still driving into your depths made you feel sublimely solid. And whole. More whole than you’d felt in the entirety of your marriage.

It was on the tail-end of your climax that Rio found his. His hips stuttered as he grunted and groaned, releasing himself into you and painting your walls. His fingers dug into the flesh of your inner thighs while his face burrowed into your chest and neck. It was as uninhibited as you’d seen him. And you were addicted to the sight. 

You both heaved with shallow breaths, the exertion of each of your climaxes literally taking the air from your lungs. The room smelled of sex and instant regret as you straightened in Rio’s arms. He separated from your body, eyeing you as he redressed. You shifted your dress back together to cover your bra, the mess between your thighs preventing you from closing them completely. 

Before you could say anything, Rio reached up and cradled your cheek. He played with your bottom lip, his thumb once again finding the appendage. His eyes took in every part of you, as if he hadn’t fucked you senseless seconds before. He licked his lips in that dangerous way that let you know his thoughts were on more than just money.

“Business is good?” He asked, warm palm still pressed to your cheek.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Cool, cool.” He nonchalantly replied, hand leaving your face as he stepped back from your debauched body. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You said with a nod, pushing your dress further down over your thighs, a lame effort to protect any modesty you might’ve still possessed. He smirked at the action.

“Might wanna clean up the mess.” He said with a cheeky upturn of his lips, hands gesturing to the remaining fragments of ceramic that still littered the floor but eyes locked solely to the spot between your legs. The place he knew he’d left a part of himself.

You bit your lip and nervously played with the hem of your dress, feeling his eyes bore into you. Despite still being fully dressed, you felt naked to him. Bare. Exposed. Vulnerable. You hated it.

He retreated, facing you as he walked backwards towards the front door. You watched him from over your shoulder, still unsure of what to make of the whole situation. 

“And lock your door from now on. All kinds of madmen running around these streets.” He quipped, eyes lighting up at his own joke.

He was gone as fast as he’d arrived, causing havoc and then leaving without a second thought. The door closed with a crisp click at his exit, the house now feeling bare without his foreboding presence.

You didn’t move from your spot. You remained on the counter, Rio still leaking from your walls and your dress still disheveled despite your best efforts. Your mind raced with thoughts, each one riddled with panic. His unexpected visit left you with more questions than answers, all of which were tinged with fear. What did this development mean for you? Did it actually mean anything? Or was he simply taking what was so obviously laid out in front of him?

Did it matter?

No. It didn’t.

Because although he may have indulged your craving, your appetite was far from being fulfilled.

[thestarsoutofyourwindow]

 11th Doctor x Reader - “If you don’t hold me now I think might just fall apart.”

Authors note: I tried my best to keep this in character- so if this is lacking in a story, that’s because I was a little hesitant to write a climax just in case I got it a little off. The gif isn’t mine, obviously. Crickets, this took a long time, so you BeTTeR aPPreCiaTe It. Just kidding, but I hope you enjoy it, even a little bit!

Now, it’s five am so I better go write some fifth Doctor now :)))

Feel free to tell me if i could improve anything or what you liked or whatever!

Word count: 1,719

Includes: Slight (?) angst, mentioning of being left by the Doctor (just prep yourself)

Requested by: @yourneighbourhoodclown, it won't let me tag them for some reason, so we will have to pretend.

“Where's your adventurous spirit!?" The Doctor giggles, pulling a lever on the TARDIS console, the entire ship convulsing as she dematerializes. His attention wavered between looking at you and the TARDIS.

"Urgh, god knows with all the-" Another lurch cut you off. "Focus on driving before you get us killed."

"Make me," He shouted over to you, running his fingers through his hair, with a smile that could only be described as a shit-eating grin.

Your stomach and eyes rolled in synchronization as the TARDIS jerked about, "I won't get half the chance. You'd think you'd get used to being thrown around in this- BOX- Urg. It doesn't help you're not a very good driver."

"Oi! I am too!" The Doctors scowled for a few moments, but you were to distracted with how your stomach swirled. Yet again the moment was interrupted by you being thrown into the railing.

"Of course you are, dear." You taunted him.

"Oh, this is gonna be a rough one-!" The Doctor cackled, smiling up at TARDIS console.

"Just like you to show your 'adventurous spirit'." You mocked, rolling your eyes and jabbing your elbow into his side. He glanced at you and furrowed his eyebrows; just as the rain started to pour down on you two. You had found yourselves in a seemingly endless forest, engulfed in an unsettling atmosphere. You just so happened to materialize in a clearing with a convenient dirt pathway littered with branches and bushes, which appeared to lead to some curiosity-sparking warm lights, bare pinpricks in the distance.

You knew the Doctor would want to investigate. You weren't particularly bothered, as long as you had the Doctor by your side.

"Oi you," The Doctor grinned at that, glancing at you then back out to the vast forest, then turned to look at you. "Umbrella?" You asked. He smirked and he pulled one of those large umbrellas, that people have to carry around like a staff or walking stick, yes one of those, out of his pocket. He played with the umbrella-like a sword, thrusting the umbrella and mocking a few blocks. You put your hand on his shoulder and he paused, looking over at you.

"Right, yes-" The Doctor opened the umbrella, which was a lot bigger than most umbrellas, swinging it up and resting it on his shoulder. He held his arm out for you, inviting you under the umbrella with a wink. You stepped under the umbrella, and he draped his arm over your shoulders as the both of you started the brisk walk towards the alluring lights.

Upon reaching the Cabin, which was more like a small mansion -still massive for the one person who lived there yet almost exclusively in the library, you met an old woman with a quaint affinity with voodoo and witchcraft (not the horrible sort though, she seemed quite friendly, if a little odd).

"You know, it doesn't help that every wall here is painted with get out." The Doctor stated, gesturing to the wall with a slight nod.

"I'm sorry?" The old, witch-like woman asks. The Doctor gestured to the wall, his face squished up, his eyes searching yours for confirmation.

"You don't see that?" He tensed, pulling out the sonic from his jacket and scanning the wall, and then you and the woman. He checked it and you could almost pin the moment his jaw went slack.

"Y-you have been marked-" The old witch sputtered. Your blood ran cold when you heard that. The Doctor, who was standing just next to you, brushed his fingers against yours, seemingly in search of contact- comfort. You curl your fingers around his, not taking your eyes off the woman.

"What do you mean marked?" You ask, after a few too many moments of silence. The woman seemed to snap out of a trance and

turns around, rushing back to her library nook.

"He- he is doomed. The Beast himself has left his mark."

"You keep saying that, but what does that mean, ma'am?" You only asked out of concern. You gave the Doctors hand a squish of comfort. It wasn't uncommon for the Doctor to hold hands with you, so you didn't consider that to be particularly weird

"Your husband here-" The lady starts, shakily flipping through the book she had picked up.

"Oh no, we're not even-" You shake your head.

"He spoke of, writing- on the walls. That's always the first step. He will be contaminated by the beast- you and me, we're in danger."

"Of course it had to be me..." the Doctor mutters, staring into nowhere. You could nearly see his fear, the smallest hint of anticipation in his eyes. This will be... something.

"What's going to happen to me?" He asked.

"It will take your mind, turn it against you, and twist you to madness. You will then kill us." The woman shook her head, looking out of the window with a solemn pout. "It has happened before and it will happen again. If you will excuse me, I need to protect the rest of this planet." She scurried off, a little satchel being yanked off a counter, knocking a few candles and unburnt sage sticks and other oddities, some less recognizable.

"Wait, no don't-" The Doctor called after her, but she had already left. "Urgh."

As soon as she had left, you briskly walked over to where she was stood, investigating the book she was flipping through so religiously, all the while handing in hand with the Doctor. You moved your hand from his so you could flip the pages of the book, but his hand only grabbed at your sleeve.

"Basically, uh..." You mutter, whilst consulting the page of the apparently gospel book, "Give me a heads up if start to feel any murderous tendencies." You chuckled flatly.

Let's say, the two of you weren't particularly keen on remembering what happened. Or talking about it. But you could tell something was weighing down on him. You could also bet on your life what it might be.

The two of you were standing in the medbay, just a few hours after you had found your ways back to the TARDIS. Your  "escape" wasn't something you were proud of. Both of you had tried, and succeeded in a way, to forget about it as best you could. The unforgettable part was, of course, the fact that, after being hooked up to a machine that literally connected you to satan themself. The Doctor said that "that was a very silly idea and to never do that again, also you might have slowed your ageing by like, 10000% but that's here or there you were literally connected to satan are you good". Well maybe not that exactly but that's the general point.

That was almost too convenient, you thought to yourself. Almost like you were in a romantic fanfiction or something stupid like that. There's nobody better to look after an old time lord like a human that might never age or die if you were careful enough.

The two of you are still in the medbay, and you were just putting a plaster/band-aid on the side of The Doctors' chin when he broke the silence with a classic:

"I- I could've killed you." The doctor states, staring into nothing. "Me! The Doctor... You're my best friend and I could've-"

"Hey. Shhh." You whisper, caressing his cheek with your hand, placing your other hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. I'm alright, and most importantly, you're okay too."

The Doctor's eyes tear up. You tilt his head up and look him in the eye. Oh god, how those big sad eyes make your heart wrench. Despite that, you gave your best reassuring smile. "I'm here. I'm okay. I'm not going anywhere."

A raspy sob forces its way out of his throat and his entire body leans into yours. "Hold me." He whimpered into your shoulder. "if you don't hold me now," the doctor sniffles and takes a deep breath, "I think I might just fall apart."

You do just that.

You hold him close, and you don't let go. You have to lean forward a little because the Doctor is sat on a bed, but you don't mind that, you're more focused on rubbing circles on his back and running your fingers through his hair. He tugs you towards him- and you're stood very awkwardly, but you still hug him back; you feel the hot tears practically burning into your shirt.

"It's alright, isn't it?" You ask. The Doctor nods his head frantically in response. "Exactly. It's a-okay. Bad times happen and it's hard to forgive yourself, but always try to remember that I'm here, Doctor. If you can't forgive yourself, I'll forgive you. As much as you might hate it, you're stuck with me now, Doctor." You finish playfully, ruffling his hair again, and going back to curling it around your fingers.

He mumbles something to you through tears, but you don’t quite believe what you heard.

“I love you.” The Doctor sniffles again. “I’m so sorry, but I love you. I know you won’t- you couldn’t ever love me back, not in this way but- I can’t lose you.” He sobs again, his grip tightening on you.

“I love you too.”

Well. For the rest of your years, no matter how many that is, the two of you, no matter what happens, no matter how many people leave, there would always be a constant for the two of you in each other's arms.

In any other circumstance, you’d be thrilled. But right now, you’re terrified. You didn’t want to lose him either, but you knew it wouldn’t be above him to leave you being on earth, in order to ‘protect’ you. Which you and I know, it bloody well wouldn’t. But what you heard next settled your nerves, yet upset you.

“Please... please don’t leave me. Please, please, please, please, please...” The Doctor keeps repeating that, over and over like a broken record.

“I won’t I promise, on anything and everything. Like I said, you’re stuck with me and I love you so, and now I know you love me too I’m not exactly about to bugger off now am I?”

He really thought you’d leave him.

You wouldn't concider it. Not even for a second.

[shiteatinggrin]

Hi, so this is my contribution to my first jilytober, I wrote some canon fic, it is kinda sad so I guess you could call this angst? I don’t know, I’m not that good at categorizing fic. Anyways, here is a love letter to James Potter from Lily Evans because he just died under her eyes. Wrote this fast, so I can’t vouch for the quality of this. This is almost 3k of Lily being a sap, so enjoy! Find it here on Ao3.

Bastard with a shit eating grin

Do you remember our first kiss? I can still feel the cold air of winter seeping through the walls of Greenhouse Number Three and you and I laughing together. It was not an unusual thing anymore, but some people could have been surprised, because we had had some big feuds over the years, the Dormitories Dashing and Destroying Disagreement, the Inflating Inner Ear Incident, the Flying Fiona Fight and the Severus Snape Saga consisting of the big highlights. However frustrating it was, we always had fun together, didn’t we?

Now we were falling in love dutifully without realising we had always been meant for each other in some way. I was all colors: glorious red hair, pink cheeks, pale green eyes and horrendously yellow socks. You were all teeth: shining smiles, arrogant smirking, belly-laughing in a silent room or grinding them in concentration for the task you were committing to (hyper-focusing on) at the moment.

‘Oi, Evans, can I copy your homework?’ You would say that practically every day.

‘How about a please, Potter? Might do you some good.’ You watched me smear some soil on my neck when I scratched it and said nothing. I discovered it in Transfiguration two hours later. Crazy how we can only remember the smallest details years later and the big things just go right over our heads. I could only ever remember the small details with you, because whatever we said to each other was never important, only the talking to you part was.

‘Oh Lily, dearest flower to my heart that I worship beyond any rainbow, might I please please please see your diligently done homework so that I can rewrite it because, being the idiot that I am, I was off gallivanting with Sirius yesterday instead of being a good student.’ You added pouts and made doe eyes for good measure as if I wouldn’t already have grabbed the moon from the sky’s grubby hands every night if you had asked it.

I would stifle a smile and put some piece of parchment in your extended hand without even looking, sometimes it was the homework if I was feeling generous, if I were more in a creative mood I might give you a stupid doodle or some kind of letter that would say something like: ‘Dear Prongs, you are an asshat. Looking forward to our rounds tonight so I can kick your ass in Gobstones. Now listen to Sprout, will you? Lily’ with a stupid heart over the i that basically meant PS: I love you. Finally, I’d say something like:

‘I would have laughed, but your head might inflate so much you’d have neck pain for a week.’

You let yourself smile then and continued to jest me, hoping to wrench a smile out of the beast (you always did it literally two minutes later, it is funny how easy it is to win when you give yourself such small tasks).

But that day, amazingly, we broke out of our routine.

At night we would always hang out together in the common room with our friends and slowly the people would fizzle out, having gone up to their dormitories and I would stay on the couch with the urge to kiss you with some dumb excuse not to leave on the tip of my tongue. I painted my nails or read some book or talked to you extensively about something I’d learned recently and you would listen with concentrated eyes and a much too easy smile.

Then you would start talking and when you started some story it would never finish, even now you can’t even recall something as simple as Harry’s first smile without going on for five full minutes without stopping. In these nights I would try to look like I wasn’t paying too much attention to you, like I was detached from everything pertaining to your person, but being young and in love doesn’t exactly give you the best skills in subtlety and so you would ask me if I was paying attention and I would blush and you would make some quip about redheads and their skins and everything would go back to normal.

And out of the blue, when I was talking about getting some sugar quills next time we were in Hogsmeade and how difficult the Ancient Runes paper was, you kissed me. Your hands flew to my hair and mine to cup your face and you pressed your body hard against mine. I’d never seen you so hungry for anything before, it seemed like you had been starving for a thousand years before our lips found each other. I had kissed three boys before you, and none of them could compare to the feeling of ecstasy of your mouth against mine. No one will ever compare to James Potter, right? That’s what you used to say in fourth year when you made a particular lucky goal in Quidditch or when you caught the Snitch in mid-air even though you were a Chaser and we were in Potions classf. Is it weird that I miss that?

I don’t think there ever was a time when I didn’t love you, all electric hair and much too quick brain and hundred stupid nicknames that didn’t mean anything unless you explained them in excruciating detail and you would smile too much and talk too loud and walk too fast and I wouldn’t feel so out of place with you because I did the exact same things. Petunia was always prim and proper and I always tried to be like her and please everyone but you taught me how to be myself and how to blossom into my personality without even knowing it. With you I’ve never been too much, I was always just enough.

Everything always came so easy to you, and I’ve always hated you for it. Now I think that I can’t appreciate enough how you could always share that with everyone around you, that incredible luck that could get you out of the worst of predicaments. I guess it all caught up to us today, but I don’t mind now. I’ll love you forever, come what may.

My heart is full of wanted posters of you: dead or alive.

I can’t remember the first time I’ve really noticed you, because you were always in the periphery, doing stupid things and getting in trouble and beaming for no reason at all and the memory of your presence was impossible to shake, but I still remember the first time we really became friends. We were fifteen by the lake and my best friend betrayed me under the glistening sun, the following day I had the worst grade in Transfiguration I’d ever gotten. You found me crying by a window on the fifth floor and apologized a hundred times (which I couldn’t have cared less at the moment), but you still went and talked to McGonagall and she agreed to let me retake the test in the afternoon and offered me a biscuit.

In seventh year, a girl told me that she was so jealous of the fact that I was the only one that could make James Potter change and mature. As if your life revolved around me. I thought of your sick father and the fact that Sirius had appeared on your front door one day and never left your house and with a twinge in my heart thought of the war coming and I couldn’t believe my ears. With all this going on, and she still thought you’d only change for a girl?

I’m not proud of this, but I might have shouted at her and maybe, perhaps I was the one that sent a silencing charm her way, but who could really tell? Not her, because her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

I wonder if I ever told you that. Probably, because you know everything interesting there is to know about me. You even know the most boring facts about me, because they amuse you just the same. You know I like peonies the best in spite of my name and that my first kiss was with Snape when I was eight, you know that I wiped my mouth right after and didn’t know yet what love was. You know that my favourite band is Hate Potion and that my guilty pleasure is Celestina Warbeck. You know that I wanted to name our son Harry because of a muggle TV show I used to watch with Petunia when I was seven on Saturday mornings and that when I fight my favorite charm is Expelliarmus. You were at my side when I killed my first (and last) Death Eater and that I cried for a week afterward. You comforted me for five hours when Marlene and her entire family were massacred in their own home, the same one where I had spent a good chunk of my summers to avoid Petunia. You know that I only ever paint my toenails blue and that my favorite flavour of ice cream is mint chocolate chip. You know all about my relationship with my sister and how she used to be my best friend and that we used to dance in bathing suits around the sprinkler and fake being witches to make potions out of mud and flowers and how she never forgave when this dream became true for me but not for her. You know all about my failed relationships, with Tuney, Sev and my ex-boyfriend who left me because he didn’t want to be associated with a muggleborn. You know I’m absolute shite at drawing and that I can’t dance to save my life and you laugh at me when I’m drunk and try to follow Peter’s choreography to some dumb song I don’t know. Last year, you helped paint flowers all over my bookcase because I wanted it to be unique and just mine.

When Harry was born, you refused to sleep for two days because he was so cute when he slept against your chest, but you finally fell asleep while cutting onions for dinner and I had to intervene.

One of my favourite things about you is that I have never seen anyone so full of life. You smile like nothing has ever gone wrong in your entire life and you are more loyal than any Hufflepuff I’ve ever seen, you would die for any of us in a heartbeat and we would do the same for you anytime. My love for you is so big I wonder how it even fits in our little house in Godric’s Hollow. You painted our walls burnt orange because you said it reminded you of my hair and I wonder if it is weird to fall in love with you even more over some colour choices. You complete me because as much as you are a complete idiot, you still recommend the best books and are smart enough to plan the best pranks, but too smug to make anyone else take the blame. You had always been my favourite person in the whole universe until Harry arrived, but he is so much like you that it is like meeting you at a much earlier age. He has the same laugh as you, you know?

I cannot believe how brave you are, because traditional courage requires you to go into battle and protect everyone you love like a lioness does her cubs, but you have found the energy to keep going even trapped in this house with an infant without being able to help your friends outside. You go everyday against your most basic instincts and you manage to have so much fun with us, but I see the tired bags under your eyes and the fact that you lose your train of thoughts sometimes and I know that you’re thinking about the war and the security of the boys, I know they are your family and it would kill you if one of them ever fell into battle, yet you never complain, yet you never lose hope. I love you so much my feeble heart can’t contain it all. My love for you is as inevitable as the blue of the sky, as the oxygen in our lungs, as the passage of time, I love you so much that when I see you it is like coming home, your wild hair and round glasses and mischievous eyes and soft voice and much too long limbs and wide chest and calloused hands and smile like an answer to all my problems.

No one has ever made me feel as secure as you and now I know I have to be strong for you, because you are the one that’s fallen, like a marionnette whose strings were cut. The coffee stain on the right arm of your shirt is the last thing I will see of you, or maybe it is a bit of your wild inky hair. I will never be able to look at the night sky the same.

I can hear him in the stairs, and all I can think about is you and Harry this morning, my two favourite people in the world, sat on the carpet and puffs of colour coming out of your wand, your laugh coming out of his mouth, one single tooth poking out, little chubby legs shaking from laughter, the wand you stupidly left on the carpet (the wand you didn’t care wasn’t in your hands because you didn’t care if you died, you just wanted us to live). Your last gift to me was the most precious of all: you gave me the time to say goodbye to Harry.

‘Mama loves you. Dada loves you, Harry.’ That is the only thing I find to say, because it is true and my heart is breaking, I can hear it thundering, collapsing like a dying star, you are dead, I will die, Harry has to live. I cannot withstand the thought.

I have never loved anyone better than the two of you. Apparently I never will, but at least I have known real love, the one that comes from daily life, that never dies because it is kept alive by stupid little things that make us who we are. Crazy how we only remember the little things and the big ones just go right over our heads.

