#in need of someone to pick me up (snarling and hissing) by the scruff of my neck and tend to me even when i bite

[rush-the-stars]

ik we always talk ab wolf!hybrid megumi but what about wolf!hybrid reader who he likes a liiiiiitle too much……

[sergeantsporks]

Writing request: If you have any ideas on how Darius and Eberwolf met or some shenangians with those two

I hope you do not mind. That I chose violence.

“You want me to work with… I’m sorry, what is that?”

Darius’ mentor slung an arm around his shoulders, throwing one arm out to encompass the creature on the other side of the window. “That is the most promising beastkeeper we’ve seen in a long time. His name is Eberwolf. Play nice.”

Darius wiggled out of his grasp, holding his hands up. “Oh, no. Beasts and I do not get along. They’re smelly, and dirty, and they never listen.”

“It’s called networking, Darius. He’s a heavy contender for the next coven head. Making connections now puts you in the ring. Plus, part of being a leader, is about learning to work with people that mmmmmmaybe you don’t get along with. Anyway, good luck, I got patrol, see ya, byeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

He was gone in a flash of gold, and Darius sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

He opened the door, and almost immediately the creature on the other side jumped to his feet, hissing. Darius held his hands out.

“Whoa! Nice… kitty?”

Eberwolf eyed him, glaring, then turned a circle and settled down, watching him with glowing eyes that promised a bite if Darius got too close.

Darius gulped. No wonder he’s such a good beastkeeper, he’s practically a beast himself. “Look.” He sighed. How exactly do I…? “I’m Darius. I have been… assigned… to show you around the keep. And… if you need anything… just ask. I understand youuuuuuuu’re what are you doing.”

Eberwolf had gotten up, and started sniffing around him. The little creature nodded to itself, then pounced, clambering up his cape and onto his shoulder. Darius yelped at the sudden weight, picking him up by the scruff of his neck and holding him out at arm’s length.

“Get off!”

Eberwolf’s legs scrabbled in the air, and Darius dropped him. The beastkeeper snarled, fur bristling, and shot away, out the door.

Oh, no.

Play nice.

Network.

Darius chased after him, weaving through coven scouts that Eberwolf seemed to effortlessly bound under the legs of. “Hey! No, wait, come back, I—” Darius shifted to his abomination form, simply molding and sliding around scouts and finally tackling the little creature. “Gotcha!”

At a cleared throat, Darius looked up to see a familiar golden mask that he’d seen on a hundred broadcasts. He dropped Eberwolf, who shook himself off. Darius scrambled to his feet, bowing. “Sir! Emperor Belos, I apologize for—” He put one foot out to block Eber’s escape route, and the beast bit him. Darius squeaked, tears of startled pain blooming in his eyes. “—my associATE! He’s a new intern, he doesn’t know any better. He won’t bother you again.”

“See that he doesn’t. Where’s your mentor? I’d like a word with him.”

“Out on patrol, sir. I’m sure he’ll—” Eber bit harder, as if to remind Darius that he was still there “—BE back soon.”

“Mmm. That’s odd, he wasn’t assigned to any today.”

Bet he just didn’t want to deal with this pest, so he abandoned me with him. Networking and getting along with people you don’t like, HAH. “Maybe someone got sick?”

“Perhaps. I’m sure he’ll turn up. Dismissed.”

Emperor Belos swept off, and Darius heaved a sigh of relief, grabbing Eber by the scruff again. “Let go, you little menace!” He successfully detached the creature from his leg, glaring. “You can’t just run into the emperor’s quarters uninvited!

Eber gave him a smug look and climbed back on his shoulder, pointing onwards down the hallway.

“OH! So now you want a tour, do you?!” Darius heaved a sigh. Play nice. “Fine, fine, down here we have the scout’s barracks, the first aid station, where I should probably get this bite checked for an infection—”

Eber pulled on his shoulder, making him stumble.

“What is wrong with-?”

Eber sniffed the air, and pointed. Darius growled, but limped down the directed hallway to…

“Oh, the kitchen. No surprise.” Darius pushed open the door, finding some meat that Eber pounced on, but brought to the stove, carefully cleaning off his claws and using them to slice up vegetables and meat, cooking it in a big pan.

“If you were hungry, you didn’t have to eat my leg, you know.”

Eber offered him a fork and then started eating directly out of the pan, spearing food with his claws and munching down. Darius shook his head with a sigh, getting out a plate and scooping some of the food onto it. “Uncivilized.”

Eber smirked, jumping back up to his shoulder, spreading stains all over his cloak.

“Ugh!” Darius pulled the creature off, holding him out like an unruly toddler. “I’m starting to think you just like annoying me.”

Eber nodded, wiggling out of his grasp, and then scrambling up onto the table.

Darius sighed, poking his head out the door at the sound of pounding footsteps. “What’s going o—”

One of the scouts rushing by stopped, grabbing the front of his cloak. “Kid, the golden guard got attacked in the keep! Someone tried to assassinate the emperor, and…”

The world spun, and Darius ran down the hallway, his heart thudding in his ears. He followed the flurry of scouts, slamming open the door to the throne room. Emperor Belos was sitting slumped on his throne, breathing heavily, and the familiar white cloak Darius knew so well was in red tatters on the ground. He ran forward, nearly slipping in the puddle of blood as he crashed to the ground next to his mentor.

“No—no, no, no—” Darius’ hands hovered over the slashes, like some monster had clawed him.

Did you know this was going to happen? Did you keep me away on purpose, send me on some stupid errand to watch Eberwolf?

“I could have helped you,” he whispered, his hands curling the front of his mentor’s cloak. A sob built up in Darius’ throat, and he doubled over, his forehead touching his mentor’s as he howled, “NO! I could—I could have—”

A scout gingerly took his arm and pulled him away, guiding him out of the throne room while several others started searching for clues. Darius screamed, yanking at their grasp, but at a simple melody, his eyelids drooped shut, and he fell limp against the scout.

He woke up in his room, his bloody cloak and gloves gone. Darius curled his knees to his chest with a sob, burying his head in his arms.

“It shouldn’t have happened like this,” he whispered, “It shouldn’t have…”

He felt a tug on his arm, and he looked down to see Eberwolf, staring up at him with big, concerned eyes.

“What do you want?” he muttered thickly, wiping at his eyes.

Eberwolf climbed up, settling in his lap, and starting to rumble comfortingly. Darius’s eyes welled up all over again, and he grabbed the furry little creature, shoulders and chest heaving as he hugged him tight. Eber continued his purring, reaching up and gingerly patting Darius’ face as he cried, huge, ugly tears rolling down his face.

“He’s gone. And I wasn’t even there!”

Another comforting rumble. Darius fell sideways, and Eber wriggled out of his arms, curling up just next to him, still purring.

“What do I do now?”

[devilishdemise]

DevilishDemise And FieryInnocence - September 17th, 2012

Anna Belle: [Opening the styrofoam dinner box, I picked at the crust on my club sandwich. The restaurants around the hotel were locally owned and that meant limited items on their menu. But the roasted turkey sounded appetizing and I couldn't complain when I lift it to my lips and take a bite, a quiet moan building in the back of my throat.

My eyes move around the room, scanning it over for the hundredth time today. It's driving me stir crazy being here, but I have a job to do and tomorrow is when it's meant to begin. @DevilishDemise had crossed my mind several times today and while I don't mind him being there, I can't help but wonder about his ability to to cause more trouble for me than I'd ever imagined.

Another bite of my sandwich elicits another moan and I'm glad that @DevilishDemise hadn't caught me eating yesterday. A smile forms on my lips and @DevilishDemise's dark eyes come to mind. Endless stories hidden in them. And part of me hoped we'd meet again so I could learn at least half of them.] 

 Darius: -I sit on the edge of my messy bed, my head hanging as I tried to clear all thoughts of @FieryInnocence from my head. How was it that she was able to capture my attention so fully?

I shake my head and pull in a deep breath a slow low groan leaving me as @FieryInnocence's scent was still heavy in my nose and lungs. Everything about @FieryInnocence had enticed both mine and my dark side's interests and the Beast in me was hungry to see @FieryInnocence again.

My lip curves up in a snarl,  my vision darkening as my body crackles with sparks my dark magic sweeps up my spine. I feel my muscles contract, tensing and hear a distorted growl slip past my lips. I clench my fists feeling my claws start to protrude and force the Beast from fully emerging.

I huff out a sharp breath through my nose in relief when I regain control. How could I expect @FieryInnocence to want to be near a cursed and tortured monster such as myself? He'd rip and bathe in her blood and I'd be useless to stop him. I hiss out a dark growl through my tight firm lips at the mere thought.-

I'd never allow it.

-I grit out the words with my palms moving to scrub over the scruff at my jaw. I'd never allow myself to get so close to @FieryInnocence to risk that side to emerge. No, I needed to stay away from @FieryInnocence. It was for the best...but one look. One peek in on her, that could do no harm, true?

I shake my head again trying to talk myself out of it right before I summoned up my dark magic to dematerialize off to the last place I'd seen @FieryInnocence, sticking to the dark shadows as I used them to hide my presence. I watched the front of the small hotel, eyes scanning for any signs of @FieryInnocence, my boots tapping as I grew impatient.

Where is she? I close my eyes, trying to remotely view where she was in the building and my lips curve into a grin as I locate @FieryInnocence I fade off to materialize in front of @FieryInnocence's door, my knuckles rapping on the door softly with a disapproving sigh when I had seen what she had been eating. That was not a meal fit for anyone, much less a fine female such as @FieryInnocence.-

Anna Belle: [My head turns, trying to decide if I actually hear someone knock or if I was making it up. Listening more intently, I sit up, laying my sandwich back down in the box, pushing myself out of my seat. Wiping my hands on my napkin, I smooth out my dress and pad quietly to the door. My eyes widen at the sight of @DevilishDemise, mouth falling open in surprise.]

Darius? H-how did you know where to find me?

[My gaze falters, looking over @DevilishDemise's form, more than concerned at his ability to track me down.]

Darius: -I smirk down at you turning on my devilish charm with a wink as I hear both your spoken and unspoken words-

I have my ways, I'm very resourceful when something's caught my attention.

-I nod toward the small room beyond you.-

Care to invite me in? I promise to keep my hands to myself, unless you'd rather I'd not. 

-I lean my shoulder against the jab of the door my mind reading your thoughts and concerns as they flitted by in your head-

Anna Belle: [Deciding against prying any further, I move to the side, letting you pass into the room.]

Yes. Come on in, @DevilishDemise.

[Worries my lower lip, watching as you move beside me to enter. Part of me feels like reaching out to grab your hand, but I know it's merely the attraction wanting me to do that.]

Did you have a decent day, @DevilishDemise?

Darius: -I stride past you, eyes taking in the poor excuse for a room and your choice of a meal, my lip turning up slightly before I turned back to you.-

Yes, it was fine, and how was yours?

-I stay standing watching as you moved away from the door-

Anna Belle: [Watches you, your eyes scrutinizing my makeshift home. It makes me uneasy and I shift my weight from one foot to another.]

It was spent here and talking to my boss, #Donald.

[Lifts a shoulder in a shrug.]

Is something wrong, @DevilishDemise?

Darius: -I shake my head at the mention of work and look down at the sandwich sitting in the box then back at you-

Yes, your meal is unacceptable and unsubstantial.

-I grin with dark eyes glinting in your direction-

Will you join me for a late dinner?

Anna Belle: [Frowns, looking from my sandwich back up to you.]

There's not a thing wrong with that, @DevilishDemise! It's perfectly acceptable and astonishingly tasty.

[Grumbles under my breath, moving past you to grab my food.]

And just for that, @DevilishDemise, no. I'd rather eat my "unacceptable" sandwich in the company of my, more than likely, unacceptable room. Which I quite like, @DevilishDemise.

[I took a bite of my sandwich, hoping to not reveal that my room was killing me. So dark and dreary, even my dresses couldn't breathe life into it.]

And you couldn't make me anyway, @DevilishDemise. You're a stranger and I'd say you kidnapped me!

Darius: -My chest shook from silent laughter, your words biting out as your thoughts screamed quite the contrary.-

Are you sure about that, Anna? I believe you to be fibbing.

-I moved forward to approach your slender body slowly not wanting to frighten you off. I keep a short distance between us, my presence hard to ignore and my magic thick in the air-

Do you you believe in magic, Anna?

-I gaze down at you with dark fire blazing behind my eyes as I awaited your response-

Anna Belle: [I don't even have to look up to feel the pull. The very pull that's had you in my mind all night and day. Shrugging my shoulders, I become more interested in the styrofoam plate.]

I don't know. Perhaps..?

Darius: -I grin watching your nervous actions, your eyes refusing to look up into mine. I get an idea and lean down to whisper huskily into your ear, finger curled under your chin to tilt it up-

Close your eyes and picture your favorite meal. Trust me, I won't harm you.

-I keep my gaze downcast as I watch and wait to see if you'd do as I asked-

Anna Belle: [My eyes close when you move closer, the deep huskiness of your voice stealing my breath. I've no words and can only nod, resisting every urge inside me to tilt my head just a little, wanting to feel your lips on mine, just as they were on my temple yesterday. Trying hard to focus, I release a shaky breath and think of a dinner my grandmother made, long before... I stop the memory and focus on the meal; peach cobbler and roasted vegetables, a tender roast. A soft moan falls from my lips before I can stop it and I feel my cheeks flush in embarrassment.]

I-I'm sorry..

[Covers my chest, not daring to open my eyes.]

Darius: -I see the visuals play out in my head, turning to touch the sandwich with my fingertips, burning it away with my powers before waving my palm over the now empty space, materializing the meal you'd pictured before us. I turn back to you, a soft grin playing on my lips. I lean in and slowly close the gap between us to connect with those soft pink lips I'd been kicking myself mentally over not kissing the evening before. I hum out a bare moan at the gentle touch reluctantly leaning back to whisper across them-

Open your eyes…

Anna Belle: [Inhales sharply when I feel your lips, your stubble lightly scratching over my skin. Your words break me from the moment I was having with you in my mind, my eyes barely unable to focus anywhere but on yours.]

What do you..

[Trailing off my hand instinctively reaches for yours, squeezing it tightly. Though I can barely ignore the hum of electricity passing between us, I pay it little mind when I see the very food I'd thought of.]

W-what? How'd you.. Darius..?

Darius: -I chuckle catching your surprise and gripping your hand in mine to keep you upright. I rest my other on your hip moving you toward the vacant seat, and helping you into it-

Magic, that's how.

-I wink playfully, scooting your chair under the table before turning to sink into the one across from you.I grin devilishly over to you before nodding to the food-

Eat up.

Anna Belle: [My eyes flicker up to yours before looking back down at the food. How on earth? No magic I'd ever -- well, I've never seen magic before. Lifting the fork, I notice my hand is shaking slightly. It would seem I'm completely incapable of reacting as I normally would when you're around. I take a bite of the cobbler first, my eyes closing the moment the spices and sweetness explodes on my tongue. My head falls back just a bit and a moan forms in my throat. It's good. Very good. Just like my grandmother's, if not better.]

Darius: -I nearly drop the fork sitting in the cradle of my hand as your throaty moan leaves you, your neck arches beautifully in the low lights of the run down hotel room, and my mouth watered at the thought of sucking and biting along it. Just a taste. One is all I wanted, needed, and craved. I feel the clawing start low in my gut and I shift in my seat suddenly uncomfortable.

I attempt to stave off the feeling, cutting into a bite of the food hoping it would be sufficient to appease the Beast before he threatened to emerge. I clear my throat taking the bite with a low hum of approval, my eyes flickering between my food and yours sparkling toward me when you dared to sneak a glance-

Anna Belle: [Tilts my head for a moment, brows furrowed. Your eyes. They.. No, it must be the lighting. I force a smile and cut into the roast, whispering softly before taking a bite.]

Thank you. For this.. magic or not, it's amazing.

[Meets your dark gaze and allows the meat to rest on my tongue, biting back another moan. Shifting slightly in my chair to get more comfortable, my foot brushes against your calf and I feel that jolt again. The pull is growing more and more.]

Sorry…

Darius: -My vision darkens at the soft brush of your foot, my jaw tightening as I fight the growl from escaping. I slam my lids shut briefly, force a smile across my lips, attempting to make it seem as genuine as possible.-

You're very welcome.

-I cut into another bite, my fingers gripped tightly around the utensil, my knuckles white-

So how long do you plan on staying in town?

-I take the bite into my mouth, attempting to keep the subject light to avoid thoughts of clearing the table and enjoying a feast of your body rather than the delicious meal-

Anna Belle: [Stabbing a vegetable, I spot your grip on the silverware, your fingers long and thick. Despite trying to think pure thoughts of you, I remember what it felt like when you held my hip and how cool your breath was last night in the bar as it fanned across my skin. And your smell. And those lips... gosh, those lips.

My eyes lift to your face, memorizing those very lips that held me captive, the words that left them, the sounds and how they feel.. My food is no longer all in craving and it shocks me. Shocks me because this is a feeling I've never had before now. And I'm left trying to blame the magic. Last night it was Merlot's fault and tonight, it's the magic's.]

Darius: -I chuckled seeing your gaze so focused on my lips and not the words spilling from them, I peek out my tongue to swipe across my firm lips, your thoughts continuously playing as I leaned back, one arm resting over the back of my seat as I followed your eyes trailing over me-

Have I lost you, darling?

-My lips lift in a sly smirk-

Anna Belle: [Blinks several times, shaking my head, stumbling over my words.]

N-no. I um.. I'll be here for.. a week.

[Nods, taking a deep breath, feeling my face grow hot, knowing I'm ten shades of red by now.]

A week. I'll leave Friday.

[Smiles softly, feeling a small loss at the idea of leaving. But it's my job. And you're just a stranger. Nodding, more for myself, my eyes fall back to your lips. Oh how I wouldn't mind feeling them again before I left. Just once.]

Darius: -I sigh out a breath slowly and nod sadly. Friday. Not long, but long enough to get to know her. I'd be able to keep control of that side of me until you were scheduled to leave. I nod again not sure if I was doing it to reassure myself or trying to convince myself that all would be fine. I knew you wouldn't find anything on Marcos.

I'd taken care to wipe anything that could lead back to the club, and you'd be on your way to wherever you came before you entered Trinity. I furrow my brows thinking if spending one night with you had me this drawn to you, that spending even more time would not end as badly as I feared.-

Would you be opposed to spending more time with me while you are here?

Anna Belle: [Shakes my head, moving to stand, reaching over to grab your plate.]

It wouldn't hurt to have someone who knows the place, so I suppose not.

[Meets your gaze, eyes searching yours, my hair falling as if to shield us. A thickness surrounds me, making it hard to breath and I step back, almost out of shock and move to the bin, tossing the plates. My heart pounding as my mind races and everything sweeps over me. I glance over my shoulder at you and take a deep breath. Unusual feelings for a stranger? Impossible. Never in my life...]

Darius: -I rise from my seat, eyes following your movements as you walked over to dispose of the remaining food. I stride silently over, palms and fingers sliding up your forearms, your thoughts easily read along with the wild beating of your heart to my sensitive ears. I growl out lowly and lean in to whisper out-

I'll see you soon then. Enjoy your sweet slumber, Anna.

-Your face turns up to me, your lips quivering softly and I press a soft tender kiss to them a moment before I faded off leaving you breathless and with no sign of how I left the room so suddenly-

Anna Belle: [Gasps, fingertips tracing my lips, my voice shaky.]

Darius?

[Holding on tightly, one word falling from my lips quietly.]

Stay...

[I searched for you, my eyes scanning every inch of my room and found nothing. Sighing heavily, I slipped out of my dress, not even bothering with pajamas, and fell into bed, my heart almost aching in your absence.]

Good night..

[monstersandmaw]

Male werewolf x female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is a patreon tier reward, and I hope you enjoy my take on their big, dad-bodded werewolf OC, Lowe. It's been up on Patreon on early release and is now up on Tumblr for you to enjoy.

Content: playful banter, fluff, the briefest flicker of angst, some dominant tendencies in Lowe (it's not D/s though, for anyone who's not into that), and a reader who gives as good as she gets. Wordcount: 2792

___

As you yanked the door to the campus cafe open with about twice as much force as it needed, you caught a glimpse of Lowe working behind the counter. Of course, there was a massive queue at this time of day; at the midpoint of the afternoon when people were thinking about either finishing up early or knuckling down for a caffeine-fuelled all-nighter.

Engrossed as he’d looked in his work before, he glanced up as if he’d sensed your presence, his warm eyes flicked briefly in your direction as the door opened, and he offered you a quick, fond, twitch of the lips before turning back to the masterpiece of latte art in his hands. Even at that distance, you felt your body relaxing a little more around him. In the time since he’d made some playfully snarky comment about your Pokémon shirt a few months ago - which had, in fact, led to a joint outing on campus playing Pokémon Go together - you and he had fallen into an easy friendship.

You tried not to snarl softly to yourself as the woman at the front of the queue, old enough to be a post-grad perhaps, leaned on the counter and flirted openly with him, but at the end of the day, what claim did you have to him anyway? Lowe was your friend, and as much as you’d like to think you might be the tall, long-haired guy’s type (he was certainly yours, with that ‘powerful-yet-soft-around-the-edges’ dad bod he had going on, and that self-assured confidence that tipped just pleasantly shy of being arrogance), you couldn’t really be sure. After all, you’d seen him getting pretty close with a guy friend of his, so for all you knew, he wasn’t even interested in women, but you’d never really discussed that. The most personal things had got so far was Bloodborne bosses and beloved DnD characters, which was also fine.

The queue slowly dwindled in front of you, and when you stepped up to the counter, Lowe turned from the machine on the far counter and plonked a large cup down before your lips had even opened to begin your order. His grin was positively wolfish, all teeth and glinting eyes.

You pouted and snapped, “And what if I wanted a chai latte with soy milk today?”

He raised one thick eyebrow as he popped the takeaway lid onto the cup with a distractingly big hand, and said flatly, “You hate soy milk. Drink up, grumpy-guts. You’ll feel better…”

You huffed, took the cup off the counter, slapped the cash down just hard enough to make him chuckle and twitch another smile - damn the bastard looked pleased with himself and double-damn, if he didn’t look extra-specially good wearing that expression - and he announced to his colleague that he was going on break.

He joined you outside, tugging out one of the heavy, metal chairs for you without a word before taking a seat on the other side of the table.

Lowe closed his eyes, tipping his head back a little to feel the chilly late-spring breeze on his face. He looked good as he relaxed like that, with his long, thick, nut-brown hair tied back off his face with a few fluffy bits escaping at the front, and his big arms folded across his chest and resting on the slight paunch he had at the waist. Something about the thick, almost russet-brown scruff on his jaw made you want to touch it. Instead, you sipped your drink and sighed.

“Good?” he asked without moving or opening his eyes.

“You know it is, you cocky little shit,” you laughed. Banter with him was always so easy, and you gave as good as you got. “Thanks, by the way. Wouldn’t want you to think I’m a complete brat…”

He snorted and cracked an eye to look at you. The sun caught in his golden-brown iris and glinted softly like polished amber, and it honestly stole your breath for a moment. “How’s the course going?” he asked instead of teasing you any more. “You were pretty stressed about that assignment last time we talked.”

You rolled your eyes and puffed the air out of your chest, swiftly following it with some inarticulate grunt of despair. “It would be going a lot better if my roommate wasn’t also being such an inconsiderate asshole,” you snarled. “Seriously, I don’t think I can take the smell of weed or the late nights any more.”

He frowned. “Can’t you talk to someone about it?”

“Have done. Not sure I’ll have a roommate for much longer though… Missing classes and being constantly stoned must equal tanking grades, right?”

Lowe nodded but didn’t say anything for a while, watching as a gnoll and her girlfriend strolled past, hand in hand. The gnoll nuzzled her nose against the human’s ear and elicited a squawk that made her giggle in return. Eventually he said, “You free this weekend?”

Cocking your head to one side, you shrugged. “Hand-in is on Friday afternoon, so… yeah? I mean, I had just planned to sleep all day… why?”

He looked uncharacteristically apprehensive and chewed on the inside of his cheek before answering. “I was going to head up into the woods for the weekend. Camping. Wondered if you wanted to come too?”

“Camping?”

“Yeah…” he said, looking like he was regretting mentioning it now. “But if you don’t want to, it’s fine. I mean… you’ve earned your rest, and camping under the stars isn’t for everyone. Don’t feel like you have -”

“Shut up for a second, will you?” you laughed, and he drew up short and blinked, staring at you before laughing fondly. “I’ve actually never been camping. I’d love to go, as long as you don’t make me go for a ten mile hike as well…”

“Would I treat you like that?” he crooned and you rolled your eyes again and muttered something which you didn’t think he’d catch. Somehow, however, he did, and he barked a loud laugh, startling a cervitaur walking past with his grocery shopping in each hand. As Lowe turned to look at the cervitaur he’d surprised, you watched his eyes flare gold, almost unnaturally so. Perhaps it was just a trick of the sunlight at this angle. When he looked back at you, you missed what he said, staring at his eyes, which were now back to their normal, warm brown.

