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kakashiswilloffire · 3 years

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Orange Sherbet

ao3 link

tw: suicide attempt, overdose, painkillers, mentions of self harm

words: 3.5k

He was a drain on Gai.

His students didn’t need him—they’d surpass him soon enough.

There were still villagers who called him Friend-Killer Kakashi.

He still saw faces every time he laid down to sleep.

He felt Rin’s blood splash onto his chest every time he used the Chidori.

He couldn’t help Itachi.

He couldn’t help anyone.

Sometimes he understood what must’ve gone through his father’s head.

Sometimes, the corner store doesn’t have orange sherbet.

Kakashi is suicidal and we hope Gai can help.

If there was orange sherbet at the convenience store on the way home, he’d stay alive. They always had pints of ice creams and other frozen treats—it was something he had promised to treat himself to when he felt this way. They had made him write down all these promises during his last few mental health sessions with various Yamanakas, listing three people he could talk to when he felt lonely, three distractions he could use to keep himself sane for a few minutes longer, three reasons to stay alive. When he felt like he couldn’t stand to live another day, he had to summon Pakkun, read Icha Icha, and eat something special and different. Pakkun was still recovering from their last rough battle together. He had read each volume of Icha Icha so many times they risked falling apart upon his next touch. So orange sherbet it was.

He’d never cared much for sweets, of course. But there was something nostalgic about orange sherbet, it wasn’t quite as punch-in-the-face sugary as ice cream, but still gave a slight buzz and coated his tongue. In the back of his mind, he remembered his father—or was it Minato?—buying a pint for each of them and snagging two disposable spoons so they could enjoy them as they walked back from the training grounds. Or was it three pints with Rin and Obito after difficult missions? Something Gai or Tenzou insisted on buying for his birthday one year? Everything blurred in his mind, unable to clearly break each memory apart to see it again.

He pushed open the door, hearing the dull chime of bells as it swung forward to let him into the packed corner shop. He made his way to the freezer without taking in any of the other colors, sights, or smells around him. He remembered his goal. One pint of orange sherbet. Buy one, eat it, and try life again tomorrow.

The freezer door was coated in a light fog, but he was in no hurry to see through it. It was just him and the shopkeep cashing out an older civilian woman. He skimmed his eyes across the rows, looking for the familiar orange carton.

Where was it?

He tried again, looking more carefully at each row, all the way across, then moving down to the next systematically. His heart rate jumped roughly 15 more beats per minute.

They always have it.

He opened the door, searching furiously with his eyes now that there was no frost in his way. He knelt to the ground, checking the bottom rows thoroughly.

It has to be here.

He glanced at the shopkeep, bagging the woman’s groceries as she talked animatedly about something he didn’t care enough to make out. He slid his headband up a couple of inches, barely exposing the crimson eye hidden beneath. With as much chakra as he dared use given his current state, he searched the frozen rack again.

Every flavor of ice cream he could think of, and a least a dozen more he would never consider. And toward the bottom, there was lime, lemon, and raspberry,

No orange sherbet.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained squatted down with the freezer door open, focused on the empty slot where it should be. The shopkeep, now with no other customers, cleared his throat loudly and gestured for Kakashi to shut the door. He blinked twice, then rose, hearing the door seal as he returned to his feet.

“Anything I can help you with?”

Kakashi blinked, again. There was all this noise roaring in his head, and he felt flushed. After a beat too long, he understood what had been asked and shook his head.

“No, ah… Thank you.”

He nodded and quickly ducked out of the store.

That was it. He had to write down three reasons. Reason one was currently out of commission because of him. Reason two had been violently abused so that he had something to do with his hands when he was so full of fire and anxiety that if he wasn’t holding something he’d— well, whatever came easiest or first. Digging his nails into his arms, forming tiny red divots. Scratching until the skin was raw and angry. Slamming fists into his thighs. Step one was always untying his kunai pouch and letting it fall. He’d learned that early on.

Reason number three to stay alive, and the agreement he’d made with himself today, was the convenience of dropping by the store for a small treat. Without that, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Walking back to his apartment, he thought about the previous weeks. Those promises had all begun the same way, but ended in a different direction. The format was simple: if blank, then I won’t kill myself today. He used to use a similar format: I can’t kill myself until blank. The problem with that was dreaming far enough ahead to find a goal worth the pain, effort, and time, and also, what to do when the goal was met. You can’t kill yourself until you make chunin. You can’t kill yourself until you complete an A rank mission. You can’t kill yourself until you make jonin. You can’t kill yourself until… what? Until I come back from a mission with no casualties? Until I can become close to someone without them dying in front of me? It spiraled too quickly to come back from.

The simpler way to go about it was short-term goals. Can’t kill yourself till after dinner. Then you’ve gotta brush your teeth. Then read a chapter of a book, or two. Then you’re tired, and you can sleep until the alarm wakes you far earlier than the sun would, and you live until you feel like you can’t again. But even that had its downfalls—if you can’t be bothered to brush your teeth tonight, you’ve gotta find something to keep going.

It had been Gai who suggested rephrasing the prompt to its latest version. On a day I challenge you, Rival, you can’t end the passion of youth! The challenges had been almost daily for a couple of months after that, until Gai had left for an extended mission and Kakashi had been thoroughly encouraged to stay a similar amount of time in the Yamanaka’s care. He’d begrudgingly admitted later that both of those developments had helped, and it had been a few years since his last bout with depression like this.

But it had been like this for a few months now, and the clouds fuzzing over his mind didn’t seem to be letting up. So he revisited some old advice. If it doesn’t rain on the way home, he’d stay alive. The sky remained cloudless. If Naruto pulled something stupid during training, he’d stay alive. It only took fifteen minutes before Sakura started yelling at him. If there was orange sherbet in the corner store—But there wasn’t.

Somehow, he made it inside his apartment, not quite recalling the rest of the walk through the dull ache behind his eyes. He slipped his unzipped vest off his shoulders, not noticing it hit the floor. Routine dictated that next was the kunai pouch, then the bandages, then—

He was sitting on the floor and wasn’t sure how he got there. Sitting was a generous term, he supposed, as his legs were fully outstretched and he was propped on one forearm with his head against the wall. His eyes slowly screwed tight as the dull ache sharpened briefly, then the static between his ears picked up in volume. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and gradually got back to his feet, stumbling into the living room.

He slumped across the couch, staring at the ceiling. He remembered the routine, drilling itself into his head. His vest was off, he needed to remove the kunai pouch, then the bandages, then the shoes, and put all of that away before removing the rest of his clothing to take a shower. After that was dinner, then two hours of free time to fill with whatever he was capable of, then bed. Lately the free time had been compromised of staring at the pile of clean laundry on the chair opposite him that had needed to be put away since Wednesday. He knew the routine. He decided to get a jump start on free time anyway.

He began counting all of the socks he could see sticking out of the collection of clothes. Organization and listing had always helped situate his mind and get him back on track. After ten or so minutes, he was finally able to unstrap the kunai pouch, tossing it across the room, taking care to not pay attention where it landed. There had been a week where Kakashi didn’t even carry the bag because Gai had taken it and every sharp object he could find in the apartment under the pretense of helping him hone his taijutsu by not relying on weapons. He had been content to let Gai keep the explanation at that. That might be something to revisit soon.

No. Gai had already done more than enough for him.

Kakashi found himself standing in his small bathroom. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d been in the living room, but he was now free of his bandages and shoes. He shrugged, reaching behind his head to untie his headband. Somehow, it had gotten knotted worse than usual and a section of his hair was caught in it. He yanked viciously at it, breathing in through gritted teeth at the sting then feeling himself relax ever so slightly. Forgoing undoing the knot, he slid it along the trapped segment of hair until the headband came free. That made it on to the counter. That never saw the floor, unlike every other part of his wardrobe had

.Next to the headband on the counter was a scattered collection of varying sizes of orange plastic bottles with thick white caps. The clinical labels all had his name, and the names of various antidepressants and antianxiety medications, as well as several painkillers and muscle relaxants and some antibiotic from the mission a couple years back where everyone returned miserably ill. Most of the bottles were empty, and he had held on to them meaning to get them refilled. He always had good intentions, but there was so many things to do in a day, and he ran out of energy usually three or four items into his list.

The one thing he could always count of having around, though, was some kind of pain relief.

Missions were hard, somehow harder now than ever with him as a jonin leader. He still had teammates, but they relied fully on him to take the brunt of every attack and to protect them at all costs. He couldn’t blame them, of course. They were children. He wanted nothing more than for them to be children and not suffer the same losses he had.

Still, he was sure to return from every mission above a D rank with at least a few nasty bruises. And any time Gai could rope him into a training session, he knew he’d come home needing ice packs and the heating pad and whatever else he could get to be able to train with his team the next morning.

And that was how he found himself glaring into the mirror, the bottle of white tablets shaking in his fist.

He was certainly in pain, that couldn’t be argued.

But how many to take?

No orange sherbet.

He shook his head vigorously again, walking back into the living room and falling onto the couch. He focused on a mark on the ceiling, breathing faster than he understood why while his vision started swimming.

There wasn’t orange sherbet.

He was a drain on Gai.

His students didn’t need him—they’d surpass him soon enough.

There were still villagers who called him Friend-Killer Kakashi,

He still saw faces every time he laid down to sleep.

He felt Rin’s blood splash onto his chest every time he used the Chidori,

Sometimes he understood what must’ve gone through his father’s head.

He couldn’t help Itachi

He couldn’t help anyone,

Sometimes, the corner store doesn’t have orange sherbet.

Sometimes, the little orange bottle that rattles doesn’t rattle any more.

He was in the kitchen, water dripping off his face and hands as he panted over the sink. How did he get here? He swallowed hard, his mouth somehow still dry, and turned the water off. The prescription bottle was laying on the floor. Then so was he. Against the cold tile, he was able to relax just a bit again.

It’d be over soon. He wouldn’t hurt anyone else ever again.

His thoughts became harder to string along, but that didn’t bother him. The thoughts he could connect didn’t sting as much as they usually did. It might be nice to put away that laundry, actually.

Every muscle was heavy. There was so much weight on him, and he couldn’t move. How much time had passed? He thought his heart was starting to race, and wondered if he was having second thoughts. But he couldn’t feel the ground beneath him any longer. He struggled for hours, days, to move his index finger to trace the hem of his shirt over and over. Could he feel it? Was he moving?

He rolled to his side, slowly bringing his knees up to prepare to stand. But his body didn’t move. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He couldn’t? His… It was his body. But? Was he? Could move? …Him?

Several centuries had passed before he heard the key in the door, and the door had already been sealed shut before he understood what the noise was.