I will remember the smallest things about you, like the little scar in your left eyebrow, the weird placement of your thumb on your wand, the feel of your skin against mine and the way it tanned in the summer while mine just became redder and redder, the sound of your laugh when Sirius said something funny and the way you always pushed your glasses up your nose with your middle finger, the way you sit in any chair like it’s a throne, the way you answered questions in class without raising your hand, the way you held a book open when you were reading it, your last day where you wanted to make pasta and I wanted steak, the way you would mess with your hair not because you thought it would make you look like you just stepped off your broom, but because you were nervous or restless. On your good days it would stand flatter on your head and I had to pass my hand through it because otherwise it just didn’t feel like you. You laughed too much when Sirius decided to read Crime and Punishment to Harry as a bedtime story and your son wouldn’t go to sleep. You would tell him stories of your childhood disguised as muggle magical adventures and I became a knight, Sirius a prince and Snape a dragon. You would call my cat Fiona the ginger cat, as if Fiona wasn’t enough and she needed an extra title. I guess she was royalty after all. You always tried to make me believe that she loved you more than me, even though I’d had her since I was eleven and you once made her fly across the common room just to annoy me.

Do you remember this morning? The last time you ever kissed me? You made me eggs and tea for breakfast and sang some Beatle song for me in the most off-key voice. You stole the bacon from my plate, laughing from across the dinner table. I was so happy because you were in a good mood today, you didn’t seem to feel so trapped and it was Halloween and you were trying to convince me to dress Harry up as a muggle magician, which I thought was the worst joke you’d ever made. You kissed me on the mouth and we settled on a pumpkin costume. Your lips tasted of stolen bacon and orange juice (you’ve never been much of a morning tea person).

I have never loved anyone better, and apparently I never will.

The house is so silent now that you are gone. All I can hear are my own ragged breaths. Harry seems to think this is some kind of game. He is all that we have left now. All that will ever be left of us. To love is to create, right? We have created the most beautiful person in the world, it should be the only thing that counts.

I love you. I could try to make this poetic, the love thing, but I think the most poetic way it can be is on its own. I don’t know any words more powerful than I love you. I love you and you are dead. I love you and I will die soon. I love our son and he will live. Life is as simple as that. I love you and soon we’ll be together again. Miss you already.

[charlieliqueur]

Bigby Wolf X Reader

Summary; Bigby is forced into going to a fair outside of the city. He expects to find Mundies and Fables, but not what he actually stumbled upon...

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It was loud.

Painfully loud. Footsteps, bell chimes, laughter, screams, so much noise. So many people. His footsteps hit the ground, grass sparse due to heavy traffic. The pathways were marked with orange cones and plastic tape.

Bigby spotted Beast at a strongman game, Holly and Grendal sitting at a table in the shade, Woody and Jack playing darts. He slowed, seeing Mundies and Fables alike crowding games and stands.

It was overwhelming.

The scents mainly. Sweet, salty, savory, natural, unnatural. All manners of deodorant, perfume, cologne, shampoo, laundry detergent. It fogged up his mind, and he instinctually reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. Sticking a lone one between his lips, Bigby brought the lighter out, and opened it. The metallic sound echoed in his head, as another scent joined the others right before he lit the cigarette.

He stalled, lifting his head up slightly. He took a breath through the nose. It was cluttered with all the other scents, but it was there.

Something so soft, a gentle pheromone of wood, rain, and untouched earth... of home.

It took his mind to memories of a place much kinder, much more pleasant. He searched for the source. A stand, an object, something...

Then a strong burst hit him, like lightning, and he saw you. You ran past, rushing after someone. Your hair a mess, with dandelions and daisies tangled in it. A temporary painting of a wolf sat against your flushed cheek, and a clutter of plastic bracelets and beads littered your wrists and neck, a collection of trophies you had won.

Your smile was a million fireflies, your eyes the sparkle of gemstones, your laughter a cascade of beautiful thunder. You were there and gone in less than a second. You disappeared into the crowds, chasing after your friend, and Bigby's eyes never left you as you ran. They still lingered long after you were out of sight.

"Bigby?"

The voice tugged him from his thoughts. He blinked a few times, slouching slightly. Bigby hadn't realized how alert he'd been, the sight of you such a shock.

He eased, and turned to where the voice came from. He saw Snow, a confused look on her face. "Someone you knew?" She asks, looking past him in the direction you rushed off into. "No... thought I recognized them, but I guess not," Bigby says, glancing back as he spoke. He looked back to Snow. Her hair neatly pulled back and braided, her wrists bare, her skin untouched. So unlike the wild, free-spirited delight that had rushed by.

"Well, Flycatcher, Beauty and I were gonna head to some rides. You in?"

"Uh, no thanks."

"Alright... just try to lay back a bit, okay Bigby?" She says, then she turns and leaves. He adjusted his tie, lit the cigarette, and continued walking.

But you still dominated his thoughts. Even in the chaotic space, you were all he could manage to think about.

Morning turned to noon, noon to evening. And as the colored lights seemed to be more at home, and the families began to leave, the thought crossed his head that he should go. Why would he stay if all he was going to do was mope over a girl he only had just glimpsed?

He slicked his hair back once more, sighing, pulling out another cigarette to try and dilute your presence. It had stuck with him all day.

Just as he lit it, he heard something.

"Oh my gosh, just do it!"

"No, I'm all awkward and it'd be weird."

"And?? Listen, either you do it, or I will. And I won't be gentle about it either."

"Okay, okay!"

It was you. Bigby wasn't sure how he knew. He just did. He pulled the lighter down, prepared to look around like a wild animal for you, but something tapped his shoulder before he had the chance. He turned around carefully, seeing you right there. A smile on your face, even more beads around your neck.

"Hey, I kinda sorta noticed you were wandering around on your own. If that was your plan, totally okay! But, if it wasn't, my friends and I were doing the same thing, hoping onto whatever rides have the shortest lines... if you wanted to maybe, I dunno, come hang out with us...?" You asked, still smiling, only a shyness had overcome you.

"Uh," he said, Bigby wasn't sure how to respond. He was still shocked that you had just strolled up to him like it was nothing. Nobody did that. No one. But here you were, smiling at him and eagerly awaiting a reply. "Its alright if you don't wanna, I figured I'd offer-"

"Nah, I'd, uh, I'd like to," he says, and suddenly your smile doubled, and you brought your arms up slightly, exclaiming "Awesome! Er-- I mean, cool." You rubbed the back of your head, your cheeked very flushed now, smiling, a touch of embarrassment added to your mix of emotions.

He couldn't help but smile slightly. "Well, shall we?" You ask, gesturing for him to follow you. He nodded, following you as you led him into the chaotic fairground full of people. "I have to warn you, some of them are a lot more... spontaneous than me. Don't take too much of what they say to heart, your best bet would be to stick with me," you offered, nudging him with your elbow. "Shouldn't be a problem," he says, pulling the cigarette out and treading it out on the ground. He wanted the whole of you in his mind right now.

He didn't want Fabletown, or being Sheriff, or his friends, or home, or Snow, or anything right now.

All he wanted was you.

"Oh, also, my names y/n! Name's are kinda important," you say, laughing to yourself. "I'm Bigby," he says, and you nodded, quickly saying "That's a rad name."

"Really think so?" He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk he couldn't help. "Oh yeah, that's the thing about me, I don't really lie. I'll phrase things weird, but usually no lying," you say, beaming.

"So what to first?" He asks, and you nearly jumped at his eagerness. "I've actually got a list," you say. But instead of pulling out a phone or paper or anything, you pull up your forearm, a list of ride names and places written on the skin, slightly blocked by all the bracelets.

"Oh, here," you quickly pulled off the biggest bracelet you had on, it being much too big for you. You held it out for him as you walked. He carefully took it, easing it onto his wrist. It fit rather well. "Oh, and some of these, before they break my neck," you joked excitedly, pulling a few of the colorful beaded necklaces off from around your neck, hopping onto your tiptoes, and putting them over his head and letting them fall around his neck.

"Voila! That means... actually, I dunno what it means, something in French," you say, bursting into giggles. He hadn't realized he could love a sound so much until he heard your laugh. "So first is actually, ooh, come on!" You grabbed his wrist and pulled him along, suddenly rushing.

That's how he ended up on a mess of rides with you, playing dozens of games, mostly you winning and him having to deal with your ridiculous victory dances. Your friends sometimes snuck around, yet oddly enough didn't stick around you both that much.

It was much darker now, probably nearing midnight. But you didn't have the faintest sign of tiredness. You seemed determined with your list, that Bigby had helped check off with you. "Oh, Ferris Wheel. I wonder if the line's short enough now? Let's see!" You reached back, grabbing his hand. He felt his face heat up, but you didn't react, you simply held it tightly, joyously rushing down a pathway.

He could hear his heart in his ears, thumping harshly against his ribs. He didn't know why he felt this way... and what was it he was feeling

You had brought the both of you to the line just in time to sneak into the last seats. "Want me to stop it at the top for ya?" Asked the operator as you sat across from Bigby. You both nodded.

Bigby couldn't keep his eyes off you. All of this seemed fake, almost as if a dream. He began to worry faintly that he'd wake up, finding himself in his little apartment, the atmosphere being that of his normal life. He realized how pleasing you were to the senses. Your beauty, your scent, your voice, how your hands felt against his skin. But there was still a box left unchecked, still one left on the list...

He wasn't sure if he should, or even could.

He wasn't sure if he had the courage to. It was such a funny thought, being the Sheriff, breaking up fights and hunting murderers, and yet he turned into a scared boy when faced with a girl.

You tugged him from his thoughts by quickly saying, "Look at the stars! Aren't they beautiful?"

He hesitated, still gazing at you a moment, before looking up where you were. They really were something. But they were nothing compared to how they looked reflecting in your eyes.

"Bigby?"

He suddenly realized he'd been staring. You smiled at him. "Seem more interested in me than the view," you teased, a smirk on your lips. Those lips... he felt his toes curl, not wanting to clench his fists infront of you. He was frustrated, but in a calm way. "Can't help it," he says, you noticing the touch of pink across his cheeks. Your smiled faded, but remained. A small, gentle thing.

He couldn't help but look at your lips. Then, you sat forward a little, as the ferris wheel stopped with you both at the top. You asked, "Did I tell you I can read minds?"

"No, don't think you did. Can you?"

"I can read yours."

"Really, so, what am I thinking...?" He asks, curious.

"Come closer," you urge, gesturing. He played along, sitting forward. But as soon as he did, you quickly slammed your lips against his. He was shocked at first, but soon kissed back, his hand finding your cheek, the other your neck.

But just as the moment began, it was suddenly cut short by the ferris wheel jerking into motion. You both sat back, looking at each other, both blushing madly. The ferris wheel stopped, and you both got off, smiling softly. As you walked away, back into the crowds, Bigby carefully reached, feeling his wrist brush your bracelets, before his hand wrapped around yours.

The night was soon to end, and it made him upset, not wanting this moment to ever go. "I, uh, maybe we could, um..." you couldn't find the words. But somehow he knew exactly what you meant.

"Tomorrow afternoon?" He suggests. You smile, and ask "Where?"

"I know a few restaurants here and there, but maybe something a little more lively would be your style..."

"Yeah, that'd be great."

"Then, here..." he carefully wrote out the address for his apartment on her arm, along with a phone number. "The number is for my office, I basically live there," he jokes.

"Office?"

"Yeah, I'm a Sheriff," he says simply.

"SHERIFF?"

Epilogue

Bigby sat in his office, turning through another file. He had finished writing something, before opening a drawer in his desk, and he stopped. Inside were the necklaces you had given him, along with the bracelet. He smiled faintly, gently sliding the folder on top of them. He shut the drawer, just as the door burst open, and a familiar girl rushed in, immediately sitting across from him. "You will not believe what Bluebeard said to me! Now don't get upset, but this jackass-" and you went on to rant, gesturing wildly with your hands, and all he could do was sit back and smile.

"The only good thing that came out of it was Snow finally giving me the damn key!" You say, slamming it down onto the desk. You huffed, leaning back and making funny faces as you remembered the ordeal.

Bigby reached forward and grabbed the key off the desk, observing it. "This isn't 206's key," he says. "I know," you say softly, your cheeks heating up a little. "This is my apartment's key..." he added, looking at you. "Well I obviously need one, what with you working odd hours. What happens if I get locked out?" You say defensively, not wanting to admit to the other reasonings.

"Why would I lock you out?"

"Whenever you get shot or hurt and know that I'll be giving you hell about it," you say honestly. You did say that you told the truth.

"Why else would you need a key?" He asks, offering that smirk that always made you flustered. "Cause..." you say, getting up and reaching for it, but he pulled it back suddenly.

"Cause why?"

"I can take the key back-" He reached forward and grabbed your hand, stilling you as he stood up. He walked around the desk, and your face got even redder. "Why?" He asked, and you avoiding eye contact, bouncing your legs slightly, nervous. "In case I wanna... surprise you..."

"What kind of surprise?" He asks, leaning forward, lifting your chin so you'd have to look at him. "You're the detective, you tell me," you say, but your blushed face and rushing heartbeat said it all.

He chuckled, kissed you, and pressed the key back into you palm, whispering in your ear, "Then I guess you better hold onto this..."

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Suicide Queen (part two)

[Ice Skater AU]

Part 1

The Sixtended characters that cameo in this chapter belong to: Mary Boleyn- @marygrey, Meg Tudor- @me-tizi, Jane Parker- @altairtalisman, Christina of Denmark- @the-queen-of-the-castle, Anya Askew- @thenicestnonbinary, Anne Parr- @inquisitive-mess

TW: Referenced self harm

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Bessie’s eyes were stinging when she woke up that morning. She groaned, draping an arm over her face, and knew it was going to be one of those days.

She hauled herself out of bed and gazed around her small dorm room. She always thought it was rather dull compared to some of the others she had seen, simply having a bunk bed with a black couch underneath it, a desk, a single shelf for her belongings, and a venus fly trap that she took care of better than she took care of herself. Thick grey blackout curtains were drawn tightly over the single window; she preferred to use light from the lamp sitting nearby or the fairy lights strung across her ceiling. She never turned on the overhead fluorescents if she didn’t have to.

On her way down from her bunk bed, Bessie stumbled on the last rung of the ladder and nearly hit her head against the wall directly behind her. She wished she had. She longed for her skull to shatter and for her brains to ooze out, signaling that she was no more in this horrible world.

Her bare feet sunk into the fluffy white carpet in front of her couch. The softness brought on an odd sense of comfort and she sighed softly.

  “Another day,” She said to the taxidermy crow sitting on her desk.

She wondered if the reason why nobody liked coming into her room was because of all the vulture culture stuff she had. Her shelf was full of various animal skulls and bones, she had a bottle full of fangs, a jar with peacock feathers sticking out of it, and even a real kangaroo fur she bought from an antique store hanging up on the wall. A lot of people found it creepy and ‘cruel’, but she found it all fascinating.

After watering her venus fly trap, which she had named Jackie, she grabbed some fresh clothes and her shower supplies and stepped out into the hallway.

Her dorm building was notorious for its decorations during the holidays. It was always set up, regardless of what season it was. Right now, black and orange fairy lights were suspended across the ceiling, with little rubber bats and spiders hanging freely, signaling Halloween. There were even a few skeletons and zombies standing around in the corners, which never failed to scare the absolute shit out of Bessie when she got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Several girls were already awake and mulling around, getting ready for the day. Mary Boleyn and Meg Tudor were chatting loudly outside Mary’s dorm room, talking about something some idiot said in their political science class. Margaret Dymoke was waiting impatiently outside of Christina of Denmark’s room, yelling at her to ‘hurry her ass up.’ Jane Popincourt was whisking out of the bathroom, shamelessly swathed in a pure white robe. Bessie shuffled past her with her head down and entered the bathroom.

Along with Jane Parker and Anne Parr, The Beast was there to greet her inside.

  “Good morning, darling,” It said from the reflection of the mirror.

Bessie used to have a mirror in her room. She had to get rid of it after she punched it while having a mental breakdown and shattered the entire thing. She remembered all the heads peeking out of the other rooms as she walked the broken thing to the dumpster outside.

Bessie felt Jane and Anne’s eyes on her as she trudged into one of the open showers. Their conversation resumed after she turned on the faucet, thinking the sputtering of the showerhead would drown out their words, but Bessie could still faintly hear them.

  “…She’s so weird.”

  “…Yeah. I’m surprised the counselor hasn’t called her in yet.” 

  “…They haven’t already? Damn. I thought literally everyone telling them about how she cries herself to sleep at night would be enough.”

  “…Clearly it’s not. I kinda feel bad for her.”  

  “…Yeah, me too.” 

Their gossiping whispers disappeared as they seemed to exit the bathroom, and Bessie was left in silence once again.

But only for a moment.

  “You wanted attention, didn’t you?” Said The Beast. Even with the spraying water, Bessie could still hear it so clearly. Probably because its voice came from inside her head, and it wouldn’t quiet down no matter how hard she covered her ears.

  “Not like this,” Bessie muttered. She stared down at her naked body, at the slimness of her sides, at the sunkenness of her stomach, at the cuts marring her stomach and thighs. She splayed her hands open in front of her and looked at the scoring on her wrists, the point system of her constant losing battles. She clenched her fists.

  “Be grateful,” Said The Beast. “They could ignore you. And don’t say you would want that because I know how you react to being shunned.” Even though she couldn’t see it behind the curtain, Bessie knew it was smirking. “You would be alone with me.”

Bessie grit her teeth. “Shut up.”

She roughly grabbed a bottle of vanilla milk and papaya shampoo and squirted way too much into her hand. She began scrubbing it violently into her hair, making sure to rake her nails down her scalp so she could feel the pain. 

Hey, at least she was bathing. Her hair had been a greasy mess for about two weeks now.

  “They can ignore you, but you can’t ignore me,” The Beast said. “I’ll always be here, darling. I’m your best friend. I’m your only friend.”

  “Shut up!” Bessie yelled, yanking back the shower curtain and flinging the shampoo bottle at the mirror The Beast was reflected in. At the same time, Anya Askew entered the bathroom with her showering supplies and gave Bessie an extremely confused and concerned look. 

Bessie jerked the curtain back so only her head and shoulders could be seen. “Umm-- S-sorry, I was--” She glanced at the mirror, and Anya’s eyes followed, but she knew she couldn’t see The Beast smirking in the glass. “Thought I saw a spider! G-guess I was wrong! S-sorry!” She wrenched the curtain shut completely and backed up against the wall, covering her face with her hands.

  “I don’t even need to ruin your life,” The Beast said, sounding like it was right behind her. “You do it for me. You make my job so easy.”

Bessie squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a few tears stream free. She sniffled and swiped them away quickly. She couldn’t cry this early in the day. She needed to retain some shred of dignity.

Turning her attention back to the shower, Bessie began scrubbing her body with apple-scented soap, wincing when any open cuts on her skin stung in reaction to the chemicals. The scars, those that hadn’t scabbed over yet, were still gooey and red, the flesh around their edges white and puckered from the water. The faint paint they caused brought a dull sense of clarity within Bessie.

God. How much more of a freak could she be? Was she some kind of masochist or something?

No… No, she only liked pain when it was self-inflicted. She didn’t like when it was put upon her by someone else. He proved that.

She shook her head, sending a scatter of water droplets flying throughout the small space. She twisted underneath the hot water, washing off all the soaps and suds still clinging to her frame. 

She was clean once again.

  “Or as clean as a teenage whore could be…”

Bessie just barely managed to bite back a yell, remembering that Anya was still in there with her. So, instead, she just closed her eyes and breathed out heavily.

After drying herself off and wriggling into her clothes for the day- grey sweatpants and a plain black sweater- Bessie stepped out into the rest of the bathroom. Even with the mirror completely fogged up, she could still see The Beast’s red eyes glinting at her hungrily as she walked to one of the sinks.

  “You’re beautiful,” The Beast cooed, materializing in the mirror over the sink she was using.

  “Shut up.” Bessie growled, thinking that Anya couldn’t hear her because of the running water.

  “I’m just complimenting you,” The Beast said innocently. “You should thank me.”

Bessie glared down at the sink as she began brushing her teeth with so much force her gums began to bleed. She spit bloody toothpaste foam into the drain before washing it out, gathering her things, and storming out of the bathroom. She faintly heard The Beast chuckling deeply before the door shut.

Once back in her door room, Bessie put her showering supplies back in their place and set her pajamas on the couch for later. She brushed out her long black hair, not caring if it was dripping wet, and then gathered her school supplies, put on her glasses, and left the dorm building.

Upon stepping outside, Bessie’s glasses instantly fogged up. She took them off while walking forward, wiping away the cloudiness until they were clear again. She put them back on and saw a black truck sitting by the curb.

Bessie froze.

All the dorm buildings on Princeton University were further away from the main campus, fenced in by brick walls and a gothic-looking gate. That meant that, unless Bessie wanted to try and scale the walls, she only had one way out. And she would have to pass the truck to do that.