He murmured your name, sounding a little concerned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean it. You’re not a brat… not really…”

“Shut up,” you retorted, your tone carrying no venom. “And you know full well know I can be.”

That Thursday afternoon, your roommate moved out, finally expelled for drug use and selling to other students, and you fumigated the room as best you could, relieved at last. The second after you’d finished deep-cleaning everything, you texted Lowe and said, ‘So… I’m down a roommate now.’

‘You need me to help hide the body?’ he sent back immediately and you burst out laughing.

‘I love you, but no. It was expulsion rather than murder. I was kind of hoping you might want to move in instead?’ you sent, your heart in your mouth. He’d mentioned he was looking for a place closer to campus, and this could be perfect for him. If he was willing to have you as his roommate, of course.

‘Definitely interested. Can I think about it and let you know this weekend?’

That wasn’t a complete rebuttal, you figured. ‘Of course.’

‘Cheers. I’ll pick you up at ten on Saturday.’

True to his word, Lowe didn’t take you on a ten mile route march. He drove you up to the start of a wide, easy looking trail that was apparently only three miles up to the campsite, along a winding, inviting, grassy path. Despite looking maybe a little towards the less fit end of the scale, Lowe was four strides ahead of you in a matter of seconds. Realising this, he slowed, and you nudged him with your elbow.

“Thanks,” you said and he gave you one of his soft, secret smiles that you didn’t see very often.

He wasn’t particularly talkative as you made your way up the path, but the silence between you was easy, relaxing even.

“You’re such a cliche, you know that?” you laughed a little while later as you paused on a rock for a drink and to adjust the laces of your shoe.

Lowe scowled. “How?”

You stared pointedly at the penknife in his hand and the stick he’d picked up and had idly begun to whittle into a howling wolf in his big, strong hands, almost as if he’d not even realised he was doing it. Again, he surprised you by just shrugging a shoulder and turning back to it while you enjoyed the scene. He seemed a bit distracted somehow. When you moved on, he stashed it in his pocket.

Lowe carried literally everything, stowing your water bottle for the way up in the side pocket of his backpack, and even a two-person tent, food supplies for that evening and breakfast, and more water than you probably drank over the course of three days, and yet he still managed to arrive at the campsite as if he’d just strolled the length of one city block.

He impressed you again by lighting a fire and cooking a veritable feast for you both on a little makeshift grill, and he looked more than pleased with himself when you complimented him. “Don’t let it go to your big fat head,” you snickered and he growled playfully at you.

Quite literally growled.

The moment he’d done it, he went still, eyes wide, and even looked a little sick. “Shit,” he hissed.

“What?”

“I…” then his huge shoulders slumped despondently and he let out a long breath. “I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you. I mean, I’ve been meaning to tell you for… well, since we kind of became friends, really. But it never seemed… convenient…”

“Convenient to tell me what?”

He shuffled a bit and poked at the embers of the fire. Your stomach felt uneasy, and it had nothing to do with the inordinate amount of amazing food you’d just finished. “I…” he began, and then whispered, “Fuck it.” He looked you in the eye and said, “I’m not human. I’m a werewolf.”

You blinked. It didn’t totally surprise you, if you were honest. “Well, that… certainly makes one or two things add up…”

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

He turned his golden eyes away from you and poked a bit more at the smoldering, grey wood, making it crumble to fragile ashes. He did look a bit easier now though. “I figured… maybe you wouldn’t… that if you knew that I’m not human, you might not want me as your roommate anymore… It was stupid though, I know.”

“Lowe,” you said, more gently this time, reaching for his bare forearm where he’d cuffed his tartan sleeve up to his elbow. His skin was warm and his muscles tensed, hard as the earth beneath you as he waited for whatever you were going to say next. “You’ve become probably my best friend… There’s no one I’d rather be roommates with than you. Besides, who else is going to tolerate your Soulsborne marathons and hipster lumberjack wardrobe?”

A long, low growl emanated from him but it dissolved into laughter when he saw your expression and he shook his head. “I can’t believe I was so chicken about you knowing…”

“I can’t believe you looked like you pissed yourself a minute ago!”

His eyes flashed openly gold now and he huffed, “I did not…”

“You totally did. Anyway, I’m glad you told me. But you know that means I’m going to want to know all the details.”

“I think I’ll save that for another day,” he said as he reached for the s’mores beside him.

‘Another’ day turned out to be a week after you’d helped him move all his boxes into your room. He was lying on his back on his bed, his arms folded up behind his head, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out, foot dangling off the end of the mattress. You glanced across the room at him from where you had your laptop on your knees and your headphones on, working on the last tweaks of the next assignment due. He looked tense, even though he wasn’t really doing anything in particular.

Removing your headphones, you murmured, “Lowe? Everything alright?”

“Mmm,” he half growled. A moment later he heaved out a huge sigh and said, “No. Full moon’s tomorrow night. I always get kind of… cranky around now.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Whatever you’d thought he’d say, you hadn’t expected the long, low moan that escaped him. It was not an innocent noise. Breathing through his mouth in soft, quiet pants, he didn’t look at you, but you sensed that his eyes were glowing.

“Lowe?”

“No,” he said. “Not unless you want to take whatever this is between us somewhere else…”

You bit your lip. “You mean…?”

“It would probably take the edge off if we slept together, yes,” he said bluntly. “But if you don’t want that, then I’m hardly going to push…”

“I like it when you’re pushy,” you countered, setting your laptop aside and staring him in the eye.

His pupils blew wide and he raised his nose. “Fuck,” he cursed. “Oh… fuck, you’re beautiful.”

With a smile, you crossed the room to him as he sat up, watching your every move with unwavering, lupine focus. “Let me help you out, big guy,” you crooned playfully and he twitched his lip in a possessive snarl, eyes golden and locked on the curve of your neck.

“Last chance,” he said. “I don’t want you regretting crossing this line with me.”

“You’ve got super-human senses, Lowe,” you said, playing with the hem of your shirt. His gaze darted instantly to the movement, transfixed by the glimpse of skin beneath your top. “You must know how I feel about you by now…”

“Yes, but lusting after someone and doing something about it is different when they’re your friend… I don’t want you to feel like I’m putting pressure on you…”

In answer, you reached out and trailed your fingertips up his neck, scratching him a little bit and making him growl again, and as you finished with a single finger drawing a line up his throat and under his chin, he shivered, as if barely holding himself back. “Why don’t you put just the right amount pressure on me… here?” you said, licking your lips as you climbed into his lap, straddling his thick thighs and running your palms over the softness of his stomach.

His jaw was soft, mouth open as he panted openly, and beneath you as you ground your hips to emphasise your question, you felt his hard cock.

A heartbeat later, he’d clamped his hands under your thighs and stood up. Lowe dropped you onto the bed with the perfect mix of recklessness and carefulness and lunged for you. He peppered and mouthed kisses down your neck, tugging at your skin with his canines, biting at your earlobe, his short beard burning and scratching your skin deliciously, and all the while he ground his cock against your thigh through his jeans.

It clearly wasn’t nearly enough, and it wasn’t long before you were both naked on his bed, and he had his mouth on you, his hands spreading your legs wide as he used the strength in his arms that his softer body belied. “Don’t come yet,” he rasped between strokes of his tongue. “Not til I say…”

“Oh,” you gasped, fighting the rising wave of heat that swept up your body, tingling under your skin, at that command. You tried, you really did, but in a mere few strokes of his tongue, you came with a cry against the heat of his mouth, bucking while he held you down and pulled you against his mouth to press his tongue tight against your throbbing clit.

When he pulled back, looking extremely smug about himself and his talents, you saw that his canines had lengthened and his features had become a little less… human.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he said, clearly still enjoying the taste of you on his lips.

“Will you hurry up and fuck me?” you pouted, and he snarled.

“Such a brat,” he laughed, but he didn’t waste any time either.

—

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[smol-and-grumpy]

Light My Fire - CH12

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She always thought her boss was an ill-tempered man, but when he presents her with a proposition she can’t quite deny, she gets to know him better. It’s not bad, right? Because all she has to do is being fake married to him for six months, sounds do-able, right? Right.

Warnings: NSFW, flangst

WC: 2442

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​​​ <3

SERIES MATSTERLIST 

BECOME A PATRON ~ BUY ME A COFFEE

What is happening?

Her eyes widen in horror and Dean’s expression mirrors hers. 

“Shit,” Dean scrambles up to pull himself out of her, helps her up and there’s nowhere for her to hide and there’s also no fucking time, because the door’s already opening and the only sane thing they can both come up with, which is still fucking insane, is to push her under his desk while he sits down and pretends to be busy with the papers. 

When she crouches down and disappears, Dean rolls his chair closer to completely hide her down there.

Amara’s footsteps are clicking loudly on the floor as she walks into the room.

Dean clears his throat, “Don’t step into the coffee,” He says nonchalantly, and then he adds, “Or maybe do, and slip on it, I don’t care.”

“Dean,” Amara says and Y/N can hear her walking closer to the desk. Her heart thumps in her chest. Amara sits in the chair across from Dean. Y/N’s so glad that she’s hidden by the dark wooden desk.

“Sorry, I couldn’t stop her.” Sam follows her into the room and closes the door behind him. 

“How hard did you try, Sammy?” Dean’s voice is stern.

Y/N can see that Dean’s cock starts to soften. No wonder, Amara can do that to your libido. She doesn’t feel like fucking anymore either. But she feels like teasing him. 

While she listens into their conversation with one ear (something about Amara still not wanting to give in under Dean’s conditions — but she would consider 29% of his net worth, which is one percent less than what she first wanted. The woman is a fucking joke), Y/N places her chin on Dean’s thigh and she hears him clearing his throat audibly. 

She places her hand on the other thigh, and can’t help but grin to herself. Her hands go up his leg, and Dean’s voice is different. Maybe a little higher?

She wraps her hand around his cock, making Dean jump a little in his chair. She has to bite on the inside of her mouth so as not to chuckle out loud. She then works his lengths in her hand, feels him hardening in her grip to it’s full size — which is so mouthwateringly impressive. His cock is still slick from her juices and she has to be careful not to jerk him too hard because she’s sure that they could hear it if she did. 

Y/N gets on her knees, and Dean spreads his legs for her, sinking deeper into his chair. It makes her smile. 

So, he’s into it as much as she is, then.

Her hand works his cock and holds it up by its tip, before she presses her lips to his balls and starts to suckle him there. Tongue swirling around one ball and then the other. She takes one of them into her mouth and sucks at his skin, before she licks up the underside of them, feeling the heaviness of them on her tongue. 

“Fuck,” She hears Dean mutter under his breath but he’s quick go conceal it with a cough. 

She works the tip of her tongue up his shaft, until she can seal her lips around his cock head and she bobs her head a little. Not too much — just enough to not make too much noise. She works the rest of him with her hand, strokes him up and down, while her lips are sealed around his tip and her tongue is playing with his sensitive string. He still tastes of her. It mixes with his own musk, it’s salty and earthy on her tongue.

“Jesus,” Dean curses under his breath and she doesn’t really know if it’s because of her or because someone said something offensive. 

“Dean, you okay?” Sam asks and she has to chuckle with his dick in her mouth because she’s a little proud that she was the one who could make him lose his composure a little.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes out heavily. 

She hollows out her cheeks and sucks some more, her hands working faster. With every downstroke she can feel his balls draw up. He’s close she knows, because she can also feel the twitch of his tip and his cock is so much harder and hotter in her grip. 

Dean lets out a growl and he begins to cough above her while his legs tremble and they are caging her in, holding her in place as he empties himself warm and sticky into her open mouth. She almost couldn’t swallow it all, almost has to fucking cough and there’s cum running out at the corner of her lips down his shaft. 

Y/N comes up for air, swallows it all down, lets it warm her throat before she licks at the spilled cum up and down his shaft. She makes sure to clean him thoroughly. And when she finishes, she pauses and sits back to admire her work. 

One of his arms goes down to his cock, his fingers wrap around the base. She knows that he wants to tuck it in but it’s so hard for him to do it one handed without raising too much suspicion. And she can’t help him either because the clinking of the belt would give away her hiding place. 

Dean leaves his hand on his thigh though, and she can still hear them talking. Sam is explaining something to Amara and the argument is heated.

He pats his lap and she goes closer, lays her head next to his cock that is still half hard. How does he do that?

His fingers trail along her cheek, thumb caressing her lips and she can’t help it, has to open her mouth to twirl her tongue around his thumb. Dean’s whimpering above. 

Her hand takes his, and he let her, let her open his hands and spread his fingers. She sucks two of them in and Dean pushes the pad of his fingers down onto her tongue. He goes in deeper and she has to be careful not to gag. 

There’s another groan when the tip of his nails hit the back of her throat but she quickly pulls his fingers out because she’s not sure that she can keep going deeper without making a gagging noise. 

“Fuck,” Dean mutters under his breath. 

She places a kiss on the back of Dean’s hand before she sits back further away. Doesn’t want to disturb them anymore because she thinks that if she keeps on teasing him, this meeting will not be over before Dean will have to go to his next meeting and it’s hard for him to stand up when his dick is still out in the open.

“I can not go lower!” Amara hisses, “If I go lower than 27% we’re right where I was when this all started!”

“25% not enough for you, huh?” Dean snickers, “Amara, come on, I don’t know what you did — and you definitely did something because I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last woman on fucking earth — but the marriage in Vegas? That’s fucking not legal. I’m already married!”

“You didn’t sound married when you agreed on marrying me, Dean. You even wanted to pay extra to have more Elvis attending the wedding!”

“Well, that sounds like him,” Sam chuckles.

“Sammy, really?” Dean snarls at his brother.

“Fact is, we’re married and I know that your other marriage is fabricated.” 

“And you know that how?” Sam chimes in.

“Oh, please! He was seen with his arms around another girl, a couple of days before he got married? How do you explain that? Or maybe your wife is really a fucking idiot for not seeing that you’re fucking everything with legs on high heels.”

Dean’s legs shake. She knows that he wants to get up and slam his fist. But he can’t because his cock’s still out. “Don’t you fucking dare come in here and insult my wife.”

“Isn’t it true, though?” Amara asks. 

Well, Amara’s not wrong. Dean took someone out a month before she agreed to be his wife. Thanks for the fucking reminder, Amara. She didn’t need it. Doesn’t need to be reminded that she’s nothing special.

“It’s not.” Dean says, his voice is exceptionally calm. 

“Ha!” Amara laughs, “Well, let’s put it like that. I won’t agree to it unless you pay me out.” 

“Listen,” Dean gets a little louder but he’s voice is still composed, “I will find out how you tricked me into marrying you and then, Amara, you’re fucked, because Chuck will serve your ass on a platter for the shareholders, and you have to give up everything you own because that’s going to be mine. I’ll sue you for all you’re worth.”

Y/N can’t see Amara’s face but she can hear her breathing. It’s a loud snort and picks up in pace. She’s clearly upset. Instead of saying anything though, she stands up so fast, she sends the chair skidding across the floor. It’s a shrill sound and Y/N has to squint her eyes. 

She hears Amara’s footsteps, hears her walking to the door and then she hears it close with a bang.

“Wow,” Sam says.

“Sammy, for fucking real! You should have fucking stopped her!” Dean’s hissing at his brother.

“I tried!”

“Yeah, well,” Dean balls his fist and slams it on the desk. It’s not as loud as it would be if he would be standing up, “You didn’t try fucking hard enough!”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Were you distracted, huh? Did Ruby distract you?” 

Sam doesn’t answer.

“Jesus, Sammy. Next time Amara’s here, lock her in your office and don’t fucking let her near mine!” 

“Well, how do you wanna know if she really tricked you into it? Didn’t you just have too much to drink?”

The question makes her uncomfortable. In fact, the whole conversation makes her uncomfortable. She feels like she’s eavesdropping, which she is. But she can’t go out now. Sam will know and she’d rather nobody knows. 

“I’ll have dinner with Chuck tonight, maybe he knows something.” Dean says. He rubs at his scruff, she knows because the sound she hears is familiar. 

“How do you know that he’s really on our side?” 

“I trust him. I know. He hates her as much as I do. Maybe even more.”

“Alright,” Sam says, pats his knees and he stands up to walk to the door, “Oh, and, you can tell Y/N to come out from under the table.” 

She doesn’t see Dean’s face but she can imagine that his eyes widen at Sam’s remark. 

How does Sam fucking know?

“How—”

“I’m not an idiot, Dean. Tell her hi from me, alright?”

Dean doesn’t say anything, waits until Sam’s out of the door, waits until the door closes behind his brother.

When it’s safe, Dean rolls his chair back and grabs her by her arm, pulls her out and back into his lap to kiss her roughly. He probably still tastes himself on her tongue. 

“You’re unbelievable!” He kisses her again, sucks her bottom lip into his mouth to release it with a popping sound, “Almost got us fucking caught.”

She grins and raises her eyebrows, “Admit it, you liked it,” 

“Fucking loved it,” Dean chuckles, presses his lips hard to hers, his hands spread on her ass cheeks. 

“Mr. Winchester! You can’t go in there!” Ruby’s voice is loud and shrill.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Dean curses under his breath and he pushes her down again, rolls his chair close so she would be hidden by him. His dick is still out. 

She hears the door opening and closing and then she hears heavy footsteps that walk closer to the desk. There’s slamming of papers and she can hear the deep voice of John Winchester.

“What the fuck is this about, son?” He shouts, “You married? You fucking married without telling us? You can be glad your mom’s on freaking vacation or else she would rip you a new hole!”

“What do you fucking care?”

“I heard she’s your assistant? Think about the business, son! Is she even good enough for you?”

“For fuck’s sake what is it today? Why does everyone have to walk in here and decide to fucking insult my wife?” Dean rubs around his scruff again, she can hear it.

“Is she your assistant or not?”

“Yeah, and? What’s your fucking point?” Dean’s even more angry than he was with Amara.

“Business and dick does not fucking mix! For God’s sake!” 

“I think it’s none of your business.” Dean’s voice is steady and loud.

“Of course it is! I still am a fucking shareholder I still hold fucking 15%!”

“Dad, seriously, she’s the most amazing girl, you’d love her if you met her.”

Okay, maybe her heart thumbs a little faster in her chest now.

“And where is she now?” 

“She’s in a meeting.” Dean’s an awfully good liar, she has to give him that.

“Well, take her to see us when your mother is back. We want to meet the girl who could make you settle down.”

“Sure. We’re going on honeymoon, though. So you’d have to wait.” 

“Oh, we will,” John says, and with that, he’s out the door without even saying goodbye to his son. 

When John’s out, Dean rolls his chair back and finally tucks his dick back inside his dress pants. He lowers his head to look at her, “Come out,”

“No,” She knows it’s stupid but she really doesn’t want to. 

It was a bad idea to agree to be his wife, she sees it now. It comes with more baggage than she thought it would and she still has her own fucking baggage to carry on top of it.

“Don’t listen to him, alright? He does not control my life.”

“Sounds like he wants to.” 

“Well,” Dean chuckles, “That’s nothing. You should hear my mother.” 

“Ugh, no thanks.” She grimaces.

“Come out, you can’t stay in there forever.”

“Watch me,”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N, come out or I will drag your cute ass out there myself.”

“Fine!” She says and pouts as she crawls out from under his desk on her knees. 

Dean helps her up on her feet and kisses her forehead, “Don’t worry about them, okay?”

“I try.” She says, and she really does. She can’t get it out of her head, though. Can’t stop thinking that Dean’s parents will disapprove of her being his wife. Even if she’s just his fake wife. She definitely didn’t sign up for this.

CH13

[cavalierious-whim]

Pawfully Yours (FE3H)

FE3H | Sylvix | General | Complete

Sylvain finds a cat and falls in love.

  ###

A/N: I’m finally reposting some older stuff from my last tumblr blog. Read here on AO3 for better formatting! 

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Sylvain has always been a dog person. There’s nothing quite like cuddling with a soft and warm ball of fluff or the heavy weight that sinks into the mattress on top of the blanket as you sleep, or inevitably getting drool in your mouth when you pull them close, crying into their fur as you vent your frustrations about your shitty life into the scruff of their neck.

Sylvain has no idea what that’s like. Not one bit.

When he moved to the city, he had to leave Daisy behind. Ingrid on the surface had made it seem that she was more than aggravated to have the Golden Retriever unloaded onto her. Sylvain knows better. Ingrid’s always had a soft spot for Daisy. She’d let the girl sleep in her bed on the occasional platonic sleepover. Dorothea didn’t even have that pleasure half of the time and she was the girlfriend.

It’s led to a rather quiet life and Sylvain is still adjusting to an empty apartment in the not-so-great-but-you-might-not-get-murdered side of town.

Three months into his new home is when he notices the cat. It’s a small thing with sleek black fur. It looks too healthy to be a stray, but judging on how the creature responds to those getting close, Sylvain doesn’t think that it has an owner either. It seems too proud to slum it as a pet, walking along the dingy alleyway that Sylvain cuts through as a shortcut to work, tail swishing and held high. Proud, even.

But then again, maybe that’s just a cat thing. Sylvain doesn’t know, he’s never really given a cat much thought. He doesn’t know why he decides to pity it.

One day, Sylvain brings a can of tuna and popping the top off, he sets it down on the ground. The cat watches him carefully from ten feet away, sitting on his haunches haughtily. Warily. Carefully composed.

“For you,” says Sylvain, not sure why he even bothers to speak to it. It’s a cat. Cats don’t understand humans. Even Daisy had never understood him, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she responded to just the sound of his voice, and not the content of his words.

Still, the cat seems unimpressed, large amber eyes half-lidded as it looks from the can of fish to Sylvain. And if Sylvain doesn’t know any better, that’s what he would think a frown looks like when spread across a feline face.

Sylvain frowns right back. “Well then,” he says. “I see that I’ve wasted my time. Never again.”

He’s wrong through. Sylvain cuts through the alley every single day, a soiled apron slung over his shoulder and a takeaway cup of coffee in his hand. And sometimes, he brings the dumb little cat an old and stale pastry from the shop, because there’s no harm if they’re just going to toss the old food, right?

Sylvain doesn’t stick around to see if the cat actually eats them or enjoys it, or if it just bats the food away with a hiss. He kinda wants to pet the thing though, because it’s fur looks soft and  Sylvain’s feeling lonelier and lonelier as the weeks pass by.

Eventually, he has the crazy idea of maybe adopting the pitiful thing. It’s like any other day that he’s posted up an offering. He breaks an old cheese pastry into several pieces and tosses them onto the ground. And this time, he waits, crouched down, elbows resting on his knees.

The cat comes closer, but it seems pissed off, body stiff and tail twitching angrily. Amber eyes narrowed in suspicion. He sniffs at the pastry and then snags a small bite. Then it spits out the food, clearly not a fan.

Sylvain swallows thickly. “So like, if you want a roof over your head or something, I can bring you home.”

The cat pauses like it understands him. It’d been pawing at the pastry, playing with it when it stops, head snapping up as it looks to Sylvain. Then the cat’s mouth opens, fangs long and sharp, and it says with surprising clarity, “Fuck off.”

#

Sylvain had imagined it, that was the only explanation. It makes more sense than a cat had opened his mouth and spoke to me. Anything makes more sense than that, so Sylvain chalks it up to too many shifts at the cafe, too many hours of schoolwork, and maybe a smidge of not eating enough.

He keeps cutting through the alleyway because it’s the fastest way to work. Sylvain’s a perpetual oversleeper, the kind that sets five alarms and sleeps through all of them, only to roll out of bed with five minutes to spare.

And he can spare that five minutes if he takes the back way, no matter how dark and creepy it seems at three in the morning and on the way to his early shift.

The cat’s made himself scarce. Sylvain now knows that it’s male because of the shockingly handsome voice it carries. More proof that he’d absolutely made the entire thing up in his lonely misery.

Sylvain doesn’t expect to feel sad about the disappearance of the cat, but it’d sunk in deeper than expected. Even if the cat had seemed eternally annoyed-- as far as a cat could seem at least-- he’d been cute, and Sylvain liked bringing it treats. There’s not a lot left that makes him feel good about himself.

That morning, Sylvain pauses because he’s got a moment. The alley is dark and there’s no sign of the cat. Sylvain sighs softly and says, “I’m sorry if I offended you or something. I just thought that maybe a home would be better than an old alley.”

It seems silly to talk to a cat, but he feels a little bit better and he continues to work with a little bit more pep in his step. And later that night he leaves a pastry behind, just in case.

The cat slinks out from under the dumpster once Sylvain’s out of sight. In his wake is a tuna roll, a fluffy pastry filled with tangy fish salad. The cat likes this one, not that he’d ever admit it.

#

Sylvain rarely works the night shift, mostly because he’d rather wake up at the butt crack of dawn and get his day over with. But sometimes it’s inevitable. Sometimes a coworker just needs a shift covered and Sylvain’s a nice enough guy to agree.

And he doesn’t want to risk getting fired, even if he doesn’t think Byleth is a vindictive manager.

It’s probably a bad idea to cut through the alley at ten at night, but Sylvain’s tired and weary, and he just wants to get home. Not to mention he’s got a container of day-old tuna salad in his hand that he needs to leave the cat, otherwise it’ll just wind up rotting away in his fridge.