“Ka-KASHI! In celebration of your return home from your latest mission, I made sure to grab a treat. Do you remember when you left the ANBU and we went to the corner store together? What a celebration to end all celebrations that day was! I was sure to grab the finest, most youthful of every snack—orange sherbet!”

***

Gai held the thin plastic bag up triumphantly, two pints rolling against each other. Normally he would have also grabbed spoons, but assuming Kakashi would be home, he was sure he could find two spoons somewhere in the apartment, even if he had to wash every dish himself.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed to him that Kakashi was on a downswing lately, but he’d always been the counter to balance his own exuberance, and he had complete confidence that they would move past this, too.

He nudged the flak vest that was crumpled on the ground at his feet. Kakashi must’ve been itching to take it off to have removed it the second he got inside. But why wouldn’t he have hung it up, or placed it at least near the hamper? This wasn’t part of the routine. Had he been badly injured on this last mission?

That must be it. He would have come home, shed his clothing, and jumped in the shower to clean his wounds and begin loosening his muscles. Much to Gai’s dismay, Kakashi seemed to be magnetically repelled from hospitals, preferring to treat his wounds himself as long as he could walk. So he must have some sort of torso injury, maybe bruised ribs or a minor stab wound, and he was surely tending to it quietly deeper inside the apartment.

The laundry he had helped Kakashi wash last week was still in the soft, cushioned chair in the dim living room. That wasn’t too surprising, he knew that was the first thing Kakashi would let fall by the wayside if something wasn’t going to get done. As long as the clothes were clean, he could wear them, even if they hadn’t been neatly hung, and that was something Gai could live with.

What he did not appreciate the sight of, however, was the kunai pouch halfway under the end table near the entry way. With such an inconvenient location, Kakashi surely must have made an effort to lose the bag and the knives it contained. He felt his heart swell with pride that Kakashi had the forethought to disregard the bag, but his heart deflated just as quickly with the knowledge that Kakashi felt it necessary to do so.

As he continued into the apartment, he called out his rival’s name once or twice. He must be home. The barrier seals hadn’t been placed over the front door, which means he either was here, or kidnapped from here, and the building still existed, so he must not have been kidnapped. So where was he?

Conscious of the rapidly melting sherbet in his hand, he turned down the hallway to the kitchen to leave the bad in the freezer while he helped Kakashi, presumably in the bedroom, bandage his wounds.

As he rounded the corner, flipping on the lights as he went, he heard a small groan. Nothing at eye level. Cautiously stepping forward, his foot sent a small orange plastic bottle skittering across the tiles.

Gai was barely aware of the sherbet hitting the ground.

Kakashi looked terrible. It was not particularly strange to find him lying on the ground, but there was absolutely no color in his face. Both of his eyes were lazily opened, and neither focused on Gai’s as he kneeled down to check his vitals. His breathing was shallow and his heart rate garbage.

“What did you DO?”

Gai yanked Kakashi up into a sitting position, grabbing for the prescription bottle. Depending on what it said, maybe this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Maybe he’d been poisoned. Maybe even food poisoning. But the signs of an opiate overdose matched the label printed in cruelly clinical terms and he crushed the plastic in his fist. Kakashi needed to get to a hospital, and he needed to get there immediately.

He gathered his rival in his arms, not noticing his weight nearly as much as he noticed how limp he was, making no effort to not be ragdolled around. As he stood up, he took stock again of Kakashi’s breathing—shallower than a moment ago. After a second’s hesitation, he reached for the edge of his mask and yanked it down under his chin, hoping the direct access of air to his lips and nose might help. His lips had some color in them still, and he looked away, trying to respect the privacy of the man who he would kill as soon as he was saved.

***

Some time in the next twenty-four hours, Kakashi’s eyes opened. When they did, blinded by the light and surrounded by medical whites, he was shocked to find himself actually in heaven. What brought him back to earth was Gai, unceremoniously slapping his shoulder.

“What, my dear, dear rival, were you thinking?” he said, thankfully not as loudly as he could have.

Kakashi was at a loss. There were dozens, hundreds of thoughts racing through his head, but they all seemed password-protected and he didn’t have administrative access. He could barely open his mouth, covered by a thin towel, let alone form an explanation that would have made any sense to Gai.

Instead, he surprised himself by feeling the towel suddenly go cold and cling to his skin.

Gai panicked for a moment at the sight of Kakashi’s tears, then took a deep breath and slid forward to the edge of his chair. He brushed a warm, calloused thumb across his rival’s face.

“I know you’re in pain. I do. I don’t understand it, but I believe that you’re in pain and we’re going to help you get better.” He took a shuddering breath, noting that it was thicker with emotion than he had anticipated. “I don��t know what the future is going to hold for us, but the passion of our youth, and especially of your youth, Kakashi, is not close to over. So, whatever it takes, whatever the Yamanakas advise and whatever you need, we’ll make it happen. I love you, and you’re not going anywhere.”

Kakashi’s eyes widened, and Gai became aware that he had opened his Sharingan at some point to record this moment in his memory. He swallowed, feeling his throat begin to ache.

“I love you.”

Kakashi’s tears began falling in a steady stream, and Gai remained exactly where he was, brushing soft, silver hair off of his rival’s forehead. After a moment, he leaned further forward and pressed his forehead against the space he had just cleared.

In a small, scratchy voice he had not heard from the man laying before him ever in the past, he heard a whisper that nearly broke his heart.

“I love you too.”

#first fic ive written in years #hope its any good #pls let me know what you think #kakagai #kakashi hakate #kakashi x gai #kakashi angst

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ikeromantic · 3 years

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Superstition

Written for @alerialumina as part of my 500 follower celebration

Mitsuhide, Magic, Something Blue, and Surprise Me!

Approx 3500 words because I don't know how to do short sometimes

Mitsuhide did not put much faith in superstition. Neither gods nor demons nor spirits. He did appreciate the weight others put in those beliefs though. It allowed him to appear more powerful, more mysterious, than he was. So he handled inquests like these with utmost care.

Several women were missing from this farming village, and all he had to go on was a flash of blue out in the fields. He and his fiance finished interviewing the villagers earlier and that yielded no clues. None of them seemed craft enough to pull something like this off. So Mitsuhide was searching the fields with his little mouse and Kyubei was in the forest looking for any sign of people camping or passing through.

“What exactly am I looking for,” his fiance asked. She was leaned forward, staring at the trampled ground as if she might find the missing girls under an overturned rock.

Mitsuhide smiled. “Signs that someone was here - someone who isn’t normally. Anything out of place or strange or - “

“Like this?” She bent down and picked up a small stone. When she held it up, the light turned it blue like the ocean on a summer day.

He reached for her hand. His fingers disappeared for a moment in brilliant burst of blue light. It was so sudden and so bright that he couldn’t see when it was gone. Mitsuhide clamped his eyes shut against the painful radiance. “Did you see that? Are you alright, little one?”

“My lord?” Kyubei’s voice came to him from the distance. “I saw a blue -” He stopped, realizing his lord was alone. He wasn’t a man to ask the obvious.

Mitsuhide blinked away the blue spots in his vision. His eyes felt dry and hot as he rubbed at them, trying to see. The stone was gone, his little one - gone - and Kyubei was running toward him from the forest edge.

There were no footprints around, besides their own. No holes in the ground. Nothing.

When Kyubei reached his side, the vassal grabbed his shoulder for a heartbeat. As much comfort as he could give his lord - as much as Mitsuhide would accept from him. “I will organize a search party. We’ll send a message back to Azuchi requesting more men, more resources.”

“Yes, do that.” Mitsuhide knelt down, brushing his fingertips over the spot where she’d stood. His eyes worked out from that spot. There had to be something. A slight reflection caught his eye, and he reached for it. A stone. A tiny, clear stone. It felt warm in his palm. He stood and slipped in into his pocket, thoughtful.

Kyubei watched him for a moment, as if expecting some emotional reaction. When he was sure his lord would not do anything impulsive, he turned and ran toward town.

Inside, Mitsuhide was furious with himself, terrified for his beloved, and worried he would not be able to find her. But on the outside, he only smiled his thin-lipped grin. He couldn’t afford to feel any of those emotions. Not until his little mouse was back in his arms. Right now, he had to focus on what had happened. He had to find her.

The little crystal in his pocket held some answers, he felt. But what, he couldn’t begin to guess. Mitsuhide was sure that it was the source of that blue flash - though he had no evidence. Simply the lack of any other cause. It wasn’t much to go on. He could understand now why the villagers believed it was an angry spirit. Some displeased kami or wicked demon . . .

He walked slowly, lost in thought. With all the tricks he had at his disposal, this should be easy to figure out. Could it have been a gunpowder reaction? But there’d been no smell from it. And no sign after. No smoke. No flame. And that light had been blue. Bright blue.

The shadows of the trees hung over Mitsuhide the further he went, and soon his white haori was lost in the dense, green foliage. He barely noticed the leaves as they brushed his sleeves. The branches, he moved aside without thinking about it. His body moved forward while his mind worked.

The sun fell behind the tree tops and slid below the horizon. Still, Mitsuhide walked. He didn’t want to go back to the farming village until he knew how to proceed. He couldn’t bear to face Kyubei, or the reinforcements from Azuchi. But answers weren’t coming any faster in the dark. The kitsune warlord was well and truly stumped.

Weary, he finally sat under a large oak tree. He turned his face up to look at the night sky. A pattern of dark leaves and glittering gems. Mitsuhide reached for his pocket and took out the clear gem. He held it up the way his little mouse had. There was no blinding flash of blue, but the gem did begin to emit a soft, pale light.

Surprised, Mitsuhide let go.

It hung in the air above him.

Mitsuhide was not a man given to superstition. He didn’t believe in gods and demons. He didn’t put faith in magic. But he believed what he saw with his own eyes. He snatched the gem, closing his fingers around it.

Then he stood and cleared his throat. “I have your . . . magic stone, kitsune! If you want it back, you will have to make a deal with me.”

There was a rustling sound in the brush, and then a pair of glowing golden eyes. The creature slowly came closer, pushing through the branches and leaves. A small, red fox with nine brushy tails. It circled Mitsuhide, eyeing him warily.

“Are you ready to make a trade?”

The kitsune snarled, fur bristling. “Give me back my gem and I will let you live.”

Mitsuhide raised one eyebrow. “That’s not much of a deal. I think I’ll just keep it then.”

“No!” The kitsune barked and stood up on its hind legs. “It is mine and worth nothing to you. Why should you get anything of value for it?”

The warlord shrugged. “Perhaps I like the way it looks.” He gave the kitsune his best crescent moon grin. “You probably don’t have anything I want anyway.” Then he turned to walk away.