Gathering up all her courage, Bessie began striding towards the gate. There were kids already outside in the courtyard, surely He wouldn’t try anything… 

Her confidence disappeared completely when she crossed the threshold, and Bessie fought the urge to turn and run back to the safety of her dorm. She bit her lip, willing herself not to cry as she walked by the truck. The windows were so tinted that she couldn’t see inside, but she knew He was looking back at her.

The truck rumbled to life upon her crossing the street. Bessie didn’t run, knowing that running would only make Him chase her. Maybe He would just go away if she moved slowly and acted like she didn’t care…

A tear ran down her cheek as the truck began rolling along behind her. She turned sharply and walked up a short flight of stairs that led up the curve of a small hill. Princeton University’s sprawling, plant-filled campus was then stretched out to her, but not even its thriving beauty could calm her nerves.

Bessie walked faster, keeping her head down. She knew she should be monitoring the truck, but she didn’t want to look at it. She didn’t want to risk seeing Him.

She tried to distract herself by looking around. The lush, healthy emerald green grass was sprinkled with early morning snow, glinting softly in the pale light slipping down from the blanket of grey clouds in the sky. It was too dull for shadows to be cast, and yet a dark shade grew from her feet and smiled at her wickedly.

  “Come to me, darling,” The Beast said.

Bessie jerked sideways and ran right into someone without even realizing it. She heard a grunt and instantly tottered backwards, apologies spilling from her lips.

  “Sorry! I’m so sorry! I-I wasn’t watching where I was going!” Please don’t hurt me…

The person she had rudely bummed into stepped back, blinking brown eyes that were so dark they looked like pieces of ebony infused in their skull. Bessie realized it was a woman a year or two older than her, and she was the most beautiful person she had ever laid eyes on.

Internalized homophobia had always been one of the many problems Bessie had, but not even THAT could disagree that this was the most gorgeous human being to ever grace the earth.

She was a dark-skinned woman, tall and muscular, looking like she was capable of crushing Bessie’s skull between her thighs like it was a watermelon, and Bessie found herself longing for that to happen, and not just because she was suicidal. Her short dark brown hair was cut into a style that screamed ‘I AM NOT STRAIGHT!!’, tucked gently into a vermillion beanie, which only fueled Bessie’s hope that her gaydar wasn’t messing up. She was dressed in black jeans and a red-and-black flannel, which had its ends tied together over her stomach. When she spoke up, her voice was husky and warm, tinged with a German accent.

  “You’re good,” The woman said. “No worries!” She smiled down at Bessie, but it disappeared in almost an instant. “Hey, are you alright?”

Bessie sniffled, and she realized there were a lot more tears than she had thought. She opened her mouth, lips quivering, and pointed to the truck nearby without even thinking her decision through.

  “Th-that truck,” She whimpered out. “I-it’s following me.”

Bessie expected the woman to dismiss her panic, saying something like, ‘there’s trucks everywhere!’ or ‘how do you know for sure that it’s following you?’, but instead she glared at the truck and flipped the driver off as it sped away.

  “Fucking creep,” The woman muttered. She turned back to Bessie, looking concerned, and set a hand on her shoulder. When Bessie flinched at the contact, she respectfully pulled her arm away, and Bessie cursed her instinct to recoil at any touch because she really wanted this woman to touch her (just not like that, not like that--). “Are you okay?”

  “Y-yeah,” Bessie said, quickly wiping away the tears that were still on her cheeks. “Th-thank you.”

The woman smiled that beautiful smile again. “No problem!” She seemed to sense that Bessie was still on edge because she then said, “Would you like me to walk you to class?”

Bessie looked surprised, but nodded fervently. “Y-yes. Please.”

The woman nodded and began walking with Bessie, scanning around the area as if she were a guard dog. “I’m Anna, by the way.”

  “Bessie,” Bessie said.

  “Bessie?” Anna echoed.

Bessie blushed faintly. “It’s silly, isn’t it? It’s the 21st-century, who names a kid ‘Bessie’ if they aren’t a cow?” She gave a small laugh, shifting her belongings in her arms. “Umm-- My real name is Elizabeth.”

  “I think Bessie is cute.” Anna commented.

The blush turned from a light pink to a deep, dark red in an instant. Bessie’s pale skin definitely didn’t help make it any less noticeable. 

  “R-really?” Bessie stammered, wide-eyed.

  “Yeah!” Anna nodded, grinning. “It’s impossible to create a nickname for my name unless it’s the dumb ‘Anna Banana’ one.”

Bessie giggled. “What about ‘Annie’?”

Anna thought it over, then tipped her head at Bessie with a smile. “I like Annie, actually. Good thinking, Bessie.”

Bessie’s ears felt like they were on fire, but, for once, it was in a good way. She couldn’t help but smile back shyly.

  “Okay, so I actually have no idea where we’re going,” Anna admitted. “I’ve just been following you. I’m new here.”

  “Oh,” Bessie said, nodding. “That explains why I’ve never seen you before. Where’d you come from?”

  “Düsseldorf, Germany,” Anna said, which explained the really attractive accent. Bessie’s face burned even hotter. “I’m living in an apartment down the road. I prefer to have my own personal bathroom.”

Bessie giggled. “I get that. Living in a dorm has its perks, though.”

  “Really? Like what?”

Bessie was silent. “Hang on, I’ll think of something…”

Anna laughed loudly, and Bessie couldn’t help but join in.

  “You’re funny, Bessie,” Anna said as they got near the math building. “I like you.”

Bessie faltered. “R-really?”

  “Really!” Anna said, then tilted her head. “You seem surprised.”

  “Oh, no, I-I just--” Bessie trailed off awkwardly, not wanting to spill stupid stuff and ruin her friendship with this woman. She shook her head. “Nothing. Nevermind.” She looked at the large building looming over her. “Well. This is my stop. Thank you again for helping me. I had a really good time talking to you.”

  “I did too,” Anna smiled. “See you around, Bessie.” She gave a saluting goodbye before turning and walking down the sidewalk with her hands in her pockets.

Bessie watched her go, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Not even the frigid wind could cool down the heat on her face.

  “Bye,” She whispered long after Anna had walked away.

[felassan]

The Horror of Hormak fucked me UP. and also Ghilan'Nan?!

That story was really great, so suspenseful/creepy and then horrifying. A solid build-up with a dramatic payoff replete with looming threat for the future. also yess for sure sounds like Ghilan’nain! in case anyone reading is wondering why she’s implicated/involved here in some way:

in Dalish lore she’s the Mother of the Halla, the first halla or creator of halla, and halla are her sacred animal. she’s often depicted with them. the part of the ruins where the monster shit is happening is elven, and in there we see elven bas-reliefs depicting elves and repeating dwarven paintings of elven figures. in the bas-reliefs, one shows elaborate and grandiose aravels pulled by armies of halla to distant mountains. but the relief is disquieting/slightly off and on further inspection the halla are different and wrong, with too many horns and an abnormal harder, more rounded look. their horns are longer and ridged, organic somehow, and they overall look insectile. the aravels have barred windows.. and are actually prison-ships. the second-pass of the relief is likely the true representation/story of what occurred in the past that’s recorded there.

in the repeating paintings, the supplicant/person/figure and the monster change each time. the priestess/queen meanwhile remains the same except for her smile getting crueler each time. it sounds like a depiction of the priest/queen doing experiments and initiating those magical changes in her subject. also striations on the columns are in the form of a halla horn symbol and it repeats over and over. some of the messed up creatures have halla and varterral parts, both elf-associated creatures. the writer there could have had nug and deepstalker parts or something, but they didn’t. the Wardens in the story find a big monster centipede, grotesque mutant animal amalgamations and effed up ‘new’ darkspawn. and the Jovis-creature and Friedl referred to “she” and “her”. 

In the Temple of Mythal, we learn that Ghilan’nain, far from just creating the halla, actually originally kept herself apart from the People and used her power to create animals none had ever seen. the skies teemed with her ‘monsters of air’ and the land with her beasts. she made giants for the sea including those in deep waters (for example the Cetus probably). eventually the Evanuris offered her ascension but only if she destroyed her creations for they were too dangerous and untamed to remain among the People. she agreed and killed most of them in 3 days. this codex tells us a few things: by that time at least, Ghilan’nain was just as.. questionable.. as the rest of Evanuris in her own way, she made monstrous terrible things that even the Evanuris considered dangerous, and she was ruthless enough to kill most of her creations in order to obtain godhood. it’s long sounded like she was doing experiments or something to create those things (based on Trespasser codexes) and the new bas-reliefs and repeating paintings in TN probably show that occurring: her experimenting on and transforming her people/subjects or people in general. we also have her in a codex somewhere urging one of Dirthamen’s people to change his form into something winged (to take on a form reserved for the divine; it sounds like she urged this person to do this while knowing they would be punished for it).

Look at the wording of the codexes “Notes on Methods of Enchantment”, it’s weird. These notes are found in elfy places (in the Crossroads) and are stamped with a stylized halla head, which is the sigil of Ghilan’nain. (Maybe it’s not even so much ‘stylized’ as it first seems but is actually because it’s the weird insectile not-quite-right kind of halla seen in the carvings?). The writing aches to be looked at, reminding me of how the carvings, bas-reliefs and halla horns seen in the story are weird to look at. About the weird wording: supplies brought in from the same stock (remember prison-ship aravels drawn by halla being taken to the lab mountains); bindings, weaving, meshing, grafts (like different parts of different beasts being stitched together); the aim to improve coordination and sharpen the heart (the new darkspawn are more clever than the old ones); explaining the process to the “stock” as a courtesy (😬.. that is straight up telling a sentient being what you’re doing to it. You don’t explain anything to acids in a beaker that you’ve mixing together in a school lab, or to your science fair volcano, those things are inert/non-sentient and cannot understand you); and the ‘lesser animals’ thing (i.e. the ones she was working on at the time in these notes were higher, more complex forms of life). These are probably some of her research notes.

in the short story, the Wardens seem to have discovered one of her secret lab-type places where the ‘magic’ happened, basically. it sounds like she was doing terrible experiments on some of the elves, like a mad scientist or something. the pools could specifically be the method which she used to make her ‘beasts of the sea’. possibly since then it’s been contaminated/further warped by Blight or similar. its likely she continued doing experiments after ascension: these places underground were good places to hide no doubt, and the story tells us she had at least 12 of these ‘labs’.

---

bonus Crack theory section (L0L):

an interesting thought: Mythal was said to be “born of the sea”. Was Ghilan’nain trying to essentially recreate the conditions that led to what was essentially the elvhen formation of organic molecules - i.e. life - from inorganic molecules? in biology we call this process abiogenesis. 

also here I propose a link between the pools, Ghilan’nain and the Executors. (very cracky)

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

Destiny

Requested by anonymous:

‘Can I have a request where the Witcher is hurt and the reader finds him and she does healing magic and she is healing him and when he wakes up he adores her and cannot get her out of his mind and in a way he felt like destiny put him there to find her and decides to do everything possible to keep her with him’

Warnings: fluff, violence, swearing

Notes: FIRST WITCHER IMAGINE FOR GERALT MY BBY <3

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

“I think I figured out how we can slay it we just-”

“No need witch, I’ve hired someone else to do the job.”

“You - what?” *yn* exclaimed, her voice echoing through the large library. 

“Don’t look so surprised, you’ve had weeks to kill the bloody thing.” Zandah retorted back.

“Does the Mayor know? I don’t think he’d be too pleased to know his trusted advisor had gone behind his Mage’s back.” *yn* snarled as she stormed over to stand chest to chest with the man.

“No of course he doesn’t know, but this problem needs to be dealt with. The people are growing angry.”

“I told you I needed time, I don’t know what the creature is -” *yn* began, trying desperately to defend herself under the scornful eye of Zandah.

“Which is why I hired an expert in the field.” 

“An expert? What do-” *yn* cut herself off, her eyes widening in realisation. “A Witcher. You hired a Witcher.”

“Not just any Witcher. The white wolf, Geralt of Rivia.” Zandah explained as he moved past her to grab a book off the shelf causing *yn* to drop the numerous books in her arms onto the table. 

“Are you daft? The only thing the mayor hates more than Witchers are elves.” 

“Which is why I am going to tell him you killed the beast. That way we’re all happy, aren’t we?” Zandah explained as he stood up on a stool to reach for another book. “Sure you’ll live with the guilty conscious of taking someone’s credit and not being good enough at your job, but that’s a consequence I’m happy to live with.”

“And when is this Witcher coming to slay the beast?” *yn* huffed, forcing herself to ignore his scathing words.

“He’s already here and already figured it out what it was, he’s off to kill it now I believe.”

His words made her eyes narrow as she stared him down. Sensing her fierce gaze, Zandah turned on his heels to look down at her from his position on the stool. “Well? What are you still doing here? Don’t you have hymns to chant or something.”

Rolling her eyes she turned on her heel to exit the library. Not being able to help herself she flicked her fingers to the side as she moved towards the door. She smirked as the sound of the stool sweeping underneath Zandah’s feet followed by his shriek as he fell to the ground.

“I’ll get you for that witch!” He shrieked before the books off the bookshelf fell all around him with a satisfying thud.

“Sure you will.” She muttered under her breath, a satisfied grin etched on her face as she made her way outside and into the village square.

Once outside she began to make her way outside the square, towards her small cottage on the outskirts of the village. As she continued on the winding dirt path, she felt a sudden urge to come to a halt. 

The forest grew deathly silent around her once she came to a stand still. Turning her head, her eyes fell on the abandoned baker’s house a few hundred metres or so from her. The baker and his family had been the first of many victims. 

She didn't know what it was, but there was something inside her almost tugging her towards the small house. In all her decades of living, she’d never felt a pulling sensation this strong before. She may have abandoned the Brotherhood, but she still knew better to ignore a sign like that.

Giving her surroundings one last glance, she stepped off the path and began her way towards the house. As she grew closer she noticed a beautiful chestnut horse tied to a tree. A mare, she noted as she grew within a few feet of her.

“Hi girl.” She murmured, placing a gentle hand to the mare’s forehead. “Who’s left you out here all alone, hmm?” She continued, to which the horse whinnied gently and pushed her head against *yn*’s chest.

*yn* gave the mare one last pat before turning her attention back to the house. Inhaling sharply, she twisted the tarnished knob and opened the wooden door to step inside. From the outside it looked completely normal, but once you entered it was something out of a nightmare. Dried blood still painted the walls, floors and ceilings. The furniture was left abandoned and in complete disarray, adding to the evidence of the horror that had occurred inside the walls.

The vision of the family of five all piled in a heap in the living room with their entrails wrapped around their throats and their hands and feet completely severed, still burned freshly in her memory.

She was ready to hurriedly move past the living room, but the sound of a low moan made her freeze. She waited for a few moments in sickly silence to make sure she wasn’t hearing things when the same moan entered her ears.

Someone was here.

She edged towards the living room, curling her left hand into a fist in preparation to cast a spell, before peaking her head around the wall. The first sight that greeted her was a creature she had never seen before. It looked like a cross between a lion, a spider and an octopus. It was completely hideous and terrifying. A Svin, she realised.

It was also very much dead.

The next thing that caught her attention was a bundle of white hair peaking out beneath a layer of blood and guts. Another low moan.

She hurriedly stepped over the creature and kneeled down to reach the bundle of white hair, which upon closer inspection, she realised belonged to the very famous White Wolf - Geralt of Rivia. 

He was so caked in blood, she wasn’t sure what belonged to him and what belonged to the monster. What she did know was that he was injured and injured badly. 

“Fuck.”

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

The last thing Geralt remembered was lying on a hard wooden floor, the Svin he had just killed beside him, with a huge Svin sized claw mark embedded deeply into his chest. 

The first thing he sensed as he came too was that he was no longer lying on a wooden floor, instead he was lying on a comfortable mattress. He groaned as pain seared through his chest. His eyes opened but his vision was so blurry that he could barely make out his surroundings. He instinctively moved to touch his wound but was stopped by a grip on his arm.

“It’s ok, just breathe.” He heard a gentle voice say. “You need rest.” 

He blinked a couple of times as a figure appeared above him. He tried to speak but all that came out was a grunt of pain. “Don’t try to talk, everything’s going to be ok.” The voice reassured him. He breathed out deeply as he felt a wet cloth press against his chest and gently clean the area.

“It’s going to be ok.” The voice repeated as a soft hand reached up to gently caress his cheek. “I’m going to look after you.” Was the last thing he heard before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

*yn* smiled softly as she watched the White Wolf slip back into a peaceful slumber. She leant up and gently tucked a piece  matted hair behind his ear. She turned on her heel and grabbed her mortar and pestle to begin grinding up some more herbs for his injury.

A loud knock at the door made her jump slightly. Hurriedly she wiped her hands on her dress before making her way to the front door. She opened the door slightly and peaked through the gap to see a man with a mop of brown hair on his head anxiously pacing outside.

He looked harmless enough.

“Can I help you?” She asked him as she opened the door further. The man’s jaw dropped when his eyes fell on her. He swallowed and ran a hand through his hair, a nervous grin spreading across his lips.

“Oh yes hello! I’m looking for the Mage, she lives here apparently.”

“Yes, that’s me, I’m *yn*.” She smiled, sticking out her hand politely. “Oh wow, when they described you I was expecting someone... um...”

“Older?” *yn* suggested.

“I was going to say wrinkly and fat but sure, older works.” The man stated bluntly, causing *yn* to raise a brow. 

“Uh - sorry what I meant was - I’m Jaskier, song writer extraordinaire.” He introduced himself, grabbing her hand flamboyantly before pressing his lips to her skin.

 “I’m looking for a friend of mine, he’s about yay high, annoyingly muscly and looks like he wants to kill everything in sight.” Jaskier continued, pointing his hand well above his head to indicate his height.

“Wouldn’t be Geralt of Rivia by any chance?” *yn* asked.

“Yes! Yes! That’s the one, you see I’m sort of his best friend and I think he must be terribly worried without me.” Jaskier explained, causing a small chuckle to slip past her lips.

“He’s inside, he’s sleeping though. He needs time to rest so the potion can take full effect and heal him.” *yn* explained, cocking her head inside as she stepped aside to allow Jaskier in. 

“Oh thank god, Geralt.” He gasped as he wondered in to see Geralt asleep on her bed. “This is what happens when he doesn’t let me come, he’s just way to over protective, he let me sleep in so I wouldn’t get injured.” Jaskier scolded, crossing his arms as he sent the blissfully unaware Witcher a glare.

“I’m sure that’s it.” *yn* nodded, turning her back so Jaskier wouldn’t see the amused smile on her features. She had a feeling Jaskier was more of a hindrance than a help to the Witcher.

“He’s going to be ok, right?” Jaskier asked as he watched her grind up some herbs. 

“Yes. The cut was not too deep, this will clear out any toxins left in his bloodstream.” *yn* explained as she rubbed the ground up mixture into the wound, muttering a cantation under her breath as she did so.

“It’s weird seeing him so - un broody.” Jaskier commented which caused her to let out a laugh. “I’m serious, even when he’s sleeping he usually looks completely pissed off.” 

“You spend a lot of the time watching him sleep then?” *yn* smirked, looking over her shoulder to glance at the bard.

“Ok well-” He stuttered as a small blush crept up on his cheeks. “I am very much into woman but come on you have to admit it’s hard to not to stare.” Jaskier defended himself. 

*yn* laughed and glanced back down at Geralt, taking in his facial features, the bard did have a point - he looked like a damn God. 

“You have a point.” She agreed.

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

This time when Geralt came too, his vision was almost completely clear. He instinctively shot up, the pain in his chest dull compared to the burning sensation he had remembered. 

“Oh Geralt, thank heavens you’re alright.” The voice was not the sweet one he remembered, instead it was a very familiar one. 

“Jaskier?” He grunted as he moved to touch his chest. “Ah-ah-ah I wouldn’t do that. You’re not supposed to touch that... or be moving.” Jaskier spoke, hastily making his way into Geralt’s line of vision.

Had Geralt dreamt up that sweet voice and gentle touch?

He glanced around the small room, noting the numerous spell books and scrolls scattered around as he moved to heave himself off the bed. “You’re not supposed to get u- and you’re up anyway.” Jaskier sighed. 

“How did I get here?” Geralt asked. “Well-” Geralt turned to Jaskier once he detected the mischievous tone, to see an equally mischievous smirk on his lips.

“A very lovely Mage came to your rescue.” Jaskier grinned. Geralt grunted in response. “Her name’s *yn*.” 

"Where is she?” 

“See for yourself.” Jaskier spoke, still grinning mischievously as he pointed to the small window. Geralt followed Jaskier over to the window and peered out, squinting as the blinding sunlight hit him square in the eyes.

He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted. Once they did, he felt his heart warm at the sight before him. In the small pasture that was next to the house, stood Roach and the Mage that Jaskier called *yn*. 

She was patting Roach and saying something to her. He watched as *yn* took a few steps away from Roach before she turned on her heel and jogged away. Sure enough Roach followed after her, nudging her in the back before galloping off to the other end of the field.

“They’ve been playing tag for the last hour.” Jaskier mused, “figured I could work it into a song somehow, could add a bit of femininity to your brutish ballads.”

But Geralt was no longer listening. Instead he found himself mesmerised by the woman before him. Usually he detested the thought of any other living being touching Roach, but the sight of this made him want to smile.