He opens the container and places it on the asphalt near the dumpster, waiting for just a moment as he crouches down. Just in case the cat decides to show his face. He doesn’t. Sylvain frowns and with a sigh, pulls himself back up.

There’s a shuffling behind him and he turns to look, only to be slammed against the dumpster, head cracking against the hard metal. Sylvain’s vision swims as he tries to push against his attacker, but then he stops dead. There’s a knife held close to his neck. Sylvain can feel the soft scrape of it as he swallows.

“Wallet,” the man behind him says, a hand gripped tightly around Sylvain’s arm that’s wrenched behind him. He’s stockier in his build, pinning Sylvain against the dumpster easily.

“Hey look man--” The knife digs deeper into his skin, cutting just barely. Sylvain’s not dumb enough to push the situation further. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Back pocket. My phone’s there too, opposite side.” A pause. “You know, just in case you want that as well.”

He can’t help the cheeky reply, but his assailant doesn’t seem to hear him as he rifles through his pockets. The man pulls the wallet from Sylvain’s pocket, flipping through it.

And then there’s a shout as the man is wrestled to the ground by someone else that Sylvain can’t see. There’s a scuffle, some odd yowling, and then the distinct sound of a punch, bones crunching sickly under the hit.

Sylvain stands stock still, still pressed against the dumpster, not moving. Just in case.

“Useless, aren’t you?” Sylvain freezes at the voice, taking in the acerbic tone. “It’s bad enough that you waltz through here every morning, but you should know better than to do it at this time of night.”

Sylvain turns but he doesn’t find the cat, he finds a man standing there instead, finely boned face tugged into a snarl. He shakes out his hand, knuckles already bruising from the solid hit that he’d gotten in. Sylvain blinks. He’s handsome in a feline sort of way, hard edges to his jaw and circles cut deeply underneath his eyes. His black hair is tied into a ponytail high on the crown of his head.

The man toes at the assailant who’s out cold on the ground. “I’d get out of here,” he says. Then he looks to Sylvain again, unimpressed. He stalks over to the container of tuna salad and toes at that too, lips pulled into a grimace of disgust. “Really, now. If you won’t eat it, what makes you think that I will?”

“Um--”

The man blinks slowly, catlike, and with subtle grace. “Do I need to explain it to you?”

“No,” says Sylvain quickly. “No, I just--” A pause as he rubs at his head. “The cat?”

“It’s not the cat ,” says the man with a snarl. “It’s Felix.”

“Felix,” Sylvain repeats.

“I won’t repeat myself.”

“Thanks,” Sylvain blurts. “For, you know.” He gestures to the man on the ground.

“It’s a one-time thing. I don’t reward stupidity,” says Felix as he picks up the container and tosses it into the dumpster. Then he looks to Sylvain again, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy blue hoodie. “I like the baked ones with the fish and cheese. They aren’t so bad a day past.”

Felix doesn’t meet Sylvain’s face, instead, stalking off without another word.

Sylvain smiles.

#

Sylvain leaves a pastry that he pilfers from the bin after every shift. It’s not always Felix’s favorite, but he doesn’t complain. Either way, they disappear into his belly, leaving Felix to lick his paws clean after a tasty meal.

He doesn’t turn into a man again, but he does walk Sylvain through the alley. And then sometimes further. If Felix follows him to the coffee shop, he knows that he’ll get a small lid of cream.

It’s a strange routine that concerns an even stranger man. What is Felix, Sylvain wonders? A cat? A man? Both? Neither? He’s real and solid as the day though, and Sylvain knows that he hadn’t hallucinated anything that’d happened.

When winter comes, Sylvain worries. It’s cold and crisp outside, not preferable for a street cat. He wonders if Felix has somewhere warm to sleep, which is why he eventually asks.

“Surely you can’t stay out here all season,” says Sylvain one night, as he watches Felix pull apart half a savory ham and cheese tart. He’s not sure if cats should eat one of those, but maybe with Felix, it’s different. The cat never complains.

Felix pauses mid-bite to look at Sylvain. Then he drops the tart, hisses lightly, and runs off. Sylvain blinks. An answer is an answer at least, and Sylvain stops asking.

#

One day, it snows. Gautier is a cold and dismal place in the winter, but the snow comes later that year than anyone expects. Sylvain’s wrapped head-to-toe in a heavy jacket, a scarf, and thermals.

Felix follows him to the coffee shop that morning and against Sylvain’s better judgment, he opens the door to the storage shed out behind the shop. “It’s not much,” says Sylvain, “but it’s not in the snow.”

Felix gives him a long look before bolting inside.

Later that day, Felix strolls into the shop as a man, walks up to the counter, and slaps five gold coins onto the counter. Sylvain stares at them and then back to Felix, who immediately bristles.

“I didn’t fucking steal them,” says Felix. “I have a job.”

That’s news to Sylvain and he can’t quite picture it. This is only the second time they’ve met face-to-face, but he has a distinct feeling that Felix isn’t a people person.

Felix points to the fish and cheese pastry in the case. “It’s my favorite.” There’s an awkward pause as he closes his eyes in a near wince and continues with, “Look, I need to talk with you about something, alright?”

Sylvain rings him up, throws in a free cup of coffee, and fifteen minutes later they’re settled into the soft armchairs near the back of the cafe. It’s cold and bitter out, so they’re alone.

“You once offered a home,” says Felix, his hands wrapped around a warm ceramic mug. Sylvain’s coworker Annette paints them and they never get used. Felix huddles closer to it though like he’s trying to leech the warmth from it. “Does that offer still stand?”

Sylvain’s mouth parts in surprise and Felix turns bright red, looking anywhere but his face. “Look, it doesn’t mean anything,” says Felix. “But it’s getting cold out and it’s hard to find somewhere to bed down for the night where I won’t freeze to death.”

“So, my apartment,” says Sylvain.

“I’d be a cat,” says Felix. “I’d stay out of your way. It’d be like I’m not even there.”

Sylvain frowns. “I offered because I wanted a pet.”

Felix bristles. “I’m not a--”

“I know,” says Sylvain quietly. “I wouldn’t ask you to be since you’re… well, you know.” But Sylvain doesn’t know, so he gestures to Felix vaguely. He’s still trying to figure Felix out.

Felix sighs. “It’s only for the winter,” he says. “You won’t see me like this much. It’s not easy to… well, it’s not preferable.” He leaves it at that, which piques Sylvain’s curiosity.

“You can have the entire couch to yourself,” says Sylvain, half in jest.

Felix finishes his coffee quietly and then stands. “I’ll think about it.”

And he must, because when Sylvain leaves his shift in the late afternoon, Felix follows him all the way home.

#

Felix is never a man, he’s always a cat. Sylvain thinks that he prefers being a feline, though he’s not sure why. When he comes home from work, Felix is often curled up next to the warm glow of the fireplace. He leaves it lit because Felix can handle whatever might happen if something bad does.

As winter passes, Felix moves closer. He’s less annoyed. He sits on the couch next to Sylvain, his tail twitching softly against Sylvain’s thigh. Sylvain talks to him about any and everything, and he knows that it’s probably annoying, but Felix hasn’t yet told him to stop. So he doesn’t.

Sylvain gifts him a collar on Yuletide as a joke. Felix stubbornly wears it, because he’s testy about the weirdest of things.

When the New Year comes, he’s a man again. They’re nestled into the couch, Felix having shoved his feet across Sylvain’s lap with a cursory glance. Sylvain immediately pulled them closer, kneading at his arches.

Neither of them thinks more of it. Or maybe they both think of everything about it. Felix is impossible to read, but Sylvain thinks that he’s starting to recognize his moods. Even the most ornery of cats can’t turn down softly placed affection.

Sylvain wonders if it’s weird to fall in love with a cat. It’s a momentary thought because then he remembers that Felix isn’t just a cat and that there’s probably weirder things out there than Sylvain’s love, or the cat that’s also a man.

They watch New Year’s festivities on the television.

“I hate the noise,” says Felix when the fireworks start. “Too loud.”

“It’s not so bad in the city,” says Sylvain, hands still wrapped around Felix’s cold feet.

“It’s the worst day of the year,” says Felix. “Everyone’s drunk beyond reason and they roam the streets doing shitty things. Like kicking cats.”

There’s a lot to unpack there and Sylvain looks at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s an earnest apology.

Felix huffs, lips curling into a sneer. But then it’s gone as he relaxes into the couch. “No, it’s--” A pause, the air pregnant between them. “I’m not out there tonight, so it’s okay.”

It’s not, because Felix isn’t the only street cat to ghost the streets of the city. Still. “You’re welcome,” says Sylvain, squeezing his feet lightly. Felix kicks at him just because he can.

#

Winter ends sooner than Sylvain likes, but Felix doesn’t leave. He seems intent on staying and neither of them says anything, even if he’s a man more than a cat nowadays. Felix disappears during the day for his proclaimed job. He even cooks dinner sometimes and those are the kind of nights that Sylvain likes to cherish because Felix gets weirdly soft.

There’s a weird morning as Sylvain’s about to shuffle out the front door and Felix stops him.

“Is there something wrong?” asks Sylvain.

Felix doesn’t immediately answer and when he does, he says, “Have a good day.”

Sylvain assumes the worst because it’s an old habit that he can’t quite break. “Oh shit, you’re leaving aren’t you? Felix, you should know by now that you’re welcome to stay--”

Felix grabs Sylvain by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him forward, pressing a kiss against his lips. It’s short. It’s a little bit sweet. Felix seems to have no idea what he’s doing. Sylvain loves it, hand reaching out to grasp at Felix’s elbow.

When Sylvain pulls back, he asks, “What was that for?”

Felix’s hackles raise, immediately on the defensive. “Whatever, it was--”

“It’s not a complaint,” says Sylvain simply. “I liked it. It also sends some confusing signals.”

“What could be confusing about a kiss?” asks Felix.

“You don’t seem the type to do that,” says Sylvain.

“I’m not.” Felix pulls away, brushing at Sylvain’s shoulder to distract himself.

Suddenly, Sylvain gets it. Felix isn’t good with feelings and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s really a cat-- or maybe it’s not that at all. Sylvain still hasn’t figured out the details of all that nonsense, nor has he asked Felix outright. But Felix seems the kind of person who’s a doer, not a thinker, so he did the only thing that he thought would send a clear message.

Or maybe Sylvain’s overthinking something that’s really quite simple in the end.

“I love you too,” says Sylvain quietly.

Felix’s hand pauses and Sylvain watches him swallow. “Fool,” says Felix, but it’s more affectionate than angry, his voice cracking sweetly as he tries to find his words.

Sylvain smiles, pulling him back for another kiss. It’s longer this time, but just as awkward. Felix sinks into it, fingers curling tightly into Sylvain’s jacket as they hover in the doorway. When they part again, Felix says, “What an absolute fool.”

“The most foolish,” says Sylvain.

There’s a beat as Felix stares back at him like he’s looking, really looking at Sylvain. Felix sees him. And for once, Sylvain doesn’t mind. He’s never liked people seeing him for who he is, but Felix is different. He’s wormed his way into his heart and Sylvain doesn’t want to let go.

“But I wonder,” asks Sylvain, “what’s that say about you?”

Felix could have reacted a hundred different ways. What he does is pull Sylvain closer again, pressing their foreheads together. “Obviously I’m an even bigger idiot.”

Sylvain laughs, before swooping in once more.

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 56: The Dementor's Kiss

Silver glinted all around them. In the dark woods it highlighted every aged line in the trees and every hollow on the ground, gave every blade of grass a new sheen. It was in the very air of the full moon, casting bright shadows on the only nearby cottage too far off in the distance for most eyes to see, and shined on the bars of the reinforced cage.

For the first time, Remus was too distracted to notice, and he wasn't the only one.

"Let me go! I'm going to kill him, I swear I will-"

"Sirius, think about what you're saying!" Remus pleaded, holding him with shaking hands. "He hasn't-"

Peter slowly appeared before them, just behind James, his other form so small the other four hadn't even been able to pick him out in the gloom. "I, James, Sirius, I couldn't, Remus you know I could never-" this only enraged Sirius further as he struggled harder, and Remus started to lose his grip.

For a moment Peter thought he was seeing double, he flinched farther back into the corner as he thought Sirius broke free, but it was Regulus who was suddenly in front of him, then pivoted on the spot and shoved Sirius farther back into Remus' arms.

"What's the matter with you?" He snarled so fiercely into the others face, their resemblance was more prominent than ever. "He's spent ages defending you, never giving you one bit of shite over-"

"Sirius!" Remus' voice pleaded behind him, to listen he supposed, as the shaking increased, but he just tried to shove him off again, and found the grip on his arms turning inhumanly tight. He didn't know what he was going to do to Peter yet, maybe shake him next, force him to really see what he'd done rather than that look of shock still in his face now ebbing with fear-

"Padfoot get out of there!" Some instinct in him began the change right along with Moony before he even heard James, but the werewolves hold only tightened, Remus' guttural screams of pain growing fainter as the howling grew around him.

As cloth tearing to shreds joined the cacophony, James' last shout of someone get the damn book was the last true sane noise before Prongs slammed into the pair at full force. He didn't know for several long painful seconds if he'd intervened in time as the black dog was finally able to shake himself loose, bleeding over the pristine surface of their enclosure.

There was not nearly enough space for anyone's liking, the four painfully non-animagus wizards could only cower in the farthest corner away as the three animals brought new meaning to the term fur flying.

The melanistic deer had the brute almost pinned to the floor through his tangle of antlers, the enormous black dog had his jaws secured into the werewolves two hind feet no matter how many times he was slammed against the bars for his efforts, and the tiny purple book had wound up in the thick of it all.

They should have summoned it. They could have tried to help. Wormtail saw all of this, and bristled at being the one called a coward this night as he danced between the ones who would always be larger than him, and began nudging the book along. He'd been helping to distract this particular werewolf for nearly two years now, and like the basilisk before, was completely fine with being the distraction as he finally gave a good enough shove that it slide across the wet surface and landed at Evans' feet. He'd watched for too long as her hands darted forward, not seeming to think twice about scooping up the now weeping cover as more droplets scattered around, Prongs was starting to lose his tenacious grip on the slick surface and Moony's jaws snapped on flesh at last.

Wormtail spun on the spot and hissed in protest, biting the snout and dancing back farther away as his ear throbbed. Blood began dripping into his eyes now, he longed to change back and see the true damage, but knew better. The werewolves bite would not contaminate animals, but he feared risking changing back too soon.

All he could do now was listen, as Evans began mirroring their horror in Harry's life. It started out with just the tiniest bit of hope they all needed, if Sirius really adopted Harry as was being implied than surely this mayhem of a life would end! Then it all went wrong, of course, in both lives. Moony's struggles were slowly breaking him free, and a massive swipe of his paw now added Prongs' blood into the mix, his hooves unable to get any more purchase as he bellowed and was left a mess of limbs. Padfoot made a last, desperate lunge, teeth sinking into Moony's scruff and pulling with all his might as the werewolf's contagious jaws ached for his pray, just as Evans reached the ending with Harry blacking out and the dementors likely murdering Sirius, and it was all Peter's fault.

[theravencawsatmidnight]

On the Prowl... a Fathers Day Special

Kittens. Bagheera; The oldest and self proclaimed sibling protector. Kovu; the second oldest & the independant one . Kazu; the third oldest & the lazy one. Katsu; the fourth one & the one with the temper. Shinsou; a Panther beastman . Reader, a Human

You and Shinsou had traveled far away from the den and settled in a quiet open area with a nice river to its left. In the middle was a large cave that Shinsou had marked as his. Aizawa never found him and Shinsou was free to raise his kittens without worry or looking over his shoulder. The kittens were all three now and you couldn't be happier.

You were asleep in the sun with Shinsou behind you holding you close with his large purple paws, he nuzzled into your neck purring in his sleep waking you up. You saw your third oldest kitten Kazu all curled up in your arms sleeping. He was the most fuzzy out of everyone and it was a chore since he down right refused to have you brush him. ‘Its time consuming’ he says, ‘I gotta sit up for a long time mommy’ he tells you as if he can argue. All it takes is one eyebrow raise from his father and he sits pretty.

Pulling your lazy kitten close, you looked around for the rest . Katsu was by the river snarling at the passing fish with Baggy nearby watching , just in case Katsu fell in, again.

“Koooovuu..” you chirped low.

“Rr..”

You smiled rolling onto your back with Kazu on your chest. “Vuuu..”

“Rr..!” The top of Shinsous crazy hair moved and a little purple head appeared out of it looking sleepy.

“What are you doing up there?”

“Mama… im swheepin.” He rubbed his face on his father's hair yawning loud.

“What if your father rolls over, hm?”

“Then.. i.. fall on mama!” He flopped down and you caught him giggling and nuzzling his happy face. “Oh your so silly.” While you were nuzzling him you heard a splash and Shinsou opened an eye growling deep waking up Kazu. Kovu looked up at his father and so did Kazu. You looked towards the river and Katsu was dragging a huge fish over with Baggy following, he was soaked.

“Oh dear.” You sat up putting your kittens with their father and you pulled Baggy close. “What happened baby.”

“Katsu!!! Jumped in the river again!!!” He said crossing his arms . Katsu was also soaked but had the smuggest grin on his face. He dragged the fish over to his father and Shinsou yawned in his face .

“Ack!! Old man!! “ roared the angry kitten.

Shinsou sat up yawning again and pulled you between his legs squeezing you till he heard Baggy yelp.

“Dad!!” He fussed.

Shinsou pet his sons head. “Sorry Baggy.”

“Look what i GOT!!!!” Katsu was impatient.

“Yes yes. Next time wake me up Katsu. You can show me how you catch them.” He placed his heavy paw on Katsus head. The little kitten was over the moon at his fathers words.

••

“Mama…”

“Yes Kazu..”

The fire cracked and Shinsou turned the fish that was above it.

“So if i jump in the river . My fur will go down . And i wont be poofy”

You rolled your eyes smiling and Shinsou chuckled pulling you closer.

“Then I don't need the brushin, right?”

You looked up at Shinsou and he laid his tail on your head winking at you. You let Kazu go from your arms and he rolled to his feet. “Okay baby. You go do that.”

Kazu had never moved so fast in his life, he was in that river in a second.

Katsu had asked his father if he could turn the fish and Shinsou lifted him up to do just that. Kovu was tugging your grass dress and you sat him between your legs to pet him along with Baggy.

••

Kazu returned a few minutes later and you told him to sit by the fire so he does not get cold. He was very proud of himself, he outsmarted you yes he di-

Poof. Big time.

“Mama!!!!”

Shinsou laughed, grabbing him before he could run off and took Kovu from you and gave you the poof cat. You pet his head humming and Kazu had his poofy arms crossed looking very upset. Katsu gave everyone some fish and sat by Baggy to scarf his food down even though Baggy lectured him that he might get sick. Katsu slowed his eating and Baggy wagged his tail leaning on his brother. Kovu was in his father's lap eating and Kazu was being brushed . You leaned on Shinsou and he kissed your head.

“I love you.”

“And i you, Shinsou.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Permafrost. A Fathers Day Special

Kittens; Tai Lung; the oldest kitten. Lou; the second oldest. Twins. Todoroki; white Leopard/snow. Reader;Human

Todoroki and you had found a quiet little cave up north, far away from Aizawa and the rest of the pack. He was not really worried , he was sure Chizome told Bakugou why he had left though. It had been 5 years since he left, and if that lion wasn't here by now then he must of found someone to give him kittens, or hes killing them before they carry to term…He often thought about Shinsou, he did not disagree with his decision he made back then to leave anymore , understood actually.

It was a little hard for you to adjust to this life but you finally had what you wanted most. You could live out your fantasy instead of reading it in a book. Todoroki was a little odd during the pregnancy, he had only ever seen Shinsous mate carry to full term before so when you started to show he was excited but nervous.

You had two little snow leopard twins.Both boys and both equally furry. Oh you loved them to pieces, the oldest was Tai Lung and he was very quiet and cautious like his father. Lou , the second twin was full of energy and always making his father bite his claws like a nervous parent watching their kid do something risky.

You were already awake and brushing Tai Lungs long tail. Lou was running around his father's legs trying to get him to wrestle with him. Todoroki looked to you and nodded in approval . Todoroki picks his son up running around with a smile on his kittens face.

“Mommy?”

You look down. “Yes baby?”

“Tell me a story again.”

You stopped brushing and pulled your cuddly son close smiling. “Of course Tai Lung.”

••

Todoroki was on all fours growling at his son and Lou was doing the same doing his very best to intimidate his father. He pounced biting Todorokis ear and Todoroki rolled over yowling in fake pain . Lou climed onto his fathers side roaring in accomplishment untill Todoroki grabbed him and pinned his gently under a arm.

“Dont think you've won so quick Lou. Remember to focus and read your opponent.”

“Aaugh !! Okay okay!!” He kicked his legs and Todoroki let him up , licking his face. Lou was upset and whenever his father pinned him he did what he did best.

“Mama!!!!!” He yelled running to you.

••

Tai Lung was all curled up in your lap with a big smile on his face and huge eyes staring up at you. You pet him lovingly while you told him a story about fairies and dragons, his little tail swished all around .

Lou’s screaming made you look up to see your kitten running to you and Todoroki giving you a ‘it wasint me’ face.

He jumped on his brother and Tai Lung hissed and then Lou hissed and then they started fighting…

“Hey.. guys cmon.. Todoroki!”

They rolled all around till Todoroki picked them up by the scruff of their necks looking at them both , growling low. Tai Lung immediately submitted to his father, ears down and eyes big. Lou crossed his arms looking away.

“No fighting. Apologize for jumping on your brother Lou”

“..sorry..”

Todoroki sat down with you giving you back Tai Lung and set Lou on his lap petting him till he calmed down. You pet and kissed both kittens and everyone was happy again. Todoroki pulled you close and you snuggled in with both your kittens in your arms.

“I love you so much.” Todoroki whispered in your ear. You looked up kissing him.

“I love you too, Todoroki”

••

@iron-underoos @mauvette268 @geld-sama @squeaky-ducky @sinclairsamess

[harringrovetrashrat]

You'll Find Me Looking Over the Edge of the World

Billy flew out of the house, anger coursing through his veins making him feel like he was on fire. His father shouted after him, but the pounding in his ears was too loud for him to hear. Not that it mattered anyway. Not like anything fucking mattered.

He drove to the Quarry. Pulled the bottle of tequila from his trunk. Sat on the hood of his car drinking and drinking and drinking. It was spring, but still so fucking cold. The tequila helped with that, at least. Billy angrily rubbed at his eyes, ignoring the prickling of tears. Men don’t cry. Men aren’t fucking pussies who cry about a haircut.

He sucked in a breath and hunched over, feeling nothing and absolutely everything all at once. He felt so empty, fucking hollow, but he was also burning up inside. There was nothing for him in this world except to be the angry asshole who’ll one day, hopefully, wrap himself around a tree and do everyone else a favor. Billy hiccuped a sob before biting his bottom lip. It made him so angry, that he had to suffer this, that Max didn’t have to because she was the good one. But he must have deserved it. He always fucked up, anyway.

God, he just wished that he had something. Something to fucking look forward to. Hope felt like something distant, something out of reach, But he had nothing. Well, he kind of had one thing. Though that was kind of torture too. Watching Steve Harrington from afar, because beating the shit out of someone kind of made it hard to be friends, and besides, he’d promised Max he would leave her friends alone. But sometimes it made it easier to get up in the morning knowing he’ll at least get to look at him.

Fucking pathetic.

Billy threw the bottle of tequila onto the ground where it smashed, glass exploding out. The remaining alcohol seeped into the dirt and he stood up, walking to the edge of the quarry. It was a long drop down. Billy swayed a little, looking down, down, down, wondering what kind of noise he’d make when he hit the water.

There was a gust of wind that ruffled the curls on the top of his head and Billy felt tears welling up again. Today had been going so well. He’d aced his test in Chem, as he knew he would, had been fawned over by girls, been envied by boys, and had even gotten a nod from Harrington. It was like floating, he’d been so close to actually being kinda happy; he supposed that’s why his father had been itching for him to make a mistake.

But it wasn’t even really a mistake. All Billy had been doing was fixing his hair in the mirror. It had been humid today and it fucked with his curls, even with spray. So he had paused a few times in the hallway, fixing his curls in the mirror as he passed, and after the fifth time his father had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and asked,

“Are you done acting like some faggot?” Billy had tensed up, Sorry, sir ready on his tongue, but his father beat him to the punch. “Actually, I think I’m done with watching you fawn over yourself like a god damn queer.” And he’d pulled Billy into the bathroom, ignored his pleas to stop and his swears of I’ll stop, Dad, please, please don’t, twisted his longer curls in his fist, and cut them off. Had hissed, “Stop crying you fucking pussy.” Had slapped Billy when he didn’t stop crying fast enough.

And Billy had fucking high tailed it. Would probably get a few smacks for running away from his father.

He scrubbed at his eyes again, staring down at the water. It was high up, the water below definitely freezing. Billy wondered if it would make him as numb outside as he was inside. He shuffled a little closer, tipping some pebbles over the edge.

It’d be so easy. So fucking easy. And the worst part was, no one would care. He’d die, they’d cry, and in a week he’d be old news. They probably would even report it as an accident.