The kitsune growled and raced in front of him. Branches reached to bar his path and the gnarled roots of trees tore free of the earth to cover the path back. “I could give you wealth?”

“I have that.” Mitsuhide picked his way over the roots and pushed past the trees.

“Power?”

“Also mine. Just . . . forget it. I like this gem. And you really have nothing I’d want. You can just go back to your fleas and carrion.”

“I am . . . a god! I protect this land! The villagers ask me to bless their fields and their daughters burn prayers in my name! You can’t talk to me like that!” The kitsune grew in size and now stood eye to eye with the man.

Mitsuhide wondered if he might have overplayed his part, but he knew backing down now would be worse. “I am no farmer, you little forest-thing. Now get out of my way.”

The kitsune whined and growled, pacing ahead of Mitsuhide. Its tails lashed the air and a hum of energy followed it in the darkness. Finally it stopped and turned to face the man again. Shining white teeth and eyes like molten gold pushed close. “You are alone. I can see that much. The one thing you lack . . . is a wife. I could get one for you.”

“Could you?” Mitsuhide stopped. “I don’t think you can. You are trying to trick me.”

“No! I could get you any kind you desired. Dark haired, light haired. Soft and round or slim and flexible as a willow . . . We’ll trade! A woman for my gem.” The kitsune’s lips curled up in a hungry smile.

Mitsuhide pretended to consider this offer. “I don’t know. If you gave me a woman, she would run as soon as your magic wore off. And then I’d be alone again and without this very nice stone. Besides, I don’t know if I’d like any of them.”

The kitsune whined low in its throat. “No! No! They would stay because they want to. I don’t need magic to lure a woman, nor to get her to obey. It is because they like me!” The fur melted to a sable red kimono, as the fox changed its form to that of a human man. “What if I let you pick the one you like? And if you don’t like any of them, I could find you a new one?”

“I don’t know.” Mitsuhide tapped his chin. “What if I agree to come and look at them, to ask them questions, and all you get in exchange is my promise to consider your offer? I think that’s fair. After all, if you are telling me the truth, then we will both end up getting what we want.”

The kitsune’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t trust Mitsuhide a bit, but he believed he had the upper hand. “Alright. I’ll take you to my home. But you must promise me you’ll never share the location with anyone. If you do, your life is forfeit.”

“Agreed.” Mitsuhide knew the kitsune would not be foolish enough to show him its lair without such an arrangement. He surely wouldn’t be. Besides, he didn’t need reinforcements. This was a battle of wit, not arms.

The kitsune smiled and suddenly, the tree branches and roots withdrew to their normal positions. “Then I will agree to your offer. Once you see what I can grant you, I know you will return my gem.”

He led Mitsuhide through the forest until they reached a high cliff. The kitsune gestured for him to continue but the warlord stopped short.

“This path is not to my liking.”

“It is the fastest route,” the kitsune replied.

Mitsuhide considered. “Alright, then you go ahead and I will follow.”

The kitsune ran and leapt gracefully into the air. His feet were held aloft by his magic and he hung in the air. “Well?”

“Ah, my apologies. It appears I lack your grace. I won’t be able to take this route afterall.” Mitsuhide sighed. “I guess I will have to go back to the village alone.”

The kitsune yipped. “No! Wait! We don’t have to take this route. There is another that might be more suited to your mortal feet. I’ll show you.”

“No, that’s alright. I don’t want you to go to any trouble.” Mitsuhide waived the spirit away.

“It’s no trouble!” The kitsune hurried to walk beside the warlord, guiding him onto another path. “This route is more scenic anyway.”

Mitsuhide smiled his crescent moon smile. Clearly the fox-spirit did not understand yet that he wouldn’t be fooled by simple tricks. He let it lead him on, keeping his eyes open for the next prank.

They walked through meadows of flowers and whispering bamboo groves. Past singing brooks, and distant fire-lit villages. The kitsune finally stopped at the base of a mountain. A large stone blocked a crevasse in the rocks ahead. It was as big as a house and heavier than any one man could lift.

The fox-spirit grabbed it with his human-like hands and rolled it out of the way. He gestured for Mitsuhide to go in.

“Is this your home,” the warlord asked, peering ahead. He knew it was. The way was lit by earth-bound stars and the glow of fireflies. Tiny flowers crawled up the rock walls and in the distance, he could hear women’s voices.

“It is,” the kistune said proudly. “Go in, and I will follow.”

Mitsuhide shook his head. “I don’t think I want to. It is musty in there and the air is still and hot. I don’t like being places where I cannot feel the wind.”

The kitsune frowned. “It will only be for a moment. I am sure you will see the perfect woman for you. Then you can trade me for that gem you have . . .”

“No. I don’t think I’d be able to stand it. Being closed in, with that rock blocking the night air. No. I will return to the village. Thank you though, for the nice walk.” Mitsuhide turned to leave.

“Wait!” The kitsune growled and flung itself in front of him. “What if I leave the door open? Then you can go in and still feel the night’s wind. Will that be enough?”

The warlord considered. “I suppose it might be. But it’s too much to ask you to swear an oath to leave it open for me. Then you might not feel safe. I really should just go.”

“I swear it! Here, look, I will go in first so that you can see the door remains open.” The kitsune entered the crevasse, almost dancing with eagerness to lure Mitsuhide inside.

“I guess I will follow you then,” the warlord decided. This was, of course, exactly what he wanted.

He followed after the kitsune, noting the treasures it had stashed in shelves along the walls. Ancient weapons, rare flowers, gems, and precious metals. Paintings thought lost to time. A greedy man might have made a deal for any of it, but Mitsuhide had just one goal in mind.

At the end of the path, the crevasse opened into a valley where a large manor sat. And there, in the courtyard of the manor were all the missing girls. They were dressed in fine silks, with perfumed hair, wrists and throat adorned with precious gems. They sat on blankets amidst the flowers, sipping wine. Or on benches reading books. Some laughed together in little groups. But they all looked up as the kitsune approached.

“He’s back,” one called, and a horde of giggling girls surrounded the kitsune for a moment.

Mitsuhide ignored them, his amber eyes searching for the one face he had to see. She had to be here, she had to be ok. And there she was. Sitting alone on a bench, a book open on her lap. His little mouse.

She looked up and her eyes met his. She jumped to her feet, about to run to him, but he shook his head. It wasn’t the time yet for honesty. So his little one adjusted her spot on the bench and pretended to keep reading.

The kitsune pulled himself free of the women and gestured for Mitsuhide to join him. “For the gem, good man, you can take your pick. Surely one of these lovelies is enough for you?”

“I don’t know.” Mitsuhide tapped his chin. “They all seem very fond of you. I wouldn’t want to take them unwilling.”

The kitsune held one girl by the chin. “If I told you to go with this man and love him, would you do it?”

“For you? Anything,” she breathed. Her eyes were wide and dark and empty.

Mitsuhide knew then that these enthralled women must be under a spell. They wouldn’t simply leave if he gave them the opportunity. “That’s just your magic. I wonder what they would say if you withdrew the enchantment from them. I don’t think any of them really love you.”

This stung the kitsune’s pride. “Of course they would! I am handsome and smart. And I give them nice gifts! They all love me.”

“Mmm, just because you enthralled them. I don’t want a woman bespelled. I think I will just go home.” Mitsuhide turned to leave.

The kitsune whined and yipped and wiped at his face with his hand. “Ok, Ok! I will banish the enchantment and you will see how much they adore me!” He beckoned the women to stand around him. Even Mitsuhide’s little mouse stood and joined the circle.

“My beauties,” the kitsune said, “I will release you. You must show this sad little mortal how much you love your fox-husband.”

The girls all swore they would, of course. Then the kitsune raised his hands and there was a flash of blue light.

Mitsuhide blinked away the brilliance. The women were wandering the courtyard, confused. Some were crying, others looked lost or afraid. Only his little mouse stood with her shoulders back, waiting for a signal from him.

“Well?” The kistune gestured. “You see, they still love me.” He grabbed one and kissed her. She slapped at his arms ineffectually until he let go. “They will love you too. So choose and give me back my gem!”

“Hmmm.” Mitsuhide nodded, walking slowly around the girls. He stopped and asked a few of them where they were from, how old. These were the girls from the village, and some from even further away than that. None knew how long they’d live here with their kitsune-husband, or how they’d arrived at this place. And they all wanted to go home.

The kitsune was nearly bouncing on his toes in eagerness, so close was the return of his gemstone. “Did you find a girl you like?”

“I was just thinking. If I pick a girl, what’s to stop you from taking her away later? All these girls you took from somewhere. They are mothers and daughters and wives. I would not want to trade my pretty rock and in the end have nothing.” Mitsuhide took out the gem. It still shone with a pale light. “I may just keep it afterall.”

“What? No!” The kitsune jumped into the air, more like a beast than a man. His tails lashed in all directions. “I would never do that. I swear! Whoever you pick, I will promise not to lure them here again. You have my oath! Now give me the gem!”

“That is generous of you,” Mitsuhide conceded. “In that case, I will take your deal. I choose . . .” He gestured to the courtyard expansively. “All of these girls.” Then he tossed the kitsune the gem.

The fox-spirit caught it and realized too late that by accepting it, he took Mitsuhide’s deal. He howled in anger. His body blurred, and the human shape disappeared into a monstrous red fox. “How dare you take all my beauties from me! I will kill you and eat you!”

Mitsuhide’s little mouse didn’t wait for a clear signal to go. She grabbed the hands of the girls nearby and urged the others to follow. They all ran down the twisting canyon path through the crevasse, and out of the kitsune’s den.

The fox-spirit would have followed. Its eyes burned with a red light, angry at being deceived, but Mitsuhide distracted it.

“What a ridiculous spirit you are, promising me a fair trade and then wanting to kill me because you don’t like the terms you agreed to,” the warlord called.

The kitsune tried to step on him with one giant paw, but Mitsuhide leapt out of the way. He dropped behind him some of the caltrops ninja favored. He didn’t wait for the response. The warlord ran down the path, following the women out.

Inside the canyon, the kitsune growled and cursed in pain. It limped after them, snapping its long, sharp teeth.

“We need to block the path,” Mitsuhide called to the women.

His little mouse nodded, and rounded the women up to push on the boulder. Mitsuhide joined them.

They strained against the hard stone, feet sliding in the dirt. The kitsune came on, its growl so loud that it shook loose stones on the mountain, and made their bones shiver. Still, they struggled.

The rock shifted the smallest bit. And then a bit again.

“Come on girls! Just a little more,” the chatelaine cried.

Mitsuhide wasn’t sure they would make it afterall. He reached down to loosen his sword in its sheath. If he had to fight, he would be ready.

“I can smell your fear, foolish man,” called the kitsune. “You stopped running. I wonder what you think you can do against me?”