He let out an involuntary groan as a sudden wave of pain shot through his chest. “Geralt? Geralt are you alright?” Jaskier asked, hurrying over to support Geralt as he doubled over.

“I’m fine.” He hissed, wincing as another wave of burning pain rippled through him. “Hang on, I’ll go get *yn*.” Jaskier announced, making sure Geralt was back on the bed before he sprinted outside. 

He could hear Jaskier’s voice in the distance, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps. “What happened?”

The sweet voice.

“I’m not sure, he was fine and standing and then he just doubled over.”

Geralt looked up and instantly locked eyes with *yn*. Her face was flushed and her dress covered in dried blood, no doubt his, but that did not make her any less beautiful. 

Goddess-like, Geralt decided. 

*yn* felt her stomach do backflips as her eyes locked with Geralt’s. Seeing him lying down shirtless was one thing, but sitting up? *yn* had been on this earth for many many years, but fuck - was it possible for someone to be that attractive?

“Fuck.” The Witcher suddenly hissed as a stabbing sensation filled his chest. All thoughts, sexual and otherwise flew from her mind, now her focus was back on his pain.

“Well firstly, he was not supposed to be standing.” *yn* scolded as she put herself back in Mage mode and hurried over to her medicine table. “Lie down.” She instructed as she grabbed the herbs. 

“There must be some of the Svin’s poison still left in your blood system.” She explained as she pushed the herbs forcefully into the open wound and muttered a stronger cantation under her breath.

“Fucking hell.” Geralt cursed as the herbs sizzled under her spell, melting into his flesh. 

“Sorry.” She apologised, before moving to his face. Geralt felt his heart beat faster as she brought her face right down close to his, so close that if he moved upwards, their lips would meet.

“No green veins in your eyes. You’re definitely clear now.” She decided as her she peered intently into his amber ones. 

“Thank you.” The sound of his deep voice made her break out of her Mage mode and made her realise just how close the pair were. 

‘For godsake - you’re a powerful witch with decades of sexual experience - pull yourself together and channel your inner sexual deviant!’ She internally scolded herself. 

“Anytime, Geralt of Rivia.” She smirked as she pulled away from him. “Nice to meet you, by the way.” She continued as she moved to place the empty bowl back on the table. 

“Nice to meet you too, *yn* of....?” Geralt queried as he sat back up on the bed, surprised to realise that the intense pain he had felt only moments ago was now completely gone.

“Nowhere, I don’t remember where I was born, I just remember all the places I travelled to.” *yn* explained as she floated over to the other side of the room to grab clean bandages.

“Before Aretuza?” Jaskier piped up causing *yn* to glance over at him in surprise. “Yes before Aretuza.” She nodded. 

“*yn* of nowhere... now that’s a powerful song - you don’t mind if I use that do you?” Jaskier asked her eagerly. 

“No, go ahead.” *yn* answered, stifling a laugh as her and Geralt exchanged looks. 

“So, you’re in the brotherhood?” Geralt asked her as he watched her measure the bandages. 

“I was - I left that life a long time ago, I was sick of advising King’s who didn’t want to be advised.” 

“And now?” He queried as she began to delicately wrap his wound. 

“Now I do this. I travel from village to village, finding places that cannot afford a Mage and offer my services for free.” 

“That does not bore you?” He asked, immediately regretting the words as they slipped past his lips. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No it’s ok.” She laughed quietly. “It does seem boring, but I’ve had three lifetimes full of excitement and adventure. I’ve been here for a few years now, the Mayor and all his subjects are very kind to me, well except his advisor.” She explained. 

“I’ve had my fill, I’m happy to just help people now. I’m sure that must sound quite pathetic to someone who hunts monsters for a living.” She sighed.

“It’s not pathetic, trust me.” Geralt comforted, placing a large hand on her shoulder. His actions made her cease her movements, glancing up from his wound to meet his eyes. She felt a blush creeping up on her cheeks as his fingers brushed against her skin. 

“I um-” She stuttered, breaking their contact as she pulled out of his hold. “You should be fine to travel now.” She murmured, glancing over at Jaskier sheepishly to see him staring wide eyed at the pair. 

“But... you’re more than welcome to stay the night if you need.” 

“Oh yes I think Geralt would absolutely love to-”

“No, we’ll be on our way.” Geralt cut Jaskier off, rising to his feet very suddenly, his face suddenly turning expressionless.  

“But Geralt-”

“Shut up Jaskier.” He hissed, gripping the bard by the shoulders and firmly guiding him to the front door. 

“Wait!” *yn* called, just as the two had opened the door. “Take this with you.” She said as she grabbed a small poultice off the table. 

“Apply it to the wound twice a day for a week, to ensure it heals nicely.” She explained, placing it into Geralt’s hand. Studying his vacant expression for a few moments, she leant up and placed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Safe travels Geralt of Rivia, and you too Jaskier.” She smiled, caressing Jaskier’s face briefly before dropping her hand to her side.

“Thank you, *yn* of nowhere.” Geralt spoke, and *yn* swore she saw a ghost of a smile on his lips before he disappeared through the door.

And just like a tornado, the pair had come and gone. 

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

“Ok I think I’ve finally perfected *yn* of nowhere version three hundred and one, do you want to hear it?”

“For the last time, I don’t want to fucking hear it.” Geralt snarled, warming his hands over the small fire. 

“Oh for fucks sake, you know what Geralt? I’ve just about had it with you.” Jaskier huffed, during his guitar to the side and rising to his feet.  “Why don’t you just admit the reason you’ve been a grumpy sack of shit for the past two days is because you got scared that you felt something real with *yn* and ran away like a little wolf pup instead of giving it a go.” He continued as he moved to grab a loaf of bread from his bag.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Geralt snapped back.

“Ok let’s not play that game Geralt. I saw that connection with my own two damn eyes. It’s like something out of one of my most popular love songs, like destiny.” 

“Fuck don’t you start with that whole destiny bullshit.” Geralt muttered. 

“No Geralt, don’t you start with that whole ‘destiny is bullshit’ thing, I know you believe it.”

Jaskier was right. Geralt did believe in destiny, whether he wanted to believe it or not. And there was something inside him, desperately trying to claw it’s way out that was trying to get him to go back. It was like he was being tugged back in the direction of the small village.

Back to her.

But Jaskier was right about more than that. It was true, the overwhelming feeling of adoration and fascination he had felt for *yn* had scared him. And the White Wolf was supposed to be scared of nothing. 

“Geralt... hello? Can you hear me?” Jaskier’s voice cut through his worries like a knife through butter.

“It would never work.” Geralt heard himself admit. 

“and why not?” Jaskier exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.

“You heard what she said, she’s had her fill of adventure and chaos, and that’s all my life is.” 

“Pfft.” Jaskier scoffed as he made his way back to sit beside him. “I saw the way she looked at you, if you’re trying to tell me that if you went back their right now and asked her to come with you that she would say no, then you’re out of your - ow!”

Geralt looked away from the fire to see that in Jaskier’s passionate flailing of his arms, he’d managed to cut the palm of his left hand. 

“Well that’s just great, the first scar I get happens to be from a bloody kitchen knife, can you pass the - why are you looking at me like that?” Jaskier cut himself once he noticed Geralt staring intently at his wound.

“I have an idea.” Geralt announced, a bemused smirk appearing on his lips.

“Oh no.” 

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

“Toss a coin to your Witcher, oh valley of plenty oh valley of plenty.” *yn* hummed to herself as she cleaned her medical tools. Ever since Jaskier and Geralt had left a couple of days ago, the song had been playing on repeat in her head. 

Sure, it was a catchy song but all it did was remind her of Geralt and she was thinking of him enough as it was. 

Surely she was not the only one out of the two that felt the connection? It was far too intense to be one sided. Right?

A knock at the door made her snap out of her deep thoughts. “Coming!” She called as she made her way to the front door.

“Geralt.” The name slipped out automatically as she stared wide eyed at the mountain of a man in front of her.

“Sorry to intrude, I think Jaskier needs your help and you were the closest village.” It was only when Geralt mentioned him that *yn* realised he was holding an unconscious Jaskier by the collar. 

“You’re not intruding, bring him and put him on the bed.” *yn* instructed, stepping aside so he could haul Jaskier inside.

“What happened?” She asked him as she hurried over to Jaskier’s side. 

“I’m not sure.” She heard him answer as she began to examine Jaskier.  

“How did he get this cut on his hand?” She asked him, noticing the small bloodied slit on his palm. *yn* glanced over her shoulder when her answer was met by silence to see Geralt dancing on the balls of his feet nervously.

“Geralt?”

“.... himself.” He admitted quietly.

“Himself?” She repeated, raising a brow once she was met with a nod. “And he’s unconscious because...?” 

A shrug.

“Alright, well I can dress his cut.” She answered, turning from him to hide her grin. Had Geralt really travelled all this way just so she could look at a small cut? 

The room fell into silence as she carefully wrapped Jaskier’s limp hand. “While you’re here I should look at your wound.” She stated, turning to Geralt who had now taken a seat on the table. 

He nodded and pulled his shirt over his head and *yn* was pleased to see that her dressings were still in place. She felt her heart rate increase as Geralt opened his legs for her to stand in-between them. She could practically feel the heat radiating from his body as she slotted in between his thighs. The pair fell back into silence as she began to work methodically on unwrapping the bandages. 

“Can I ask you something?” Geralt spoke up once she had begun to clean the wound with a wet cloth.

“Of course.” She murmured.

“How did you find me? Back at that baker’s house?” His words made her cease her movements briefly, glancing up at him to meet his eyes before looking back down at his wound. “I-I don’t know, I just felt like I had to go there. Like something was...”

“Pulling you?” He suggested. 

“Yes, pulling me.” She agreed quietly, avoiding his intense gaze as she manoeuvred around him to grab some fresh bandages. Her fingers brushed against his tanned skin and she felt his muscles shiver under her touch. She felt a sudden surge of confidence ripple through her and before she could question it, she opened her mouth to speak.

“Can I ask you a question, Geralt of Rivia?” She spoke, shooting him a small smile.

“Of course.” 

“Did you really come back here just for me to look after Jaskier?” *yn* asked as she finished tying the cloth around his chest.

“I think you know the answer.” His deep voice made her eyes flicker up to his amber ones, that seemed to be glowing even brighter than usual. 

“It would be nice to hear you say it though.” She murmured, taking a step closer to him so their lips were only a few centimetres apart. The energy in the room was so palpable, *yn* felt that her knees might buckle underneath her.

“I came back for you.” 

The second the words were uttered, *yn* leant forward and captured his lips in a kiss. The pair moulded together, as if they were always meant to be one entity, Geralt wrapping his arms around her frame to pull him closer to her. As the pair pulled away, *yn* swore she could feel her entire essence literally buzzing. 

A small smile appeared on his lips as he placed one hand on her lower back and another up to cradle her face. “Do you believe in destiny?” He asked quietly.

“I do.” She replied, swallowing nervously as he brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. “And I think I was meant to find you lying half dead and covered in Svin guts.” Her words made a deep chuckle emit from the back of Geralt’s throat. 

“I know you said you were done with a life of adventure, but I think I could really do with a Mage, and a better travelling companion.” He added, cocking his head to a still passed out Jaskier causing her to giggle. 

She smiled and hastily pressed another kiss to his lips, “I’m in.” 

A loud groan caused both her and Geralt to swivel around to see Jaskier coming too, gripping his head as he sat up in the bed.

“Fucking hell, please tell me you two are together and Geralt didn’t knock me out for no reason.” 

“Don’t worry Jaskier, it was for a good reason, a very good one.”

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

As always, positive feedback would be super super appreciated and you can give it back HERE!

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #3- Robots in the Vents, Because It’s Not a Roberts Story if It Doesn’t Happen at Least Once

So, the duobots are having a hell of a day.

Shock, our resident obligate belly-sleeper and newly-single robot, laments the passing of his buddy, leaves a vial of innermost energon by his body- a practice that will be expanded upon later- then covers up any and all traces of their having worked with Prowl. These are the inside guys Prowl called after he flipped that table in issue #1.

As Shock tracks down the tracer Ore was supposed to be planting instead of being eaten by the quantum drive, he comes across that sparkeater that got mentioned last issue.

That is his brain.

Then he explodes.

Which brings us to the scene we left in issue #2. Sparkeater on board the Lost Light, which is full of sparks that probably would prefer not to get eaten.

Holy shit Cosmos is huge. I don’t remember him being that goddamn big.

Rodimus thinks that this whole sparkeater thing is really neat, and he’s happy to be a part of it, but he’s not so thrilled about the prospect of subjecting the others to this event, so he orders everyone to find a friend and go to their rooms until he and his select few sort this whole thing out. He doesn’t tell them about the sparkeater, because that’s some scary bullshit to throw out there less than a day into the trip.

Everyone files out, Swerve having forgotten about Tailgate, who’s having a minor wardrobe malfunction. Since he doesn’t have legs at present, he calls out to the one other guy he knows on the Lost Light.

Tailgate really knows how to pick ‘em.

Over with the dead body, everyone stands what is probably unadvisedly close to the scene of the crime and Ratchet performs a quick and dirty autopsy. The boys discuss the validity of Red Alert’s theory that this was caused by a sparkeater, with the mention of Rewind’s grainy footage making the creature seem like the Cybertronian equivalent of a cryptid. Probably less Fresno nightcrawler and more chupacabra. Ratchet tries to get everyone to focus for two goddamn seconds, when Trailbreaker picks up Shock’s brain module, knocking everyone right back off track again with the discussion of Rossum’s Trinity, the idea that the spark, brain module, and transformation cog are all interconnected, and damage to one can cause the others to shut down.

Ratchet’s had just about enough of this lot, but he gets through his examination.

This is the issue Alex Milne started drawing the insignias in himself as opposed to the previous practice of IDW having them put in in post.

Rodimus, however, wants to show off his new toys as it were, and asks Chromedome to take a gander. Chromedome wearily obliges, having Ratchet pop the brain back in Shock’s head so he can do his thing. Every other person on this fucking ship is a doctor, you see, and Chromedome is no exception- he’s a mnemosurgeon.

(Yes, my spellcheck DOES lose its mind every time I type that.)

Chromedome takes his terrifying pointy hands, jams them into the eye sockets of this corpse, and gets a brainfull of Shock’s final moments.

This is such a cool panel, and I went and ruined it for myself by realizing the upper left portion shouldn’t be visible, seeing as the brain is already outside Shock’s head, without any sort of cord connecting it to his body.

Back upstairs, folks are moving into their rooms for the surprise lockdown. Cyclonus is being a pal and is carrying Tailgate, because I’m pretty sure the little guy is just about the only person who’s talked to him in a non-hostile fashion in the last couple of months, and that really gets old after a while.

Those legs sure are something, Hoist. Is it just, like, a rule that a certain percentage of Transformers designs have to be at least somewhat unintentionally horny?

The two find a room, and then Cyclonus remembers that he’s not supposed to show things like empathy until later in the series, and drops Tailgate on the floor unceremoniously.

Meanwhile, over with Skids and Swerve, the pair’s found something truly wonderful- a fully-stocked bar. Swerve’s always wanted to run a bar, and this just might be his chance to chase his dreams.

Swerve is the punching bag for MTMTE, in case you couldn’t tell.

While Swerve is not-so-subtly crying for help, Skids is busy enacting another Roberts writing-staple- the robot in the vents. See, Skids has hit his bad boy phase; he doesn’t play by your daddy’s rules, so he’s gonna sneak out and do generally whatever pleases him, because he’s got a big honkin’ chunk of memories that just aren’t there anymore. Apparently that’s all he needs to go AWOL.

As Skids lifts himself up into the ceiling to fulfill his destiny as a vent-pest, he asks Swerve if he listens to music, which is met with a negatory. Odd, given his later characterization, but maybe he’s more into contemporary works.

The ass poking worked! Swerve is now the proud owner of one whole entire friend!

Back with the corpse crew, Chromedome’s finished his assessment of the body, and agrees that there’s a sparkeater amongst them. This is a huge fucking problem, to put it lightly, both in the sense of actual, physical danger, and the metaphysical space of the Lost Light itself.

Are we sure this thing didn’t just see this ship full of over 200 war veterans and say “that’s some good eatin’ right there” and snuck on board? Because if I were a horrific monster that was drawn to pain and emotional trauma, I’d absolutely consider the Lost Light a gold mine.

As Chromedome lays his head in Rewind’s lap, the others weigh their options. Sparkeaters go after the brightest sparks, then work their way down, so this thing is probably on the move as they speak. The thing’s eaten recently, the sparks haven’t completely digested, and that means they can’t just shoot it, because then it’ll explode, and we’ve had enough of that for one day.

Rodimus has everyone else go to hunt the thing down, while he and Drift hang out here in the basement. When Ultra Magnus questions this plan of attack, he’s brushed off, though Rodimus appears to imply that he thinks he’s got the brightest spark on the ship. Probably all that Matrix nonsense he went through.

Back upstairs, Animus gets shot with the irony gun and gets his soul vored.

This is what happens when you tell lies, kids. Your lemon-lime flavored soul gets eaten by the mecha-Krampus.

Whirl, who had locked the door to the habsuite, which is why Animus was out in the hall to begin with, realizes that something seriously messed up is happening, and does what he knows best, i.e. shooting first and asking questions probably never.

Good thing Trailbreaker is there to keep Whirl from exploding the entire ship, employing the help of his forcefield ability to contain the barrage.

In the resulting chaos, the sparkeater escapes, having triangulated its next meal, and it’s not Rodimus.

It’s this dweeb.

You can tell he’s in his office, because he’s got a landscape painting in there. Landscape paintings are pretty much the only decor allowed in doctors’ offices, I’m pretty sure it’s, like, a law or something.

Luckily, Rung decided to get threatened by a space-cryptid directly under a vent, so Skids can save his skinny little butt. Good job, Skids. Proud of you.

Back with Tailgate and Cyclonus, little dude’s just finished explaining his whole deal. He’s still trying to figure out what the hell happened during his dirt nap, so Cyclonus tries his best to fill him in on the several million year war. Keep in mind, Cyclonus wasn’t exactly there either, so his whole explanation probably isn’t the best. He wonders out loud which side Tailgate would have gravitated towards, had he been around for the massive mess the Autobots and Decepticons made.

Meanwhile, back in the GODDAMNED DUCTWORK, Rung and Skids are crawling as fast as they can to escape the sparkeater, though they can’t be that worried about it, seeing as Rung answers a phone call on his weird body-harness phone setup. Rodimus tells the two of them to head for the engine room, so that the sparkeater follows them down. Rung doesn’t seem too thrilled about this plan, but what’s he gonna do, argue with a potential space-pope?

Skids punches through a vent into the elevator shaft, then uses his grappling hook- which I want to say is never seen again after this issue- to lower them down in one of the most well-known crotch shots in the entire comic series.

Iconic.

They land on top of the elevator, and Skids yells at Brainstorm to punch the "E for Engine Room” button. The sparkeater bursts in through the ceiling, and Skids and Rung book it out of there, leaving Brainstorm to his inevitable demise.

Or not.

Rung and Skids have made it to the engine room, so now it’s time for the next portion of Rodimus’ plan, which is really only a small tweaking of what Rung was doing earlier- instead of being a moving target, he’ll be playing the role of stationary bait, as Rodimus holds him like a fucking crucifix made out of people, urging the sparkeater to come take a bite.

Up on the bridge, Perceptor gets ready to kick on the quantum engine, as per his captain’s request. Sure hope this plan works, because if they lose Rung, I don’t think they’ll ever find another therapist, thanks to the apparent ratio of 1:1/3 of the entire population of Cybertron.

The sparkeater lunges, Rodimus throws Rung off to the side, and he and the beast wrestle, Crocodile Dundee style. Perceptor initializes the jump, and, because they’re in the danger zone for the quantum engine, they get sucked in.

Rung seems a little miffed, but I’d say this is a win for Team Rodimus, even if those arms of his are toast. It’s cool though, he can get new ones.

Smashcut to Rodimus and his sick new arms, as he finishes explaining just what the hell happened to Magnus. Magnus isn’t quite as jazzed about the whole “used our therapist as a worm on a hook” thing as one would think, surprisingly, but Rodimus isn’t in the mood for a lecture. Off in the background, Tailgate’s getting his butt fixed, curtesy of Ratchet. Tailgate’s talking up a storm, regardless of Ratchet’s rather cool reception to the chatter.

Tailgate did some thinking while everyone was locked in their rooms, and he’s made a decision, based on his limited understanding of the Autobot/Decepticon war.

I guess Cyclonus forgot to mention the fact that there isn’t a single Decepticon on this ship for a reason.

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book Four: War (Gladiolus x Reader) Chapter Three

"Dammit!" (Y/n) cursed, jamming the crimson blade of her sword into the ground. She glared out across the surface of the large body of water located in the Alstor Slough. The corpses of catoblepases littered the lake, blood pouring from the massive wounds scattered across their bodies. Some were disemboweled while others had appendages torn clean off. The bunyips had claimed the catoblepases and left after feasting on their prey. There were no clear indicators of which direction the pack had went after their meal, leaving the Horseman with nothing more than a dead end.