“Dumb Drunk Teenager Falls to His Death After Getting Drunk Alone, Like the Piece of Shit He Is,” Billy muttered to himself. That’d be the headline. People would say they saw it coming, that he was always getting into trouble. That it was a shame, but not a surprise. His family would probably celebrate, honestly.

There was another gust of wind, and Billy shivered. He was so tired. So goddamn tired. He lifted his foot and stuck it over the edge--

”Dude!”

And he was being pulled back, arms wrapped around his waist. The shift surprised him and he stumbled, making them both fall back, the person behind him letting out a wheeze when Billy landed on them. Billy scrambled to get up, both angry and kind of humiliated that someone had seen him. And of course, of fucking course, it had to be Harrington. He looked up at Billy, concern and anger on his face.

“Hargrove, what the fuck?!” And, you know, he really didn’t fucking need this. So he turned his back on him.

“Go away, Harrington,” he said, trying for his usual acerbic tone, but barely mustering more than a sad monotone.

“What were you doing by the ledge? How drunk are you, man?” Steve stood and didn’t leave. He approached Billy, getting into his space. Billy moved away when Steve spoke again. “And what happened to your hair? I hope you didn’t tip whoever cut it.”

“Fuck off, Harrington!” Billy snarled, pushing him back and getting into his space again because fuck, he did not need this right now. “I was just-- just--” He exhaled sharply through his nose, some of the fight deflating out of him. “Just looking at the water. Leave me alone.” He turned his back again, walking back towards the edge of the cliff. A hand grabbed his elbow and Billy flung himself away, still raw after his father-- “Don’t fucking touch me!” Steve backed up a little, hands up and a pouty frown on his face that Billy yearned to kiss away, which just made him feel worse.

“Seriously? Can you not be a dick for like, one freaking minute?” Billy was glad it was dark because he felt his eyes watering again and he would not let Steve Harrington see him cry.

“No, so just go away,” his voice cracked on the last word, which made Steve’s eyebrows shoot up and Billy turned away, but didn’t move back to the ledge. Steve would probably just reach out again and while Billy wanted him to touch him, he wanted Steve to touch him so much, he wasn’t ready. Not right now.

“Listen,” Steve said, not touching Billy, just coming closer. “Max walkied me and said she was worried about you and--” Billy cackled, and even to him it sounded hysterical.

“What a fucking lie. She hates me, man,” he said, shaking his head. Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Billy didn’t let him speak. “Fuck this, if you won’t leave, I will.” Billy pushed past Steve, heading for his car.

“No way,” Steve replied, getting in his way, but still not touching him and Billy’s heart fucking ached because Steve was so good and he didn’t deserve this kind of care. “You’re way too drunk to be driving right now.”

“Well maybe I’ll wrap myself around a tree and we can all be happy,” Billy spit out. Steve looked like he’d been slapped. Billy swallowed thickly and stumbled back a bit, his plant your feet echoing in his brain, going deep down into the pit where his stomach had been. He’d just been so angry he didn’t even think before he opened his big mouth. Steve was still gaping, like a beautiful dumb fish, so Billy quickly walked away from him, heading for the road. A gentle hand on his shoulder made him jump and Steve quickly let go. When Billy looked at him there was something different on his face. He didn’t look so angry, so put out, and Billy’s heart fluttered because it honest to god looked like Steve Harrington was worried. About him.

“Did you mean that?” His voice was quiet, gentle. Billy loved and hated it. He didn’t say anything. “Is that why you were--” Steve sucked in a quick breath and looked away, muttering a quick Jesus under his breath. “What’s-- I know we aren’t-- Look,” Steve licked his lips, shuffling from foot to foot, “I’m still pissed at you for messing up my face, and I know that you like, hate me or whatever--”

“Hate you?” Billy almost laughed. “I don’t… I don’t hate you.”

“Then why are you always picking on me, man?” Billy shook his head.

“Not enough tequila in the world, Harrington,” he mumbled. Steve made a face and Billy didn’t wanna answer that question. “Look, you did your duty. I’m fine--”

“That’s a fucking lie,” Steve cut in.

“I’m not gonna fucking off myself, okay?” Billy snapped. “Then Max would have to deal with Neil and that’s--” He growled a little and ran a hand over his face. Damn fucking tequila.

“Neil? Isn’t that your dad? What do you mean--” And Steve cut himself off, eyes darting to Billy’s poorly cut mullet and, honestly, people don’t give him enough credit. His brow scrunched, like it always did when he was thinking, and Billy couldn’t meet his eye. “You never said who did your hair,” he said, sounding casual, but there was an edge to his voice. Billy didn’t say anything. “Did your dad do that, Billy?”

“I was,” he licked his lips, dry and chapped, “I was fixing my hair.” He sniffed and sucked on his top teeth. “Preening like a fag,” he spat the word out, venomous, and the words just tumbled out. “And he didn’t like that, oh no, didn’t want a reminder of what a fuck up his piece of shit son is.” He swiped at his nose with his sleeve. “So he took it upon himself to remind me that I’m a fucking freak.”

“What the fuck,” Steve breathed out. He chewed on his bottom lip, brow furrowed. Billy saw when the words he had said really sank in. “Wait, are--”

“Please,” he begged and his voice cracked again and Billy really, truly wanted to die. “Don’t ask me that.” Steve was staring at him, his face unreadable. For a while the only sound was Billy’s slightly ragged breathing, but that eventually slowed. Steve just stood there, watching him, before walking forward a few steps. “You can crash at my place tonight, if you want.” Billy snapped his eyes over, a little surprised. “I’ll drive you back to your car in the morning.”

“If I’m not home to pick up Max--”

“Don’t worry,” Steve gave him a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be ready whenever.” Billy wanted to ask what that was about, what it meant, but it wasn’t his place. Steve nodded towards his car and went over, walking backwards to keep his eyes on Billy. “You coming?”

Billy should wait out here, get sober, drive home and sneak back in, face his father in the morning. The longer he stayed away, the worse it’d be after, but--

He followed.

[ali-kitkat]

Hisses and Scratches Ch 1

Sometimes life was easy to get through and other times it turned her into a cat. It had been happening to her all week, turning into a cat that is. Her twenty-fifth birthday had passed the earlier Friday and since then she has been shifting back and forth between human and cat. A seal point Siamese to be specific; she had been in her room when she first shifted and every time afterwards. She had considered herself lucky because of that since she transformed back naked.

The present conundrum Marinette was in, was she was lost in Gotham, as a cat. She just moved to the city and had been at a fabric shop before she felt the magic that signaled the shift. Leaving before she bought anything, she ran into an alleyway just as the transformation took over. She wandered for hours before she got lost and she still hadn’t transformed back. She turned around at the loud noise from behind her to see Robin staring at her in curiosity.

“How in the world did you end up out here? I can tell you’re not one of Selina’s, she doesn’t have any Siamese cats. She’d keep you locked up tight. You’re definitely not a stray either, too well kept.” He mused. “I don’t want to leave you out here; you’re wandering around lost. So, I’ll take you with me.”

He scooped her up in his arms, ignoring her hisses and claws. Holding her in his left arm, he raised his right and fired a grappling hook. She stopped lashing out so as not to slip out of his hold but continued hissing and growling. He chuckled at her displeasure and she cast what was supposed to be a glare at him, though she doubted it had any effect. They landed in front of a taller man wearing a bomber jacket and red helmet.

“Another one? You don’t have enough pets already?”

“What’s your point Hood? I found her in Crime Alley, and I wasn’t going to just leave her there; she was wandering around. I’m going to keep her.” He announced. She let an annoyed growl at his statement.

“Are ya sure that’s a good idea? She seems a little angry about that.” Hood asked while reaching out to pet her; yanking his hand back when she started to swat at it. “Shit, she’s a demented little fuck, a perfect match if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.”

She started to squirm, trying to escape his grip was tough and she almost accomplished it before he grabbed her by the scruff. Her body went taut against her will and she let out a pitiful mewl, hoping he’d ease his grip, he didn’t. Another two people landed on the roof and shook their heads at the sight.

“Baby bird, you can’t keep picking up strays.”

“Yeah you’re gonna get fleas that way if you keep it up brat.”

“You lot would know about that wouldn’t you?” He replied shifting her, so she was squished in his arms against his chest. She let out a growl that turned into a purr when he started to scratch her behind the ears. She stopped when she heard someone land and let out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m keeping her.” He announced. “She already swatted at Hood.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to father.”

Batman hadn’t given a physical sign of understanding, but the other three vigilantes were falling over themselves with laughter. She heard their mutters ‘It’s genetic.’ ‘Adopting strays is fucking genetic.’ ‘You’ve gotta be shitting me. He adopts animals like B adopts orphans.’ She let out a mewl of disapproval and the vigilante who called Robin ‘Baby Bird’ stepped forward to pet her but backed away after she hissed at him.

“Alright so she’s a little hissy.” He said. She let out a growl at the pun. He jumped a little and stared at her in bewilderment, as did Hood.

“Is it just me or was that a little odd, like she understood Nightwing’s joke?” Hood questioned; his tone worried.

“Hood animals have more intelligence than you. They can understand the human language, though I will concede that it was odd that she growled at the pun.” Robin answered.

They all stopped and stared at her as if she was going to speak, she merely blinked at them in return unfazed by their actions.

“Of course, he found a cat with a similar temperament to his.” Hood said dryly.

Robin let out a snort and resumed petting her, drawing out another purr. She could see Nightwing and Hood pouting. She started to squirm, demanding to be let down. He eased his grip slightly and she slipped out of his hold, she trotted around then brushed against Hood’s leg. She darted away; tail puffed out.

“Way to go Hood you scared her.” Robin sneered and started towards her. She ducked under his grasp running to the edge of the roof. She had almost made it before she was scooped back up, she lashed out against the person holding her, spitting and hissing before she was handed back to Robin.

“Thank you, father. Let’s go home before she makes another break for freedom.” Robin said, while keeping a tight grip on her. She let out another growl. “Yes, I hear you loud and clear you snarling ball of fur.”

*~*~*~*

It had been a few hours since she was accidentally kidnapped by the Bat family.

Robin, who she learned was Damian via his family butler, was laying on his back petting her while the rest of his animals were laying down near them.

He had taken to calling her Eris, since she had sown discord between the brothers when only Damian was allowed to pet her. She was content with the scratches she was receiving from Damian, being a cat wasn’t too bad but that came to a halt when she transformed back into a human. While still laying on him. Lacking clothing.

“What the fuck?” He exclaimed, throwing her off him. She landed on the floor covering herself to the best of her ability.

“Son of a bitch.” She muttered while staring at him in shock. “Could I get—”

He threw a blanket at her before she finished her sentence. Catching it she wrapped it around herself as quickly as possible.

“Hi, my name is Marinette.” She whispered, embarrassment coloring her face. Damian was staring at the ceiling. She could hear the clamoring of footsteps headed for the room, Damian could as well since he lifted his head in confusion at the sound.

The family had rushed into the room, not bothering to open the door but break it down instead, falling into a heap of limbs on the floor. Jason, the first to look up, locked eyes with her. The blanket fell from her shoulders and she let out a squeak as she transformed back into a cat, back arched, tailed puffed out again and started to spit at the Bat clan.

“What the fuck?”

“Isn’t that the cat he brought home?”

“Yes, that’s the cat I brought home. Apparently, she’s not just a cat, are you Marinette?” Damian said finally shaking himself out of the daze he was in, sitting up to look at her. She turned to face him and let out a growl. “Can you transform back?”

She let out a hiss, backing further away from the family as they finally pulled themselves up from the floor. They were wide eyed in shock and awe, but they were on guard. Damian climbed off the bed and approached her carefully, she backed herself into a corner. She was scared, she supposed that much was clear with the family as they eased themselves from their taut posture to a more relaxed pose. Not completely but enough to tell her it was okay. Damian had grabbed her by the scruff again, much to her ire and was keeping hold of her.

“She told you her name?” Dick asked.

“You’re focusing on the wrong thing boy wonder.” Jason sassed. “She was wrapped up in his blanket, shoulders bare. So, when she transforms back again, we should probably have something ready for her to cover herself up in.”

“Will she even transform back?” Tim questioned, moving in front of her.

She was writhing, the need to flee rising. The fear she had, had her so on edge she extended her claws lashing out at whatever was closest to her. Unfortunately, that had been Tim, he let out a swear as she caught his arm. A long scratch stretched up his arm, he glared at her and the scratch. Damian had shoved him back while holding her scruff a bit tighter in one hand.

“Way to go jackass, scaring her further won’t help us a bit.” He snarled at Tim. “Everyone but father leave. The two of us might be able to calm her down. Have Alfred stand outside the room, he will be the one we call for if she transforms back.”

She relaxed somewhat as the three other boys left, but when she locked eyes with Bruce, she tensed up again. Bruce was unreadable, she knew from living in Gotham so far that it was because he didn’t like meta-humans. She understood in that moment, that’s what she was.

Damian eased his grip a little bit, not enough for her to get free. It was an attempt to establish trust she realized when she glanced at him. His green eyes were worried with a hint of anger, she wasn’t sure if it was directed at her or not though. He had shifted her into his arms, keeping a firm hold on her. She was still taut, barely eased and casting glances at Bruce before either of them caught onto her nervousness of the man. Damian followed her line of sight to his father and connected the dots from there, she was classified as a meta and she knew Bruce was Batman. She was scared of what was going to happen to her. His father nodded and left the room, there was no point in terrifying her further.

“Can you try and transform back, Marinette?” Damian asked her, his voice soft. She let out a cry that she tried to make sound like a no as much as possible, an odd attempt at communication. “I’m assuming that was a no, I want you to focus on being human, focus on yourself, push everything else out of your mind.”

He let her go, so she didn’t stray far from his side for fear that he might tackle her. She sat on top of the blanket and closed her eyes focusing like he suggested. It had taken a bit of time as she kept getting distracted while he watched her, she had to swat at him to get him to turn around so she could concentrate. After that it hadn’t taken long for her to shift back. She clutched the blanket to her chest before tapping Damian on the shoulder. He turned his head slightly and whipped it back just as fast.

“Couldn’t you have tried to focus on clothing?”

“Look it was hard enough to focus on being human with you staring at me, but every other time I changed back before I didn’t have any clothes. I don’t think it’s going to happen honestly. Besides I’m pretty sure I’m more embarrassed here.” She replied. She was blushing and he was too if the back of his neck and his ears were any indication, they were bright red.

“Somehow I doubt that.” He muttered.

“What is your dad going to do? I classify as a meta, and he hates them.” She asked, her voice meek. There was a knocking sound before Damian could respond, Alfred stepped into the room. She ducked behind Damian, the blanket covering her but embarrassment winning out.

“Forgive me for intruding, but here are some clothes for Miss Marinette to wear.” Alfred said; handing Marinette the clothes and leaving just as quickly as he entered.

She slipped the clothing on while still keeping the blanket on her, getting dressed underneath it. She shifted the blanket to her shoulders and tied the drawstring on the pants given, they were small but still a bit too big for her.

“I’m assuming it’s meeting time now?” She asked moving in front of Damian. His face was unreadable as he nodded in confirmation. She took a deep breath, gripping the blanket tighter for a small sense of security. He led her to what she presumed was the living room.

She had expected stares but theirs’s unnerved her, almost to the point where she shifted again. Damian’s father was standing behind his brothers. Jason stood between Dick and Tim. She started to hyperventilate, and Damian grabbed her, ushering her into an armchair, distracting her from her train of thought.

She looked at their faces trying to gauge their expressions. Bruce’s expression, from what she could actually read, was a mixture of shock and awe. His brothers were amused, Jason was muttering something she couldn’t make out but had resulted in him being elbowed by both Dick and Tim. He had fallen over with a pained expression and she had to muffle a laugh. Which caused him to look a little disgruntled on top of pained. Damian let out a laugh shocking his family, as they all turned to stare at him instead of her.

*~*~*~*

@chocolate1721 posted in the discord about cat Mari being cuddled by Damian and this transpired. Enjoy!

[mamabearcatfanfics]

More Than Words - Five

Sorry for the delay - this is the chapter I wanted to complete for Inuyasha White Day. I’d always planned to finish writing here for the moment. But I’m willing to keep going if everyone wants more of this AU - it will just be a little slower. Might do a poll to see what fic I should work on next!

Read Part One | Read Part Two | Read Part Three | Read Part Four

Inuyasha rubbed his eyes in frustration, leaning his elbow on his desk and pushing the laptop closed. Time for a break. English had to be the most irritating language on earth – as soon as he learnt a spelling or grammatical rule, he’d come across something that seemed to state the exact opposite. At least Japanese sentence structure was logical.

He moved over to his sink to get a glass of water, and spied the muffin left over from this morning that he’d saved to be a study snack. Sango had let him have hers, not being the biggest fan of sticky red bean filling.

It still amazed him how stable his life seemed now, compared to how it had been not that long ago in Japan. He was living in one place, he owned a business for fucks sake, and had an employee – can’t get more stable than that. The orphanage and everything that had come after it was beginning to seem like a distant memory, only troubling him now and then in his dreams.

He took a big bite of the muffin, savouring both the sweet filling, and the sweeter memory of the woman who’d made it for him. He knew that they still had a lot to learn about each other, but he was eager and willing – very eager. Even though the words they spoke to each other were still limited, Kagome was the sort of girl who wore her heart on her sleeve, and every emotion she felt was reflected on her face. Already she had him wrapped around her little finger; he’d do anything to see her smile. He still wasn’t sure what to tell her about his past, and the reason why he’d left Japan, but he’d work that out later. Right now, he just wanted to get to know her better.

He grinned, remembering her excitement when she’d handed over the brown paper bag of treats  this morning. It was now his favourite part of the day, not only because she was an excellent cook, but because no one had ever gone to that kind of trouble for him before, and the emotions that played across her delicate features were as enjoyable as the baked treats she brought him. He could tell before he even looked in the bag this morning that she’d baked something special for him, wanting to make him happy, and he was surprised and delighted when he’d seen the familiar matcha green. He’d wrapped her up in a tight hug without even thinking about it, earning him one of those adorable giggles. He’d almost kissed her as he swung her around, but had caught himself just in time.

A sudden sharp pain in his ankle snapped him out of his reverie and he glanced down to see a small ball of orange fluff attached to his leg – Shippou had snuck up on him again. He put down his half finished muffin and picked Shippou up by the scruff of his neck, cupping his other hand under his little back legs so he was supported, and gave the tiny kitten a hard stare.

“Little shit…”

Shippou gave him a slow blink, and Inuyasha sighed, tucking the kitten into the crook of his arm while he went to check on the little food and water bowls on the floor. He’d eaten all his biscuits, so Inuyasha reached into the back of his small bar fridge to find the raw chicken wings he’d bought, snapping off a small section and putting it into Shippou’s bowl. The kitten nearly levitated out of his arms in his eagerness to get down, and Inuyasha plonked him on the floor in front of the chicken before Shippou’s needle sharp claws came into play – damn cat ate better than he did.

He washed his hands at the sink, snorting at how noisily Shippou was enjoying his chicken dinner. He wandered back over to his desk with the rest of his muffin, ready to get back to work, when he heard a repeated clanging noise down in the street below. He stuck his head out the window, ready to yell at whoever was disturbing his study time, when he saw someone huddled against the metal roller door covering the front of the shop.

“Hey!”, he called out, assuming it was just some Friday night drunk who’d decided his doorstep was a good place to sleep it off, when the head tilted backwards to reveal a face he knew very well. He grabbed his keys and shot down the steep stairs, unlocking the door and sliding up the metal security shutter to find Kagome curled up against the door frame, a running shoe in her hand that she’d obviously been using to bang on the metal to get his attention.

“Kagome?” He squatted down next to her, trying to work out what was going on, because there was obviously something very wrong. She was wearing her running gear, knees drawn up under her chin with her arms wrapped tight around her legs, and when he reached out to gently squeeze her knee  she flinched in fear. It was only when she lifted her head properly that he saw the bloody scratches and reddened mark around her neck.

“Fuck”, he muttered, moving his hand to tilt her head slightly, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

The brown eyes that looked into his seemed even larger than usual, magnified by the sudden tears that filled them.

“I’m sorry”, she whispered. “I was scared. I was so scared.” And then she burst into tears.

Inuyasha bundled her gently into his arms, and when she didn’t protest, but buried her face into his chest and wound her fingers into the soft fabric of his t-shirt, he lifted her up, ducking under the door and nudging it back down with his foot, unwilling to put down his precious cargo. He climbed the stairs to his apartment carefully, cradling her against his chest.

He was having difficulty sorting out his emotions at the moment – he wanted to comfort her, but at the same time he find out what had happened and go out and find whoever had done this and pummel them – one punch is all it would take; he’d never lost a fight. But comforting her was what he needed to concentrate on right now - she was upset and frightened – he could feel her whole body shaking against his, and she felt so small in his arms.

“Daijobu Kagome”, he repeated over and over, keeping his voice low and steady. Walking through his open front door, he carried her over to the bed, the only place to sit in his small apartment apart from his hard wooden desk chair. Seating her gently on the mattress, he squatted on the floor next to her, keeping one hand on her upper back, stroking gently. She was still crying, but her sobs were calming now, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Watching her cry uncontrollably was making him feel frantic, like he was failing her somehow – he didn’t know what to do, and he didn’t have enough words to ask.

He watched her take deep breaths, trying to calm herself as she looked down at him, managing a small smile through her tears. Silently he reached a long arm over to his desk and managed to grab a box of tissues, holding them out to her. She took one, blowing her nose noisily.

“Kagome?”

She shrugged, still sniffing a little. “I’m okay Inuyasha. I was frightened more than anything else. He had a knife, and there was no one else around.”

Inuyasha made an irritated noise borne of frustration, then suddenly moved over to his desk to grab his laptop. She watched as he opened a translation app and handed it to her. “Please. Kagome.”

Her hands still shaking a little, she typed out a brief description of what had happened, and he snarled as he read over her shoulder, taking the laptop back for a moment to type. When Kagome read it, she shook her head.

“I’m okay, I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

Inuyasha glared at her, then gently tilted her chin up to look at her neck again. Neck injuries could  be dangerous, especially if there was internal swelling. She’d said she didn’t lose consciousness, but still. He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and came back with a cool wet cloth which he used to carefully wipe away the blood, his expression clearing a little when he realised the scratches and bruising weren’t too bad.

“Where?” he asked, tapping his own head. Kagome reached for his fingers and guided his hand to the back of her skull. He gingerly felt the sizable lump on the back of her head, grimacing as she hissed in pain, then went to his small fridge, retrieving a bag of frozen peas and an unused dish cloth from under the sink.

He sat down next to her on the bed and carefully held the wrapped peas over the bump, tilting her head backwards and forwards as he peered into her eyes, trying to make sure they were both evenly dilated. They seemed fine. “Ten minutes”, he said, checking the time on his laptop. Kagome winced, but smiled at him gratefully.

“How do you know what to do?” she asked. “What, are you secretly a doctor or something?” He chuckled.

“No.”

He didn’t have the words to explain how many times he’d received a blow to the head on the underground fight circuit, and had to hold a bag of ice to his own injuries. Just because he’d never lost a fight, didn’t mean he was never injured. And he still wasn’t sure what to tell her about his past. It definitely wasn’t a conversation for right now anyway.

Kagome relaxed against his shoulder as the coolness helped the throbbing in her head, then yelped in sudden surprise. “My foot! Something bit me!”

Inuyasha made an irritated grumbling noise, then dropped to the floor, his arm reaching around under the bed. He pulled out a hissing ball of orange and white fluff and shook him slightly.

“Shippou! Dame!”

Kagome was instantly all smiles.

“Oh my goodness, you have a kitten! And he’s so fluffy! Kawaiiii!” She reached out her hands in a grabbing motion, obviously wanting a cuddle.

Inuyasha snorted and rolled his eyes as he handed Shippou over. She’d said the word ‘cute’ in the exact same high pitched tone that a Japanese girl would have said it. He watched her as she stroked Shippou with a pleased smile on her face, her fear and injury forgotten for the moment. Shippou immediately began kneading her leg with his little paws, then turned a circle and cuddled into her lap, purring up a storm. Kagome turned her brilliant brown eyes up to his, and he couldn’t help it, he had to say it.

“Anata wa kawaī Kagome.” She blinked at him.

“Did… did you just call me cute?!” He nodded, grinning, reaching forward to push a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She smiled at him shyly. “How do you say ‘I like you’ in Japanese”, she said softly, looking up at him hopefully.

He kneeled in front of her and leaned forward, so he could almost whisper in her ear, feeling her shiver a little as he breathed against her neck, his voice deep, bordering on a purr. “Anatagasuki Kagome.”

She leaned her cheek against his, rubbing against his face. “Anatagasuki Inuyasha. Very much!”

He moved his head slightly to place a soft kiss against her cheek, then drew back a little to judge her expression – he very much wanted to kiss her properly, press his lips against hers and find out if her sweet mouth tasted as good as he thought it would, but she’d just been through something terrifying. He sighed, leaning back a little. Maybe he should back off for now. But she didn’t let him move away, closing the gap herself and placing her lips against his own. He hardly noticed Shippou leaping off Kagome’s lap in disgust.