“Maybe I’ve already done it,” Mitsuhide shouted back. “How do you know you are going where you think you are? Or that it is me you smell . . .” He laughed.

And that was when the rock finally broke free and rolled into the crevasse, blocking the path. It wouldn’t hold the kitsune for long, but perhaps long enough.

“I beat you fair and square, fox spirit,” Mitsuhide shouted. “Let that be a lesson to you! Never mess with a kitsune-warlord’s wife! Even if you are a kitsune!”

“I can’t believe you came for me,” his little one said. She threw her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. “I thought I would never see you again.”

“Mitsuhide held her close, his heart beating hard and fast. “I thought the same, my love. But I couldn’t let you go, even if I didn’t know how or where I would find you. But now that I have you in my arms, I’m not letting you go again.”

“As if I would let you.” She laughed and cried all at once, and held onto him as tight as he held her.

Of course, there was no rest for Mitsuhide Akechi. He had a task to finish, and it was getting these women back home. So he and his little one guided the women to the nearest town, and eventually, back to their homes and families.

The kitsune never forgot about the white-haired man that took his wealth of women. And just maybe, he appeared to the warlord later. But that is another story entirely.

#ikesen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #fairytale au #otome guys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic #follower celebration

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impalas-r-important · 3 years

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Branch Out - Chapter 2

Summary: Y/N left everything she's ever known, and Dean just wants to be left alone. With both of them trying to heal from heartache, they might just end up finding what they need in the last place they'd ever look.

Word Count: 6550

Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually, maybe?)

Warnings: I don't think there are any for this chapter, but if you think i should add one, feel free to let me know!

Read Chapter 1

Branch Out Masterlist

My Masterlist

Saturday was a welcome break from work, but there was no sleeping in. A delivery truck brought your bed frame, a small kitchen table, and a coffee table early in the morning and you were over the moon about not having to sleep on the cold floor anymore. You figured the tables would be fairly easy to put together, so you left those for last. You emptied the box with the bedframe and did your best to carefully lay out all the pieces so they would be easy to find as you went along. Before you started, you grabbed your radio and shuffled through your CDs, deciding on The Eagles to be today’s soundtrack.

You threw half of your hair up in a bun to pull the small pieces from your face, rolled up your sleeves, and looked around for the instructions. You couldn’t actually remember seeing any kind of paper as you unpacked the pieces, so you dumped out the box. Nothing. You looked under every piece of wood, and in every corner of your tiny house, but came up empty handed.

“Fan-friggin-tastic…” You grumbled and stared down the lumber and hardware, trying to make sense of this now seemingly impossible puzzle.

Hours had passed, and you had only managed to put together a pathetic amount of the bedframe. The stupid bits and pieces that were strewn across the floor taunted you with every wrong part you picked up. Before any vital pieces ended up getting thrown into the fireplace out of frustration, you decided it would be best to take a break and make some lunch. You needed to make a run to the grocery store and stock your fridge and shelves, but you’d need to wait until you got your truck back, so you kept your fingers were crossed that Bobby would be able to get to it today.

You settled on a protein shake and a banana for your meal and were sitting on the kitchen counter when two quick knocks at the door interrupted your thoughts. You turned the music down a notch and wove your way through the maze of wood that had taken over your living room. You were expecting to see Sarah standing on the other side of your front door but were surprised to find Dean. One hand was slipped into his coat pocket and his shoulders were slightly rounded, showing that he didn’t really want to be here right now.

“Oh,” you did your best to not sound massively surprised but did a bang-up job, “hi.”

“Hey,” he cleared his throat, and a tuft of breath flew from his mouth in the cold air, “I just wanted to say sorry for being kind of a dick last night. I’m not really a people person and I’m definitely not used to having neighbors.” His eyes, which were glued to the ground made their way up to meet yours. “The bars were good though. I ate them all last night. I figured you’d want this back.” He extended his arm holding the plate you had placed the treats on to take over to him.

You tried your hardest to stop the smug smirk that was pulling at the corners of your mouth. “That’s actually a disposable plate.”

“Oh,” he looked down at it, “it’s one of the fancy plastic ones though, so I wasn’t sure if you wanted it back or not…” It was definitely not fancy, but the thought of him scrubbing the sticky blueberry mess off of a cheap plate was completely endearing.

“Well, good as new then.” You smiled and took the plate back from him, making a mental note to only give him paper plates from here on out if the situation arose. You stepped just inside the door and tossed the plastic onto the kitchen counter.

Dean raised an eyebrow as he snuck a peek at the mess that was you house at the moment. “Whoa, did a bomb go off in here?”

You looked around with a sigh. “No, but I’m about ready to blow the whole place up and just start over.” Stepping out of the way, you signaled for Dean to come in out of the freezing cold. He stomped his boots off on the front porch and stepped inside. “I didn’t bring any furniture with me when I moved, so I ordered some online. This mess,” you motioned vaguely around the room, “is supposed to be a bedframe but some genius forgot to put the instructions in the box.”

“How long have you been at it?” Dean stepped closer to the junk yard that had become your living room.

You really didn’t want to answer that question because you figured he’d just tell you what you were doing wrong. “Not that long.” Lying had never been something you were good at. Dean took one look at the guilty look on your face and saw right through it.

“So, all morning?”

“All morning.” You admitted and crossed your arms in shame. For a short second, you could have sworn that you saw a hint of a smile on Dean’s face. He was probably laughing at your miserable handy work.

“Well, for starters, you should put the bedframe together in the bedroom. Not the living room.” He walked around the wood pieces and began organizing them into piles.

“The bedroom is really small, so I figured it would be easier to put the big pieces together out here and then put the whole thing together in the bedroom.” You watched with some distain as he easily began to piece together the headboard. “You don’t have to do that, you know…”

“Do what?” He asked but didn’t look up from his crouched position on the floor.

“Help.” You shrugged. “I heard you loud and clear last night that you aren’t looking for friends.”

Dean paused for a moment. “Maybe I’m just staying for the good music.”

“You like The Eagles?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“One of my dad’s rules to live by is that you should never trust people who wear socks to bed or people who hate The Eagles.”

“Your dad sounds like a smart man.” There it was again, an elusive smile from the self-proclaimed loner. You were sure you saw it this time. “But I do have to say that no one beats the mighty Zep.”

You could respect a guy who loved the classics. “Wow, the good taste in music almost makes up for the crabby attitude.”

Dean knew you were teasing and gave you a fed-up look. “Do you have a drill?” He asked.

You picked up a screwdriver from the counter and held it up. Dean shook his head. “No, an actual drill.”

“I have a hammer…”

A chuckle escaped from Dean’s chest. “You were planning on hammering these screws into your new furniture?”

“I was working with what I had. Don’t judge me.”

Dean stood and amusedly shook his head as he made his way to the door, leaving it open while he walked to his truck and pulled a drill from the toolbox that was in the bed. As you watched, you noticed that your driveway had been cleared of the snow from last night’s flurry and couldn’t help but find that odd. You didn’t hear a truck outside your house this morning.

Dean skipped a few steps up the stairs and hurried inside, taking off his coat once he had shut the door after him. “Can I put this here?” He laid his it over the back of a chair that had been here when you moved in.

“Yeah.” You took one more peek out the window at the plowed path to your house from the road. “Hey, weird question, but you wouldn’t happen to know how my driveway got cleared, would you?”

“You ever heard of a snowplow?” His words dripped with sarcasm, but you were well versed in the language as well.

“A snowplow? Hmm, doesn’t ring a bell. What’s that?” You exaggerated every word, but Dean still looked up at you with furrowed brows before realizing that you were joking.

“I just didn’t realize the plows would come this far up the mountain. I promise I’m not as dumb as I look.” Kneeling a few feet away from him on the floor, you held the piece of wood his was trying to secure in place steady.

“The driver is a buddy of mine, He’s a good guy so he probably just wanted to help out the new girl.” Dean explained. You couldn’t help but feel lucky that you had found a place that was full of kind folks. The headboard was put together in a matter of minutes and Dean carried it into your bedroom with ease before picking out the pieces for the footboard.

“Thank you, Dean. I know this is probably not how you wanted to spend your Saturday afternoon.”

“I like to build things. I built my cabin, so a bedframe is a piece of cake.”

“I guess that’s pretty impressive.” Casually playing that off made Dean slightly smile again. You could tell he was feeling a little more comfortable.

“What are you doing up here all by yourself anyway?” He quickly wiped any traces of emotion from his face.

You shrugged. “I just needed a new start and this place fell in my lap, so I jumped. I might be a little in over my head, but I have to start somewhere, right?”

“Why’d you move?” You thought it bold of him to ask the hard-hitting questions but admired his straightforwardness.

You took a moment to carefully word your response. “Sometimes you just need to take yourself out of an unhealthy situation even if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.”

Dean was surely picking up on your lack of details. “I can respect that.” His eyes fell to the bruise on your arm that he had first noticed a few days before. You self-consciously rubbed the sore spot and felt grateful for the phone ringing that stopped the conversation from progressing any further.

You looked to see that Bobby’s shop was calling and brought the phone to your ear. “Hey, Bobby.”

Dean watched as you slowly paced back and forth by the window. He had felt ridiculous this morning for washing a stupid plastic plate just so he could have an excuse to come over and apologize, but he was glad that risk paid off, even if you did think he was clueless.

As he put the last few screws in the footboard, Dean couldn’t help but overhear the conversation you were having on the phone. You sounded a little disappointed and Dean assumed that Bobby had called with bad news.

“How’s the truck?” Dean asked once you had joined him on the floor and began picking up the spare screws.

“Apparently my truck is an ‘old piece of crap’, and the only battery Bobby had that would fit ended up being a dud. He ordered a new one, but it won��t be in until Monday.”

While Dean agreed that your truck should probably be retired, he felt empathetic that you’d had so many problems with it since moving in. “I’ll give you a ride to work.” The words flew from his mouth before he really thought about what he was saying. That wasn’t normally something he’d offer to do. “If you want, that is.”

“Dean, I can’t ask you to do that…” You were sure at this point that he thought you were just some helpless stupid girl that didn’t know how to do anything for yourself.

“Well, you didn’t ask. I volunteered.”

“Still, you’ve done so much for me in the short time that I’ve been here, I feel like I’m just mooching off of you at this point.”

“I’ve barely done anything.” Dean brushed your statement off, but you knew you were right.

“You gave me a ride on my first day, fixed my battery, you’re here wasting your Saturday helping me put together furniture, and now you’re going to give me another ride to work on Monday. That sounds like mooching to me.”

“Your house and City Hall are both on my way to work. I haven’t been the most welcoming person in the world, so let’s just call it even.”