"These damned things are smarter than they look," War hissed under her breath. Ares walked over toward his rider, nudging his muzzle against her cheek with a faint neigh. She reached up and stroked his muzzle with a sigh. "Thanks, buddy."

Ares neighed a second time, enjoying her gentle touch. The Horseman glanced at the corpses one last time before an idea came to mind. A few seconds ticked by and she suddenly felt a familiar presence manifest beside her. "What're you doing out this far, Pestilence?"

The ivory-haired girl smiled gently at her sister. "I simply wished to see how you were faring, but..." She saw the gruesome scene before her, which caused her smile to vanish. "That would be an ignorant question."

"How goes your hunt?" War asked.

"As well as yours. This draugr is quite bothersome and I've yet to locate it. My next destination is the Leide region."

The two girls fell silent for a few minutes. They still couldn't tear their eyes away from the large carcasses that littered the Alstor Slough. The monsters from the Inner Sanctum were much more powerful than daemons and the beasts indigenous to Eos.

Pestilence shattered the silence after more minutes ticked by. "I know you aren't fond of mortals, but maybe it'd be best if you traveled with Prince Noctis and his companions. With their excursions around Eos, locating the bunyips and dullahan may prove to be an easier task. You could also teach His Highness a few new tricks."

(Y/n)'s head snapped in Pestilence's direction. "You're kidding, right? There's no way in hell I'd travel with mortals."

"Oh, don't be like that. Traveling with them could also allow such distrust to be erased. You need to learn to trust others. I know it's difficult because of your past, but it's been centuries, War. You must overcome it."

"Come talk to me again once the person you loved stabs you in the back. Literally."

"What Gaius did was awful, but you must forget in order to move forward. I have come to terms with what happened in my previous life. It's time you do the same." Those were Pestilence's final words before she vanished.

The (e/c)-eyed girl stared at the spot her sister once stood before looking back towards the blood-tainted water. She leaned against Ares with a groan. "Why does she always have to be right...?"

Ares bobbed his head up and down with an energetic neigh. He nudged his muzzle against her crimson locks, urging her to do what Pestilence said.

Seeing her steed was in agreement with her sister, (Y/n) glared weakly at him. "You're my partner, not hers! Traitor..." Once again, Ares urged her by nudging her gently forward. The girl stopped him before he could push her into the water. "Okay! Okay! I'll head back! You gonna give me a lift or do you want me to exhaust myself by teleporting?"

The horse allowed his rider onto his back. Once she was ready, he took off in the direction of Cauthess Coernix Station where she had left Gladio only a few hours ago.

By the time she arrived back at the rest area, the sun was setting. She dismounted Ares, the horse vanishing in the blink of an eye. She looked around the rest area, her eyes landing on the group of boys as they enjoyed dinner together. However, she noticed their joyful mood dampen when Ardyn walked over and tried to spark up a conversation.

(Y/n) kept her distance until Ardyn sauntered off. When he was gone, she approached the boys. Before she could say anything, Prompto spotted her. "Hey, (Y/n)!"

All eyes fell on her when the blonde announced her presence. She remained level-headed, keeping her temper in-check. "Hi."

"Didn't expect to see you again so soon," Gladio said. "How goes the hunt?"

"Awful," she sighed. "The bunyips have fled from Alstor Slough, leaving behind the corpses of many catoblepases as evidence. However, that's all they left. I've no clue which direction they traveled in after their hearty feast."

"How dangerous are those things exactly?" Noctis wondered.

"Very. The man you gave a lift is lucky to still have his arms and legs."

"Damn..."

"If the hunt went bad, why're you back here?" Gladio inquired.

"Pestilence and I had a small conversation. She brought a few things to my attention and it's only because of her that I'm back here. She mentioned traveling with you four would prove to be beneficial in locating the bunyips and the dullahan." She glanced around at their faces before continuing. "I know you four probably don't like me in the slightest because I come across rude and cold, but I...hope you can look past my behavior and let me accompany you."

"That's...uh..." Prompto's voice trailed off.

"If it's too much, I understand. I'll give you some time to think about it."

"Wow. You're being nicer than usual," Noctis commented.

War was tempted to snap back, but held her tongue. "I'm trying to turn over a new leaf."

"If that's the case, I don't see why you can't join us. Maybe you'll even tell us why you can use the Crystal's power."

"Maybe..."

"I do believe your cooperation would be beneficial," Ignis stated.

"Aw, yeah! (Y/n)'s joinin' us!" Prompto cheered.

Gladio grinned and decided to push his luck. "Welcome to the team, firecracker."

She tried to smile, but it faltered slightly due to the nickname. "Thanks for having me."

After that, (Y/n) fell silent for the rest of the night. She wandered a little ways away from the caravan when Ardyn and the boys called it a night.

In the middle of the night, Gladio was startled awake by a nightmare. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a heavy sigh before deciding to leave the caravan to get some fresh air.

Walking outside, he immediately spotted (Y/n) leaning against the side of the caravan. Her gaze was locked on the sky, but it was soon turned to him when the door closed behind him. "Never expected to see you up this early. It's only four in the morning."

"Yeah, well, it's a little difficult to sleep when a nightmare won't leave you alone," Gladio retorts.

"Be friendly..." War whispered to herself. She pushed herself off the caravan and asked, "Wanna...talk about it?"

The brute chuckled at her forced question. "You really are tryin' to be nice, aren't you?"

"Don't make fun of me," she hissed. Realizing her rising temper, she took a deep breath and exhaled. "I'm new to this friendly stuff. Give me a break..."

"Didn't you have friends in your previous life?"

"No," she blandly replied. "I was too busy with other things."

"Did those other things have to do with why you can do what Noct can?" He questioned.

"Yes. But there's no way in hell I'm telling you everything just yet. Earn my trust and I'll tell you." She combed a hand through her crimson locks. "Anyway, wanna talk about that nightmare or you just gonna keep making fun of my lack of friendliness?"

"Nah, I'm not a little kid. Besides, it's not like I could make sense of the nightmare myself. It was all over the place."

"As is with most dreams." She looked back up at the starry night sky. "But seriously, you should try to get some more sleep. You'll need every second you can get if you plan on going to the Disc tomorrow."

"Look at you being all caring," Gladio chortled. "It's weird."

"Shut it," she growled. "Would you rather I be a bitch 24/7? Because that can be arranged."

"Hell no."

"Good. Now get your ass back to bed."

"Yes, ma'am."

Gladio, once having cleared his head thanks to his conversation with War, went back into the caravan and crawled on to the couch to get some more sleep. Within a few minutes, he was fast asleep.

<-------------<<<<<

The following morning, the boys and their new companion left the rest area with Ardyn leading them to the barricade that prevented anyone from accessing the meteor directly. Along the way, the four boys conversed while (Y/n) remained silent. Although she was sandwiched in the middle between Ignis and Gladio, she wasn't bothered which surprised her.

Seeing as the Horseman had been silent ever since they left Cauthess Coernix Station, Prompto nervously tried to talk to her. "Hey, um, (Y/n)?"

The redhead's (e/c) gaze locked with his cerulean one. "Yeah?"

Hearing no sass or annoyance in her tone, he asked, "Would you like to see some awesome pics?"

Her brows furrowed. "Pics? What're those?"

"Y'know, pictures!" Prompto turned on his camera and handed it to her.

(Y/n) carefully handled the device she was unfamiliar with. She examined it with curiosity, wondering what it did. "What is this thing?"

"A camera," Prompto clarified.

"Don't tell me you've never seen one," Gladio said.

"Of course I haven't," she retorts with a slight hint of annoyance. "If I had, I wouldn't be asking."

"It takes pictures," the blonde stated. "They're like, uh...still images!"

"So they're like portraits, right?" She pondered.

"Something like that."

War followed Prompto's direction and was able to access the pictures. She scrolled through them, amazed at how many there were. Not only was she fascinated by the pictures, but also how such a device could change the appearance of a picture. "How fascinating," she mumbled with awe.

"It's just a camera," Gladio commented.

"Hey, it's not like...!" She sighed, calming herself. "Eos has changed significantly since my time. We didn't have any fancy technology like cameras. If we wanted portraits, we hired artists to paint them."

"Exactly when was your time on Eos?" Ignis asked.

(Y/n) lowered the camera. "Nearly a millennium ago. I am the oldest among the Horsemen." Her crimson locks formed a curtain around her face, concealing it. "The world truly has changed since then..." Combing her hair aside, she handed the camera back to Prompto, thanking him.

Before Gladio could ask his own question, they arrived at the barricade. Noctis glances at Ardyn and muttered under his breath, "Better not be a setup."

Ardyn had heard the prince and glanced at him. "Have I given you reason to doubt me?"

"You don't exactly inspire confidence," Prompto retorts.

"Yeah, not very straightforward," Gladio added.

Ardyn ignored their comments and called out, "Hello! It's me! Be so kind as to open up!" The gate opens, shocking the group.

Prompto stared in bewilderment. "Wow, that worked?"

"I may not look like much, but I do have some influence. Aren't you glad we came together? Your audience with divinity lies ahead."

"You're leaving?"

"I drop you at the Archaean's open door, and with that, bid you farewell." Ardyn drives away, leaving them.

Noctis drives the Regalia through the barricade as Gladio said, "I've met some weirdos..."

"I hope we never meet that one again," Ignis finished the shield's thought.

"Whoa! Little harsh there, don't you think?" Prompto inquired.

"Oh, please. That man, whoever he may be, even gave me the creeps," (Y/n) said.

After reaching the end of the path, everyone climbed out of the car. They spotted a narrow path ahead and decided to see where it led. Following it all the way to the end, they came across a ledge overlooking the meteor. Upon the ledge was an intricately carved stone sarcophagus. Prompto blinked in surprise. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Didn't expect to find a royal tomb here," Ignis commented.

"Would be a shame not to grab that power, eh, Highness?" Gladio asked Noctis.

"Let's grab it and go." Noctis walks up to the sarcophagus, holds out his hand, and acquires the royal arm residing within. After he claimed the weapon, the ground begins to shake. Prompto and Ignis fall down while Gladio, Noctis, and (Y/n) manage to keep themselves upright.

"Here we go again," Prompto whimpered.

"This one's huge!" Gladio shouted over the loud rumbling.

Ignis noticed the crumbling ground beneath Noctis, Gladio, and (Y/n). He yelled, "Get away! Quickly!"

Noctis' headache suddenly returns, bringing him down to one knee. He recovers as fast as he can and tries to run away from the crumbling ledge. He is unable to get far before the ground falls out from under his feet, dropping him against a slope where he slides down until he briefly lands on a small ledge below. Unfortunately, the boy quickly slides off the ledge and turns to try grabbing on. His desperate attempt to grab anything to stop his descent was futile.

Gladio, who was safe on another ledge, noticed the steep plummet Noctis was sliding towards. "Noct!"

(Y/n) was dangling from a narrow ledge when she heard the shield shout the boy's name. Looking down, she noticed the ravenette's dilemma and huffed in annoyance. "Dammit..." Summoning her sword, she released the ledge and plummeted downward. Tossing her blade, she warped just below Noctis and grabbed his wrist before he could fall out of reach. Jamming the blade into the rock, she halted their descent. Due to their combined weight, the blade was slowly slipping from the stone. Seeing they were in such a dangerous position, (Y/n) remained level-headed and addressed the boy. "Noctis, summon the weapon you can throw furthest. Throw it up to where Gladio is and warp."

Noctis glances up to where the brute was and noticed how far it was. "There's no way I can warp that far!"

"Yes, you can!" She hissed, her arms shaking. "If I can do it so can you! Besides, if you fall, I'll just catch you again."

He was still unsure, but trusted the Horseman's judgement. "All right, but what about you?"

"Did you already forget who I am?" War snapped. "Just hurry up and warp!"

Noctis summoned a dagger and tossed it as high up as he could. The short blade pierced the stone just below the ledge where Gladio was and he warped to it. The shield helped the prince up and over the ledge. Once Noctis was back on his feet, he and Gladio peered over the ledge at War. They both watched as her sword vanished, causing her to fall.

Before either one of them could shout her name, the Horseman's body vanished in a puff of smoke. She reappeared beside them, rolling her shoulder. "Let's get moving."

Just as the trio went to proceed forward, the Meteor begins to rise before them, revealing Titan, who has been holding the chunk of space debris on his back for many years. Noctis was bewildered at the sight. "What the-?"

Titan says something indecipherable in the language of the gods, but (Y/n) understood him clear as day. Of course, she remained silent knowing the god wasn't calling out to her. Her time as the chosen was cut short and now she was a nobody to the Astrals.

"Goddamn... This is the Archaean?" Noctis murmured as he gazed at Titan.

"Seems we woke the big guy up," Gladio said.

"He's trying to tell me something... But what?"

Prompto suddenly calls out from high above, grabbing the trio's attention. "Noct! You okay?"

Ignis also peered down at them with a sigh of relief. "Thank heavens you're safe. Is there a way back up?"

"No, but there's a path. Gonna see where it leads," Noctis replied.

"You two try to get down," Gladio stated.

"Very well. We'll look for a way. Be careful, now," Ignis advised.

"You, too," Noctis said.

"What? We're going where!?" Prompto shrieked.

The trio wandered down the path. As they did, Noctis' and Gladio's tempers were slowly rising with the heat. (Y/n) gritted her teeth, annoyed at the two. She kept her lips sealed, knowing she'd say something out of line and risk losing her chance to travel with them. Deciding to ignore them, she pushed past the two and walked ahead. She led them down the diverging path where a group of dynoaevis birds flew overhead.

Gladio noticed their strange behavior. "They're on edge-let's not ruffle their feathers any more."

"Um, try shutting your beak," Noctis groaned.

"Just offering sound advice."

"Yeah, like a parrot in my ear."

Unable to stand another second of it, (Y/n) snapped. She manifested a large fireball in her palm and threw it at the flock of birds. The flames fried the creatures' bodies, resulting in a rancid odor to waft through the area. Noctis and Gladio were flabbergasted at the suddenness of such a powerful spell and eyed the Horseman.

"Uh, (Y/n)?" Gladio called out to her. "You okay?"

War spun around, glaring daggers at the two. "No, I'm not okay. I'm annoyed. You two are acting like children in the middle of a dangerous situation. Excuse me if my sanity snaps all because you two are irritated and can't stop bickering with one another." She placed a hand on her hip. "There's a god trying to swat us like flies, or have you already forgotten?"

"Of course not," Noctis retorts.

"Then do as the bastard demands so we can make this quick," she growled.

His eyes narrowed. "What're you talking about?"

"You may not understand the language of the gods, but I can. The Archaean has led you to him directly so you can prove yourself. Do it and don't screw up or you will be crushed along with everyone else."

The prince's eyes widen. "You can understand him...?"

"That's not the point here! Both of you man up and get over this little spat you have going on! One person alone cannot stand against a god." Turning her back to them, she pressed onward. She heard them call her name, but she ignored them. "Why am I stuck with these two...?" She sighed.

[dahliawolfe]

Wings

Captain American fanfic. Not cannon. 

The shouting wakes you up with a start, and before your brain can catch up, your body is moving, throwing your only pair of jeans on, grabbing your sneakers and your backpack and racing for the door. Years of running had taught you to always be prepared. But fuck you, if you weren’t thrown off by the sight of…aliens?! invading the shitty pay by the week hotel you were camped out at. Making a quick decision, you head for the fire escape. And dammit, of course the windows are painted shut. Cheap bastards. You grab the closest thing to you, a chair, and hurl it through the window, following after it seconds later, making your descent.

And you’ve made it to the third floor when you saw the little girl. The little girl who was being held in a rapidly burning apartment by a scaly looking alien. And nope. Not your problem. But you freeze. “Fuuuck,” you mutter before throwing your weight into the window, reaching for the knife that you always keep tucked in between your shoulder blades. The alien hisses at you as you charge at it. The knife slashes its scaly skin, and your reward is a green ooze that sprays across your face. Trying not to gag, and knowing that you had done very little actual damage to the beast, you grab the little girl, sling her over your shoulder and head for the door; the alien blocking your path to the window. “Shit. Shit. Shit,” you hiss as you run down the rickety stairs of the hotel. You did not sign up for this. You just wanted a place to sleep, dammit. The lobby was swarming with…superheroes? What the hell? Shaking your head, and hoping to slide by unnoticed, you take to the edges of the room.

“Veronica! Oh my…! Baby!” a babbling woman exclaims, running towards you. She reeks of meth. The acrid cat piss smell stings your nose as she reaches for the kid on your back. You pull away hostilely.

“Hell no, Lady! Who the fuck are you?!”

“I’m her mom! Veronica, honey, come to Mommy,” she slurs, arms outstretched. And gods help her, the kid reaches out to the woman, just in time for you to see a fight coming your way. A large blonde dude in…chainmail? And a red robot guy are leading a huge alien straight down your path.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” you mutter, slinging the kid off of your shoulder and passing her to the woman. “Get your shit together, Woman. And run!” you order, shoving the two out of the way as a wall of muscle slams you into the wall. You hear a sickening crunch as you slide to the floor. But you don’t have long to rest as you see another alien heading towards the first. Struggling to your feet, you reach for a nearby crowd control bar and swing it into the gut of the alien. He hunches over before straightening and looking right at you. Well, shit. You had not thought that through. The alien swipes one hand toward you, cutting your cheek open and making you see red. “You fucker,” you swear, grabbing a sharp shard of glass to your left and charging at the creature, throwing your body weight into it, knocking it to the ground, where you stab and stab and stab, until strong hand lift you under your armpits. It's the blonde knight guy.

“That will be enough, Child. Get to safety,” he commands, putting you on your feet a few yards away.

“Chi-Child?! I am not a child! And I would be in safety if you assholes hadn’t come in here wrecking up the joint!” The man only bellows a laugh and turns away from you. You throw your hands up. “Whatever, I’m out of here.” And that’s when you’re swept off of your feet again, this time very high up. You look to see what has a death grip on your back, and well…it’s not good. A scaly alien sneers down at the crowd.

“Where’s your captain now?!” he gloats.

“Right here, Wise guy,” comes a voice, just as a shield is hurled you. You see the ground coming up to meet you, and you question how, you, of all people, would die by hitting the ground. But someone catches you midair. A large green man smiles evilly at you before gently placing you on the ground. “Nat, get her out of here,” the voice that had challenged the alien orders, and Apollo feels her hand get taken by another one, and she looks up to see two things; one, the most beautiful woman she has ever seen; and two,  a spear coming right toward them. Letting out a yelp, she dives in front of the woman, feeling the hot searing pain radiate down her side as the spear finds its mark.

“Well, shit,” you say, crumpling to the ground.

…

“Experimented on?” a voice questions as Apollo comes around.

“I think so, Cap. She’s littered in scars.” That’s when all of you senses come back to you. The smell of chemicals makes you sick to your stomach. You know that smell. The sanitary stench of a hospital. You jolt, vaulting off of the bed, landing solidly on your feet, facing the voices you heard, back to the nearest wall. And without your bidding, as they always do; some weird protective reflex; your wings unfurl from under your skin, the familiar burn that always accompanies them following closely behind. You crouch, making eye contact with…

“Captain Fucking America?” you exclaim.

“Language,” he chides. He’s one of the good guys. Well, at least you think so. But those types of guys had failed you before. Despite your adrenaline draining, and your wings tugging themselves back under your skin to rest along the back of your ribs, you resist. You don't know you're safe. You never know if you're safe. “What’s your name?” he entreats. You violently shake your head.

“Where’s my stuff? I’m leaving.”

“Hey, wait. Come on. We won’t hurt you here, Kid.” You bark a laugh.

“I’ve heard that before.”

“You’re still pretty roughed up,” he points out, and yeah, you know, the dull thud of pain when you breathe tells you that much.

“I heal quick. Perks of being like this,” you reply, softly rustling the bottom feathers on your grey and black ombre wings.

“You know, this is fascinating,” the other man speaks, stepping forward. A sharp snap of your wings warns him off. You usually have to hide your little secret, but now that the cat’s…bird’s? out of the bag, you feel like you can use them to your advantage. The guy in the glasses holds up his hands. “I’m Bruce. I’m a doctor.” When you recoil more violently at the comment, he frowns.

“Doc, why don’t you give us a minute?” the captain asks gently.

“Cap, she’s…”

“I know,” was the simple reply. You feel the blood leaking freely from your wound. You know that whatever they’d done to patch you up, hadn’t stuck. Might’ve if you had gone guns a blazing, but nonetheless, you know that you’re bleeding. And you know that while you do heal fast, you had been dealt and death blow, and you are damn lucky to be here. You also know that you have very little strength left in you, and that shit right there, that scares you more than anything. The doctor leaves. Without your permission, your wings retract, and you flop to the floor. The captain scoops you up seconds later. “Listen, I don’t know who hurt you. Or why they hurt you. But no one will ever touch you again. You’re safe here. And I know you don’t know me from Adam, but you can trust me. Now, I’m going to stay with you while the doc patches you up, then I’m going to get you cleaned up. And you’re going to get some rest. When you’re healed, if you still want to leave, I won’t stop you. Ok?”