One small soft kiss - a taste that wasn’t nearly enough. And then another. And then he lost count, abandoning himself to feeling the softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath, relishing the wet heat of her tongue against his. His hand moved into her hair, to adjust the angle of her head to pull her closer and she whined as he unthinkingly pressed his fingers against the bump on her head.

“Sorry, sorry, Kagome, gomen'nasai”, he murmured, his forehead against hers, drifting featherlight touches to soothe over where he’d accidentally hurt, reaching for the bag of peas again. He held it there gently as he stroked her cheek with his other hand, then leaned back a little so he could look at her face again, smiling.

“What?” she said. She was still panting a little from their kisses, her lips now stained a slightly darker pink from his attentions.

He rubbed his thumb against her lips. “Word?”

“Do you mean what is the word for this?” she said, tapping her fore finger against his mouth, then giggling a little as he kissed it gently. “You could say mouth, or lips.”

“Soft lips”, he murmured, stroking hers again, then grinning as she gently nipped the meat of his thumb with her little white teeth. He moved his hand upwards and stroked near her eye. “Word?”

“Eyes”, she whispered, unable to take her own off his.

“Pretty eyes.”

“That’s not fair, I don’t know enough Japanese to tell you anything”, she pouted, placing her palm against his cheek. “But I’m going to learn Inuyasha. I want to be able to tell you what an amazing, thoughtful, sexy man you are.” Inuyasha snorted. He’d definitely understood at least one word she’d said.

“Sexy, huh?” he grinned toothily, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh yes”, she purred, stroking her fingers down his cheek. “Very sexy.” And then she yawned, blinking at him blearily. “I’m sorry. It’s been a very long day.”

“Tired?” he asked. She nodded. It was obvious she’d reached her limit. He still wanted to know more about why she’d been out so late at night, but she seemed exhausted. It could wait until tomorrow. He wasn’t going to let her go anywhere else tonight. She would be safe here with him - he just had to convince her of that.

Inuyasha turned on the little lamp next to his bed, and moved over to the main light switch near the door, turning it off. He sat down on the bed, propping up against the pillows so he was sitting up a little, then patted his chest. “Here.”

Kagome gave him a pleased smile. “You want me to stay?”

He nodded. “Stay.” He crooked his finger and beckoned her forward, then patted his chest again. “Here, Kagome.”

He watched as she kicked off her remaining shoe, then crawled up the bed, snuggling into his side and resting her head on his chest. “Thank you so much Inuyasha. I didn’t want to go home by myself.” She closed her eyes, smiling as he gently pulled out the hairband that held her ponytail, then carded his fingers through the loosened curls. He reached out his arm to switch off the light.

“Goodnight Inuyasha”, she whispered. He curled his arm around her shoulders, dropping a kiss to the top of her head, and settled himself down against the pillows.

“Goodnight Kagome.”

[mattzerella-sticks]

Four of Swords

Destiel, 7.1k, M, Ao3 link

Super happy I can finally share what me and my amazing partner, @maleyah-givemetomorrow, cooked up for the @supernaturaltropecelebration

Hope you all enjoy! (story below, but if you go to ao3 there’ll be pretty pictures - I definintely recommend viewing them and showing love to the artist!)

The Four of Swords, in the present position, means you don't want to interact with the rest of the world. Because of stress, you need to spend some time with yourself - unhealthy always being 'on'. That the healthiest thing to do is to escape.

Dean might crave escape, but it's not something he thinks he can have. Something he deserves, even. After his and Sam's most recent hunt, this cancerous feeling has grown heavy and weighs him down. He cannot escape on his own, as best he tries.

Luckily a guardian 'former angel' angel swoops in at his lowest. Helps pick up the pieces as best he can and lovingly put them back together. But he can only do so much. The rest is up to Dean.

Can Dean take those final steps, say those final words, and finally free himself?

        His leg bounces, foot playing with the pedal while forcing the speedometer past its limits. Fingers squeeze the wheel tight enough he knows will leave permanent indents in the leather. Dean feels, more acutely than ever, how small his car’s interior is. Her cabin walls closing in around like the Death Star’s trash compacter. Aided by Sam’s ever-present stare, weighted by all the questions Dean will not let him ask. Forbade with a shake of his head and a rough flick of the ignition.

        The sun creeps past the horizon, morning rudely greeting them. Beams of light pierce the glass, its glare interfering with his driving. Dean swings a heavy paw up towards the visor and pulls down, hard. It blocks most of the sun but gives Dean a worse distraction.

        His gaze strays from the road to the tiny mirror embedded within the visor. Bounces around the borders of his face, studying the features and additions. Green eyes burdened with purplish bags. Dirt smudged around his hairline, disappearing into his short, mussed locks. Scratches peppered his cheeks like freckles, and the dried blood around his lips looks almost comical. Like he overlined them with an ugly shade of lipstick, clownlike and surreal.

        “You’re drifting.”

        Sam tugs the wheel closer, straightening their car. Dean wills back the discomfort of having Sam’s hand covering his. Of the memory, hours ago, where their layered hands held different context. Pushing. Praying. Reaching for a spark of Dean that nearly drowned and was lost forever. He shakes his head, focusing on the road again. “Thanks,” he says once his brother’s hand drifted away.

        They reach the Bunker minutes later, Dean parking between the green Hudson and silver Chrysler. Both collecting dust. Dean checks his phone – 8:34 a.m. 3 missed calls, 8 unanswered texts. He swipes for the message thread, not reading any of the grey bubbles and typing a simple message. Back. Then Dean drops it in an empty cupholder and lays his head on the wheel.

        Exhaustion drips along his bones like slime, filling the spaces between joints. His muscles broadcast their pain in full stereo, working in tandem with his brain. Each twinge a reminder of what happened. What he did and what he almost became.

        Someone howls. It is far, but familiar. It sounds like – home? Belonging? Right? More noise, this time closer. Snarling. Snarling and growling. His jaw shudders and bends, reforming. A fire crackles under his skin, urging him forward. Follow the call. Follow the scent. Smell that, hear that, it is all so… pure. Free. You are free. Trust your instincts.

        “Fuck,” he hisses. Dean presses his dirty nails into his palms, a reminder of their usual bluntness. Definitely not sharp enough to pierce the skin. He can’t hurt anyone else with them. “Fuck…”

        Sam shifts at his side, hovering. Worrying. “Dean –“

        “Not now, Sammy,” he says. Dean sucks in a large breath, fixing his armor. Raises his head off the steering wheel, staring out the window. “I’m not ready, not yet.” He wasn’t ready when they watched the barn disappear behind them, burning, smoke drifting into the starless night. When they stopped at the motel so Sam could collect their stuff while Dean idled in the parking lot. When Sam exploded halfway between Denver and Cheyenne, drool wet on his chin, and still unprepared when he apologized minutes later.

        He didn’t deserve his damned forgiveness.

        “Just…” Dean breathes, shivering, “go.”

        The car door opens and shuts with soft clicks. Dean watches his brother stumble over half-asleep legs to the exit, Sam’s gait heavy and awkward. He pauses under the archway. His head tilts slowly right, and Dean tears his eyes from the rearview mirror. Dean counts the beats of his heart, waiting. After thirty he checks the rearview and Sam is gone.

        Flinging himself out the car, Dean falls on hands and knees while his stomach revolts. He coughs, splutters, and heaves with all the force he can muster. There’s not a lot in his stomach but it surges up, splattering against the floor. Mixes with the blood and dirty already staining his fingers. His nausea passes the crest and recedes, body nearly purged. He spits into the bile, running his tongue over the waxy film coating his teeth. Gross, but not enough. The taste lingers.

        Right there. Follow the fear, the rapid breathing – babumbabumbabumbabum. There is sweetness in victory, in the thrill of chasing. No escape, only death. Screams cut short when you tear through the throat. Chestnut fur matted with blood, goes down smooth. Delicious. Filling.

        Dean winces at the mess. “Not cleaning that up,” he says, “at least not now.” With his remaining strength, Dean drags his body up. Leans on his car for a moment, then walks away with the door still open and with bags in the trunk. He cannot remember if he left the key in the ignition, nor does he care if he did.

        There are more pressing matters that need attending.

        He wanders with intention, drifting past rows of doors until he reaches the shower room. Dean turns, slowing to a shuffle and then a full stop once halfway inside. Head bowed, he focuses on the contrast between his mud-caked boots and the pristine tiles ruined by his intrusion. Squints and sees a twig lodged in the loop of his lace. Looks closer and sees a small pawprint left immortalized on the material.

        In one bite the head tears completely off, blood spurting up from the severed neck. Sprays his face while he chews. Dean smiles, teeth catching the droplets and licking them clean off. He greedily stuffs the rest of its small body into his mouth, then licks his hands. Uncurling from the forest floor, he continues on. There is a call he needs to answer.

        Dean hears the twig snap while clawing at the laces. He throws his left boot to the side, followed by his right. Peels his socks off and does the same. The second round of dizziness descends as the cool floor coaxes a more measured response from him. Sighing, Dean closes his eyes and continues stripping.

        Even blind, Dean knows what he throws away. A yellow plaid button-down ripped across the back. Brown t-shirt crusty with dried blood all over the front. Jeans camouflaged in various stains, held up by a belt that worked in saving him from succumbing. And underwear that, while clean, were rather unwanted in the moment.

        Goosepimples rise along the blades of his shoulders, rushing up his neck and over his back. Dean shakes, crosses his arms and tucks his chin against his chest. “Come on,” he says, bouncing on his feet, “In and out… you’ll feel much better.” He steps forward and then returns to where he was. “You’ll feel better and clean and – and like yourself again.”

        “This is who you were truly meant to be…” His voice purrs, sparks firing off pleasurably in his brain. A rough tongue licks up his neck, and Dean nuzzles the hand petting his cheek. “Who we were always meant to be… give into your instincts, my pet. Give into yourself…”

        “Dean what are – oh! I’m sorry!” He whips around and finds Cas standing in the doorway. Hands squeezing the towel, eyes trained upwards and not ahead like they must have been moments ago. The blush on his cheeks clueing him in. “I thought, when you said you were home, you’d be in bed…”

        Dean rakes his gaze over the other man’s body. At the scruff in serious need of shaving, unkempt along his jaw and overrunning his neck. The oversized t-shirt, tie-dyed in various shades of oranges, reds, and yellows. A graphic from a Led Zeppelin album ironed on from a collection Dean found at a garage sale, given over because the angel reminded him of Cas. His shirt’s hem overhangs and covers half of the shorts he wears, hairy calves fully on display.

        A year into humanity and Dean marvels at how he stays so heavenly.

        “No,” he says, “don’t feel much like sleeping…” Then Dean drifts his focus away from the other man and back to the shower stalls. Empty and waiting. In a few seconds he could wash the entirety of yesterday into the drains, dirtied water swirling at his feet. Scrape any trace of the wildness with soap and scalding, hot water. Keep at it, until the knot in his chest unraveled finally.

        Dean stiffens. Someone brushed his arm. Cas squeezes, whispering, “Are you going to shower?”

        He nods. Steps forward, and again. And collapses at the mouth of the shower, scrabbling for the curtain and ripping it from the rod. Dean gasps, the harsh sound echoing in the room, and curls in on himself. The cheap plastic crinkles and sticks to his skin, blanketing his thighs. One of the metal rings completely tore and now digs into his stomach. Cas calls for him, but his voice is distant.

        “We can start anew once your transformation is complete. I can hear it inside you, Dean. There’s a killer in there waiting to be unchained. Let me free you from the prison society forced you in, allow your true self to roam, empowered in its glory and righteousness. You’ll be my right hand in my new pack. All that’s left, is for you to break the final lock…”

        “Dean, Dean I need you to say something,” Cas presses a warm hand into his back, kneading the clammy skin. “Please… I know not to hope for anything good but at least tell me you’re here, with me.”

        “I’m here,” he murmurs, “I’m… I’m here.” More of a reminder than an answer. Dean blinks, leaving the acrid stench of death for faint, lemon cleanser. Shadows and dim lighting for humming fluorescents. False promises for strong foundations. “I’m here,” Dean says again, sliding his hand from the curtains to Cas’s, the other hanging at his side. Squeezes at his wrist. “Thanks.”

        “It’s no problem,” Cas huffs, sizing Dean up. He shrinks under his gaze, conscious of how he must look. “Do you want to –“

        “No.”

        Cas nods, as if expecting it. “You want to clean yourself up?” Dean shrugs. He clucks, fingers skimming his hairline on a wide rub. “Look as if you’ve glued yourself to the underside of your car and had Sam drive across any backroads he found.” The joke inspires Dean’s dimples to appear, and Cas’s overly proud smile forces a small chuckle. “Are you able to stand?”

        “I think I can manage…” Dean winces, the plastic shower curtain peeling off him. Cas keeps his face steady, not even a flicker of interest in peeking as it falls, when Dean exposes himself. A superficial wound. Fortunately Cas’s hand on his back and the other, now holding his, stay and help him up. He wobbles on shaky legs but won’t fail. “Thanks.”

        “No problem,” Cas tells him, thumb tickling his pulse point, “do you want me to give you privacy?”

        He swallows his tongue. Or rather, something living inside his throat snatches it and prevents him from speaking. Dean glances at the shower, dread crawling forth once more. The scant space between him and the handle stretches, vision tunneling. He wants nothing more, if only the thought of it didn’t paralyze him. Cas murmurs at his side. “What?” he chokes out.

        “I might have an idea,” Cas says, “that is… if you’re okay with me seeing you like… like this?”

        Dean raises a wry brow. “Does it matter?” he asks, “You already have.”

        “Just being polite…” Cas moves away from him, Dean following for a beat until he stops himself. The other man looks to the door, than at him. He scoops his forgotten towel, dumped on the floor at some point in the past few minutes, and offers it to him. “Here.”

        “Like I said, Cas –“

        “I know,” he interrupts, “but I doubt you want to walk the halls like that, where at any point Sam could stumble on you and… assume.” A hell of an assumption. Favorable too, he thinks. Dean blushes and bites his lip. He accepts the towel, lazily wrapping it around his waist. Not bothering to tuck it, holding it with his hands so they wouldn’t hang without purpose. Cas finally dips his gaze towards his crotch and relaxes. “Okay,” he says, “follow me.”

        They leave the shower room, Dean practically hitting Cas’s heels with how closely he trails the other man. Enough that he could swing his arm and accidentally brush his hip. He won’t, though the possibility is tempting.

        It’s not a far enough walk for that.

        Cas turns the corner and leads Dean to the second door on the right. “I found this awhile back, early on in our stay here and carried it to this room one day when you were out.” He opens it for him, gesturing inside with a lackluster flourish. “Glad I did, don’t know how I would have managed without my angel strength.”

        Dean steps inside, searching. There is not much waiting for him. Smaller than most rooms, he can imagine it being a closet with ease. Spots the tiny holes where screws must have been. Hidden in the outlines of where shelves once were. “Didn’t know you were handy.”

        “I learn fast.”

        “I’ll say,” Dean says, “plumbing’s a bitch to do.” He smirks at the large, stainless steel faucet. There’s another outline underneath against the wall that marks where a sink used to be. Removed so the porcelain, clawfoot tub can rest. “You take baths?”

        “When I can,” Cas tells him, “I find it very healing. Even when I could mend broken bones and turn jagged cuts into flawless, smooth skin with my grace, I found myself drifting here every now and then, sitting for a soak.”

        Dean taps at the rim of the bathtub, pouting. “And you brought me here, thinking I want to…” He doesn’t finish, instead studying the other man. Watches how the innocent question rocks the boat of his good intentions. Cas pouts, folds his arms and scuffs his toe on the floor. Dean softens, “Thank you.”

        “…You’re welcome,” he shifts, turning his back, “Now, do you want to get in? I find that when you twist the handle on the right, the water is warmer.”

        He waits. Panic rises, thinking Cas might leave. Worse that he can’t find it in him to ask that he stay. But then Cas settles, staring at the closed door. Dean smiles and starts the faucet.

        When the bathtub is halfway full Dean climbs in. His knees poke from up out of the water, too tall to stretch his legs. He slides in further, so the water laps at his chin and more leg is on display. Already it fogs over, a filmy layer swirling on the surface. Dean cups some of the water and splashes it on his face, all too aware of much red drips. “I’m as decent as I can be,” he calls, splashing.

        Cas sighs. “How does it feel?”

        “S’nice,” he shrugs, “Not that I get to do this often but…” Dean sees Cas walk over, grabbing at a nearby bucket. “What are you doing?”

        “Helping,” Cas says, dropping the bucket. He kneels, presenting a washcloth and a soap bar he must have pulled from below.

        “Aw, no Cas,” Dean starts, sliding into a low crouch. Braced on the edges of the bathtub. “You don’t have to –“

        “Please, Dean,” Cas whispers. Two fingers rest over his knuckles, feather light and barely there. “Let me do this for you… after what you must have gone through…”

        Dean will not break his staring contest with his navel, sure that if he glanced in Cas’s direction another episode like the one in the shower room will happen. “Fine,” he mutters, plopping back into the tub and spraying Cas with a few errant drops. “If you want, go right ahead.” His arms encircle his knees, stricken expression hidden. Sitting in the center of the bathtub, Dean never felt so small.

        Cas carries on wordlessly. Runs the soap under the faucet before turning it off. It’s filled to about a few inches from the rim, any sudden movement able to cause a good spill. Which is why Cas talks him through the steps. Like a skittish animal, provoked at the tiniest snap of a twig or rustling leaves.

        Defenseless. Unaware. Fattening itself for the lucky prey that happens across it. His lips peel back for his teeth to appear, spit dripping from them. His fingers lead him forward, nails glinting when the moonlight breaks through the foliage and hits them. One clumsy step and what sounds like a gunshot echoes in his ears. It stops. Then it sprints off. So does he, a fraction of a second later. The chase begun. He huffs, he smiles, he growls. Hungry.

        Dean hisses when the cloth rubs over a badly healed wound, reopening it. “Sorry,” Cas says, dabbing the spot again and pouring some water from a cupped hand over the skin. “I didn’t see – I’m so sorry.”

        “It’s okay, Cas.” He offers a wobbly smile, shrugging. “It’s okay.”

        Cas grimaces, Dean staring on the thin, chapped line. Better than blue spotlights running across his face. Soon his lips smooth into something more neutral, and Cas resets.

        He focuses on how the washcloth feels, Cas lathering soap across him. Doesn’t fight when he grabs Dean’s arm and holds it up, running the fabric over and leaving soap bubbles in its track. There’s a jagged cut slashed across his knuckles from a misplaced lunge. Cas, prepared, gently dabs at it. His hold is firm and touch careful.

        Too careful. Too caring. The special treatment makes his skin crawl. Dean winces again as Cas drags the washcloth along his shoulder blades and onto his other arm. “Sensitive?” Cas asks, because he notices. Add too observant, too. “Days like these make me miss my powers.”

        Dean snorts, “So you could fly on out of here without any problems?” That escapes easier than he would like. He curses under breath, sneaking a peek at Cas. Like Dean expected, Cas’s expression makes his heart sink into his stomach. “Shit, sorry…”

        “I don’t need wings to ‘fly on out of here’,” he says, “if I wanted, I could get on a plane tomorrow.” Cas finishes lathering his arm and soaps his chest. Rubs the washcloth over and over his tattoo. Its ink vibrating erratically because of his words, the possibility, and Cas’s closeness “The operative term being wanted. What I want right now is… well, I want you to not feel any pain.”

        But he should. It’s all he should feel. Dean deserves the pain. For yesterday, what he almost did. For now, what he callously said to Cas. For years and years of causing so much hurt and enjoying it and taking pride in it. He should drown in all this pain. Instead he has an angel bathing him in kindness.

        He tries every day to be better than his darkest moment. When he and Cas stared across at each other, fully ruptured. Dean throwing more dynamite into the divide until the ground crumbled beneath their feet and the landscape of their relationship was unrecognizable. After Purgatory he made a promise. His pain should remain with him, not forced into the hands of others.

        Some days they wriggle, others they slip. Dean tries every day. If only every day, he succeeded.

        Cas washes his face, leaning half over the tub so there’s barely a breath of space between them. A simple turn and their noses brush together. He cannot do more than breath, sharp puffs out his mouth. Sometimes muffled when Cas wipes at the dried blood marking the skin around it.

        It’s too much.

        “I almost killed Sam.” Cas pauses, frozen at the corner of Dean’s lips. Some of the soap drips into his mouth, and he can taste it. “Yesterday, on the hunt I… I almost killed him.”

        His brain steams ahead, thinking how Cas might wish for the plane ticket now that he knows. Imagines him dropping the washcloth into his hands and leaving without a word. Again, wiping his hands of Dean’s garbage and climbing out the hole before any more shovels in to bury him.

        Instead Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, smiling. “Tell me what happened.”

        His walls crumble immediately. Dean savors the touch while he begins his story. Cas already knew the beginning – driving into a town beset by murders, where killers left heartless bodies for the police. Rolled in with the script memorized, asking all the right questions. Found the pack’s den and attacked. “We said we got all of them,” Dean sighs, ducking his head, “but that wasn’t the whole truth.”

        The leader escaped. They only realized it when counting the bodies, battle too confusing that losing track of one werewolf in a dozen was unavoidable. Risky in their line of work, but a quick perimeter search kicked up no trace of him. Dean and Sam closed the case, driving off to the motel and licking their wounds.

        “I was careless, or… or I don’t know, didn’t think much of it but…” Dean holds his arm up and looks at it. There’s no mark on the skin, but he traces the bite from memory. “Got me when I wasn’t looking. By the time I knew what was happening it was like I… like something had come over me. I heard howling and I tore off after it. Sam coming back to an empty motel room with a broken lock.”

        If he stays too long in his memories, he will lose himself in them again. Racing through the woods with newfound agility and grace. Jumping, launching himself over fallen trees and boulders. What it felt like ripping apart the first woodland creature he crossed paths with. The soapy taste in his mouth turns sour.

        “The leader was crazy… had this whole philosophy that I believed because he said it and all I could think was how much I trusted him. Thinking was too difficult while all fanged out and slobbering and – and so when he said to trust my ‘instincts’ I… I bared my neck. His instincts were my instincts. By that point Sammy snuck in, and – well protect is a pretty strong instinct.”

        Sam plead, rallying all his strength so Dean’s claws wouldn’t eviscerate him. Dean straddled his brother, raging. Spat on him while gnawing for his neck. The last werewolf cheering Dean on. “Free yourself of your human burdens and join me in total freedom!” he sang, “Eat of his heart and you will be mine forever!”

        “You don’t want this Dean,” Sam said, struggling. The syringe nearby looking damaged but not completely broken. “I know you. Fight him!”

        Dean growled, “Want… want free… want blood!”

        Sam sneered, tightening his grip on Dean’s wrists. He shifted and kicked Dean off. Dean flipped, landing on his back. They both scrambled upright, not wasting any time. With misguided fury Dean pounced for Sam, his brother twisting at the right second. Their fight continued in that fashion. Sam dodging Dean’s attacks, the latter growing more frustrated and sloppier.

        Exactly what Sam planned.

        Dean dove and smacked into a wall, knocking the breath from him. Stunned, Sam dove for his belt and slipped it over some exposed pipe. Not knowing any better, lost within the wolf, Dean struggled helplessly until brute strength won.

        By the time Dean ripped the pipe from the wall Sam killed his sire. Injected Dean with the cure when he scurried towards the corpse and mourned. When all traces of his bite left Dean’s system, he mourned again. Sam standing overhead, watching, unable to lay a hand on his shoulder lest Dean bite at it in his familiar defensiveness.

        “So Sam is fine?”

        He bristles at the placid tone. Unbothered. Like Dean mentioned some off-hand piece of gossip that he happened across while scrolling through his phone. “Yeah,” Dean says harshly, “but I… I almost did him in. Nearly ate his heart before skipping off with some werewolf Charles Manson to start another werewolf cult and...”

        Cas raises a brow. “And?”

        Processing the events aloud help him realize how wildly he overreacted. How Sam clearly held no anger towards him for being on the menu. How there’s no reason for the inky sadness clinging to his heart and soul that makes him feel bad.

        Except it’s there, and having no reason makes it even worse.

        “And…” he fumbles, “And I think I’m getting too old for this.” Dean huffs, sinking against the bathtub while Cas continues petting him. “I’ve been doing this for what? Nearly forty years? That was how it’s going to end… Because I let that werewolf creep bite me and nearly turn me into his slave? Kind of makes everything I said about free will look like I pulled it from my ass.”

        Cas chuckles, laying the washcloth on the porcelain rim. He pulls back, laying both arms along the edge and resting on it. Smirking, “No one will call you a hypocrite because you were under the influence of a werewolf bite.”

        “Yeah, but…” Dean sighs, “I’m supposed to be better than this.”

        “If I’ve learned anything from my time on Earth – from you – is that sometimes we have our off days,” Cas says, “We have to forgive ourselves for them.”

        “Maybe if I tripped and scratched Baby’s paint or-or took a risk on some leftovers I don’t remember, sure,” he scoffs, “but when it comes to hunts… an off day can easily become my last day. Hunters don’t get off days. Heroes don’t… don’t…” He digs his nails into his knee, willing away the waterfall hovering around the edges of his eyes.