You could tell that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so you got up and went into the kitchen. You opened the cabinet and pulled out another plate of blueberry pie bars and took them to Dean. He gladly accepted.

After pulling back the plastic wrap and shoving a whole bar in his mouth, he mumbled, “Now we’re definitely even.” He rubbed his hands together to brush the crumbs off and finished his bite. “You had these the whole time and you weren’t going to share?”

“That recipe makes a lot. I figured I’d take half to you last night and the other half to work on Monday, but my co-workers aren’t here helping me put together furniture, so bon appetite.”

He put another in his mouth and nodded in approval. “You can keep the plate this time.” You couldn’t help but tease Dean. He stopped midchew and gave you a jaded glare which you did your best to ignore and instead focused on suppressing your laughter. Dean was still trying to hide his smiles, but you caught a glance anyway.

“It’s not a waste, by the way.”

You tilted your head in confusion.

“You said I was wasting my Saturday by helping you out. But I don’t mind.” He briefly looked up at you but continued before could say anything else. “Help me move these.”

After carrying all the pieces into the bedroom and putting them together, Dean helped you lift your mattress onto the frame, and you threw yourself onto the bed.

“So. Much. Better.” You closed your eyes and inhaled through your nose before giving a comfortable sigh. You knew your back would appreciate the little bit of give that the frame allowed. Dean was leaning against the door and you caught his eyes as you sat up. He quickly looked away when you noticed him staring.

“I saw two other boxes out there. Do they need to be put together too?” Dean almost seemed excited to dig into the next project.

“Yes, but if you have somewhere you need to be, I think I can handle it.”

Dean checked his watch. “It’d give me a good excuse to not go to Jo’s party tonight.”

“Jo, that’s Bobby and Ellen’s daughter, right?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, parties aren’t really my scene.”

“I’m with you on that one.” You were quite the introvert yourself and could relate to the feeling of social dread. “Well, if you’re sure, then be my guest.”

You followed Dean into the living room, and he dragged the bigger of the two boxes over and began to pull out the contents. A growl from your stomach and a glance at the clock told you that it was dinner time.

“Are you hungry?”

Dean shrugged. “A little.”

You opened your cabinets and fridge as if there would be more food than there was earlier. “I’m low on supplies, but I’ve got stuff for turkey sandwiches. Is that okay?”

“Sounds great.”

You threw together two sandwiches and Dean already had half the table put together by the time you were done. You handed his plate to him and sat down on the floor against the wall next to the fireplace. Dean shook the wood dust from his pants and joined you.

“So, accounting, huh? Was that always the dream job?” All of Dean’s questions were posed as if he was only making nonchalant small talk, but the way he intently listened told you that he actually cared about your answers.

“No, but it pays the bills, and I don’t mind numbers. I don’t always love it, but I really like the people I work with here.” Dean was still working on a mouthful of food and you figured it was your turn to ask the questions. “Did you always want to be a lumberjack?”

Dean scoffed. “I’m not a lumberjack!”

“That’s debatable. Sarah said you work at the sawmill, I’ve only ever seen you wear plaid, and apparently you’re the wood whisperer.” You motioned to the almost completed table.

“Well, yeah, but I don’t go prancing around the woods with an axe on my shoulder.”

“Whatever you say.” You figured if he wanted to share more details with you, he would.

“I don’t just work at the sawmill, I run it.”

“How is it being the head-honcho?” Although you did a lot of paperwork for you job, you didn’t envy the workload of a CEO.

“Awful.” His answer was blunt and straightforward. “My dad pulled me into the family business a few years ago and I took over when he got sick.”

“I heard about that. How is he doing now?”

“He’s good. I think he and my mom are hoping to move back soon.”

“What would you be doing if you weren’t working at the sawmill?”

Dean was a little caught off guard by your question. “Why does it matter?”

“Because you can’t go through life hating most of it. That’s just going to make you miserable.” You were speaking from experience.

Dean’s eyes examined yours as if he was trying to find an ulterior motive behind your questions. “I worked as a mechanic for a long time and loved it. I always thought I’d take over for Bobby when he retired down at the shop.”

“Maybe when your dad gets back you can switch over?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Dean’s hesitancy to open up when his dad was brought up told you to drop the subject.

After you both were finished eating, he stood and offered a hand to help you up. “Let’s get this thing finished so you don’t have to keep eating on the floor.”

You spent the rest of the evening handing Dean the hardware he asked for and listening to oldies. Maybe he wasn’t the most talkative guy in the world, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that fell between you two. It was actually nice to be in the company of someone who wasn’t going to push for every detail of your life story.

After breaking down the empty carboard boxes that were the remnants of a long afternoon’s work, Dean pulled on his coat.

“Thank you for all your help today. The place is finally starting to come together.” Although you were still without a couch, your home started to look more livable.

“Don’t mention it. So, I’ll see you Monday morning then?” He asked before he reached for the door handle.

You nodded with a smile and handed him the plate of blueberry bars. He excitedly took it from you and gave a soft smile.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night, Dean.”

Monday morning slowly crept up after a Sunday spent mostly in bed. It had snowed most of the day and night so you bundled up as much as you could. A peek out the window showed that your small driveway had been plowed again. You put a reminder in your phone to get a thank you gift for the plow driver who was a guardian angel in disguise. Dean pulled up just a few seconds later and you hurried out to his truck.

“Mornin’.” He greeted.

“Hey yourself.” You buckled your seatbelt and extended your hands towards the vent like you had done the last time Dean gave you a ride. His truck was much newer than yours and the heater worked like a charm.

“What’s on your agenda for today?” He asked as he backed out onto the road.

“Expense reports. They’re as thrilling as they sound. And also, I’m covering the front desk solo. Sarah texted and said she woke up with a fever, so she’s taking a sick day.”

“I’ll have to ask Sam how she’s doing.” A few minutes passed as you slowly made your way down the slick road. “So, listen, it’s supposed to snow all day. I’ll come and grab you after work and take you down to Bobby’s place.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that. It’s like a ten-minute walk.”

“It’s a good excuse to make sure I don’t get pulled into some long boring meeting at the end of the day.”

“Well then in that case you’re welcome.” You gave a cheeky grin which was returned.

Thankfully, the ride to work was short. Driving in the snow gave you serious anxiety so the sight of City Hall was a welcomed one.

“What time should I come pick you up?”

“I’m off at four, but I can stay later if you can’t get out that early.”

“Four is great. One of the perks of being the boss is that I can make my own hours.”

Ellen waved to you as she walked in, so you quickly said goodbye to Dean and joined her. Dean waited to make sure you got inside okay before taking off.

“Did Dean give you a ride today?” Ellen looked at you skeptically.

“Yeah, my truck is still in the shop, so he volunteered to drop me off on his way to work.”

“Hmm. That’s weird.” She took her hat off and shook the snow from it. “It’s been years since I’ve seen Dean socializing with anyone that’s not in his little circle.”

“Honestly, I think he just pities me because I’m new and clueless when it comes to snow.” Shrugging your coat off, you set it on the back of your chair and placed your bag underneath your desk.

“I never thought I’d see him speak to another girl after what Cassie did to him.” Ellen shook her head and raised her eyebrows.

“Cassie?” This was the first you’d heard of her.

“Yeah, she broke his heart pretty bad a few years back.”

Garth appeared from around the corner and called Ellen back to his office. You knew that Dean had a rough few years but hadn’t heard many details aside from his dad getting cancer, which was a hard enough situation on its own. While you wanted to know more, you didn’t want to dig for info where it was none of your business. If Dean wanted to tell you about Cassie, he would do it on his own time and you would just have to respect that.

Dean arrived at the sawmill and made his way to his office on the upper level of the plant. Not ten minutes after he began his day’s work, Sam entered and sat down in one of the chairs across from Dean’s desk.

“Where were you Saturday night? I thought you said you were going to Jo’s party.”

Dean shrugged. “I got busy and didn’t realize what time it was.”

“Busy with what? I’m sure there’s not that much to do up that mountain of yours.”

“Just busy.”

Sam was used to his brother’s antics at this point and knew it was futile to push for details.

“How’s Sarah doing?” Dean asked, hoping to delay the morning managers meeting as long as possible.

“She’s alright. Woke up with a fever, so she’s just going to sleep it off.” A lightbulb went off for Sam and he frowned. “Wait, how did you know that Sarah’s sick?”

“Crap…” Dean thought to himself. He knew he was busted. “I don’t know. I just heard it through the grapevine.”

“I didn’t tell anyone about her and I’m pretty sure the only people she told were the people at work…” Sam thought long and hard for a few seconds until he realized what must have happened. “Y/N?”

Sam had always been too smart for his own good and Dean had always hated it. “I gave her a ride to work while Bobby has her truck. That’s all.”

“Is that what you were busy with on Saturday too?”

Dean sent messages to Benny and Cas, instructing them to quickly come up to his office to start the morning meeting and hopefully get Sam off his back.

Sam took Dean’s silence as a yes. “What did you guys do all night then?”

“We had a pillow fight and painted each other’s nails.”

Sam had a special bitch-face reserved for Dean and was throwing it his way now.

“We put together furniture and ate sandwiches on the floor. There, now you know. Happy?”

Cas and Benny walked in together.

“Hey fellas, what’s the news?” Benny greeted.

Dean knew from Sam’s devious grin that the end of this conversation was nowhere in sight. “Dean wasn’t at Jo’s party because he was with the new girl in town.”

Cas quickly turned his head and looked at Dean as if he had lobsters crawling out his ears. “This Dean? Our Dean?”

Sam nodded and Benny laughed as he took a seat. “I heard she’s real pretty! It’s about time you find a good one. Nice job, brother.”

Dean groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Listen, I helped her out with one thing. I barely know her, so cut the crap or I will fire all of you asses.”

Cas, Benny and Sam all exchanged mischievous looks but dropped the subject to avoid Dean’s angry side coming out for the rest of the day.

The day was slow for you, but it gave you plenty of time to finish verifying payroll hours for everyone. Sarah’s energetic personality was definitely being missed as you began to feel drowsy around two thirty. The bell to the front door dinged so you stood to find Sheriff Mills and her son.

“Mom, you promised that you wouldn’t have to work today.” The little boy moaned.

“I’m sorry, honey. The Mayor just has to meet with me for a few minutes and then I promise I’m all yours, okay?”

“Hey guys! Can I help with anything?” You greeted.

“Y/N, hey. How are you settling in?” Jody gave a warm smile and did her best to ignore her son who was tugging at her sleeve.

“I’m finally getting everything set up, so I’d say pretty well. Who’s this handsome fella with you?”

The little boy blushed a little as you leaned on the counter and smiled down at him.

“This is my son, Owen. It’s technically my day off, but do I ever really get a day off as a Sheriff?”