How could you tell Captain America no?

…

The captain has you slung over his arms, bridal style, and he’s carrying you to his suite in the Avenger’s tower. He sits you softly on the edge of the sink as he runs a bath. Your body is sagging with exhaustion. You hadn’t slept more than two hours in months and hadn’t eaten real food in longer than that. And it’s getting to you. So, when the kind captain begins to lift your shirt over your head, you simply hold your arms up. He looks at you hesitantly, and you chuckle tiredly. “They don’t come out unless I need them,” you inform. He nods silently and rids you of the hospital scrubs tied loosely around your waist before lifting you and placing you in the warm water. His hands are gentle as they run over your scarred back.

“Who?” he asks quietly.

“Doctors. Scientists. Nuns. You name it. Being an orphan that’s…special, is a rough life.”

“Why?”

You shrug, sighing as he tilts your head back to wash your long cherry cola hair.

“You were a kid.”

“A kid with wings,” you correct, grabbing his arm for stability as he leans you further back.

“I gotcha,” he promises, holding you steady as he lathers your hair. “How did you get away?”

“I fought. They caught me a few times. But I always managed to escape again. It’s been two…no, three years since they found me. I’m honestly just waiting for the other shoe to drop before the lab coats converge again.”

“We won’t let them take you again. You have my word…”

“Apollo,” you supply.

“Apollo. That’s a pretty neat name,” he smiles down at you.

“It was Mary Catherine St. John. Orphanage named me when I was found. As an orphan, you get to choose what you want to be called when you turn 10. And I chose Apollo. Because they flew.” Your eyes had begun to droop.

“Well, I like Apollo much better. Ok, up we go,” he urged, helping you sit up. He lifts you from the water, swiftly wrapping a towel around you. You look at the bathwater in shame. It’s nearly brown from the filth that came off of your body. The captain slips on of his shirts over your head and scoops you up again. You are nearly asleep when he places you on the bed.

…

“She’s not a superhero,” Tony Stark argues the next morning. “She’s a human kid.”

“Actually,” you interject, forcing your wings to the surface. “I’m neither a kid, or completely human.” You sit, wings still spread, and finish your bacon. Tony stares at you, mouth agape. You roll your eyes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you can touch them. You too, Doc,” you huff. Cap scowls at your language. “Also, I didn’t ask to be part of the Super Squad,” you add, reaching for more toast.

“That’s true. She didn’t. But, she is part of the team, whether she goes on missions or not,” Steve Rogers says, sipping his coffee.

“You can’t make those decisions!” Tony exclaims, pulling a little too roughly on one of Apollo’s feathers.

“Ow, Dick,” you mutter, flicking him.

“I’m the captain. I decide who’s on the team. And I say Apollo is.” There’s no room for argument, but when Tony opens his mouth to try, Natasha slaps his shoulder and shakes her head.

And that’s how you, freaky little bird/orphan/science experiment that you are, become an Avenger.

…

“Bucky? His name is Bucky?” you clarify. Because who names their kid Bucky.

“Yes. And he’s my best friend,” Cap replies. And you pout, cuz you’re supposed to be his best friend.

“Oh,” you answer softly, deftly stepping around the crack in the sidewalk.

“Hey. Come on, you’re my best girl,” Steve replies, chucking you under the chin. And as always, the words make your tummy do weird little flip flops.

“I don’t know how amenable Tony’s gonna be to you taking in the supersoldier who’s been trying to kill us for the last few days now.”

“That’s why we’re not gonna ask him,” he says simply, shrugging his shoulders.

…

You’re hurt. You know you’re hurt. But dammit, you have to find Cap. Sam was fine. Well, fine-ish, so now, you needed to find your leader. Letting your wings spread, you take to the air, scanning the ground for him. Until you spot him. He’s being dragged out of the river by that guy. The Winter Soldier. Bucky. You swoop down, feet landing lightly on the gravel shore. Bucky roughly drops Cap, gives you a scornful study, and takes off in the other direction, not once speaking to you. And injured though you might be, you limp to Cap, wrap your arms around his torso, and let your wings push hard against the atmosphere, lifting you into the sky. And damn, man. Who knew supersoldiers weighed so damn much. You make it to the tower, depositing Cap with a grunt, as your legs crumple beneath you, and you fall next to him on the roof.

…

Sam is off somewhere laying low, but you and Cap are never apart. Keeping your faces hidden, and staying on the move so Tony doesn’t find you. But Natasha does. And seeing her blatant flirting with Cap sets you on edge for some reason. So, while they’re on their little recon mission, you unfurl your wings and take to the sky, letting the wind catch the bottoms of your wings and lift you higher until you’re soaring, eyes closed. You land around dusk, making a small bed for yourself in the leaves under a maple tree and settle in. You’ll find Cap soon enough, but for now, he has Natasha. Your sleep is fitful to say the least, but the coolness of the night feels good against your skin.

∞

“You don’t understand, Nat. Apollo wouldn’t just leave. She knows that I need her safe.”

“Steve,” Natasha says softly, resting a hand on his shoulder as he huddles in Sam’s kitchen. “I’m sure everything is alright. Apollo is a good kid. Smart. She’ll come back.”

“Or Tony will find her. What then, Natasha? You think he won’t kill her for choosing my side?”

“Tony wouldn’t kill a kid, Steve. You know that.”

“Do I?”

…

Steve waits until Natasha is asleep before leaving the house, determined to find his girl.

∞

It’s nearing sunrise, when the nightmare finally jolts you awake. Instinctively, you reach for Cap. But he’s not there. You haven’t had to deal with nightmares alone in a long time, and you suddenly can’t breathe. You tuck yourself into a ball and sob against your knees, wishing Cap were with you.

∞

You’d once told him that you could only fly roughly 20 miles a day, so Steve was banking on those calculations when he began his search. The radius takes him to a large city on one side, and the mountains on the other. And he knows you wouldn’t choose the city, so he decides that the mountains would be his best bet. “Borrowing” a motorcycle from a townie, he makes his way to the mountains. 200 square miles. But come hell or high water, he will find you. He has to.

∞

The sobs have turned to whimpers by the time the sound of a motorcycle appears. You can only curl tighter, knowing that you are most certainly not in fighting shape at the moment.

“Apollo?” comes the query. And you let out a wail.  Because Cap is here. He found you. “Baby, are you hurt? Did you fall?” his voice is panicked, and his footsteps are racing towards you. He gently scoops you up, cradling you to his chest. You bury your face in his neck, sobbing wetly. “Hey, shh. It’s ok. I’m here, Darlin’. Everything’s ok now.” He leans against the tree, putting you on his lap, chest to chest, as he scans you for any obvious signs of injury. “You scared me to death, Apollo. Why’d you leave me like that?”

“Was-was gonna come back. Needa- needa be alone.”

“But you don’t like being alone, do you, Baby?” you vigorously shake your head, clutching at him. When did you become such a pussy? You’d been alone your whole life. Why did you suddenly need someone now?

Because it’s Cap the unhelpful part of your brain answers.

Cap places a firm hand under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Promise me, Apollo. Promise me you won’t do this again.”

“Pr-Promise. Don’t wanna leave Cap,” you swear. He gives you a gentle smile and places a kiss between your eyes.

“That’s my good girl. Now, when we get to Sam’s, you’re gonna tell me what’s got you so upset, then you’re gonna get your punishment and get some sleep. We got a lead today, and I’m not going without you.” You nod, letting him lift you and get on the bike, you still clinging to his neck. The word “punishment” doesn’t hit you until you’re almost to Sam’s.

…

“Thank gawd you found her!” Sam exclaims when you and Cap walk through the front door. Then he scoops you into a hug. After squeezing the breath out of you, Sam pulls away, ruffling your hair and reaching for his cup of coffee. Natasha gives you a smile, which you nod at, taking Cap’s hand back securely in your own. Her smile widens, and she gives you a nod, turning back to her paper.

“Sam, mind if we use your room for a bit? Apollo and I have a conversation that needs to happen,” Cap inquires. Sam waves you on dismissively. Cap leads you to the back of the house, shutting the door behind him. He sits on the bed, positioning you in front of him. “Now, Apollo, I never wanted to have to do this to you. But you’re mine, and I’m responsible for you. You made a mistake last night, didn’t you?” You nod, suddenly finding your shoes very interesting. “Words, Apollo.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, feeling like the formality is needed.

“And you promised you won’t do it again. And I believe you, but I need to make sure you remember what’ll happen if you do. But first, you’re going to tell me why you left, AND why you were so upset when I found you.” Your lip wobbles. You definitely do not want to do any of that. “I’m waiting, Apollo,” he urges after your continued silence.

“I…I was upset,” you state, hoping it’ll be enough, but also knowing it won’t be.

“About?” You dig your toe into the carpet.

“Natasha.”

“Did Natasha do or say something bad to you?” he prods. You shake your head.

“She…You like her more than me.” You squeeze your eyes shut in humiliation. Because never in your 20 years, have you ever felt like more of a moron.

“Aww, Baby. That isn’t true. You’re my best girl. You know that.” You sniffle, opening your mouth to further your slide into mortification.

“But she’s prettier than me, and she’s older. And she knows more stuff. I can barely read.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true anymore, Cap had taught you how to read. “And she…she kept making you laugh and flirting with you. And you don’t need me anymore now that she’s here. She’s way better…” Cap lunges forward, pulling your chin up so he can look into his eyes. Blue eyes that shine with anger and passion.

“That is absolutely not true. I will always need you. You are the most beautiful girl that I have ever laid my eyes on. You’re smart as a whip, and I’d rather have you covering my six any day of the week. Don’t you ever say those things about yourself again, Apollo. I won’t have anyone speak badly about you, not even you.” He gives your chin one more squeeze before stepping away again. “Why were you crying, out there in the woods?”

“I-I had a nightmare, and you weren’t there to hold-hold me. And I was sc-scared.” He hums, stroking your cheek.

“In this family. Our family, we talk things through, Apollo. We don’t run away. And we certainly don’t put ourselves in danger. What you did was reckless, and it terrified me. And now, I’m going to give you your punishment and put you to bed because you’re drooping with exhaustion, and you need rest.” You nod solemnly.  

“Pants down and over my lap,” he orders. “Ten swats. No arguing.” And it’s said with such finality that you know he won’t budge. So, steeling yourself, you unzip your jeans and step out of them, kicking your shoes off with them. You stretch yourself over Cap’s lap and brace against his right thigh. “Thank you for not making this harder,” he praises, rubbing a soothing hand against the small of your back, where he’s hiked your shirt up.

And by the fifth swat, you’re absolutely sobbing. Snot is coating Cap’s jeans and your face. And you’re a mess. Immediately after the tenth, Cap scoops you into his arms, shushing you and kissing your temple. “Such a good girl,” he praises. “Always my good girl.”

Once you’ve mostly calmed down, Cap carries you to the bathroom, where he sits you on the sink and wipes your overheated face with a cool towel. Then, just as promised, he carries you to bed, tucking you under the covers and rubbing your back until you’re asleep.

…

“There’s no way in hell that 2 supersoldiers, 2 bird people, and a feisty red head are going to fit in this car,” you complain.

“Language, Apollo. Bucky, let Apollo sit on your lap,” Cap commands, sliding behind the wheel.

“Excuse me? That sounds unsafe and uncomfortable. No offense, Bucky.” Cap rolls his eyes.

“Buck, make sure she’s secure. Apollo, enough with the sass. Get in.” Sighing, you comply, sliding onto Bucky’s thick thighs. His arm wraps around your waist.

“Steve, drop me at the airport,” Natasha demands. You frown. She’s been acting sketchy.

“Taking a trip, Nat?”

“I need to keep Tony off of your trail for now. I can’t hold him off long.”

“Convenient,” you mumble, eliciting a chuckle from Bucky and a stern look from Cap.

…

“Dammit, Cap. I told you she was no good!” you rage, flapping your wings and scouting the ground below for escape routes for the rest of the team. Natasha had turned on all of you, going to Tony. So now, here you were, neck deep in shit; Clint hold up in a rooftop; Sam scratched to hell and back from one of his own wings failing; and you, Bucky, and Cap just trying to make it out alive. You know that if they catch Bucky, they will kill him. And the thought makes your gut twist. Cap had told you story after story of Bucky and their friendship, so even before you met him, you felt like you knew him. And now, he feels like an extension of you, much like Cap.

“Apollo, not now!” Cap barks.

“Fine, but women know these things. Veer left!” you yell, suddenly spotting a way out. Without question, they follow the order. “To your right! See it?! See the tunnel?!” Then suddenly a burning pain ricochets through your side. Immediately clamping a hand to it, you glance down. Your fingers are coated in blood. Those bastards shot you! “Fuck, ok, guys, I’m hit. I’m not going to be able to fly much longer. Keep going. The tunnel…” Your vision is blurring as another pain shoots through your hip. Then your arm. Then your thigh. Finally, something rips through your wing. And you know that’s it. You’re going down. You can hear Cap and Bucky yelling for you as you spiral down towards the ground. “Keep going,” you hiss one last time, landing roughly on a hill, rolling to the bottom.

∞

“Apollo!” he yells through the comm. “Dammit, answer me!” They haven’t stopped running.

“Steve, we gotta go find her!” Bucky shouts, making to turn around.

“NO! Keep going! Find us transport! I’ll find Apollo!” Bucky looks uncertain but nods, heading towards the tunnel. Steve turns on his heel. “Apollo, Baby, can you hear me?” Silence follows. “I’m coming, Doll. I’ll be right there.” He runs, making calculations in his head of where you had been heading. He’s nearly losing his mind when he finally spots you at the bottom of a steep hill. “Apollo!” He slides down the hill, landing next to you at the bottom. And what he sees makes him want to vomit. One of your beautiful wings is nearly severed, you’re covered in blood, and your breaths are shallow. He leans over you, brushing a hair behind your ear. “Oh, Baby,” he breathes. He begins to scoop you up. And your wings begin to retract, almost as if they can sense that you’re safe now. But the injured one snaps and falls limply to the ground. You jolt in his arms. And he steels himself against the tears that are determined to fall.

“Steve, I’ve got a Jeep! Meet me outside the tunnel when you find her!” Bucky’s voice exclaims in his ear.

“On my way, Buck,” the captain replies solemnly. He carries you, cradled to his chest until he reaches the Jeep.

“Shit,” Bucky hisses. Steve slides in the vehicle, holding Apollo close as Bucky peels out of the place. “What are we gonna do, Steve? She looks bad.” Steve’s always believed in God, and even now, ever since he lost your voice over the comm, he’s been praying. But a thought hits him.

“THOR!” he exclaims loudly, making Bucky jump.

“What the hell, Steve?!”

“Thor! If you can hear me, man, we really need you!” Steve continues shouting into the sky.

“Who the hell…” A sudden burst of lightning causes Bucky to swerve, barely missing Thor, who has landed in the middle of the road. He throws the door open and rushes from the vehicle, Apollo still caged in his arms.

“Thor, you have to help her!” Thor who had been smiling, frowns at the sight of Apollo. The demi-god nods.

“We shall take her to Asgard. The healers will help her.”

“Buck, let’s go!” the captain shouts. Bucky, to his credit, follows his friend’s order, despite being confused as hell.  Thor holds the troupe close as he takes them back to his home.

…

“I believe her other wing will heal, Captain,” a healer informs him hours later.

“Heal? It fell off,” Steve reminds.

“Yes, but I believe with time, it will regrow.”

“And the other injuries?”

“Yes. We are working on the young bird-girl. She will live.” Steve curls his lips in distaste at her description of you, but doesn’t say anything.

∞

You feel a dull throbbing throughout your body as you open your eyes. Cap’s blonde head is resting gently on your arm.

“Cap,” you rasp. His head immediately jerks up.

“Apollo,” he sighs in relief. “Babygirl, I was so scared. How do you feel?”

“Buzzy,” you answer truthfully. Steve laughs.

“The healers fixed the most of the damage, so it’s probably the magic.”

“Healers?”

“Buck and I brought you to Asgard. Thor had his best healers work on you.”

“I’m in Asgard?!” you exclaim, struggling to sit up.

“Hey, hey. Stay still. You’re not completely out of the woods yet,” he demands, gently easing you back on to the bed.

“But, Dude, we’re in Asgard! I can’t stay in this bed all day while I’m on another planet!” You hear a husky chuckle from the other side of the room and look up to see Bucky smiling at you.

“Glad to see you awake,” he states, coming forward.

“Hey, Buck. I see you guys made it out ok. The winged wonder strikes again,” you joke, but both men duck their heads. “What?” you demand.

“Apollo, when you were shot…You…” Cap began.

“I what?!” your stomach is beginning to sink.

“You lost one of your wings.” And no! Because they were part of you. Fuck knows many scientists had tried to rip them out of you before, but they were still there.

“No,” you deny on a whisper.

“The healers think it’ll grow back,” Cap says, gently stroking your cheek.

“My wing?” you still can’t wrap your head around it. It couldn’t just be gone.

“Yes, Baby,” Steve says, kissing your forehead. Bucky clears his throat.

“I’m gonna leave you two alone for a bit,” he adds, leaning to kiss your cheek and leaving the room. Cap simply draws you into his arms, whispering sweet words in your ear until you fall into a teary sleep.

…

You convalesce on Asgard for nearly two weeks, before Thor takes you back to Earth. In that time, despite their best efforts, Cap and Bucky can’t get you out of your grief. You had lost something that at once you had hated, but now knew was the only reliable thing you had ever had. And sure, the healers thought it would grow back, but it wouldn’t be the same. It would never be the same.

…

Cap had helped you shower and was now taking off his boots at the end of the bed. The safe house you guys are in Berlin is nice. It’s clean, and has an amazing view. But you haven’t spent much time outside of the bed, so you haven’t even explored the place yet.

“Ok. That’s it,” Cap sighs. You look up at him as he approaches. “I haven’t seen that smile in two weeks. And it’s killing me.” He slides into the bed, facing you, framing you with his legs. “Talk to me, Darlin’. Tell me what’s going through that pretty little head of yours. Let Daddy make it better.” You two had never really discussed it before, but the title suited him. He took care of you. Held you when you were sad. Rocked you to sleep when you had had a nightmare. Bathed you. Spoiled you. Loved you. Still, you can’t help the tear that rolls down your face.

“My w-wing,” you whimper pathetically.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” he coos, drawing you into his chest. “I know it’s so hard for you, Angel. But it’s all gonna be ok. I’m here. Bucky’s here. And you’re wing will come back.”

“But-But it won’t be the same!” you wail. You hadn’t cried a tear since the first night in Asgard, but you need to let it out.

“Shh. Shh. It’s ok. It’s ok.” And he rocks you. He rocks you until your sobs silence and your breathing evens. And then, he tips your chin up, meeting your eyes as his lifts land softly onto yours. And you have your first kiss, courtesy of Captain America, himself.

“Let me help you feel better, Baby.”

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

The Outsider Chapter 7

Good Ganondorf x reader

Word Count: 1149

Summary: Here come the bride!

Over your years of training, you’d grown accustomed to waking up in a variety of situations: actively being attacked, passively being attacked (that’d been a weird one), your mother yelling that you were going to be late . . . Even simply living in the desert led to some interesting waking situations: freezing cold if you woke up too early, burning hot if you slept late, hat one time a scorpion had crawled across your face . . .

None of those experiences did anything to prepare you for your current situation, blinking blearily at the sunlight pouring directly from a crack in the curtains to shine down on your face as you gradually realized that your pillow wasn’t a pillow at all. Your little whine of complaint about the light prompted your not-pillow to roll over so your head moved from what was apparently a chest to rest on an arm, the rest of the body now shielding you from the sun. Still groggy and slightly confused about your whole situation, you glanced up to look at your not-pillow’s face. Around then was when you recalled the events of the night before and that you were currently laying on your betrothed, Ganondorf.

Who had a tiny little smile pulling at his lips. “Morning, my darling,” he murmured.

You followed the sudden urge to place a kiss to the skin of his arm nearest your lips. “Morning,” you grumbled back. “What’re you doing up so early?”

“For starters, it’s after midday based off the sun. We also have just a little something to do in the not too distant future. Just a wedding, nothing serious, you know?”

You bolted upright. “Shit! That’s today?!”

He went from groaning at the way your skin--that’d been completely stuck to his--just ripped away from his to practically howling with laughter. “You forgot we were getting married today?!”

You slapped your palm against his bare chest. “Shut up! I was a little distracted yesterday.”

Red eyebrows waggled at you. “Yeah, you were.”

“Damn it, Gan,” you swore as you crawled out of bed. “Aya’s gonna fucking kill me.” Now you were frantically looking around for the pants he’d tossed across the room yesterday. 

“You’re cute when you curse.”

You paused your movements long enough to glare flatly. “Now isn’t the time. I have to go get ready.”

Even though you were rushing around the room, you had to stop to eye him up when he gracefully slid out of bed looking as regal as always despite the nudity. “Relax, my love,” he murmured, taking your face in one of his hands. “It’s not like they can start without us.”