        “Well, as true as that is, the fact you were able to see the sun rise means yesterday definitely wasn’t your last day.” The faint traces of humor in his tone barely lifts the corners of Dean’s mouth. Cas sighs. A few droplets splashing at Dean’s exposed leg, his hand now gently splashing the water. “I stand by what I said. Yes, you could’ve been more observant during your battle. And more conscious of your injuries. Then neither you nor Sam would still carry what should have been a simple hunt on your shoulders.” Mentioning it makes his shoulders sag further. “But then again, I could be beating myself for staying here watching Netflix while you and Sam got your hands dirty –“

        “You kidding, Cas?” Dean bursts in, brows furrowed, “The Hell should you feel bad for?”

        “A third set of eyes could’ve seen the werewolf escape – or stop him before he did… make sure you were checked over for serious injuries…” His fingers circle lazily, Cas’s mouth tugged down in a way that unsettles Dean’s stomach.

        Dean sits straighter, glaring at the other man. “You needed the rest, Cas. After that ghoul tore your back up something fierce in Missoula? Even if you knew you could do something, I’d still have kept you –“ The tirade cuts short, Cas’s prideful smirk stealing the words from him. He sinks into the water, so low that water hides his burning cheeks. Adjusts by fully removing his legs from the bathtub, bracing his feet on the wall. Faucet between them.

        Cas chuckles, rustling Dean’s hair. “See. Hindsight is only good for the future, to learn from our mistakes. Time is better spent in the present. Accepting that you did the best you could and… glad there are people who care about you, who will do anything to see you feel better.”

        Dean looks up at Cas, the overhead bulb shining. Mimicking the effect of a halo. He lifts his chin enough to free his mouth. “I don’t know how you can put up with my stubborn ass.” I don’t know why I deserve you.

        “I recall you calling my ass stubborn many times.” I don’t deserve you.

        They always end up circling the drain. Never quite going in, a piece of hair clogging the passage. Right now, with Cas petting Dean’s hair and gazing into his eyes, Dean exposed under him in more ways than one, it cannot get any more tender. It’s still not enough.

        At the top of the peak, you can only go off. They never jump.

        Dean knew his reasons. When it felt like they could, there was never enough time. Something more pressing to deal with, a battle to fight. Always promising that when the moment was right, Dean would do something. But then when those moments came Dean and Cas were never there for them. Kept apart by circumstance, by death, by each other. Compelling. Dramatic. Completely frustrating.

        But then Chuck vanished, he and Amara – light and darkness, creation and destruction – becoming one. Becoming entirely new. Blinked off into somewhere that Dean doesn’t care knowing about. As long as, on their way out, they cut the strings hanging over their heads.

        It seemed like it. Life went on, as normal. Monsters needed hunting and beer needed drinking. Except there wasn’t anything more.

        Hell stayed relatively calm with Rowena reorganizing it. Jack, seated on the throne of Heaven, brought a righteous humanity in his leadership. Even Billie took a holiday.

        When the dust settled, Dean was ready for Cas to be on his way, too. One was offered.

        “Are you sure?” Jack asked, eyes still aglow. Hand raised inches from Cas’s bloodied head. “I can give it all back to you. Give you more… you’d be the most powerful angel in my new Heaven. You can help me make it even better than it was.”

        “Thank you, but… I think it’s time you left the nest, Jack,” Cas smiled, stepping back from him. “Heaven is in capable hands because they’re yours… I… we trust that you can do this without us.”

        Jack nodded, light snuffed. He dove into Cas’s arms, then, hugging him. Then Sam, and finally Dean. “I’ll visit when I can,” he promised, trying not to cry.

        Dean coughed, swiping a finger under his eye. “Soon!” he barked, “I don’t want to see you when I’m eighty!” Their laughter was bittersweet. Fully bitter when Jack disappeared with a flap.

        Sam scuffed the ground, turning. “So,” he said, “what do we do now?” He scanned the area, Dean tracking the same space alongside him. At the scorched earth, barely recognizable from when they arrived. Green drained away and left lifeless, with a few serious scorch marks in certain areas. Like the one near a cracked mausoleum, where Chuck threw Cas. Where he held him by the neck and spit serious venom. Where he drained the little angel grace he had left and made him human again.

        Cas clears his throat, drawing their attention. “After a shower and a change of clothes,” he said, “I think some sort of celebration. At home.”

        Dean’s heart skipped over itself. “Home,” he repeated, “Yeah, I like that.”

        Cas chose and chose again, and his choice never wavered. It was Earth. It was humanity. It was him, and it was home.

        “Why are you staring at me like that?” Cas asks, frowning, “what are you thinking?”

        Dean rises somewhat. “I love you.” He would rather he weren’t naked, nor shaken from a hunt. And a forgotten supply closet with a dirty bathtub in it is hardly the number one place for a confession. But waiting for perfection screwed him over so many times.

        “Oh,” Cas relaxes against the bathtub, sinking his hand back into the water, “is that all?”

        Or maybe he should have kept waiting. Dean pouts, “I love you.”

        “I know. You’re repeating yourself.”

        “No, like…” he drags a wet hand over his face, “I love you. Like, I love you love you.”

        Cas chuckles, light and carefree. Lines around his eyes crinkling in delight. “I know, Dean. I know.”

        Dean gapes, chin slapping the surface of his bath. “You have?” Spurred into action by Cas’s growing laughter, Dean sinks his legs into the tub and sits up again. “For real?” The other man nods. “How long?”

        Cas shrugs, “Awhile.”

        “Why didn’t you say anything?”

        Joy retreats from Cas’s expression, leaving him somewhat guarded. He breaks with Dean’s stare. His hand glides through water and finds Dean’s leg. Strokes it. “I thought nothing needed to be said.”

        Dean raises a brow, clicking his tongue. “So you were happy with…”

        “I was content.”

        He frowns, courage leaping up inside his chest and banishing the lingering traces of sadness and self-pity clinging inside his chest. “Well, I wasn’t,” Dean says. Waits for Cas to look at him again. “Do you know how many times we sat together and I wanted to hold your hand, but didn’t? Roll over on my bed and wake up next to you only to remember that you were down the hall? Sit in a diner and-and when the waitress came by I could say, ‘I’ll have this and my boyfriend will have that’ but was only able to order for myself? I won’t even mention the amount of times I wanted to kiss you because at this point I’ve lost count…”

        Cas squeezes Dean’s thigh, lips stretched wide in a tight grin. “You want all of that?”

        “And more. A hell of a lot more.”

        “Then… late is better than never, I suppose.”

        Dean blinks, “What?”

        He resumes stroking his leg, smiling so openly all his teeth are on display. “I’m saying,” he continues, “that if you want to do all that, I find myself being… amenable. We can even start now.”

        “Are you sure?” Dean asks, too experienced with his luck that he knows he needs more. “Is this what you want? You said you were –“

        “Content,” he says, “But not happy. Doing all of what you described – and more – will make me very happy.”

        Dean smiles, “Really?”

        “Ecstatic.” It’s so deadpan, so blasé, and completely incongruent with the mood of the room that Dean cannot stop the snort escaping from his lips. Followed by hiccupped giggles and, finally, laughter that echoes in the tiny space. Joined by Cas, their voices swell to fill the room. Until Dean snatches Cas’s collar with his wet fist and drags him in for a kiss. Closes his eyes and savors the taste of the other man, taking note of every sensation he guessed right and scribbling over what he got wrong with the parts he never could have imagined.

        In the midst of their makeout session, when Cas presses their foreheads together and laughs about not needing a shower after all. Because Dean hauled him into the bathtub with him despite protests, water leaking onto the floor. When he can, without guilt, lose himself in Cas’s eyes, Dean remembers the werewolf from yesterday. Remembers what he thought freedom meant, and how the monster hadn’t the first clue what it actually was.

        Freedom is not power. Freedom is being yourself. Freedom is the ability to show others the deepest parts of yourself and have them stay and love you for it. Freedom is acceptance.

        Freedom is the way Cas’s fingers scratch at the nape of his neck. Freedom is Cas pressing lazy kisses against his cheek. Freedom is the way their feet knock into each other on the edge of the porcelain bathtub.

        Dean, for the first time in his life, feels free.

Epilogue:

        Midnight is a terrible hour to crave bacon. Time cannot stop Dean’s watering mouth or his growling stomach. He disentangled himself from Cas and blindly pieced together an outfit that, in the hallway’s clinical lighting, included his cowboy pajama bottoms, Cas’s dried shirt, and his robe. Dean shrugs and carries on his way towards the kitchen, hoping for a quick trip.

        Seeing Sam hunched over at the table crushes that idea. He perks up at Dean’s entrance, faltering. Rises for a second before thinking better, instead fiddling with his coffee mug. “Dean.”

        “…Sam.” Unsure, Dean’s own hands run rampant. Closes the robe and hides Cas’s shirt, tying a neat, little bow and securing it tighter. Then he unravels it and lets the robe swing open like curtains. “What’re you doing up?”

        He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep anymore. You?”

        “Hungry.” Dean winces, the image of Sam struggling underneath him flashing into view. It fades almost as instantly as it arrived, replaced with a more annoyed looking brother. Mouth pulled taut like a bowstring, aimed and ready. Dean glances at the mug for safety. “You make enough for the class?”

        “Check the pot.”

        Shuffling over he sees more than enough coffee inside for him. So, he pulls out two mugs and prepares them. Three teaspoons of sugar in one, four tablespoons in the other. A dash of milk on the left, because Cas thinks it muddies the taste of the coffee. “Thanks.”

        “Dean…”

        His tone draws a quiet sigh from Dean. Settles the hunger that dominated his stomach and replaces it with a slight nausea. “Sam,” he says, “can you not…”

        “We need to talk about it,” Sam continues, “Please, Dean, I –“

        “We will.”

        Sam pauses, stunned. Dean turns around and tamps down the laugh bubbling up. Hard given how rare Sam’s jaw drops so far. In the blink of an eye Sam shakes his surprise off. “What?”

        “We will,” Dean repeats, leaning on the counter, “I promise. I just… I’m not ready, yet.”

        It’s not the best answer. Sam doubts him, evident by the gleam in his eye. And the follow up, “Are you ever gonna be ready?”

        His eyes never strayed from Dean’s face. If he dropped his gaze a few inches Sam would see Cas’s shirt. But he didn’t. Dean can rewrap the robe and pretend it’s not on him.

        Except Dean hadn’t the urge. Instead he draws attention to it, rubbing the hem between his fingers. “Hopefully soon… Cas and I had a good talk and – and well, maybe in the morning I might be okay enough that we can sit and talk about it, or whatever…”

        Sam finally looks at his shirt. Then at Dean with a subtle awe. He braces for an onslaught of feelings, exactly what Dean tried avoiding. Why he thought using Cas as a distraction from talking about those was a moment of delirium. Dean sips at his mug, hiding ruddy cheeks behind the rim.

        Thankfully Sam says nothing. Instead mirroring his sip. “Okay.”

        “Okay?”

        “Okay.”

        Dean nods, drumming his fingers on the counter. There’s kindness in how Sam offers the escape tunnel, even though so much is brewing under the surface. A rarity that Dean never expected. He should take it.

        But there’s more. Dean figures ripping the band-aid off all at once is better than peeling it and feeling every single hair torn from his arm.

        “I think I’m gonna stop hunting,” he says. Sam spits a mouthful of coffee into his mug, choking. “For a while,” Dean quickly explains, “Like, maybe a few months?”

        Coughing, Sam wipes at his lips. “Is this because of the werewolf hunt?”

        “Yes?” Dean says, “No – I mean… Look, it’s not because I’m too scared to get back into the game because of what happened but I am kind of… skittish?” He frowns, staring at the light brown pool in his hands. “Like I’m running on empty and… and I don’t think I have enough in the tank. That’s what happened yesterday, but thank God there was a little more in yours to get me to the next rest stop! Who knows what might happen on the next one so I… I’m making the adult decision and taking myself out of the game before the big loss.” Dean gulps at his coffee, throat suddenly dry. “But not forever,” he adds, “Long enough to sort things out… do the stuff we said we were gonna do when the Chuck mess ended. Maybe go on a road trip or, ah… give Cas a proper first date –“

        “First date?” Sam croaks, a tiny snort escaping, “Think you two’ve past that by a few years. Third honeymoon, maybe.”

        Dean rolls his eyes. “Yuck it up… but I’m not the only one who can use this opportunity to focus on important things… things that you’ve been neglecting… when’s the last time you and Eileen had any quality time together?” Sam answers with a blush. “Thought so… at least I’ve had two honeymoons, or so you think.”

        “Shut up,” Sam huffs, drinking his coffee again. His gaze drifts from Dean over to the door, and the fluster drains off his face. Replaced with a more gleeful expression, lips curling. “Hey Cas,” he sings, “how’s it going?”

        Dean accepts all the awkward energy Sam shed. His grip on the coffee mug falters when he sees Cas. Dressed in a stolen pair of sweatpants and nothing else. “Sam, Dean,” he yawns, shuffling closer. Cas squints at the untouched mug on the counter, “Is this for me?”

        “Yeah,” Dean says, handing it over, “just the way you like.” Cas purrs, kissing Dean’s cheek before sipping. Sam's chuckles accompany his approval. “It wasn’t too much of a problem…”

        “So, Cas,” Sam starts, “what got you out of bed?”

        Cas scratches his head and presses against Dean. Slides an arm around Dean’s waist. “Pee,” he says, “and then I noticed Dean wasn’t there so…” If Cas didn’t drive the point home clear enough Dean would worry after his brother’s intelligence. He feels Cas’s chin rest on his shoulder. “Why did you get up?”

        Dean gestures at the stove. “Hungry.”

        “Hmm… I can eat.” Cas taps on Dean’s stomach, pushing off. He moves and joins Sam at the table. “Whatever you were going to make yourself, make double?”

        “Triple?” Sam adds, “All this talk of food is making me hungry.”

        “Yeah, yeah…” Dean flicks the stove on, dropping the pan on the active burner. His hunger returned, aided by the easy conversation flowing between the three. Cas settles across from Sam asking a question about something he read. The conversation quickly devolves into nerd speak, Dean throwing quips in every few seconds.

        He lays a strip of bacon down, and then another one. And another one. Greases a second pan and cracks an egg on the surface, tossing one half of the shell at Sam and the next half at Cas. They retaliate by pelting him when he retreats to the refrigerator for more bacon. Dean doesn’t care that they hit, nor that he steps on one and has to spend time between the eggs frying and the bacon cooking to pick pieces of eggshell off his heel. What he cares about sits giggling at the table, watching while he cleans.

        Dean is happy.

[hoodoo12]

Beetlejuice Squared (2/5)

Mature. Brightman!Juice/f!reader/Blum!juice. Smoking, anger, possessiveness, propositions. Part 1

“What the fuck?!” the Beetlejuice you were leaning against exclaimed, sitting up abruptly, half-dislodging you from his side.

You fumbled the joint so you didn’t drop it as you were jostled. “Hey! Watch it, Beej!”

The new Beetlejuice threw his gaze around the room with narrowed eyes and dramatically waved his hand in front of his face. “Jesus christ,” he coughed. “What’s with all the weed?”

His eyes landed on you. “Oh, hello.”

“Hi!” you replied. 

Whatever was happening, Beetlejuice’s dope smoothed out all the edges. You pushed yourself off the specter you were leaning on, shoved the still lit joint back into his hand, ignored his protest and his other hand that tried to keep a grip on your shirt, and got off the couch. You took a step towards the newcomer. “Who’re you?”

“I’m the ghost with the most, babydoll,” he replied. It was such a cliché you rolled your eyes, but you also couldn’t help but smile. 

This was Beetlejuice, but not quite Beetlejuice. Although dressed in the striped suit you’d come to expect and with the same swept up rat’s nest of hair and scruff on his face, he was taller--much taller!--than the Beetlejuice you’d spent the evening with so far. Made bold by the smoke you had partaken in, you looked him over thoroughly, taking his hand (and finding his nails were solid black); straining on unsteady tip-toes to peer into his face (discovering his eyes were darker amber than the other Beetlejuice’s and his teeth were slightly less sharp). 

He seemed as curious about you as you did him, and permitted the inspection with an air of amusement. You kept a hand on him, dragging your fingers lightly over him as you walked in a circle to look at his back. He watched you the entire time with a slight smile on his face, his head rotating completely around to keep track of you.

When you were where you started in front of him again, you left your hand on his chest and said, “Beej--”

“What?” they both answered together. 

The new arrival didn’t have the same voice. It was less gravely. Less rough. You liked it. You stared up into his eyes and didn’t turn back to the Beetlejuice on the couch as you continued.

“--is this one of your clones?”

The reaction to the question was immediate, from both of them. Once again they spoke at the same time, over one another. “The fuck, babe?” the Beetlejuice on the couch spit. “How could you even think that guy was my clones--” “A clone?” the Beetlejuice in front of you said, offended. “You’ve got your hand on me, do I feel  like a fucking clone--”

They both finished at the same time, “--that’s fucking ridiculous!”

The combination of a bottom-of-the-lungs rasp and a smooth voice merging together gave you a shiver. 

“No,” you ceded, still looking up at the specter you were next to, “I guess you’re not a clone.”

The new Beetlejuice gave you a wider smile and reached forward to take your waist. His voice dropped a little, like he was talking only loud enough for you to hear. “That’s right, babydoll. Thanks for the invite. So tell me, what’s your pleasure?”

There was a literal growl from Beetlejuice on the couch, and in the next instant, you were yanked away from the other, wrapped up in a tight, protective hug from behind. From over your shoulder, Beetlejuice hissed, 

“Back off, asshole!”

The new Beetlejuice held his hands up a moment. “Hey, dick. She called me. Breathers don’t do that unless they want something, and from the state of things here, I think I can guess what that might be.”

Beetlejuice held you against his bare chest tightly and another warning growl slipped past your ear.

Taller Beetlejuice looked over the two of you. “Babydoll, you called my name three times and here I am. For you. What can I do for you? Probably more than he can . . .”

“Hey--” you objected in Beetlejuice’s defense, and the other snorted a laugh. 

“He’s gotta use the Netherworld’s primo weed to get you going? That doesn’t seem like a demon who can make things happen without a little outside assistance.”

You felt a little surge of protection for the Beetlejuice you knew best. “The weed was later, after we’d made out. I don’t need it to get hot and bothered, it’s just a bonus.”

The Beetlejuice holding you chuckled. He spun you, unprotesting, on your heel, to face him.

“That’s sweet, babe,” he told you, and lifted the joint held between his first two fingers to his mouth again. 

He took a drag and held it in, then tilted his head and lifted his eyebrows at you. Reading his intention, you tilted your head too. With your hands flat on his chest, you stretched towards him until your parted lips were only millimeters away. Beetlejuice breathed a column of smoke directly into your mouth.

You got most of it too, before you smiled and tendrils of the thick smoke escaped. You held it in for a long moment, practically feeling the smoke permeate through your lungs, letting it settle heavily throughout your body all the way down to your fingertips and toes. Finally you let the remainder of it out, smiling languidly at Beetlejuice. Shotgun smoking with him always made you feel warm and mellow. Maybe the smoke picked up something in his lungs that transfered to you? You didn’t know, but it made you feel good. 

Your smile was slow and there was a tingle in your extremities and in your groin. You didn’t step away, and pressed a sloppy kiss to his lower lip. Beetlejuice caught you around the waist with one arm as he raised the joint and brought it to his mouth again. You caught him staring directly at the other specter with a smug air and open challenge on his face.

Taller Beetlejuice scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Still doesn’t change the fact she called me.” 

“She called me first, asshole!” Beetlejuice said with his arm still around you.

“And then she obviously decided to call someone better!”

The affects of the weed kept you slowed down for a moment, so you didn’t object when Beetlejuice released you and took a step between you and the second Beetlejuice you’d managed to summon into your living room. Still, you said, “Hey. Beej? Beejes? Beeji? Bees?” Trying to determine the plural of the word struck you as funny, and you cut yourself off with giggling. 

“It was a fucking mistake. You’re a fucking second string, honorary mention, cheap knock-off of me--”

“Someone’s got their panties in a twist. Feeling threatened ‘cause you know she’d choose me over you? Chicks like tall guys,” the newer arrival stated dismissively before he addressed you again. “Come on, babydoll, you wanna have some fun with someone who doesn’t need chemical enhancement to show you a good time?”

Beetlejuice responded to that with a snarl, while the other turned back on him with a comment on how he probably couldn’t even get it up at this point.

It slowly dawned in your fuzzy brain that there were two Beetlejuices slowly circling each other like two alpha predators looking for an opportunity to attack. Both of them had red shot through their hair, and there was a faint crackling in the air, like right before a lightening strike. 

That cleared your head pretty quickly. The last thing you needed was your house torn apart in some spectral, demonic, dick-measuring contest. Especially when all you’d really wanted to do tonight was get laid.

“Hey,” you said.

They ignored you, focused so tightly on each other.

You cleared your throat and tried again, more loudly. “Hey! Beetlejuice! Bhetlejuz!”

Their full names caught their attention. They both turned to you.

“I called you both here,” you exclaimed boldly, “so that means I get to choose what I want!”

Both Beetlejuices turned to you with dangerously dark expressions, staring at you from beneath their brows, like they both suddenly remembered you were in the room, standing before them scantily clad and looking like prey. 

You pushed on. “So I choose both of you. Either you’re in, or you’re out. I’m happy to send either of you away if you can’t play nicely.”

It was a gamble; calling Beetlejuice up gave him power and you truly didn’t have much control over him. Still, you sweetened the deal by casually drawing a hand down your own side and subtly cupping your own breast before letting your hand fall to the hem of your shirt. Coyly, you lifted it a few inches as you cocked a hip.

They both looked much less dangerous with their jaws loosened. tbc . . . 

[bonebreakjack]

What Would I Be Without You?

Tenko and Hana take a leap of faith changing their lives for better or for worse. Along the way they uncover many secrets hidden away, try to find their way in life, and deal with their new eccentric roommates and their even more eccentric friends.

But at least their doing it together.

(An AU of what would have happened if AFO hadn't interfered with the Shimura family's lives. (Cause I refuse to believe he had no part in that horror). This is my take of what could have happened via what little we saw of the family.)

Chapter 2: What A Day...And It’s Not Even Over yet

If this was going to be a new normal, Tenko would rather take his chances and hide from society back inside the apartment becoming a shut in. It’s as if the universe was like ‘Fuck You’ to him and his sister the moment they stepped out. First they missed  the first two busses. Not even just one, but both of them, to get to the station. So they both had to run all the way to the station so they could make the train. Then there was a villain attack along the way and the crowd watching the Hero and Villain go at it. (Is that the new upcoming hero Mirko? She’s moving around like a frenzied rabbit keeping the guy disoriented.) Tenko would have been more happy to see the fight if we weren't worried about getting to school on time. ( Which really was more about keeping as much stress off his sister as possible she’s got enough on her plate besides worrying about him.) Navigating the crowd  was a nightmare and a half, no one wanted to move, half of them were being rude assholes and the other half kept hesitating cause they didn’t want to look away from the fight. Hana nearly tasted dirt more than a couple times and Tenko sure as hell did taste the dirt with being shoved around. They finally make it to the station only for the ticket machine to break and them missing the train having to wait nearly an hour for another one. Thus making them late.

 Hana tried to lighten the atmosphere by suggesting they go buy snacks while they waited, only for Tenko to tell her he was broke cause he spent the last of his money on house items they needed, and she herself had forgotten her wallet. Meaning they don’t even have money for the train to begin with. Wonderful. They did have a bit of luck in Hana digging through her bag and finding enough change to get them on the train, but she would probably have to ask one of their roommates to get her her wallet when they wake up. She paid for the tickets and they sat in silence on their phones. Tenko saw that his phone battery was in the red and went to get his charger …..that he didn’t bring . So he just wasted what little he had on mobile games. He threw the damn thing in his bag and scowled for the next hour, as the rage bubbled up inside him and he stewed like a pressure cooker. The train comes and one again he's surrounded by people, who were far too close and pushy as they packed into the train like sardines. He could feel his very thin rope of patience fraying quickly. He hated being touched, there were too many people, and today was NOT working in their favor, he has to go back to school in the middle of the year, they moved all the way into the city in a stranger's house he had never met, and its too much for the first fucking day- Hana reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing lightly and he throttled the urge to scratch at his face and neck. His sister hated it and it made her distressed. He stewed in stillness instead, thinking positive. At least they were together. Not.

Tenko was seriously contemplating homicide right now. He was jam packed alone on the train to the new school he had to go to, his sister got dropped off at her Highschool two stops before so he had to suffer alone now. This was pure crap and what's worse because of his height made him easy to push and shove around, and God help him Why is everyone TOUCHING HIM?

This was the start of what Tenko was sure to be a Hellish day.

Fuck.

The hiss of the doors alerted him to freedom and he clawed his way out nearly knocking over an elementary school girl. From what he could see she apparently had a similar plan but was using the wall to avoid death by stampede. Apologizing under his breath, Tenko pulled her up and then shoved her through the door before following. He yelled out another apology as he ran, noticing the time.