Owen continued to pull at Jody’s sleeve and beg to leave.

“Hey Owen, do you happen to like hot chocolate?” You had always been good with kids and figured you try to help Jody out while she met with Garth. You were pretty much done with your work for the day anyway.

Owen nodded shyly. “Well, I don’t want to brag, but I make a mean breakroom hot chocolate. You want to help me make some while your mom meets with the Mayor? If that’s okay with her, that is.”

Owen looked to his mom for approval and she nodded. He ran behind the front desk and Jody mouthed a silent, “Thank you,” to which you smiled and led Owen back to the breakroom.

After making two steaming cups of hot chocolate, you took pushed together two empty desks and taught Owen how to play paper football. After showing him how to fold the paper and a few practice rounds, you began to keep track of points. The winner would take home a medal that you made from paperclips and an eraser.

Time flew by and before you knew it, over an hour had passed. You heard someone come in the door and looked over to see Dean. He had arrived a few minutes early and decided to wait for you inside rather than in the cold car.

“Am I crashing the party?” Dean leaned on the front desk.

“Dean!” Owen side-stepped the desk and ran to wrap his arms around Dean’s waist.

“You’re just in time for the final round of paper football. You in?” You held up the small piece of folded paper with a playful grin.

“Step aside, let the master show you how it’s done.” Dean ripped off his coat and set it on your desk. “What do I get when I win?”

You held up the eraser necklace and Owen excitedly added that he helped make it.

You and Owen were neck in neck in the first round, but you scuffed your last shot on purpose and made a big stink about it. Dean ruffled Owen’s hair as he knelt down at the end of the desk and lined up his shot perfectly. Owen held his own but missed his last shot and Dean knew that he could win if he made the next one. He set his paper up perfectly and you couldn’t help but giggle at the exaggerated sigh of concentration that he let out. Dean’s eyeline moved from the game quickly up to you as he gave a quick wink and under-shot his chance on purpose, giving the win to Owen if he made his next shot, which he did.

Jody paused before entering the room and watched from just out of sight as Owen jumped up and down in triumph. Ellen joined and leaned on the wall, watching as you helped Owen up onto the desk and presented him with the make-shift medal that you had thrown together. Dean put Owen on his shoulders and did a victory lap around the desks while squeals of delight filled the air.

“Are my eyes deceiving me, or is Dean Winchester acting like he’s been properly socialized?” Jody tilted her head to look at Ellen who was smiling knowingly.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him like this. Ever since a little bird flew into town, he’s seems to be a little less crotchety.”

Jody and Ellen watched the smile that you and Dean shared once he put Owen down.

“Mom!” Owen ran over and proudly showed off his medal.

“That’s great, hon!” Jody looked up as you and Dean approached. “You guys are lifesavers; I really owe you one.”

“We had fun, huh?” You nudged Owen with your arm causing him to blush and avert his eyes. You smirked and turned to Dean. “I’ll go grab my stuff and then we can head out.”

Dean knelt down and held his hand out for a high-five. “Good game, kid. That’s well-deserved.” He pointed at the eraser hanging around Owen’s neck.

“I like Y/N. She’s fun… and pretty.” Owen whispered to Dean. Jody instructed her son to grab his coat and said goodbye to everyone.

Dean was leaning against your desk when you came out from the back.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Ready.” You smiled in response.

Once you were in Dean’s truck, you asked, “how do you know Owen so well?”

“When my parents moved away, Jody kind of took me and Sam under her wing and made sure we were taken care of. We were over at her house for dinner a fair amount, so Owen and I are pretty good buddies.”

“Jody seems sweet. I like her.”

“She’s one of the good ones. A lot of people here are. Ellen has always been a surrogate mom to me as well. My dad and I don’t always get along, so Bobby and Ellen kind of adopted me when I was pretty young.”

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Don’t be. We all have our issues.”

Dean pulled up outside Bobby’s shop just a few short minutes later. “I’ll come in with you and make sure everything’s working okay. I gotta talk to Bobby anyway.”

You and Dean rushed inside out of the cold and Jo looked up from the front desk. “Hey Dean!”

“Hey, Jo. Your dad around?”

“He’s on the phone but should be done soon.” She turned her gaze to you. “You must be the new girl.”

“Yeah, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you.” You offered a smile to Jo, which was not returned.

“We’re just here for her truck. You got the keys?” Dean picked up on Jo’s attitude and tried to hurry the conversation along.

She shuffled through the box of keys that was on the desk and pulled one out, reading the tag to make sure it was the right one before tossing it to you. You caught it easily and thanked her.

“What do I owe you?”

“We’ll send you the bill.”

“Oh, okay. I guess I’ll just head out then.” You turned to Dean. “See you around. Thanks again for the ride.”

Dean nodded with a shy smile and watched as you got in your truck and left. He wasn’t sure why, but part of him was hoping that the truck wouldn’t start up, so you’d have to ride back with him, but he knew Bobby was too good of a mechanic for that. The rumble of your engine starting up signaled your official exit and Dean hastily made his way back to Bobby’s office to avoid Jo’s impending interrogation on why he had ditched out on her party.

You had gotten to work a little early the next day and were at your desk when Sarah came in.

“Hey, how you feeling?” You had texted her the night before to see if she needed anything, but she said Sam was doing a great job at playing nurse.

“Much better. I think it was just one of those twenty-four-hour bugs. How was yesterday?”

“Slow and quiet. It was weird without you here. Jody brought Owen in and we had a paper football tournament, which was pretty fun though.”

“I’m sorry I missed out!”

Ellen walked out from her office and sat at an empty desk next to you and Sarah. “Are you still good for Thursday, Y/N?”

“You bet!”

“What’s Thursday?” Sarah wondered.

“Ellen, Garth and I are heading to Baker for a convention on the new tax regulations for this year. We’ll head down Thursday morning and come back up on Saturday night.”

Sarah’s face dropped. “No, not this weekend! Saturday is Dean’s birthday and we’re throwing him a surprise party down at The Salty Hunter. I was going to invite you both today!”

“Oh, shoot…” You felt bad that you’d miss Dean’s birthday when he’d been so helpful to you lately.

“Well, maybe we can try to be back for the party?” Ellen suggested. “We’ll head out as soon as we can.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Sarah pointed a finger at you both.

“What’s The Salty Hunter?” You wondered.

“That’s the bar on main street. Rufus, who owns it, used to be a hunter so he named it after himself. He’s a character but a good guy.” Ellen explained.

That night after work you went grocery shopping and then headed home to make some dinner and watch something stupid to unwind before bed. You changed into pajamas and a t-shirt and settled down at your new table. Before you could take a bite of your pasta, someone knocked on your door. You peeked through the curtains to see who it was and saw Dean standing outside, shaking his leg to try and stay warm.

You unlocked the door and the wind helped it open. “Get in here, it’s freezing!” You ordered and Dean gladly complied.

“How’s the truck working?” He rubbed his hands together to thaw his fingers.

“Like a charm. Bobby really knows his stuff.” You grabbed the blanket that was slung over the back of a chair and wrapped it around yourself as you sat and offered Dean the other chair at the table.

“So, uh,” he traced the woodgrain pattern on the floor with his eyes as if he was afraid to look at you, “I don’t know if you have any plans on Saturday, but some friends and I are getting together down at the bar if you want to get to know a few more people. It’s nothing big.”

“This little gathering wouldn’t happen to be for your birthday, would it?” You raised a knowing eyebrow. “Sarah told me about it today.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, but it’s not really a party or anything. I just thought it would be good for you to get out of this tiny cabin. I’m not even supposed to know about it, but Sam told me.”

You were surprised that Dean went out of his way to invite you, and the gesture made you feel even worse that you might not be there.

“I’m going to try my absolute hardest to be there. Ellen, Garth and I are actually going to be at a tax thing from Thursday until Saturday but we’re making it our goal to be back in time.”

“Like I said, it’s not a big deal, so don’t stress about it.”

“Birthdays are a big deal, so don’t play it off all casual. Plus, I already have the perfect present picked out for you, so it would be a shame if you didn’t get it.”

An inquisitive look lit up Dean’s emerald eyes. “The perfect present, huh? You sure you know me that well?”

“I am one hundred percent sure it will be the best present you’ve ever gotten from me.” Considering that you’d never given him a present before, you weren’t wrong.

Dean pushed his jaw slightly to one side and pressed his tongue to his canine while fighting a grin. “You’re funny, you know that?”

You scrunched you nose and stood from your chair. “Have you eaten? I’ve got extra.” Before he answered, you were already dishing him up a plate of spaghetti.

“No, I just got off work. Late day at the office.” He dug right into his food when you set it down on the table. “Are you planning on getting a couch or something?” He looked out into the barren room.

“No, I think I like empty, minimalistic look. It’s very modern.”

At this point, Dean had a pretty firm grasp on your dry sense of humor and just shook his head. He scarfed down his food and went back for a second plate while you cleaned up the kitchen a bit. He washed his own plate when he was done and placed it in the drying rack.

“Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt your night. I would have just texted you to invite you, but I don’t have your number.”

You held out your hand and Dean reached into his pocket and gave you his phone. It was an old, sturdy Nokia flip phone and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Look at this dinosaur. I haven’t seen one of these since… I don’t know, middle school?”

“It’s not that old.” Dean tried to defend himself. “I tried the fancy smart phones, but I hated them. Who needs a phone for more than just calling and texting?”

You flipped it open dramatically and saved your number before handing it back to him right as it began to ring. “It’s Sam, I should probably get this. Thanks again for dinner. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t. I always make way too much pasta anyway.”

Dean gave a grateful smile and a small wave as he answered the phone and left.

Chapter 3

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic series #dean winchester x reader

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bitchassbucky · 3 years

Text

.eps (cut)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warning/s: dark!bucky x dark!reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood mention, gore and dismemberment, murder, toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, sedation/drugging/use of sedative, stockholm syndrome-ish, one very special character reveal

A/N: this version of the epilogue is the 'clean cut' - there's a good chunk of it missing but it's not particularly important to the story. if you want to read the EXPLICIT version, there should be another one uploaded at the same time. (sorry, this is scheduled so i don't have the link yet lol)

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Safeness, comfortability, warmth are all but a false sense of reality.

When a prey takes down its walls, the predator moves in. Camouflaged in familiar colors, in words that you’re used to hearing, in praises, in lies. Most predators use the mask of the night to move in darkness—unyielding and calculated. Come morning, there will be only one left alive, tainted with victory and bloodshed.

You and Bucky have been engaging in a dance for two—a battle of who’s willing to take the leap of faith and unleash hell upon the other.

Stifled smiles and pursed lips.

The air is filled with unsaid irritants, little things that ticked away like bombs.