This time, the random kiss you decided to bestow upon him was to the palm of that hand. “I know, and I love you. I’m just nervous.”

“Well, it’s not like you're gonna lose me or anything, so it will be fine.”

“Alright, but I really have to get going before they start breaking down doors to find me.”

“I will see you soon, then.”

‘Soon’ apparently meant ‘at the ceremony’ because you didn’t lay eyes on Ganondorf again until you walked into the throne room and saw him in the middle of the little stage. Any irritation you might have felt about that face vanished when you saw the way his eyes were shining like little suns from happiness.

The ceremony itself was equally as beautiful as those eyes, which honestly was to be expected with the amount of work everyone that poured into it. Down in the crowd, those closest to you and Ganondorf metaphorically were those closest to you literally. Behind them were advisors and the like, followed by practically everyone in the city. After all, it wasn’t every day they had a royal wedding, let alone one for a king. Everything was perfect. The pristine wedding you never thought you’d have all those years ago when you realized your feelings for your best friend.

Right until someone tried to kill you.

As cliche as it was, everything happened so fast your mind had a hard time keeping up. One second, you were smiling up at the man that was about to become your husband; the next, he’s radiating pure fury and shoving you behind him protectively. Later, you would realize that his fists were swathed in dark magic except for the triangle pattern that was glowing on the back of the fist that was exactly where your head had been moments before, an arrow snapped in half within.

His eyes were busy searching for the source of the arrow when your body reacted on instincts honed for over twenty years. You grabbed the ceremonial scimitar from his waist and whirled around fast enough to deflect a second incoming arrow, this one from what would have been over Ganondorf’s shoulder with the way you were standing moments before. 

There’s more than one assassin. You wanted to vomit at just the thought of it, but now was not the time. Instead of focusing on it, you kept a sharp eye out for any more attacks.

Behind you, you could feel the way Ganondorf was growling lowly, and a distant part of you wondered if he was somewhat channeling something much, much darker than just his own rage. Everyone knew the legends of the beast, Ganon, that’d brought terror over the world for generations. Looking at him over your shoulder, you knew there was some substance to the rumors that he possessed that very soul within him. After all, the Ganondorf you knew had never trained in magic.

When no more attacks came, it became clear that the threat had passed; the would-be murderers missed their chance. Ganondorf straightened from his animalistic hunch. The aura of dark magic receded, but little sparks of it still danced around his hands. It took all of your will to relax the death-grip you had on the sword. 

“Is this what has become of the Gerudo?” He was still staring at the origin of the first arrow, making it clear his harsh words were not directed towards the people as a whole. “The Hylians believe us to be thugs and thieves, and here you are proving them right! Becoming just like them as you blindly try to kill one of our own because she looks different.”

Right then was when Nixa sprinted up to the stage to stand in front of Ganondorf. “They’re gone. Must have fled as soon as they shot.”

How did I not notice her vanish?

“Then we will finish the ceremony. Show these assassins what real Gerudo are,” he turned to address the main audience, “and that we do not respect those that would hide in the shadows!”

You knew worry was painted across your face as you looked up at him. You could only offer a weak smile as the frazzled officiator continued like you weren’t just almost murdered.

[izzy-b-hands]

Our House

Eugene is away on business for a few weeks, and they’ve both wanted bits and pieces of the house fixed up/changed. 

Snafu can do that all on his own, right? 

Important lessons about home improvement and how it is a fickle beast below the cut!

At the end, re: wine, I’m basing their reactions off of what wine does to me (makes me sleepy af and basically useless if I have more than a glass or two.) 

Also, I did get a weird headache mid-writing this so hopefully it sounds decent and I didn’t accidentally a word anywhere (I read over it for a quick edit, but y’all know I’m notorious for still missing mistakes until three days later.) If y’all do notice something off/an error on this, please let me know so I can fix it asap!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

The three weeks marked on the calendar had seemed long, in the days prior to them. He’d spent those days moaning to Eugene about how difficult it would be, and how long the weeks would take to pass. 

They hadn’t felt long enough now though. 

The bedroom was done, at least, in a cheerful, soft, pastel yellow. A pastel sage green trim made the whole room feel like spring, at least to Snafu. Eugene would love it, that much he knew for sure. 

“He ain’t gonna love the rest of this though,” Snafu sighed, and took in the rest of the house as he walked through it. Eugene would be back in a day, and he had so much left to do: 

The kitchen was missing half the cabinet doors, which were outside near the shed, halfway to being refinished, varnished, and repainted a light rose pink with white accents. He had never realized just how many cabinets they had until now, and it seemed like too many.

The guest bathroom had yet to be retiled, though the tiles were sitting ready for him to put down. 

The guest bedroom was waiting to be repainted a greyish green, but he hadn’t had time to even crack the paint cans open. 

And finally, and perhaps worst, the living room was...

“A fuckin’ disaster,” Snafu muttered to himself as he walked into it, carefully. The repainting of it to a plum had gone just fine. However, a bit of paint had gotten onto the velvet chaise lounge they’d recently bought at a flea market. They were going to reupholster it anyway, why not do it now to get rid of the paint? 

Snafu shook his head at the memory of asking himself that question. From there, he’d been on a search for a nice velvet to replace the original that would also match the walls, and be to Eugene and his tastes. Easier said than done, and made all the harder at the realization that some of the wood flooring had, at some point, somehow been damaged (maybe when they’d moved in the lounge? He couldn’t be sure.) 

Which meant of course the wood flooring needed to be repaired, which was...a task, putting it mildly.

“How the hell am I gonna finish this?” Snafu asked Queen, who was preening on the leftover velvet for the lounge. 

She rolled over and turned away from him, still preening with one paw. 

“Exactly,” he sighed, then traipsed into the front hall, sitting onto the first step of the staircase to the upper level. “I just gotta make a plan, right? I mean, he might not even notice the guest room; I can paint that later. Bathroom might be an issue, but we don’t even use that bathroom that much, I can hide the tiles. And how often does anybody really look at a cabinet, like really look, ya know?” 

Queen looked over, sighed, and closed her eyes for a nap.

“Right? I don’t look at cabinet doors, that’s for sure,” Snafu continued. “So that just leaves the living room, and the living room-” 

The front door creaked open, and he just barely resisted the urge to bolt. 

“Hey! Is Eugene ba-what in the everloving...” Sidney froze in the doorway, staring at the living room mess. “So, he isn’t back yet then?” 

Snafu shook his head. “Nah, or I’d be dead.” 

“He won’t be that upset,” Sidney soothed. “I know you mentioned you were doin’ some work but...damn. Hey, nearly done though, really. Just the chair there, and the floor some, and-” 

“Most of the rest of the house,” Snafu interrupted. “I got a little ambitious.” 

“How ambitious?” Sidney asked gently, and joined Snafu on the step. 

By the time Snafu was done regaling him with everything that needed doing, Sidney had gone pale. 

“That’s maybe a little too ambitious indeed, Snaf. But, I admire it.” 

“And now you’re headin’ on home, right?” 

Sidney frowned. “Hell do you mean? I’m gonna help you get done whatever we can. We’ll call Mary, she can come by and help paint, and help you with that lounge. Between the three of us, we can get some of it done at least.” 

Snafu stared. They were friends more for Eugene’s sake, rather than to actually be friends (if anything, he got along better with Mary.) There was nothing wrong with Sidney, they just hadn’t clicked in any major way. But it was moments like this he was grateful they both put in the work to become better friends, because what was a good friend if not occasionally a home improvement knight in shining armor?

He hugged Sidney tight, until Sidney finally tried to wriggle out. “Thank you. I know he wouldn’t actually kill me-” 

“He doesn’t even like raising his voice to you,” Sidney interrupted. “Every time y’all argue, he calls me and says how bad he feels about any shouting. And I highly doubt it’s even really ‘shouting.’ But you might have earned it this time, though I would defend you.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. This was done with good intentions, to give him a nice surprise to come home too. Not your fault home improvement shit never goes right,” Sidney replied. “Come on, get up. We got a long night, and I still gotta call Mary.” 

Once Mary was over, it was shocking how fast it all seemed to go. It wasn’t that Sid and Mary rushed him or their own tasks, just that it seemed...easier. The house was warm and loud (as well as the backyard for the last few hours of daylight, while he and Sid finished up the cabinet doors, leaving them painted and drying near the back door) and with the dog and cats occasionally peeking in to check on them, it all felt lively and just good. Better than it had felt for the weeks of being empty except for himself and the pets. 

It was six in the morning when they gave up, and, and Sidney put it “had to accept it for what it was.” 

Which wasn’t terrible, all things considered. 

The last bit of the living room flooring had been fixed up, and the lounge reupholstered thanks to Mary’s endless hard work on it. 

The guest bedroom might need another coat, but it was at least mostly done, and the animals had been kept out of it so the door could be shut, keeping the paint fumes mostly confined to the hall near it. 

The guest bathroom still had some tiles to finish putting down, but it was about halfway done, and that was a hell of a lot further than Snafu had figured they’d get. 

The cabinet doors still needed to finish drying and be actually put back onto the kitchen cabinets, but they looked damn pretty. 

They cleaned up, and settled in to wait for Eugene.

And waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

“He would have called by now,” Snafu muttered, after four hours had passed from when Eugene was supposed to be home. “I should go down to the station, see why he isn’t in yet. Maybe he meant for me to pick him up and forgot to say...” 

Sidney shook his head. “That ain’t Eugene. He has a checklist for his checklists; he would have told you. At least four times.” 

Mary nodded. “Do you have a number you can call him at? Maybe his train got delayed and he’s still at his hotel in, where was it again he was going?” 

“Atlanta,” Snafu replied, and walked to the phone with them and three of the cats on his heels. 

He wasn’t at the hotel, nor at the train station in Atlanta. Nor was he at the train station in Mobile, waiting to be picked up. 

“Merriell, don’t panic,” Sidney said softly as they walked back to the couch, and Sid using his proper name was enough to send him spiraling. 

“What if he’s hurt, what if something happened? I should have just gone with him, y’all could have looked after the pets, and I could have found somethin’ to do in Atlanta while he was busy. This is my fault.” 

“How on earth is this your fault?” Mary asked. “I’m sure he’s just fine, probably just...held up, somehow. Who knows, maybe he just can’t catch a cab to the station.”

“For four hours?” Sidney scoffed, then winced as Mary slapped his arm. “I mean yeah. You never know. Could be a cab driver shortage...” 

He expected them to leave, but they stayed even as the day wore on into the evening. Mary eventually got up to check on the paint in the guest room, and when she didn’t return, Snafu figured it was dry enough for the final coat. Sid followed shortly after in getting up, and the sound of the back door opening and closing let him know that the cabinet doors were apparently ready to be put back in place. 

Meanwhile, he waited and watched the phone. 

“Snaf, I’m sure he’s fine,” Sidney said as they finally slipped on their shoes and retrieved their keys from the front hall table. “Somethin’ silly just held him up, and he’ll be rushing in here before you know it. Let yourself get some sleep, okay?” 

Mary nodded, and turned to the door, only to nearly be smacked in the face by it as it swung open.

“I am so sorry,” Eugene was a mess, hair clearly unbrushed, clothes wrinkled, and eyes wild. “Are you okay? Why are you two here? I mean, I don’t mean that like; you just don’t live here is what I mean-” 

“Gene,” Sidney said gently. “Shut the fuck up and breathe for a minute. What happened?” 

Eugene sighed, kicked off his shoes, and moved past them to drop on the newly upholstered chaise lounge. “Snaf, it’s for you. Got it sitting outside. It’s wrapped up, but take a look. Hopefully you like it, and then we can bring it inside. Thought we could hang it in here, on the-did you paint in here?” 

Snafu ignored Sidney’s face-palm and Mary’s shaking head as he headed outside. Just by the front door, was a too-big-for-one-person-to-carry framed canvas, bits of the golden colored frame sticking out from under the brown paper wrapping. And under the paper...

“Those are our babies!” Snafu crowed, and ran back inside, nearly knocked the lounge back as he dropped onto it to hug Eugene. “You had to have commissioned that ages ago, to get them pictures of the cats and God knows how you got a decent one of Ack-Ack, and when did you do that?” 

“Soon as they mentioned they might need me to travel,” Eugene replied. “Called around, found a local artist, sent the pictures along in the mail whenever I got a chance that you weren’t paying attention. Thought it would be a way to make up for me being gone, but gettin’ that thing in and off of a train was something else, and then they nearly didn’t want to let me on, and-” 

Eugene shrugged. “But I made it. And it made it. You like it?” 

“I love it!” he buried his face in Eugene’s shoulder, hugging him tight again and taking in everything about him again, how he felt, the scent of his cologne. “But you better not be goin’ anywhere for awhile regardless. I can tell you later, but I-” 

“You two are absolutely meant for each other,” Sidney laughed. “You with the picture, and this fool...he redid half the damn house while you were gone. With our help, though we were happy to do it. That lounge you’re sittin’ on?” 

Eugene looked down at it as he moved out of Snafu’s embrace as if he was seeing it for the first time. “This wasn’t green velvet when I left.” 

“No, no it wasn’t,” Mary smiled. “But it is now! And wait’ll you see the rest of it, he worked hard. Ran out of time, but he worked hard.” 

“How much did you try to do in three weeks?” Eugene laughed, though his smile drooped slightly as not one of the three of them answered.

“Tell you what,” Snafu replied after a moment. “We get that painting inside, hung up, and have dinner. And then I’ll tell you all what I did, and how I owe our Sid and Mary a very big favor for it, starting with a late dinner tonight if you both want to stay.” 

“...Everything is one piece, right?” 

“Except for the tile of the guest bathroom, yes,” Sid interjected. “And if you’ll have us, we’d be happy to stay. Can get that last bit of tiling done with Snaf before we go.”

“I like it! And we’ll have a bit of wine to celebrate your being home,” Snafu said to Eugene, and kissed him before hopping off the lounge and towards the kitchen. “In fact, wine first, picture hanging, then dinner, then tiling?” 

“Sounds like a dangerous combination,” Eugene said. “But why not, if we’re celebrating. How badly can it turn out?” 

Two bottles of wine between them all, and the rest of the night later, they managed to get the picture inside and resting safely against a wall in the front hall, and the guest bathroom was left mercifully untouched by any drunken work. 

Despite it, Snafu had never been happier. Eugene was home, there was good food, good wine, good friends, a gorgeous gift, and the house looked lovely. He couldn’t ask for more. 

[packsbeforesnacks]

You Wanna Ride It, My Mimercycle || Noah & Winn

TIMING: Monday, May 4th, 2020, Sunset LOCATION: The Veterinary Clinic PARTIES: @noah-kalani & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: Local Wolf Man (and Friend) Caught Murdering Mimes, More at 11 (”Do you need a license to drive a mimercycle? Asking for a friend.”) WARNINGS: None.

Winn had been riding home when he’d heard the howl, stopping off near the turn to his cabin to message Ariana and Miles in a mild panic. And they’d both been fine, and Kaden wasn’t involved, and that should’ve been the end of it. But it wasn’t. Winn was still reeling over Miles having a secret (well, unknown to him) brother, and that brother being in trouble with fucking Hunters. This was why Winn hadn’t wanted to get close to wolves! (‘Course, the voice in the back of his head was quick to remind him, it was nice to have folks worth carin’ about again.) His mind drifted to Noah unbidden, still stuck on the other night — and the mornin’ after. 

But before he could interrogate his feelings on the other man, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, an unfamiliar scent blowing into his face. Or, more accurately, an intimately familiar scent. There was a black-and-white blur ahead of him on the deserted road. Aw, fuck. Not now. Havin’ to think about his stalker was already bad, and now the fuckin’ mime was showin’ up at the worst possible time. He wasn’t anywhere near the station yet, this part of town only vaguely familiar to him. Winn revved his bike, pulling forward. And to his horror, Winn discovered his stalker wasn’t alone. Oh no. That would be too kind of the Universe. Instead, Winn’s mime was, oh God, riding other mimes? The unholy blob beneath Winn’s mime-self was the twisted, mottled form of a bike, the naked hands and feet of two faceless mimes pedaling it along like the worst Flintstones special. The seat and handles were… Oh, for fuck’s sake. Winn would recognize those dimples anywhere. But why was Noah’s mime-self here?

To say it had been a bit of a rough day at the clinic for one Noah Kalani might be a bit of an understatement. From the computer error that mixed up appointment reminders (No Mrs. Seawol, Alfred was not scheduled to get snip sniped today, that text was a mistake) to one very very heartbreaking euthanasia (yes he broke down and cried once the owner left) he had been put through the wringer in more ways that one, so much so that the Dr Choi took one look at him at the reception desk –silently munching on the lunch he almost forgot to eat– and sent him outside to get some air and some sunshine on his face. Sitting there on the bench next to the parking lot though Noah couldn’t help but fidget in his scrubs. It was almost 5pm.  He just had to make it till then and he could go home, take a shower, cuddle with his own pup, and not agonize over the weird Winn situation of the other night.. But of course like always the universe had other plans, and they were unfolding right before his very eyes.

Winn’s brain had scarcely put together a joke about riding Noah when it all went to Hell. Ricky had warned him. “More aggressive,” he’d said. And the, what, demons were exactly that. The mime-motorcycle (mimercycle, ugh) seemed bent on runnin’ him off the road, as silently as possible. It rammed into the side of Winn’s bike, Winn’s tires skidding on the road as he tried to avoid going down in a blaze of gore-y. His phone flew out of his hand where he’d half-composed a text to Ariana and onto the pavement at a crisp sixty miles an hour. (Don’t text and drive, he guessed.) Fuck, why wasn’t there anyone out, it was, like, five! They were headin’ towards a more populated town, he knew. Given the mimes’ dislike of a public stage, that meant that, soon, he’d either be dead or the mimes were about to make the evenin’ news. And Winn still hadn’t figured out why Noah’s mime wa— Aw, goddammit. He knew that scent, mixed with the scent of a dozen or more other animals, but still distinctly Noah. 

Way Winn saw it, he had two options now. Keep drivin’ towards the other man, riskin’ both their lives or… well, actually, he didn’t have much of a choice. The mimercycle caught up to him again, ramming him from the back and almost pitchin’ Winn off his bike. He slammed on the brakes, just enough that he heard the crunch of at least one of the mimes’ bones as it made contact with the metal. He abandoned the bike, running the rest of the way up to the veterinary clinic to greet his friend. “Hey, uh, take this, but do not touch the blade” he said, pullin’ his silver knife out its sheath and pressing it gently into Noah’s hands. “Silent-but-deadly is about to catch up to us. And, like, maybe focus on them instead of me if you don’t want to see my ass again.” Winn kicked off his boots and threw his jacket towards the clinic. This wasn’t how Winn wanted Noah to see the wolf for the first time, but there wasn’t any other choice. He couldn’t — wouldn’t �� let Noah get hurt because he was scared. Never again.

Watching as the nightmarish scene played out before his very eyes, Noah couldn’t exactly figure out where to look first. Because in front of him was now a very sweaty looking Winn, his motorcycle, a terrifying mishmash of limbs dressed in black and white stripes, and oh, hey guess what. Looks like those are mimes. Fantastic. Just what he needed. The cherry on top of the perfectly fucked up day. Figuring it was better to roll with the metaphorical punches White Crest was dolling out than even try to question it (because mimes? really?), Noah sprung into action, closing the last few feet between him and Winn (oh hey hello Winn, nice to see you too, next time bring liquor, not not a shitshow of mimes) the wolf inside of him already relishing the possibility of a fight. Taking a split second, however, he looked over Winn, hoping that the other man wasn’t injured or anything, because that would make whatever this was going to turn into just that much harder. But just as soon as Noah finished his visual assessment on the man in front of him, Winn was pressing a blade into his hands, a silver knife to be exact. The thought making Noah’s skin already start to itch. “Wait, Winn, what the hell—” Noah started before Winn simply transformed.

It was near the Moon, a fact that Winn’s wolf was fully and completely aware of. He had time, just barely, to bark out a “Kill your own mime or it’ll come back.” It came out half as a growl, Winn’s teeth and jaw already warping into his lupine form. It was a little painful tonight, Winn noticed. But maybe the wolf was just eager to get its claws into a victim. He flung himself forward, knocking off his own mime, the clusterfuck of the mimercycle speeding along comically and crashing into a trash can sitting outside of the veterinary clinic. Uh-oh. They didn’t look very happy. Fortunately, neither did Noah. The other man was tense — hell, if he were a full wolf, Winn was almost sure he’d have burst into fur already. 

He didn’t have much time to wonder how Noah’s day had been, though, when his own mime slammed back into him, still in human form, just barely knocking the breath out of Winn. Maybe Winn would get lucky. Maybe his mime wasn’t a werewolf-mime, just a really-strong-human-ish-mime. He growled, clawing at the asphalt beneath his paws, rearing up on his leg. Was it too much to ask for his mime to get scared off? Apparently so. The mime grinned, all teeth, but without Winn’s trademark mirth. It was unnerving. And then, it started miming. It was… loading something? Into a… gun? No. Not a gun. A crossbo— Oh, fuck no, not this shit again. Winn’s reaction time, thank fuck, was great as a wolf when he wasn’t drunk as piss, and he rolled out of the way just in time. He heard the “bolt” thunk into something, it slowly fading into corporeality, the contours of the object becoming real. He whined in Noah’s general direction, trying to warn him that these assholes meant business. Why’d his mime get the cool toys?