A plain faced boy passed him wearing the same uniform, his face more panicked as he ran to get to school. HE was a bit weird out by the boys muttering of wanting to avoid his mother's fly swats.

More and more students passed by him as he slowed down wearing the same uniform as him. He couldn't help but stare at how much more unique looking everyone was in comparison to the private school he went to. A sense of more freedom filled the air and the students seemed more lively. They seemed pretty happy and content rubbing their good mood to everyone today.

Maybe today won’t be as bad as he thought-

He was shoved to the side very roughly by a much taller bastard of a kid with dark red brown hair with needle like appearance and gold eyes. He smirked condescendingly down at Tenko who glared back up at him. He began to walk away but Tenko wasn't about to let him. Nope that was the last fucking straw that burnt up the rest of his self restraint. He couldn’t help his lips twitching, wanting to stretch into a smile as a thought passed through his head. Hello, Misplaced Aggression.

"Hey bastard what was that for?" Tenko was snarling at the now surprised boy, assholes like this think they're so damn mighty until someone barks back. But they messed with him on the wrong day.

"You were in my way shortly, learn to make room for your betters!" The Tall Bastard, as Tenko now deemed him, had gathered himself after he realized Tenko wasn't backing down. His two friends flanking him to try and further intimidate him.

Tenko just scoffed and wondered when they started cloning cliches. Different schools have the same bullies, how predictable. The ones back home were scarier anyway, they actually knew who his dad was.

"Oh I'm sorry your majesty, I didn't realize you have a Caution: Wide Load sign on you."

The silence was too beautiful, he should have recorded it, or took out his phone to take a picture (he was still mad at leaving his charger at home). The Tall Bastard’s face was turning a funny shade of red from humiliation and anger. His friends looked wary and looked at their leader  before backing away slowly. “You looking down on me you puny bastard!” Tall Bastard picked Tenko up by the scruff of his collar and Tenko could almost hear a choir cause it was as if his prayers were answered and someone decided to send him a punching bag.

If that’s the case then… A yelp that sounded like a came from the mouth of a dog came out of the Tall Bastards mouth and he dropped Tenko to cover and hold his injured crotch from where Tenko kicked him. One doesn’t play fair with those who won’t give the same treatment. As soon as he was on the ground Tenko’s leg shot out to kick Tall Bastard on the back of the head making him hit the ground. He picked up his backpack where it had fallen and went to walk away. “Hey asshole I wasn’t done with you-!” “Wait Soga! You can’t get in trouble again. You could get expelled this time.”One of the friends spoke up, he had a reptilian appearance and on the short side. He grabbed his friend Soga’s arm to keep him from attacking Tenko. “Let's Just leave besides I get the feeling this kid isn’t all there if yanno what I mean.” Tenko felt a scowl pull at his lips at the remark which caused the reptilian human to hide behind Tall Bastards-Soga’s- body. The two boys stared at each other down before Soga tsked and spat on the ground. “Fine whatever, he’s not fucking worth it anyway.”They walked to the school entrance, though Tenko noticed with slight satisfaction that Soga was limping as he did. It didn’t help the bitterness that burned in his lungs as the words ‘Not worth it’ , ran in his head. The small fight didn’t help his bad mood and he grumbled all the way to the Staff office as how unsatisfied he felt.

  He got scolded for being late on his first day of transferring by a bulbous looking teacher. He was just in time for the 2nd period to begin but they weren’t lenient on tardies. And no, you can’t use a villain attack as an excuse. Asshole. Tenko looked sourly down at his schedule and the added papers on top of it. Apparently his sister had asked the staff to give him a list of clubs he could join this late in the year. He and Hana transferred to their new schools in the middle of fall, a really weird time but they didn’t have much of a choice. Ugh he didn’t even do clubs back home, why would she think he would now? He trudged all the way to homeroom and was met with the Class representative, a lanky boy with a split mouth and slim face. When he spoke his voice contained a slight hiss and small bumps of flesh along with extra needle-like rows of teeth shows. A snake-like quirk it seems. The boy was polite and said u anything to ask him. The only seat available was the one in the cornerback near the classroom closet. Another good thing that happened today seems, best place to pretend you're doing work and take a nap. He had a few minutes before 2nd period officially started which was physical education and all the boys were changing. Since he hadn’t gotten his uniform for that yet he was allowed to sit out or stay in the classroom. Obviously he decided to stay and the class representative went to go change himself while Tenko worked on setting up his desk to take a nap on. At the corner of his eye he spotted a strange looking teenager with bandages all over his arms and neck. His hair was black in a way that clearly looked dyed, and his eyes were almost a luminous blue. Something about him kept nagging at Tenko’s brain. He decided to just go back to minding his business and didn’t even know why some random kid caught his attention anyway. The moment every one left he  laid his head on his desk and knocked solidly out. ----- Tenko and Hana were walking home when a man with white hair stood in front of them, he smiled kindly at them and for some reason Tenko was having a hard time putting a face to this stranger or even a name. Is he new around here? Did he just move in? Tenko didn’t hear the others talking about anyone new in the neighborhood. The man was talking to them about something but Tenko can’t remember what he was saying. The words just sounded like noise. He reached out  to him with a hand but Hana put herself in front of Tenko and started screaming about a pervert and calling for help. Whatever ease Tenko had felt disappeared when she did and followed her lead bringing the attention of whatever adults in the area to them. Hearing a familiar dog-like growl, Tenko felt relief as he saw Mikkuns mother stomp up to them and the man backing up as she interrogated him on what he was doing with them. Getting vague answers she tells him she has never seen him around here before, putting her body right in front of them blocking their view of the man. The words became a blur again and whatever he said seemed to pacify her but then Mikkuns mom was leading them home. She was talking to herself, french accent thick with anger and suspicion as she was going to tell the other neighborhood parents about this. His own mom opened the door demurely as if waiting to receive bad news and apologize. It hurts Tenko to know she was already suspecting that he got in trouble for something. To her surprise and fear Mikkun’s mom was talking about how a strange man had begun talking with her children but Mikkun did not recall anyone moving in recently. She was going to ask the other mothers but warned his mom Nao to keep an eye out. They ended up receiving praise from the French woman for their quick thinking and instincts before getting head pats from her paws. She bidded them a good day before marching off intending to go warn the others parents. Mikkuns mom was pretty cool. Both kids were brought into a hug by their mom who was so happy they were okay before ushering them to the living room and rushed to go talk to grandma and grandpa. Tenko wondered why he can’t seem to recall this mans face-

“Shimura-san, Shimura-san…”Somebody was shaking him, ripping him from his memory. Tenko blearily looked up to see the class president looking down at him in concern. Shooting up from his desk thinking he slept while class came back, but was happy to see it was just the class  President there. Seeing his gym uniform showed he had come from where the class actually was to find him. “Sorry about that Shimura-san, a man had come to school saying he bought something from home that you forgot..” A shadow image of a taller man with slicked back hair and cold eyes flashed in his mind making him shudder. A wave of fear ran through him and all he could think was pain. The President looked concerned at Tenko reaching his hands out as if to prevent him from falling over but Tenko stepped out of his reach.

“It’s fine, I wasn’t doing anything anyway. Who did you say came by?”He let out a shuddering breath and gathered himself in case it was who he thought it was. The President's tongue slipped out as if tasting the air before letting out a sign. “A Shirakumo Oboro? Do you wish for me to tell him you're busy? I will if you want.” That was surprising, most people wouldn’t lie to an adult so blatantly like that and not for someone else. It made Tenko feel a bit awkward but also a little happy. “No it’s fine I know who that is. Thank you….” Tenko trailed off. A flush of heat hit his cheeks once he realized he has no idea what the president’s name is. It got even worse one the other taller boy realized and laughed softly. The president led him out of the class to the front entrance. “Uroko Sogen. Now let’s hurry, there isn’t much time before the rest of the class comes back.” Making it to the door he tried not to look too surprised to see one of Hana and his new roommates, or really he should be calling them the actual tenants, here at his school. The man was on the taller side with tan skin and a scar on his head, his hair flowed around white and fluffy like a cloud even though it was pulled back into a ponytail. Blue eyes caught Tenko’s form and waved at him like an enthusiastic idiot. 

Which had the opposite effect it intended, making Tenko want to do an 180 and go back to class. “Lil Shimura-chan!” Actually never mind he’s just going to go back to class. “NO WAIT, I GOT YOUR CHARGER!”The older man screeched, panicked seeing Tenko actually maneuver to go back inside. Tenko looked confused and a little suspicious that the man came all the way here just to deliver his charger. “Hana texted me saying she forgot some things at the apartment, and that you also forgot this. I wasn’t working so-” He went to one of the multitude of pockets he had and pulled it out letting it fall gently into a confused Tenko’s waiting hands. “The first day can be rough, and from what I heard from Hana it was far from ideal for the both of ya. It ain’t much but I can take you two somehwere to eat after she’s done training? I know a place with great Sushi.”  It was a bit silent after that but Tenko felt his lips twitching into a small smile. Shirakumo didn’t have to do that, he could have just dropped off his sister's stuff and be done. It felt nice to be considered. “I think I would like that.” The smile he got from Shirakumo was downright blinding, seriously did he employ the sun into his teeth why was it so bright?! 

“Alright! I’ll leave you to it then. Have a good day Lil Shimura-san!” The older man waved at them before taking off on a cloud like a dragon ball parody character. Huh so that what his quirk was, he wonder how he implements that into his hero work- “Shimura-san class is about to start.” Tenko’s thoughts were interrupted before nodding at the boy as they went back in. He couldn’t help but squeeze the charger in his pocket, happy that some good things came out of today at the very least. They got into class and all the boys had finished changing back into their regular uniforms. His eyes caught the blued eyed black haired kid again and was shocked to find he had piercings in his ears, nose, and lip. He couldn’t believe the school even allowed that. The other kid looked up before giving him a wink flustering Tenko.

Distracted he didn’t see the small girl trying to get into class and tripped right over her knocking them both over.

Dammit he jinxed himself. Tenko quickly got up and pulled her up to her feet. She was so small for a second he could have mistaken her for a younger elementary student. Her hair was a pinkish red and she reminded him of cherub from those paintings but without the wings. “Ah I’m sorry-!” They both started and it became a babbled mess that the president broke up since they were in front of the door. The girl sat in the front seat looking down at her now dirty uniform, and Tenko winced before deciding to pay her back later for that.

The class filled in and sat around talking to each other. He tried to ignore the occasional glances his way from his new classmates and especially that bastard with the glowy eyes. A heavy knocking and the class stood up as this ridiculous amazon of a woman walked into the door. She was clearly built under her suit and skirt and looked more like she would fit in a fighting ring than she would as a teacher. Her hair long purple pink, and eyes that looked shiny and red. She looked even bigger as they sat down. “Helloooo class!”And Loud, she was very loud, it grated on Tenko’s ears a bit “Now I’m sure you all were gossiping about it during gym, but I’m a say it again anyway. We have a new classmate with us.” She looked at Tenko and invited him up and damn he hated this. He trudged along slowly to the front as the teacher clapped her hands. “Let’s make this quick, we have free time and I’m sure your classmates are excited to get to know you. Why don’t you tell everyone your name, what you like, and your quirk as an ice breaker?”

Her voice became softer as she handed him the chalk. His classmates leaned in excited to gossip or rip into him the moment he was done and Tenko felt like he was in the spotlight. He wanted to puke. It would have been fine if she didn’t mention the damn quirk thing. Tenko was hoping to avoid that a little longer. So much for good things happening, right back where he started. A familiar rage boiled inside him, or it could be the stomach acid from his anxiety. His hand shook a bit as he wrote his name down slowly trying to buy himself some time. He looked at the board hoping for some answers but got now. Resigned, he put it down and turned to his excited classmates. Sogen, Dye job with blue eyes and the small cherub girl were the only ones who looked subdued.

“I’m Shimura Tenko, I like video games and syrup covered mochi,” He took a breath and decided to rip it off like a bandaid. They would find out sooner or later anyways.

“Quirkless.”

[inu-jiru]

Tomoe, The Eastern Tigress - Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen - Tomoe Steps Up

No one had seen or heard from Hougen since the events of the previous night. The tyrant had remained in his hut, no doubt trying to cheer himself up with thoughts of Gin and John’s horrible deaths. Hunters didn’t dare open the hut’s door to provide Hougen his meals, instead opting to leave kills at the door and offer Hougen the chance to come and collect them. He never did. A young fawn, a few chickens, and a pig were left in a pile, bits of frost and snow collecting on them as they remained untouched. Hougen’s lackeys would eye the feast, though none of them were stupid enough to try and take a bit of meat for themselves. A scout padded into the base, coming to a stop at the base of the stairs. For the past few hours, he’d been acting as a spy and following the Ohu Army’s movements. He needed to make a report. The male swallowed hard, calculating all the ways things could go horribly wrong. Perhaps he could just not turn in his report? Surely, the movements of Ohu wouldn’t matter now that Hougen’s brother was on his way to Gajou, right? Still, if the Ohu Army gained an upper hand because he didn’t say anything… Sighing miserably, the scout made his decision. He climbed the steps, gingerly stepping around Hougen’s kill pile. With a shaky paw, he slid the hut’s door open. Daylight poured into the darkness, and the male could just barely make out Hougen’s form. The Great Dane’s eyes radiated with murderous energy as he stared at the intruder. “E-Excuse me, Lord Hougen…” the scout began, his head bowing respectfully. He received no response; Hougen’s eyes continued burning into him. Licking his lips, the scout continued. “I-I’ve come to report that the Ohu group’s arrived in Shiga. John, Reika, and that Great Pyrenees are with them.” “Grrr…” A low growl emitted from Hougen’s throat. “Let me guess. They’re trying to go and recruit that brat, Kyoushiro Shirogane?” “Yes, sir…” the scout replied. “But...it isn’t all bad. John isn’t even the one leading the group, as far as I can tell. It’s Gin’s son, Weed.” “Gin has a son?” Hougen suddenly stood up, limping towards the scout, the torn remains of his ears tilted toward him in interest. Swallowing, the scout took a nervous step back. “Y-Yes, but he’s just a little kid. Can’t be older than six months. John’s daughter is his second command, but she’s not much older. The Ohu Army must really be desperate if they have to rely on brats for guidance.” “...Is that so?” the Dane hummed thoughtfully. It seemed the information had lifted his spirits. The scout sighed in relief; perhaps he’d get out of this alive. Before long, a sly grin began to appear on Hougen’s muzzle. “That gives me an idea. Send for my assassins; I’ll have them take out Gin and John’s little rugrats, and Kyoushiro, too.” Hougen paused, turning to stare up at the mountain peaks in the distance. He slowly ran his tongue along his jowls. “The look on Gin’s face when he finds out his little boy’s been ripped to pieces...I can almost taste it, hehehehe…” The scout didn’t need to hear anymore. With a dip of his head, he descended the steps and disappeared into the woods. Hougen, meanwhile, felt a new sense of vigor. Glancing down at his kill pile, the Dane leaned down, picking up the pig and dragging it into the hut. He slammed the door behind him, sitting down in the darkness. As he bit down on the pig’s hind leg, he imagined that it was Gin’s. He smirked, before tearing it off, Gin’s screams of agony playing in his head. Soon. Oh, so very soon. “Tomoe, don’t!” Ken cried. The brown male, followed by Kagetora and several other dogs, leapt at the bitch, dragging her down to the ground before she could carry out whatever violent act she’d had in mind for Weed. Weed, still processing what was going on, cried out as he felt himself being pulled back by his scruff. Jerome had grabbed him, pulling him away from Tomoe’s snapping fangs. The bitch, mad with anger, was frothing at the mouth, her eyes darting in search of the puppy. “Where is he!?” she howled. “That piece of shit is a fucking disgrace! I’ll tear him a new asshole!” “Easy, Tomoe!” Kagetora said, panicked. “He’s not worth it!” “How the hell is he Gin’s son!?” Tomoe continued to rant. “Gin would never screw us over like that! That idiot doesn’t deserve to be our leader!” Weed stiffened, his pupils dilating as if he’d taken a fatal blow. Jerome snarled, setting the puppy down and barking sharply at Tomoe. “You’ve never even given him a chance,” Jerome spat. “None of you have. Weed has the power to be a great leader, but all everyone does is question him. If anyone here doesn’t deserve to be a leader, it’s you, Tomoe.” “You fuck off,” Tomoe shot back. She no longer struggled against the grip of her comrades, but they still kept a tight hold on her, just in case. “From the second you arrived in Ohu, you’ve been kissing Weed’s ass. That Kaibutsu guy said you were blinded by loyalty, and I hate to admit it, but he was right. You’ve latched yourself onto Weed, and now, your ass gets sore if anyone even thinks of criticizing him.” “Weed’s methods have worked for us,” argued Jerome. He looked at Rocket. “He changed Rocket. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that.” “Tsk…” Rocket scoffed. He’d feared something like this would come up… “I hate to burst your bubble, Jerome, but Weed didn’t “change” me. Please don’t use me in your efforts to try and make him seem like a good leader.” “What?” The assassin stared at Rocket in disbelief. It seemed he hadn’t expected Rocket to invalidate Weed’s supposed accomplishment. “Someone convinced me to switch sides,” the Borzoi continued, padding towards Jerome. “I’ll give you that. But it wasn’t Weed. No, it was someone I actually consider to be a leader.” Jerome studied Rocket’s face for a moment, his eyes narrowing. They then widened with shock...no, disgust. Jerome was disgusted by what Rocket was implying. “You can’t be serious,” the Shepherd growled. “I am,” Rocket replied boldly. He glanced back at Tomoe, catching her gaze. The bitch’s enraged expression slipped into one of genuine surprise. “I joined Ohu because I believe Tomoe has the power to bring down Hougen. She isn’t naive like Weed is. We don’t need someone who values their own way of thinking over the facts of war.” “Rocket…” Tomoe murmured. Weed’s brow furrowed, offended by Rocket’s blunt statements. “Tomoe only wants to fight everyone,” he found himself saying. “I’m willing to give people a chance!” “War isn’t the time to be so trusting, boy,” John spoke up. He’d been listening patiently to the back and forth that was going on, but now, he needed to add in his two cents. “Take that bastard Kyoushiro punished. It wasn't your place to stop Kyoushiro just because you felt the mutt deserved a second chance.” “But--!” Weed tried to interrupt. John held up a paw, silencing him. “You’re lucky the mutt hadn’t managed to get away. Just think; that little puppy of his could be having the shit beat out of him right now, all because you thought his punishment “wasn’t nice”. Face the facts, kid; being a leader doesn’t mean you can be nice all the time. If you aren’t prepared to do some harsh things for the good of others, then maybe Rocket and Tomoe are right; you don’t deserve to lead in Gin’s place.” “You aren’t being fair…” Jerome seethed quietly. “Ben chose him to lead…” “Did he now?” John responded. “Well, as Ohu’s General, I say that that decision is to be revoked. Ben will understand when he hears why.” “You can’t do that!” Weed was threatening to cry now. John’s face showed no emotion. “I believe I just did,” he said. Without another word, he turned back to the rest of the Ohu dogs. He ignored Weed’s blubbering as he ordered for Tomoe to be let up. As everyone stepped back, Tomoe slowly got to her feet, her head bowed in shame. As angry as she was, to have such an outburst like that in front of her father was humiliating. “Dad, I…” she began weakly, perhaps the first time anyone heard her speak in such a matter. John stopped her with a nuzzle against the top of her head. “Mmm-hmm,” he replied softly. “Later. Right now, we could all use some time to cool off.” He looked towards the rest of the Ohu soldiers. “We’ll find a place to settle down, maybe hunt a bit. We can deal with Kyoushiro later.” “Sir,” was the reply of almost everyone. Jerome glared at the back of John’s head, before looking down at the sobbing Weed. It didn’t matter what everyone else thought. Weed was the rightful leader of Ohu in his eyes. “Let’s look around,” Rocket suggested. “See if we can find some shelter.” The Borzoi looked to John for permission, which the Shepherd gave with a nod. Taking the lead, Rocket began leading the small group into the woods. GB hung behind, glancing back at Weed with a frown. Though he couldn’t disagree with what Rocket and John said, he still had a bit of pity for the puppy. Perhaps being forced to step down would do him some good. After all, Weed was much too soft to be a leader. Soon, there was only John, Weed, and Jerome left. John turned back to the duo, looking down at Weed. Jerome glared at the older Shepherd again. “What do you have to say now?” Jerome hissed. “Haven’t you scolded him enough?” “I don’t know what your deal is,” John snorted. “But I don’t appreciate the attitude, especially that shit you said to my daughter. I’d watch my tongue if I were you, bastard. As for you, Weed, you think about what I said. I didn’t take away your leadership because I hate you or anything like that. You just aren’t ready for the responsibility, and we need someone who is right now. You’re both invited to join us once you’ve cleared your heads, but don’t cause anymore problems. We all need to stick together right now, and I won’t tolerate anymore nonsense.” “I don’t want to rejoin if Tomoe’s leading,” said Weed hotly. John narrowed his eyes at the puppy. “Then don’t,” the General snarled. “Stay here and cry like a little brat, then. I’m sure Gin’ll love to hear what kind of little pissant his son is.” John said no more after that. He wouldn’t waste his breath on someone who was so set on being wrong. John followed after the others. Weed could do what he wanted, as long as he stayed out of the way. Night had come to the Gifu mountains. In the old shed, Teru’s father, his fur still damp from his earlier toss into the river, was desperately digging away at the dirt underneath the floorboards. He’d often leave himself an extra bit of food in case hunting had failed, or if he hadn’t been able to snag some dog food from the nearest town. To his dismay, the mutt had found absolutely nothing. His stomach growled, pleading with him for even the tiniest bit of kibble. “What the hell!?” Teru’s father whined. “Not a single emergency meal left? And those shitty kids won’t let me hunt in this territory anymore...gah! I just wanna kill them!” “Kill them, you say?” The mutt’s blood ran cold, hearing a deep voice behind him. He hadn’t even smelled anyone approaching his little hideout. Was it Kyoushiro? Was he here to see if he’d left? Quickly, the mutt turned around, his tail tucked between his legs. “I-I was just kidding!” he lied quickly. “Don’t kill me!” The male could now see that it wasn’t Kyoushiro who’d come to visit him. Instead, it was two large and very intimidating-looking Doberman Pinschers. Their canines gleamed in the moonlight, almost to an unnatural degree. “Kidding?” one of the Dobermans said, his ears bent at the middle, rather than cropped and straight like his comrade’s. “How embarrassing. You let yourself get tossed around by a couple of brats and then you hide from them?” “Nonetheless,” the second Doberman continued. “We can help you with your little problem.” The pair began laughing deviously as they stared at the quivering mutt in front of them. The Ohu Army had gathered in some other abandoned shelter. Their bellies were full, and their spirits were lifted, somewhat, now that the previous altercation had been put behind them. Tomoe refused to talk about it, not even with her closest friends, Ken and Kagetora. They could understand why; there was a chance she could’ve killed Weed earlier. Sure, she might’ve had her violent thoughts as ways of coping with the pup’s stupidity, but to actually attempt to murder him? It was no wonder Tomoe became so distant. The bitch sat outside, gazing up at the starry sky. She took in a deep breath before sighing heavily, her head bowing. She hated feeling this way...so guilty...so vulnerable...Everyone thought she was supposed to be some kind of leader? She couldn’t see it. “What’re you thinkin’ about, kiddo?” “Uh…!” Tomoe jolted, turning quickly. John was standing beside her, giving her a smile. The youngster scoffed in annoyance. “You almost gave me a heart attack…” “Heh, what can I say? I’ve been a hunter all my life. I can’t help having quiet paws.” John took a seat, wincing slightly. His wounds still ached, no matter how much time passed. The sooner they got to those hot springs in Kouga, the better… “You okay?” asked Tomoe, glancing at her father. “Yeah, yeah,” replied John with a careless wave of his paw. “That Hougen’s a dirty bastard. You know, he took Reika hostage so that me and Gin would stop fighting. Disgusting piece of shit.” “Tch...what a scumbag.” “Whoa there, kiddo. That’s some harsh language.” “Haha.” Tomoe rolled her eyes as John let out a chuckle. She was quiet for a moment, gazing down at her paws. “Dad…?” “Mmm?” John glanced at his daughter. “Do you think…?” She began quietly. “...That I could actually be a good leader? And don’t just say “yes” because I’m your daughter. I need you to be honest with me.” “Well, missy,” John snorted, giving Tomoe a light bump. He winced after that. “I was going to say yes, but not because you’re my little girl. It’s because the others believe in you. I haven’t got to see you as the stand-in General, but that Rocket guy seems to think you’re something special.” “I mean…” Tomoe shrugged. “That’s just Rocket. I appreciate his support, but I just can’t see what makes me leader material. I let my emotions get in the way.” “That’s fixable. You just have to remember to calm down and think about the situation before you act. It’s tough, yeah; I admit, I’m still workin’ on that myself. But what makes you leader material is if you’re willing to change yourself for the good of everyone else. Weed refuses to do that, but from what I can tell, you want to. That’s what makes you leader material, Tomoe.” Tomoe remained silent, but she took her father’s words to heart. She didn’t want to be a killer, blinded by rage. She wanted to be a warrior worthy of respect. That was a leader, in her mind. That was what she wanted to be. She suddenly stood. John turned to her. “Mmm?” he murmured. “I want to talk to Kyoushiro,” Tomoe announced, her tone now firm and confident. “I want to see if I can get him to join us. I know Weed messed things up before, but I wanna fix it.” John nodded. “I see. Ha...already acting like a leader, eh?” “Dad…” Tomoe flashed the older male a sheepish smile. “Let the others know where I went if they wake up, alright?” “Mmm,” John replied with a nod. “If Kyoushiro starts givin’ you trouble, give the rest of us a howl. I’ll come and kick his ass for you.” Tomoe laughed, before heading off. She wasn’t entirely sure where she was going or where Kyoushiro would be, but she had all night to search for him. John turned, heading back into the shelter. Those who were still awake, or were stirred from their sleep due to the creaking of John’s paws against the wooden floor, lifted their heads. “Oi, John,” Hiro began. “You think it’s alright to let Tomoe go on her own?” “She’ll be fine,” replied the Shepherd. “Kyoushiro’s a hardass, but he’s also reasonable. Tomoe won’t do anything to make him angry.” “It’s not Kyoushiro I’m worried about…” Hiro murmured. There was a silence. Everyone knew what he meant. Weed and Jerome hadn’t rejoined the group, and if Weed was still in the territory, there was a chance that he could interfere with things again. John frowned. “You’re right…” he said softly. “We could go out and make sure things are alright,” Ken offered. “We won’t get in Tomoe’s way, but anything to keep things going smoothly.” “Sounds good.” John looked between all of the dogs that were awake: Hiro, Reika, Ken, Kagetora, Rocket and GB. “Alright, you all. Let’s get going.” While that was happening, Tomoe had entered a large, snowy field. She panted slightly, fighting to keep her paws from sinking into the white blanket. She could see a trail of footprints just up ahead. Slowing down, she leaned forward, taking a whiff. They smelled an awful lot like Teru’s father. “That guy?” Tomoe murmured, cocking a brow. “I thought Kyoushiro told him to get lost.” Not a second later, the bitch heard a terrified shriek. Looking up, she could see the mutt being chased by Kyoushiro and his dogs. “Help me!” the mutt screamed, making a beeline for Tomoe. Tomoe scrunched her nose. Still, this guy expected her to save his ass? Fortunately for her, the pathetic male didn’t get close enough to touch her. Kyoushiro had put on an extra burst of speed, running alongside the mutt. With a snap of his fangs, the Kishu forced Teru’s father onto the ground. Kyoushiro’s canines bit into the mutt’s back, forcing a bloodcurdling scream from his maw. “I told you to leave my territory, bastard,” Kyoushiro growled, tearing madly at the skin and bone. “I gave you a change to live, but clearly that isn’t what you want. Now, you’ll pay! Teru’ll never have to worry about you again!” Lector, Thunder…! Teru’s father mentally cried out for his new “allies”. Hurry up and kill Kyoushiro! Save me! “Die!” Kyoushiro roared, pulling back his head. With surprising strength, the mutt was tossed upward into the sky. He continued to scream, not stopping until he hit the ground, the wind knocked out of him. With his neck now exposed, Kyoushiro delivered the killing bite. It was a quick death; the mutt didn’t even have time to scream. Silence fell over the field as Kyoushiro lifted his head, running his tongue along his blood-stained fangs. He looked at Tomoe, who’d watched the scene in complete silence. “Mmm?” the Kishu began calmly. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you gonna tell me that I’m being unfair? That I should’ve sat down and had a chat with this jackass?” Tomoe cocked a brow, to which Kyoushiro responded by slowly grinning at her. “I’m fucking with you. Nice to see you don’t get in the way of other people’s business. Oi, you lot. Get rid of this guy.” “Heh,” Tomoe chuckled, watching as Kyoushiro’s packmates dragged away the mutt’s body. “I’m not some airheaded brat. Guy had it coming, anyway. But that’s not why I’m here. I need to talk to you, Kyoushiro.” At the edge of the field, John and his small group had arrived at the scene, sticking to the cover of the trees. They watched Kyoushiro and Tomoe, not seeing any signs of hostility from either of them. “I can’t hear ‘em…” Kagetora huffed, tilting his ears forward. “Maybe we should get closer.” “Kyoushiro might think we’re here for a fight,” replied Rocket. “I’m sure Tomoe’s handling herself just fine.” “Wait…” said Reika. She was looking towards another second of the woods. Two dogs were also standing under the shadows of the trees, watching the goings on. They were two adult Dobermans, far older than Kyoushiro or his own comrades. “Who are they?” Following Reika’s gaze, everyone else now saw the mysterious duo. “I don’t like the look of ‘em…” John muttered. “They look like dogs under Hougen’s command,” said Rocket. “Contract killers. They could be here for Kyoushiro…! GB…!” “Ah…?” the Setter perked. Rocket was slipping away from the others, moving closer to the Dobermans’ section of the forest. “Come with me,” the Borzoi said. “We need to check this out.” “Ah, alright.” “Be careful, you two,” Reika called after them. Thunder and Lector, meanwhile, were conversing to each other, unaware that the Ohu soldiers had spotted them. “We could probably kill them right now,” Thunder was saying. “No,” Lector responded. “Even with our skills, I wouldn’t want to risk being swarmed by those brats. I told that fool to lead Kyoushiro this way…” “No matter.” Thunder licked his chops. “We can always start over. This way.” Both Dobermans began heading off, though their movements didn’t go unnoticed. Kyoushiro, spotting them out of the corner of his eye, glanced in their direction. “Eh?” he barked. He looked over at Tomoe, who seemed just as confused as he was. They must not have been part of her pack. “Hachi. Riku. Follow those guys.” “Yes, Boss!” the two males said obediently, before heading off after the duo. “Weird…” Tomoe muttered. “Think they might be travelers?” “Nah,” replied the Kishu. “Something about them seemed...off. Still, my packmates are strong; they can handle a pair of asshole adults. That reminds me…” Kyoushiro turned to the bitch. “Why are you traveling with a bunch of adults? Aren’t you worried they might hurt you?” “I…” Tomoe blinked, taken aback by such a question. “Excuse me? Why would they do something like that?” “I’ve seen it again and again…” the Kishu’s eyes darkened. “I haven’t met a single adult who wasn’t trying to hurt or manipulate their kids.” “My friends aren’t like that,” said Tomoe defensively. “They’d never hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.” “Oh?” Kyoushiro pursed his lips, giving the female a stare that clearly indicated that he didn’t believe her. Tomoe furrowed her brow. What was going on with this guy…? Kyoushiro suddenly began walking around her. His eyes fell on her shoulder, the one that was wounded by Missile all that time ago. By now, it was scarred over. “Mmph. Tell me. That big Shepherd I saw before. That’s your father?” “...Yeah?” “Did he do this to you?” “What the fuck!?” Tomoe turned to face Kyoushiro, appalled. How could he even think of suggesting that John do something like that!? “My father would never, ever hurt me! Why would you say something like that!?” “Shit…” Ken murmured, his paws shuffling against the ground. “She’s yelling…” “What happened…?” asked Reika. “Everything was fine…” C’mon, kiddo… John thought, biting his lip. Keep it together… “Look…” Tomoe continued, trying her absolute hardest not to blow a fuse. “I don’t know what’s happened to you or your friends, but don’t you dare insult my father like that!” “Oi!” one of Kyoushiro’s comrades snarled. “Don’t talk to him that way!” “Enough,” Kyoushiro barked at his packmate. His eyes never left Tomoe’s. How curious. Never had he considered the possibility of an adult who wasn’t cruel. It sounded too good to be true. Despite his own beliefs, however, Kyoushiro could see that he’d struck a nerve. He’d drop the issue. For now. Kyoushiro turned, beckoning for Tomoe to follow him as he returned to his packmates. “Come with me. I feel like you came here to talk about something else, and I’d rather not stand out here in the open.” Tomoe hesitated, watching as Kyoushiro walked off with his pack. She could make out Teru’s little body as he bounded around the Kishu’s paws, a lot happier now than he was when she’d previously seen him. Still, Tomoe was apprehensive. She didn’t appreciate being insulted, especially by someone she’d thought she was getting along with. Still...Ohu needed Kyoushiro, and a good leader did what was best for her pack. With a sigh, Tomoe followed the Shirogane. This better have been worth it.