There was no time for pleading, no time for mercy, no rest for the wicked.

Did you still love each other?

How far are you willing to go to keep up with his… complacency?

Bucky’s mundane life already taking a toll on you. The endless nightmares of him feeling you. The swirling vision of Bucky being with you every waking—and sleeping—moment: it grates your soul to shreds.

“We’ll be together forever, right?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What about the day after forever?”

“That too, honey.”

Where was the man you loved so deeply? The man that broke his morals just to be with you?

Was he under this hull of a Yes Man? A poor little thing that says ‘yes’ to everything like a puppy.

The man you held so dearly now slipping away, chipping his humanity, shedding the once-human.

“Would you marry me tomorrow if I asked you?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t I?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“I’m meant to do the same for you.”

It’s irritating how Bucky gave up too quickly. Too fast, moving too fast. The gazelle let the lion tear its neck as it lay there, unmoving, letting the blood seep into its hide.

When you first met Bucky, it was your own fairytale unfolding before your eyes. Kismet, reality, forgiveness from above. He was soft and shy, passionate, lively.

Far from what you expected from a man his age—you blame Steve for forcing you into his narrative before. That all men are out to get you. They will hurt you. They will use you and leave you for good. But Bucky? Bucky came in like a knight. He saved you from the carcass of your past. He saved you from the sins that you prayed and knelt for.

Bucky taught you how to love.

Bucky taught you how to live for yourself.

Bucky taught you that being alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.

“It was an unspoken little thing, wasn’t it?”

“What thing, baby?”

“Our love.”

“Yes, honey, it was.”

He worships you.

He worships you like a fucking God and you hate it.

Suffocating, too suffocating. You dove straight for the water and now you’re drowning.

Do you still love each other? The question hangs in the air, heavy with its weight, light as a feather.

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.

You stand there with a syringe half-filled with a horse sedative. It’s a concern how easy it is to waltz into a pet store and pick up a general anesthetic. You make a mental note to look at it later.

Bucky’s body slumps forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with a dull thud. If the overdose doesn’t kill him, the weeping crack in his head will.

Holy fuck, humans bleed a lot. And fast. Good thing you already have that clear tarp taped down. Even with the hush money stuffed down your throat, it would take a good nick to regrout the kitchen.

“What is that for, honey?”

“I’m painting the cabinets.”

“Okay, darling.”

So you let him bleed, surprised that the liquid is redder than what you thought it would be. A soft gurgling noise came from Bucky, the last of air escaping his dead body. You stood there, syringe in hand, as you thought how to dispose of a six-foot-tall man without arousing suspicion.

Not that he’ll be missed anyway: the local news and the internet already branded him as a psycho and you as a victim. You were both victims in this fairytale. They reported his case as “skipped the town like the sicko he is.” So, no—no one’s going to look for him.

The sun was high up in the sky and there was a dead body in your kitchen.

A butcher and a surgeon walk into a bar for a drink. “What do you do for a living?” Said the butcher, “I save lives! What about you?” The doctor answers. “I save animals from dying slowly. We’re basically the same. You’re just very clean.” You see, the butcher comes into the bar covered in blood, reeking of death. The surgeon, on the other hand, wears his white coat with pride even though he’s surrounded by death every passing second.

Today was the day you learned that you have the tools of a butcher and the precision of a surgeon. Unlike before.

You carefully take Bucky’s fingers off of his left hand, leaving a skin flap on the edge of the last knuckle for you to stitch close later. Four promises. Four goddamn promises and he broke all of them.

It was his fault that he’s dead. He made you do this.

Placing the body into the trunk of a rental, you begin your journey to the end of your fairytale. Off to the woods, where you buried your first love. In a town where not everyone who dies leaves.

The drive to and from the place was tiring, to say the least. The internet connection of the diners was spotty at best. Locals were overly friendly with the city folks who came passing through their towns. The roads reek of roadkill and manure from the farm animals that were left to roam for fresh grass.

At least you get to come home in a spotless apartment, alone once again.

But not lonely.

Your space is yours again. No trace of anyone anywhere. Immaculately yours.

—

Humans are social creatures.

No one can truly be alone, especially in today’s world where we’re connected to everyone—whether we liked it or not.

Leaving your wretched job behind was an easy feat to do. No one can say no to the victim of such a vile crime. That’s all they saw you: a helpless little thing. So off you went; saying half-assed goodbyes and sending emails of courage and hope and fucking resilience.

Your resignation meant that the company’s free of any dirt from you, Bucky’s disappearance quickly becoming a joke and a rumor blending in one.

They let you leave: in your bank account a fat check ensuring that you’d shut up about the scandal for months until you can’t feed yourself no more. So you packed your bags and jet off without looking back. You never liked that apartment anyway.

Nevertheless, you found yourself looking into another dead-end job in one of the towns you stopped over before. It’s a charming place like time froze in their plaza while the rest of the world went on. You found a small studio apartment in a street tuckered away from the main avenue, you settled there as days became nights and nights turned into days.

You woke up one morning craving a healthy serving of coffee and pancakes, luckily the town’s local diner wasn’t far from your new home.

The coffee was too hot, the pancakes were amazing, fluffy, and just right. You’re sitting in a sunny booth, the warmth doing its wonders.

“Hi, can I get today’s paper, please?” Your voice is sweet as you call your server, giving her a quick smile.

A pair of Raybans adorn your face, unconsciously hiding behind its darkened glasses. The waitress gives you a thick stack of newspapers, refilling your cup with black coffee.

Upon opening the paper, you ignore the town’s headlines and go straight for the job postings. The door jingled open as patrons come in and go, waving to familiar faces.

Job Vacancy Announcements

Secretary to the Town Sheriff

You skimmed over the rest of the details, only noting the address of the office. The job looks quite lucrative for someone who would only take messages and organize files for the sheriff.

Looking over the job posting again, you read over the words walk-ins only. That shouldn’t be hard enough.

The diner looked deserted save from the man sitting behind your booth. Leaning over and tapping his shoulder, you put on a polite smile, “Hi, sorry, do you know how to get to the sheriff’s office from here?”

“Hello, darling.” The man croons in an accent, he looks over to you, “join me in my booth, will ‘ya?”

You’re in no position to reject his proposal, you’re the one who needed an answer.

Taking your coffee cup, you slide into his booth, “hi.”

“Just the face I wanted to see.” Clean-shaven, a hint of mint and smoke, and something woody; a worn leather jacket and white button-up shirt hugging his soft frame. “Some folks over on the apartment complex were talkin’ about a city girl wanting to rent a studio all by herself. That happen to be you?”

You look over to him, trying to understand how that small of news spread like a wildfire, “yeah. I moved in a week ago.”

He leans over, smiling sweetly as he unabashedly lets his eyes roam your features, “What’s a city girl like you doin’ in a place like this? I hope we ain’t too boring for you, gal.”

Chatty—he’s way too chatty.

“Just wanted a change of pace, really. Away from the bustle of the city.” You rustle the paper, clearing your throat to get back on the matter on hand, “so the sheriff’s office? Is it too far from here?”

“What business are ‘ya bringing into the office?”

“A job, actually. Says here that they’re looking for a secretary.” You might as well tell him everything, he seems too chatty to be dismissed over and over again.

“Well, darlin’, today’s your lucky day. No need to drive down the old road.” He reaches down to his seat, pulling up a brown hat, “Hi, I’m Sheriff Bodecker. Now, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

You bite back a giggle, you’ve always wanted to be involved with the law.

#bitchassbucky writes #dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x reader smut #dark!bucky x reader fluff #dark!bucky x reader angst #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader smut #dark!bucky barnes x reader angst #dark!bucky barnes x reader fluff

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rockthistowninsideout · 3 years

Text

DigiWeek 2021

Day 7 - Home (Free Day)

The Story

“Uh-oh as much as you want! Now the time is over for Digimon and all those supporting them!”, the blonde girl shouted and finally rounded the ledge. She wore a red-and-blue checked school uniform and a devilish grin on her face.

“Why would you want to end the Digimon?”, Kamemon cried out.

“Because they are destructive and cannot be trusted!”

“Then why do you have a Digimon partner?”, Ryudamon asked.

The girl, who still hadn’t introduced herself, laughed menacingly. _“_There’s no such thing as Digimon partner. Humans can never live in peace with them. Grizzlymon is merely a tool because it was stupid enough to think the same as you. Wanted to become my partner – Instead I made it my slave. It’s what Digimon deserve to be so mindlessly wrecking.”

“You tested your black spikes on it, didn’t you?” I asked as I caught a glimpse of a sharp tip protruding from its fur.

She eyed me with a gaze that swung between annoyance and approval. “Oh yes! It was really eager to be my guinea pig and I have to admit it’s doing an excellent job as my assassin. But then again Digimon are nothing but war machines.”

“That’s not true!”, Kamemon cried out. It seemed to feel deeply offended by the girl’s sermon.

And I understood that. Kamemon and Ryudamon had been nothing but kind and helpful, and Frezamon had only attacked us because the black spike had corrupted it. Something truly dire had probably happened in her life. To buy time, I asked “What’s your name?”

Her eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. She positioned herself straddle-legged before us, hands on her hips, and declared “I am Tamina and you will soon praise me as the Extinguisher of Digimon!”

Taki leaned into me “She’s got a serious screw loose. White people and their megalomaniac ideas.”

While I wholeheartedly agreed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that some serious trauma bubbled close beneath the surface. Before I could elaborate on that note, she cried “Grizzlymon, attack!”

Her Digimon, or better say, her brainwashed minion, unleashed a Heavy Attack. We could duck down and escape to the right, but the attack was so strong that it shattered the stony ledge we’d been hiding under. The shards were blown in all directions and we only stayed safe because Ryudamon threw itself before us and blocked the shrapnel with its armour.

I looked to Kamemon. “Are you ready?” It nodded. I gripped my DigiVice tightly and as Kamemon started to glow, it vibrated in my hand. When the evolution was done, it identified the new Digimon in our ranks as Gwappamon. Gwappamon was roughly a head or two shorter than what I remembered DexDorugamon to be. Instead of Kamemon’s helmet it had brown dreadlock-like hair that was crowned by a CD. Around its neck a pair of headphones was slung and its belly was stitched and patched up. It parried Grizzlymon’s attack with a Gwappa Punch.

“See, you’re also only using the Digimon as fighters”, Tamina yelled in triumph.

“Well, we don’t want to get ourselves killed by you poor Digimon!”, Taki shouted. “I can only pity it, both of you, actually.”

“Why do you pity me? Pity yourself for being led to believe that Digimon are good!”

We jumped apart when Grizzlymon launched its next attack. I ran towards the rocks where the ice sheet was wedged when an idea struck me. We were four and they were only a pair. We should have an advantage here.