“Kill your own mime or it’ll come back.” Those were the last words Winn spoke before he turned, body morphing into a full beast. He was hauntingly beautiful like this, Noah would have to give him that. But now was not the time to contemplate just how beautiful your wolf friend was in his other form, or how badly part of your heart ached to join him. Turning toward the mess that was currently trying to excavate itself from behind the dumpster, Noah noticed someone familiar, his trademark dimples somehow menacing on his painted face. Fucking hell, this mime looked like him, this mime looked like HIM. What the actual fuck. But Noah had no time to really contemplate this horrific being in front of him, because as soon as it stood up it was miming something. What, Noah had no clue and no time to find out. Fuckity fuck fuck. Focusing his energy, Noah lunged, trying to put what little knife training he had into practice, but not before the mime swung at him, some sort of invisible weapon tearing at the sleeve of his scrubs and ripping into the flesh of his forearm. Shit. The mime was miming a fucking invisible weapon. Noah’s eyes widened a little bit, fear now clouding his eyes, especially as the other two mimes flailed in the background. Okay, Kalani. Focus. You brought a knife to a mime fight and you are woefully outnumbered. 

Watching as the other two mimes started slowly resembling something more like humanoid beings and less like a collection of limbs, Noah knew what he had to do. And so he did it. He sprinted headfirst towards the obvious danger, throwing the knife as forcefully as he could, body already getting low and bracing for impact. Tackling. He was made for full contact, that much was evident as he rolled through the impact. Luckily the knife had caught in the mime in his shoulder before it had time to swing the invisible weapon at him, knocking it off balance and giving Noah just enough time to tackle. Excellent. Now get out of here and re-group, he urged himself as he scrambled away from, well, himself, hoping he wasn’t about to get jumped by the two other mimes while he was on the ground. 

But luckily, his getaway was smoother than expected, eyes focusing on one thing and one thing only, getting away from the mimes. But not before he saw something manifest next to the pile of mime limbs. It was comical almost how horrifying the manifestation was, jagged nails sticking out of a long bat shaped piece of wood. Yeah, it figured his own mime would conjure up something athletic. Scrambling as fast as he could,Noah grabbed his new weapon, hoping that Winn would forgive him for the change. Because yeah, he wasn’t really good with knives, but he sure as hell could swing a bat. And it was a good thing too, because as he straightened up into a standing position so did the other two mimes.

Winn had about had it with this mime fuckery, and the fight hadn’t even been going on that long. He saw pieces of Noah’s fight, flickering across his eyes as he avoided bolt after bolt, trying to get close to his own mime to get it out of the way. Just for a second, just long enough to help Noah. Three mime demons on one human was not a fair fight, and Winn could get rid of the other two easily enough. He just needed to get there. Winn saw Noah knife the Noah-mime (score one for Kalani), the smell of human blood lighting up his senses as the wind told him of Noah’s injury (ugh, score one for mimes). Damn it. Another bolt thunked into a nearby tree, and Winn decided to focus on his own mime. Noah’s mime was crumpled, momentarily, a few feet away. Winn’s mime had murder in its eyes, the smile gone from its face. Clearly, its memory of the incident with Kaden had left out some key details. Did it really think Winn was an easy target? As if. 

Winn rushed it, snarling and gnashing his teeth. He really hated to do this, but… He dove under one of the bolts as it launched, and latched his teeth into his mime’s leg. There was a flicker of hesitation in his heart, half-sure that biting the mime would hurt him. But fortunately, no such horror happened. He reared up on his hind-legs, spinning in a half circle and launching his mime into Noah’s, both of them rolling in an unholy tangle down the street just enough to (hopefully) give him time. And time he needed. Noah had, somehow, a bat straight off of The Walking Dead, and that motherfucker was currently being swung in the direction of the two minion-mimes. He grunted, landing beside Noah. Time to even the odds. 

Winn feinted at the left mime, the muted fear leading the mime to open its mouth in a silent scream as a hulking wolf-man headed its way, but at the last second he, and his outstretched claws, dove for the mime on the right. It was a close thing, and Winn hoped Noah could deal with the mime-that-who-pissed-itself, but Winn’s claws sank true and deep into the mime’s gut. He stuck his other paw out and into the mime’s stomach, yanking as hard as this form could, and the mime exploded into a puff of black-and-white smoke. One down, three to— Fuck. 

Something slammed into Winn’s side, hard. He rolled, rolled, and stopped, panting. And before him stood himself. Only this time, there was no easy smile, no mimed crossbow. Oh no. The mime had decided to get serious. And that meant Winn staring into his own eyes… as the wolf. A monster, hulking, as warped as Winn was elegant. It was a facsimile, the copy not quite right. Mutilated, likely, by the times it had been thrown around. Its fur was the worst part, striped as all mimes were, lines drawn across its powerful body like a warning. Danger. Where was a Hunter when you needed one?

Finally upright, Noah hardly had any time to take in his surroundings, or address the slippery trickle of blood he could feel slowly sliding down his arm, before a mass of black and white was hurtling toward his menacing imposter, knocking the mime down once again. Winn. He’d forgotten momentarily about the other man — correction, wolf — he was fighting alongside, but he was grateful for the assist nevertheless, especially as the two mime demons started their slow creep towards him, hands already shaping invisible items. Watching Winn out of the corner of his eyes, Noah was determined to bat cleanup (all puns intended) and swung with all his might at the mime Winn had left, resulting in a perfect headshot. And just like that, the demon vanished in a puff of smoke, marking their kill count as two. 

Using this split second of time to catch his breath, Noah looked around, hoping they were somehow winning? That's when he saw it. The grotesque caricature of a werewolf, one might say, striped, lumbering, its back to him, its eyes focused on one thing and one thing only. Winn. It was safe to say Noah didn’t know much about mimes, nor did he know much about werewolves, or the terrifying hybrid of both (yeah, he was going to have nightmares for YEARS). But watching his mime counterpart starting to stand again, hands clawing desperately at his wound, black sludge oozing, no, sizzling slowly out of the edges he knew one thing for sure. He actually did need that knife. Letting go of the bat, Noah dove low towards his own likeness again, bracing for another impact and using his momentum to carry him through. Tackling like this was infinitely harder without pads, but the adrenaline coursing through him refused to let him forget his years of muscle memory as he crashed yet again to the ground on top of 200 pounds of mime. 

Scrambling to get into a sitting position before an all too familiar pair of arms wrapped around him, Noah swung a couple of punches, channeling his own wolfy brute force and aggression to make them count. “Stay DOWN, you fucking MOTHER. FUCKER!” he screamed into his own face, the irony of the moment definitely not lost on him. But, of course, Noah had bigger fish to fry than to think about how much therapy he was going to need after this. Hoping his mime was stunned enough, Noah grabbed the knife and wrenched it out, hands, feet, and legs somehow clambering out of one special hell and into another. But not before he cocked his arm and aimed the already blackened, bloody knife into the meaty striped back of monstrous mime-wolf.

There were things that Winn knew about himself which, considering the crossbow situation, he had to assume that maybe this cursed thing knew too. For example, since the incident with Kaden, he was, ever-so-slightly, weaker on one side. Winn had learned to compensate, and knew that, soon, the Moon would undo the last of the damage the silver had done. The mime, though, wasn’t actually a wolf, and Winn could tell. It was in the way that it moved, the way that it seemed on-edge, even in its pure aggression. Winn, however, was intimately aware of his furrier half. And that was the edge he needed. The wolf inside (outside?) of him was howling, urging him onward to kill, kill, kill. 

Winn clawed once, twice, quickly swiping at the mime. He wasn’t trying to hit it, just throw it off-balance. Wolves were strong, he wouldn’t be able to just tear open its chest. But if he could get it on its back, he could tear out its throat. The soft skin was the weakest point he could think of, and he didn’t have the dagger on him (and he shuddered to think what it might do to him in this form). They went back-and-forth like that, as Winn heard Noah shout at his own double. He couldn’t make it out, too focused, but he could feel the fury from Noah. He wanted to howl in pride. The mime hesitated, hearing the fight behind it (and, oh God, did they care about each other?), and Winn saw his opportunity, sweeping his claws low at the side that Kaden had injured. As he made contact, he felt the mime-wolf tense — not from him, but from a knife to its back. He and Noah had gotten lucky, or maybe they were just in-sync, because the silver dagger sank true. (And Winn shuddered, for just a moment, remembering how the dagger had felt in his own back.) 

But this was his chance. He followed through, tripping the mime up and shoving it hard, on its back. Its mouth opened in a silent scream as the silver jammed deeper into its back, its neck exposed. And Winn went for the kill, snarling as he ripped its throat out, the body fading in striped waves as the mime choked on its own tar. But this wasn’t over, not yet. He needed to help Noah. The dagger laid in front of him, messy and black, and Winn took a chance. Winn made an angry, barking sound, trying to get Noah’s attention, before picking up the knife in his mouth (barely missing the silver of the blade) and flinging it in a high arc through the air. Alright, football boy. Fetch.

Letting the knife quite literally slip out of his hands from all of the mime blood it was drenched in, Noah hoped he had helped in some capacity, the wound in the mime-wolf’s back already bubbling out thick, viscous black sludge. It was almost as if the skin was boiling off, and Noah couldn’t help the shiver that went down his spine. Was this really what happened when real wolves came in contact with silver knives? Because if so, then that was the real scary stuff right there. Bringing his focus back to the task at hand Noah made sure to wipe what he could off his hands on his scrubs, his wolf healing not fast enough to really seal the wound, but just fast enough to keep him from feeling the effects of his blood loss. 

Looking around for the bat from hell, Noah stared in horror as it dawned on him. In his haste to help Winn he’d accidentally thrown the bat towards his mime, not away from him. Fuck his life. Because yeah, he was left weaponless, watching helplessly as his mime-self did not fucking stay down like he had been so kindly asked to do. Hearing the bark from behind him, though, Noah turned just in time to see Winn’s wolf form pitch forward, something silver hurtling in an upward arc towards him. Wait, was that the knife? Oh thank heavens, the flying thing was the knife. Wait… no, no, no, the knife was flying, spinning like an unwieldy bullet, and, oh God, who did Winn think he was? Tom Brady? Because he was most definitely not Tom Brady. No, Noah was trained to go crash crash boom boom, not spinny twirly jumpy catchy. 

But seeing as how the wolf gave him no choice, up Noah went, praying to all that was holy that he could manage to catch the knife on the butt end. It took a second, maybe less before the younger boy completed his jump, hand luckily catching the knife with only minimal damage to the palm of his hand. Readjusting his grip, Noah twisted back toward his own mimesona, its dimples still pulled in that menacing smile. Holding the knife as tightly as he could, Noah sprinted forward, using his own body as a battering ram of sorts before he plunged the knife into the heart of the mime, pitching them backwards and onto the concrete for the third and last time. And just like that, it was over, a pile of oozing black goo where his own grizzly persona had once stood.

Fucking… hell. “I hate mimes,” Winn said — or, well, tried to say. It came out as a whiny, half-growl, the lupine mouth trying to create sounds it was simply incapable of. The wolf was… happy. More or less. Noah wasn’t badly injured, Winn and Noah had defeated their mimes, and Winn’s bike was still in working condition. Winn’s clothes, however, had not survived the experience. And though mime magic (maybe?) had kept the town clear, Winn doubted that his luck would last for much longer. He needed to get inside, and he needed to get inside now. If he were a born wolf, he could transform further, pretend to be… a really big dog? Noah could lie. Hopefully. Maybe. Winn went over to the other man, sniffing at his injury and whining in the back of his throat. It was healing. Not as fast as Winn would heal, in the same situation, but it would be fine. He could tell. Noah was covered in mime goop, though even that was fading into puffs of striped smoke. 

He huffed out a noise, taking Noah into his arms and hugging him as the wolf, careful not to let his claws hurt Noah. He dwarfed the man, in this form, but he could already feel the adrenaline running out of his body. The wolf was tired, and that meant, well, Winn had two options. He could hope that Noah forgave him for yet another incident involving Winn’s dick, or he could run away. Winn knew what he had to do. He picked up Noah quickly, carrying them over to the alleyway beside the clinic, obscured, just barely, by the dumpster that had been shoved in the fight, and turned back, still embracing the other man. He was glad, so glad, that he was okay. He… didn’t know what he would have done if Noah had been hurt. He didn’t know what Noah would have done if Winn hadn’t been there to help fend off the mimes. 

Winn leaned his head into Noah’s shoulder. He smelled, he knew, pretty bad, the mime gunk leaving a stench from the places it had congealed in his fur. If that smell didn’t come out, Winn would have to stand in the rain for the next week. Wet dog was better than dead mime. “So,” he said, after holding Noah for a long moment, “I’m naked, and gross. Do y’all have a shower and, uh, can I borrow your scrubs? Don’t want to ruin a nicer pair of clothes, since those seem not long for this world. I can, uh, I can stay here until it’s all clear. Just bring me, uh, a towel or somethin’?” He was rambling. Winn pulled back from the hug, looking into Noah’s eyes, and feeling that same pull he’d been trying to forget about. Sober, Winn resisted, a half-smile forming on his face. “We kinda kicked ass, huh?”

Even covered in the stupid mime goop, that was already starting to evaporate into oddly striped smoke, Noah couldn’t help but smile. He did it. They did it. How? He didn’t have the slightest clue, but that wasn’t what mattered, in this moment anyway. No what mattered was Winn. As if on cue, Noah felt the wolf’s arms wrap around him, a weird feeling of comfort washing over him. “Hey bud,” he whispered softly, hand reaching up to intertwine into the course fur surrounding Winn’s muzzle. “Really glad you’re okay.” Because he honestly was glad that Winn was okay, relieved even. Because if Winn had… No. He wasn’t going to think about that. He didn’t need to think about that. What he really needed to think about was why in the world he was being lifted into the air?! 

“Holy shit!” Noah exclaimed, clearly not expecting Winn’s wolf to heft him up like a small child, arms and legs flailing (only slightly) out from underneath him. “Winn, what the hell,” he grunted out as he was deposited behind the dirty mime dumpster, somehow now hugging a naked man. Typical Winn Woods. Sighing, the younger man ran a hand though the dirty mop of hair now resting on his shoulder, somehow finding it hard to care too much about the awkward predicament Winn was putting him through right now. It was just nice to be hugged after all, and nice to know they were both not going to be mime dinner. “Yeah, I can find you something to wear, just give me a few seconds to breathe,” he murmured in response to Winn’s plea for clothes, not really wanting this moment to end. But all good moments did have to end sooner or later. 

As Winn pulled away from the hug, another one of Noah’s worst nightmares unfolded before his eyes. “Hello employee, and strange man hugging said employee.” The almost monotone timber and dry cadence rippled through the alleyway, sending chills rippling down Noah’s spine. Dr. Choi. Freezing on the spot, Noah gulped involuntarily, not knowing whether to jump on top of Winn (to cover his nakedness, of course) or to scramble away from him. Shit. “Noah, I’m guessing you’d like a spare pair of scrubs for your guest here, and possibly for yourself?” she continued as she raised a small, thin eyebrow eyebrow in the pair’s direction, apparently unphased by him covered in blood hugging a naked man behind a dumpster. “Uh, yes please.” Looking at Winn and then back to Dr. Choi and then back at Winn again, Noah could feel his brain start to literally malfunction. His mouth was devoid of words, incapable of forming even the smallest sentence so he just nodded instead, hoping that would be enough. “I’ll leave them on the counter next to the dog tub, then,” she replied nonchalantly before turning on her heel and walking back inside the clinic.

“Y’know,” Winn said as Noah led his naked ass into the clinic, “you’re handling my furrier half pretty well.” Hell, Noah had touched him — let Winn touch him — while in that form. Winn felt the warmth from Noah’s hand, still recent on his cheeks, and smiled like a goof. And Noah was havin’ far less of a freakout over Winn’s naked body than the other night. (Though, it likely helped that they’d both just nearly died, that everyone was sober, and that there was no morning wood afterwards this time.) The vet seemed chill in a way that Winn could appreciate… though, almost too chill? He sniffed the air, trying to smell anything odd, but all he could for his trouble was the tarry smell of the mimes. Yuck. 

Winn spotted the dog tub, making a beeline. He’d showered with a hose in the middle of nowhere before, this wasn’t all that different. Out of the corner of his eye, Winn saw Noah about to leave the room, to give him some privacy and whined. Wait, no, human form. Words. “Hey, um… Please don’t leave. I mean, don’t have to scrub my back or nothin’, but, um… Just need to make sure you’re safe. It’s a wolf thing. Kinda. And don’t you want to get a little cleaner, too, bro?” Winn winced, turning on the water and bracing himself against the cold, scrubbing at the occasional scrape that the mimes had torn into his skin, trying to make sure that, at least, the dirt was all out of it before it healed up. He reached over the edge of the tub to swipe some pup shampoo, figuring it was… mostly the same, right? “So, uh, I’m bushed,” Winn said, running his hands through his hair to get whatever remaining muck out. “But I need to borrow your phone for a sec. Mine’s back on the pavement somewhere, and there’s some shit goin’ down, and I need to make sure that everythin’ is alright? I’ll explain, promise.” Clean enough, Winn grabbed the huge towel that the good vet had left for them, knowing that he prolly smelled like a wet dog. Hot. Super great. Good thing Noah was used to the smell. 

He shook his hair out, before drying it off like, y’know, a human, and slipped into the scrubs, back turned to the tub. They were about his size, prolly a spare pair of Noah’s, though the lack of underwear didn’t do any favors for him in the, uh, cling department. Alright, first home, take Noah with him, get them both fed. Provide. Wait, no. He shushed the wolf, even as his stomach growled loudly. Miles, Ariana, and… Ulf, whoever-the-fuck-that-was, were on the case, and Winn knew he’d be next-to-useless now, as beat up as he was. He’d check in with Miles, ASAP, and be there for him and his brother. Like a good packma— Winn paused. Like a good friend. Speaking of friends, though… He turned around. 

Noah’s eyes were closed, and Winn took the opportunity to take in the sight before him for just a moment. The other man was built, he’d known that much, but Winn wasn’t prepared for the curves and edges of the other man’s body. He averted his eyes from Noah’s dangly bits, not wantin’ to be a creep, and his eyes landed on a scar on the Noah’s hip. Old, Winn could tell. From the transplant, then. He felt a flare of anger at Noah’s donor. Saving his life, but dooming him to pain, was irresponsible. Noah should’ve gotten a choice — someone should’ve given him the Bite. Winn needed to bring it up, somehow. But, for now, he threw the towel at the other man. “Dinner time,” he said, a wolfish (ha) grin on his face. “My treat. Make up for all of the, uh, nudity. Unless,” Winn added, before he could stop himself, “ya liked it, that is.” And with a wink, Winn turned around to go find his jacket and boots, and lock up his bike for the night, satisfied by the simple joy of being alive.

“Winn, I just killed a Stephen King-inspired Halloween costume version of myself with my own bare hands,” Noah huffed out, grateful that none of the other techs were poking around to watch him lead a very naked man into the backroom. “Your furry little problem is the least of mine right now.” Because yeah, the grand mindfuckery of a situation that was happening — Winn’s wolf form, as well as his dick being out (again) — was really just turning into a normal day in the life of one Noah Kalani. Well almost. The wolf thing did spark a lot of questions, but one crisis at a time. 

Turning on the faucet in the tub, Noah backed away, despite the small wolfy part of his mind screaming at him not to let his friend out of his sight. But apparently this nice human-focused gesture wasn’t needed. “It's a wolf thing.” Winn explained almost nonchalantly, and Noah hadn't even realized those were the words he had been searching for until they were hanging in the air between them. It's a wolf thing. The idea itself wasn't strange, no. Noah had been using that as an excuse for years, but it was strange to have something that usually only existed inside his own mind uttered back to him, and by someone so casually. 

Glancing over at Winn as he scrubbed himself down, Noah allowed himself a lingering glance, something about this more raw encounter different than all the other times he’d seen Winn. And maybe that was because Noah was finally truly seeing. Seeing the possibilities, as well as vulnerabilities of Winn Woods, the other man’s body in various stages of healing, and an angry bite scar maring the skin of his right hip. A small blush that colored Noah’s cheeks. Winn was actually really beautiful in his human form. But he’d also been beautiful as a wolf, that much was true. 

Pushing this new strange dichotomy out of his mind, Noah gingerly stripped off his scrubs, intent on ridding himself of any and all lingering mime. Handing Winn his phone he’d retrieved from the bench before they’d gone inside, Noah jumped into the tub that Winn had so graciously vacated, trying to make his time in the dog shower as quick as possible. Catching the towel that was thrown at him, Noah dried, giving Winn a playful eye roll as he did. “Your nudity is about as welcome to me as those mimes were,” he lied, jumping into his new pair of scrubs and following the other man out of the door with a grin. It had been a rough day but, somehow, it was starting to look better.