[vagrantblvrd]

Where the Shadows Lay (1/1)

Summary: Someone wanting them dead isn’t a new experience. Someone wanting them dead badly enough to sic the Vagabond on them is just all kinds of uncalled for.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who wanted Freewood with the Vagabond hired to kill the crew. (And bonus Drama, because reasons. :D?)

(Read on AO3)

They’ve definitely had better days.

Botch job and the cops chasing them until Michael lost them a few blocks back, but the damage had already been done. Tires shredded from bullets and reckless driving and it’s just as much luck as skill that leaves them alive at the end of it.

“Gavin, you need to shut the fuck up,” Michael says, pained wheeze to it as Gavin drags him from the wreck of their getaway car.

Used to be a lovely little thing. Shiny and fast and expensive as balls to hear Michael talk, and now it’s so much scrap metal wrapped around a light pole. Gas leaking from the tank and a hazard to be around.

Gavin ignores Michael because he’s the one who crashed the car and Gavin is not having it from him right now.

Not after that stunning display of skill and ability and total lack of turning to avoid obstacles.

“Oh my God,” Michael mutters, stumbling hard against Gavin who takes more of his weight without protest. “Oh my fucking God. Gimme your gun, asshole, swear to God I’m going to kill you myself.”

Gavin snorts, and focuses on hauling Michael out of the blast range. Not the easiest thing he’s ever done, body protesting every step of the way and Michael's breathing all wrong in his ear, but they don’t have a lot of choice in things at the moment.

When Gavin judges they’re a reasonable distance away he settles Michael against a wall because he’s a heavy bastard and Gavin’s ribs are not happy about it. (His ribs, his back. Everything, really.)

Mind churning, trying to figure out where they go from here.

The others got away – they did - and Gavin’s phone is lost in the wreckage of the car, too risky to go back for it. God knows where Michael’s is after the tussle with the Merryweather goon before they got out of the building.

Michael’s earpiece went the way of his phone, most likely, and Gavin’s is fidgety, fussy. Bursts of static in between snippets of conversation from the others.

Not the worst situation, but they’ve been better.

There’s a safehouse not too far from where they are.

Good place to go to ground until things settle down out here. Contact the others to let them know they’re still alive, patch each other up best they can.

Just. Need to rest first, orient themselves before they set off.

“Getting a bit fat there, boi,” he murmurs, because Michael’s not doing well. Bleeding all over and looking like he just came out of the fight ring again. Worse. “Too many fast food runs with Jeremy, I reckon.”

Michael scowls at him, but doesn’t argue the point, which is worrying in itself.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Gavin says, sitting back on his heels. Feels blood spilling from his split lip when he grins, slipping into the scruff on his chin but it’s a small hurt. Slight sting compared to everything else. “Michael Jones, agreeing with me.”

And there, there is the Michael Gavin knows. Snarl on his face and mouth opening to retort, slap Gavin down a peg or two in this little back-and-forth game of theirs.

“Fuck.”

There’s a sound behind Gavin. Footsteps. Michael’s gaze skipping past him to focus on something behind him, eyes narrowing. Hand coming up to grab the front of Gavin's shirt, jerking him down so their eyes meet.

Gavin flails, throws a hand out for balance. It puts them closer together, lets Michael speak without fear of his words carrying past them.

“Get the fuck out of here Gavin,” he says, no levity to it. “Go.”

Gavin stares at him, sees the worry, fear, in his eyes quickly hidden because Michael's like that, isn’t he. Glares at Gavin to make sure he knows Michael’s not fucking around here, to goddamn listen to him for once. Please.

The footsteps slow. Stop altogether, and Gavin hears a gun being cocked.

Not the cops, because they would have shot by now. Yelled a bit too, unimaginative threats and insults, but whoever crept up on them hasn’t bothered with that.

Puts the hair on the back of Gavin’s neck up, chill down his spine.

“Alright,” Gavin says, just for Michael. “Alright.”

There’s a flash of relief, determination, in Michael's eyes as he lets Gavin go. Shoves him to push him away, and Gavin uses the slight momentum to start things off.

Just -

“Sorry, boi,” he says, and snatches the gun he can see tucked into Michael’s waistband hidden by that jacket of his. Gets to his feet and turns, gun raised to see a figure standing a few feet away.

Everyone in Los Santos knows who the Vagabond is, of course they do. Too many stories, rumors, floating about the city not to.

Somehow the reality of the man is more intimidating than all the horrible stories that go along with the name, his reputation.

Black of his skull mask terrifying in the dim light of the alley, and Gavin can hear Michael bitching him out behind him. (Fear, desperation. Anger.)

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” Gavin says, lays the charm on thick as he spots the Vagabond’s gun aimed at him, lovely little standoff going on. “Which is a shame, I’ve heard about your work. Amazing stuff.”

Horrifying, too, if you just go by the stories.

If you bother to do a little digging, you get a better idea of the truth. Glimpse of the larger picture and all that.

Still a big, scary bastard, but not quite the monster people like to paint him as.

Ruthless, yes, but not a monster. (Los Santos, though. Loves to twist things just so, turn things on their heads and backwards.)

The Vagabond’s watching them, nary a flicker of emotion to give him away. Tall and dark and menacing and Gavin will be honest here, no reason not to, but this isn’t how he thought he’d go out.

And he’s thought about it, since he got into this life. Scraping by on his own by picking pockets and dabbling in night-time robbery. Picking up hacking almost by accident and on and on and on, all the ways he’d die and never once something like this.

Oversight on his part, surely.

The crew’s gotten big enough to be a problem for people here in Los Santos. Rocking the boat, as the says goes. Shaking things up and making people uneasy and of course someone would think of sending the Vagabond after them before too long.

“Gavin, what the fuck?” Michael hisses, sound of his voice drawing the Vagabond’s attention as he switches his aim to Michael.

Nice fat target siting on his arse the way he is, and Gavin won’t have that either.

Moves to put himself between Michael and the Vagabond’s gun, smile full of teeth when the man tips his head to the side, just so.

Not expecting Gavin to do that, or the way Michael's full-on bitching at Gavin out for being this kind of stupid. (Might stand a chance if he ran, popped off a few shots at the Vagabond and fled. Left Michael behind as a sacrifice and everything would be fine, yeah? No worries at all.)

Gavin’s earpiece decides it’s going to be good, and he gets a loud burst of static in his ear followed by worried yelling – the others demanding to know what’s going on – and it’s distracting. So. Gavin reaches up and pulls the mangled thing out of his ear. Tucks all nice and safe in his shirt pocket and gives the Vagabond a little smile.

“Sorry, that was rude of me,” he says. Shrugs. “It was giving me a bit of a headache too, to be honest.”

There’s a burst of muffled yelling, shouting, cursing from the earpiece, and Gavin smiles brighter when the Vagabond gives him this look.

Well.

Gavin assumes he’s giving him that look anyway, so used to the particular vibe he gets when someone does it.

“Where were we?” Gavin asks, shuffles to keep Michael squarely behind him when Michael moves around.

Tries to pull the Vagabond’s attention back to him, and Gavin’s certain they must look like a pair of lunatics, but nothing about this is funny.

The Vagabond says nothing, but after a moment he lowers his gun.

Gavin is...confused, to say the least.

Figures the only reason the Vagabond would track them down like this would be to kill them, and since the man has a zero percent failure rate this is odd behavior from him.

“Fucking shoot him!” Michael hisses, like one of those damned shoulder angels you see in the cartoons. “Gavin!”

Gavin huffs, shifts his grip on his borrowed gun and thinks about it.

He’s a better-than-average shot, and from this distance there’s not much chance he’d miss. Assuming the Vagabond is half as good as the rumors say, he’ll still lose precious seconds bringing his gun back up to aim it at Gavin. (Or, Gavin thinks. He could go for Michael instead. Cost him less time to aim and all that.)

So.

Gavin lowers his gun, decides it’s the safer bet here. Show of trust or faith, or maybe just Gavin being a naive bastard about to get them both killed. (Flip a coin, take a risk.)

The Vagabond could have shot them any time he wanted. Killed them before they even knew he was there, those deliberate footsteps and accompanying drama. Little standoff that’s taken a strange turn.

He doesn’t know why the Vagabond hasn’t, but Gavin’s not about to question it. (Not yet.)

The Vagabond inclines his head – smug bastard – and walks away without a word spoken.

Gavin stares after him, no idea what to make of the whole strange situation.

“Jesus fuck, Gavin, what was that?” Michael demands, struggles to get on his feet, and Gavin tucks his gun away to help the idiot before he hurts himself.

Takes the glare Michael shoots him, the frustrated punch to his shoulder without complaint because he knows Michael.

“Safehouse isn’t far,” Gavin says, feeling shaky after that confrontation with the Vagabond, the aftermath of the chase and resulting crash. The whole damn day. “You going to faint on me before we get there?”

Teasing edge to it, mocking, just enough to get Michael fired up. Stubborn as hell and angry about it as he berates Gavin for being an idiot and not running while he had the chance, and Gavin bites down a laugh as he points them in the right direction.

========

They get one hell of a dressing down from Geoff and Jack when the others come get them. Lecture about why you don’t just go radio silent on them like that Gavin, Jesus fucking Christ. (Too soft when it comes down to it, this crew. Care about each other too damn much and it’s bound to get them killed one day.)

Gavin listens to it all with half an ear, well used to Geoff’s lectures and the things he won’t, can’t, say that go into them. Too busy watching Jack handling Michael, quiet words and the way the two of them just get one another.

And then -

“He what?” Jack says, tone of his voice derailing Geoff’s lecture, drawing everyone's attention.

Gavin winces as Jack pins him in place with a look. Expression hard to read as always.

“What’s this about the Vagabond?”

Yes, that.

Gavin clears his throat, all too aware of the way everyone’s watching him.

“Did I forget to mention that?”

========

Geoff puts the crew on lockdown, once everyone’s accounted for. Hides them away in a safehouse only the crew knows about until they get this mess sorted, and Gavin goes along with if for the first few days.

Hurts too much to get up to any shenanigans, as Jack phrases it. Waits until he heals up a bit, until Michael's moving around under his own power. Gotten more vocal about things and doesn’t make Gavin worry so much.

Doesn’t stop him from getting restless from being cooped up, sneaking out to wander the perimeter. Old habits and paranoia, and it pays off in its own way a week down the road when he realizes there’s a sniper out there.

Little red light sweeping along the asphalt to land over his heart, wink of light against the scope on a rooftop in the distance.

Gentle warning, Gavin knows. Rooted to the spot, all too aware of how vulnerable he is.

Could be anyone out there, the bastards after them or some other enemy with incredible timing.

The way the dot vanishes without warning, there and gone, and Gavin still standing tells him it’s not.

Knows the Vagabond’s too smart to hang around after that little...whatever it was, but he still goes to check it out.

Slips past the B-Team members guarding the perimeter and makes his best guess where the Vagabond would have set up his sniper’s nest. Spends half the night looking for it before he stumbles on that damn thing. Finds cigarette butts and empty cans of diet eCola. Candy wrappers. Nothing helpful, and it’s driving Gavin mad.

So.

Gavin sneaks out.

Does a proper job of it after he lets slip they might want to consider the threat of snipers. (Plenty of viable spots for one to set up shop, pick them off one by one, and all that.)

Plays dirty and calls on a favor with Lindsay, bribes Matt with guaranteed good behavior from Gavin for a solid month to be redeemed when Matt sees fit.

Lindsay’s too much like him, fire in her eyes about protecting their boys and she knows how Gavin works by now. Makes him promise to check in regularly. Not do anything stupid like getting himself killed, and sends him off with a kiss to his cheek and the keys to one of her cars in his hand. Winks as she tells him no one knows it’s out of the shop yet, won’t be missed.

And Matt -

He’s Matt.

Too clever by far, saw it coming from the moment Gavin and Michael told the crew about the Vagabond’s appearance.

Demands Gavin send him everything he finds out and maybe not die out there, huh? Be a shitty way to go out.

Gavin leaves his gear at the warehouse because that would be a dead giveaway of his intentions, and he’s got plenty stashed elsewhere. (Never know when something will go wrong, after all. Best to be prepared for anything.)

He goes to a safehouse even Michael doesn’t know about. Hidey spot from before his days with the crew he hasn’t needed in ages. Dusts everything off and starts planning.

Gavin goes to see Maddy down by the docks. Ignores the rumblings from her boys who are the closest things to pirates Los Santos has these days.

Wheels and deals, sells off favors like it’s going out of fashion and gets names, a motive, in return. (Bit of debt he can’t handle, the way of things in a city like Los Santos.)

Bastards the Fakes tangled with a year back, broke their crews down to kindling when they tried to move in Fake territory. Killed some of their allies in the area, made a mess of things that forced them to treat more harshly than they would have otherwise. (Geoff coldly furious, and the rest right there with him.)

“Ah, well then,” Gavin says, does a little more digging after sending off a message to Matt with what he’s learned.

More than enough reason to hold a grudge. Want to hit back at the Fakes, make them hurt.

Go after them one by one, let Geoff watch his little empire crumble and burn, supports knocked out from under him.

Maybe hire the Vagabond, offer him a significant amount of money to make sure someone did the job right, but.

Why let Gavin and Michael go?

Why not kill Gavin when he had him in his cross hairs? Or go after the others when he had the element of surprise on his side?

==========

Turns out, even the Vagabond’s got enemies too big to handle on his own.

Rival crew to the Fakes, funding the bastards who are taking the revenge game to a far more personal level than most they’ve dealt with until now.

Hired the Vagabond on to deal with them because they didn’t trust those idiots to get the job done, or maybe they just wanted to watch the chaos unfold.

Weaken the Fakes, get them looking the wrong way and move in for the kill. Use the Vagabond as another distraction in the meantime.

Big enough threat to make him agree to work for them, and not one of theirs so why worry what happens to him? (Might want to lump him in with the Fakes before it’s all said and done, remove another obstacle in their way.)

“Did I get that right?” Gavin asks, arm pressed to his throat and point of a knife resting under his eye.

Vagabond in his space and most likely the stupidest risk Gavin’s taken to date. (Hopefully not his last.)

“I don’t have all the details, so I hope you forgive me. I did the best I could with what I had.”

And oh, the favors he owes now. Gonna be a long time in getting back to where he was before all this.

The Vagabond is staring at him, using that damn mask and this whole knife thing of his to intimidate Gavin, but honestly.

The man’s been leaving them a trail of breadcrumbs to follow this whole time. Doing what he can to lead them to the right answers without outright telling them.

Well, alright.

He’d taken a more roundabout way of doing things than most people would, but Gavin figured it out, didn't he?

Tracked the man to his little safehouse and almost gotten past his security before being caught.

And now here they are.

There’s a nail digging into Gavin's back, stabbing into his shoulder blade and he wriggles a little. Tries to get the pressure off it – and the Vagabond makes this...noise.

Alarmed, has him yanking the knife away from Gavin’s face and moving back a little, head cocked as though he has no damn idea what to make of Gavin.

“Sorry, sorry,” Gavin mutters, using what room he’s been given by the Vagabond backing off to get more comfortable. “Nail poking me in the back. Annoying.”

He looks up at the Vagabond, and goes still because the man seems confused.

Holds the knife up where Gavin can see it and waggles it to remind Gavin of the precarious position he’s in. (Looks like he can’t believe Gavin isn’t in the least bit concerned.)

“Yes, yes,” Gavin says. Soothes. “You love your knives. I understand. Very shiny and sharp.”

The arm against Gavin’s throat presses harder, punishment for making light of things, and Gavin -

“Rude,” Gavin wheezes, going lightheaded. “Also, not helping your case.”

There’s a little snarl, frustration to it as the Vagabond eases up.

Looms.

They stare at each other for a long, long moment, and then the Vagabond just...deflates.

Doesn’t sigh, no, but he pulls his arm away from Gavin’s throat, takes a few steps back and his shoulder slump.

Watches Gavin, completely baffled.

Knife in his hand like a child who’s thrown a tantrum and didn’t get the reaction he expected and no idea what to do next.

And Gavin.

Gavin grins, straightens his shirt and runs a hand through his hair. Plays off the Golden Boy’s reputation, borrows a little of Geoff’s theatrics.

“What do you say,” Gavin says, bounces on his heels. “What do you say we team up, yeah? Make those bastards sorry they thought they could get away with this?”

Using those poor bastards with a grudge against the Fake, strong-arming the Vagabond into working for them. Everything they’ve done to get things to this stage, send the Fakes into hiding and damn near kill Michael.

All of it.

Turn everything around on them and let them know who they’re messing with, remind them how the Fakes got where they are. Why everyone in the city knows the Vagabond’s name, his reputation.

Rude wake up call, as they say, and too long in coming.

The Vagabond snorts, tucks his knife away and looks at Gavin.

Nods his head, and Gavin laughs.

Knows he’s a damned idiot, taking the risks he has, but he’s got a good feeling about this.