Tamina was concentrated on directing Grizzlymon against Gwappamon who was sparring exceptionally. So I had the chance to communicate with Taki and Ryudamon, at least non-verbally. Taki agreed with my plan: I wanted to lure Grizzlymon away by letting myself be reflected in the ice mirror. That was suppposed to irritate Grizzlymon enough to let its focus slip. Hopefully that gave Ryudamon enough time to jump on Grizzlymon’s back. Then Gwappamon could join forces with Ryudamon and we could pin down Tamina.

I bent down and started forming snow balls. When I had a small battery of them at my feet, I threw them at Grizzlymon with force. After the third, it turned around annoyed. To be on the safe side, I threw a couple more, one hit it straight between the eyes. With a roar, it charged at me. Well, what it supposed was me, but it actually was my reflection it ran towards. Before Tamina could order it to stop it had hit the ice with a sickening crash, the impact was enough to let the ice splitter into a million pieces.

Immediately, Ryudamon was on its back, clawing into its think fur. Grizzlymon roared in agony but before it could shake Ryudamon off, Gwappamon had thrown it into the snow. Tamina was shouting, she tore at her hair, until we were at her sides and gripped her arms tightly. “Let. Me. Go!” she yelled repeatedly, though her voice grew smaller and smaller until she was mere wax in our hands. Uncontrolled sobs were shaking her body. Taki and I looked at each other, we both simply felt sympathy now. We led Tamina towards the yurt where she collapsed in front of the entrance.

I wanted to enter but the darkness that had risen from the chimney had now filled the entire hut so I quickly drew the curtain back and told Taki and Tamina that we had to evacuate right now. Tamina was unable to walk, it seemed that only her rage and misguided mission had been holding her up, so I scooped her up bridal-style and hurried down the mountain as fast as I could.

In passing Taki shouted towards the Digimon to destroy the yurt – Grizzlymon had now been freed from the spike and was looking around confused. Gwappamon sent the CD on its head spinning which tore open a slit in the fabric of the yurt and Ryudamon set the hut ablaze with its Tera Burst. The yurt exploded and the shockwave pushed me several metres down the slope.

We took shelter behind a particularly sturdy looking ledge. I sat Tamina down who was sobbing. “Shh” I said. “You are okay now.”

“Yeah, it’s alright”, Taki seconded. After a brief pause she said “And whenever you’re ready, you can tell us why you hate Digimon so much.”

Tamina was quiet for a few moments, only furiously wiping away the tears from her eyes. I gave her a handkerchief from my school bag. She took it with a grateful expression but she wasn’t smiling yet. Finally she whispered “My mom.” She hiccuped before she could continue “My mom died when Parrotmon and Greymon fought in Hikarigaoka. She was the only victim when she got hit by fallen debris that’s been, well, I don’t know if it came from a bridge, or an apartment building, of it it was a car. It also doesn’t really matter. I wasn’t afraid to see these two creatures fight when I watched them but when I learned that they were responsible for Mommy’s death, I swore revenge. And over the years, my anger only grew whenever I saw Digimon running rampant in the city and all across the globe. They caused malfunctions and destroyed everything. But as far as I know my mom was the only fatality in all those year. I always felt that the government wasn’t doing enough so I itched for a chance to right it myself.”

She paused to inhale deeply. “And some time ago, I don’t if it’s been hours, or days, or weeks – time works different in the Digital World – I walked home from school when someone called me down a stairwell between two streets. The voice came from behind a gate between two houses, and when I stepped through it, I was in the Digital World, right in front of the yurt, with Bearmon waiting beside it. The voice told me that it understood my sorrow and wanted to help me with my revenge.”

A few minutes ago, the girl had wanted to dominate the world but now I could feel nothing but sorry for her. Out of an instinct, I hugged her tightly, and Taki on the other side did the same. Our Digimon came back from their battle, they had evolved to their previous levels.

When Tamina spotted her former slave she called “Oh Bearmon, I’m so sorry!”, and teared up again.

Bearmon came towards her to hug her, saying “It’s alright now.”

Kamemon walked over to me and said “We told Bearmon what happened. It was very understanding.”

“Thank you for tel-”. Before I could finish the sentence, there was a blast that shook the earth. We flinched, then I peaked over the ledge to discover a huge crater where the hut used to be.

“That wasn’t us!” Kamemon declared.

From the crater rose smoke that transformed into tentacles halfway through. “Ah shucks!”, I muttered.

“Did you really think it was over? What you defeated was merely a puppet, a disposable I would have gotten rid of anytime if the time had come. And the time has come!”

“That’s it! That’s the voice that called me here. Oh my God!” Tamina wailed, shaking vigorously.

“Stop it!”, I said firmly. “We need your help now. If we want to win against – well, whatever that is, we need to stand united.”

Tamina looked frightened at me. “I don’t think I can.”

I lifted her head gently at the chin to look directly into her eyes. “Listen to me. I’m really sorry what happened to your mom. But the Digimon are not to blame for her death. And neither your vendetta nor your indecision will bring her back. What we need to focus on right now is to save the Digital World, and probably our human world too. I don’t know who’s behind the voice but I’m pretty sure they don’t want to spare us. What Ryudamon over there told me was that the Dark Forces had always aimed for the human world too. It’s the rest of your family who’s in danger now. This is your chance to save them!”

She stared at me like a hare. Her shaking stopped, she swallowed hard before she nodded. “Okay.”

“Wonderful.” I briefly hugged her, then pulled her up on her feet.

We gathered together, back to back, gazing up to the sky. It darkened by the second, the clouds spun faster and faster until some sort of vent had formed. “Prepare for doom!”, the voice thundered.

Taki grabbed my hand on the left side, Kamemon on the right. “Ready?”, she asked.

I nodded. “Let’s do this

Gwappamon

Also:

HAPPY ODAIBA DAY!!

Thank you so much for organizing the event @earlgreymon and @tangledupblue! It was wonderful to see us Digimon fans reunited again and to share our love for an anime that’s been with us for more than 20 years.

#digiweek2021 #digimon #digimon adventure #my oc #my stories

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memorystormsanctuary · 3 years

Text

Day 5~ Memories

As touched upon yesterday, X has a lot of memories. So for today's @khoc-week it's another difficult choice. I decided to go with a character interaction I had never had a chance to write before, but now I'm glad I did. With all the memories X has of centuries past, I thought it might be interesting to see what Naminé would have to say about him.

(Forgive any weird formatting I'm on mobile.)

X had never had a chance to speak to Namine. He had heard a few things about the Nobody from the others. The members of the organizations had always spoken of her like she was some kind of witch. Which was amusing to X considering the magic most of them were capable of. But he had only ever heard stories of what she could do with memories. All they needed was have the faintest tie to Sora and she had complete control of all their memories. Something that was scary to even think about.

DiZ had less nice things to say about her. He had already gotten annoyed listening to the man wrapped in bandages. He didn’t know why his sister was bothering with him, but he hoped she had a good reason. All he had gotten so far was a shared grudge against Xehanort, which was fair enough but he hoped there was more going on. DiZ tended to say Namine was just a nuisance, which he supposed was why he had brought X aside and asked him to take her out silently. X had no intentions of doing such a thing, but he was curious to meet her. So he’d take advantage of the offer.

Namine was waiting in Castle Oblivion. Well, not waiting, but that was the reports of where she was hiding. X wasn’t sure where DiZ got his information but he didn’t see a point in arguing it. Which was why he stood in front of the strange castle in the middle of nowhere.

X hated this castle. If he looked hard enough he could see the way it needed to bend to return to what it had once been. It was a place filled with unpleasant memories for him. And he didn’t want to have to drag that up. So instead he pushed past the twisting feeling in his gut and the ringing in his ear that sounded too much like Terra’s yells and into the castle.

Inside he found something he didn’t expect.

Namine was there, sitting calmly on the steps that would lead up to the first floor. While he hadn’t expected to find her so easily, what surprised him more was the giant black and white bird wrapped around her. The Heartless chirped in warning, moving to cover Namine more.

“Whoa Phoenix, I’m not going to hurt her,” X said, holding up his hands. He watched as the fire covered bird slowly cocked its head before stepping back, its chirps continuing softly. X turned his attention off of Phoenix back onto Namine.

She didn’t really strike him as anything special. She was small and petite, with blonde hair brushed over one shoulder. A sketch book sat on her lap, pulled close to her chest along with her knees. Wide blue eyes watched him as he entered farther into the room. Those were the strangest things about her. They were so familiar, but X couldn’t place where he had seen them before.

“Namine, I presume?” X asked as he came to a stop.

“Yes,” she answered, looking down to avoid his eyes. X held in a snicker. She really shouldn’t be so ready to answer.

“We haven’t met, my name’s X,” he said calmly. “Technically DiZ wants me to dispose of you since no one else has done the job. But to be honest I’m not really interested in it.” She looked up at him almost shocked by his words. He waited for her to speak, but it didn’t seem she was going to after a pause. She only continued to stare at him, blue eyes searching. X hoped it was just the eyes of an artist, and not her searching for something deeper. “I just wanted a chance to talk to you.”

“About what?” Namine asked. Her eyes still were taking him in. At least now they had moved from his face and were onto the rest of his features.

“I’ve heard what you can do to memories, I was curious to see if it was true,” X admitted. He stepped closer to her, waiting for any kind of reaction. But she gave him none, only returning her gaze to his face. Something about the look in her eyes unsettled him, the look of surprise and confusion.

“You have so many,” Namine said. X froze where he stood.

“What?”

“Most, only have a relatively short chain. But, you don’t,” Namine said. X tightened his hand beside him, trying to hide the way her words had shaken him to the core. The way he could feel his chest about to explode. “Yours is so long, and coiled around and around. In some places it even seems like it's multiple chains.”

“I guess it’s true,” X said. He forced himself to chuckle. “Ok, so you see how many memories I have. No biggie. What else can you tell me?”

Namine didn’t speak to answer, instead she lowered her sketch pad and began drawing. She worked soundlessly, the only thing to be heard was the movement of her pencil and Phoenix’s chirps. X wasn’t sure what the point of it was, but he allowed her to continue. He took the moment to steady his breathing and mind. It wasn’t like she was the first to know all he carried. She probably wouldn’t be able to tell him much more.

Soundlessly Namine turned her sketch pad towards X. He took a step forward, expecting nothing. But what he saw stole his breath away from him.

It was a scene he saw often when his memories got out of control. A young pair of children both dressed the same, one offering the other a stack of clothing. X could hear one pleading the other to run, to disguise herself and escape while he took her punishment. It made his blood run cold.

“How did you know about this?” he demanded.

“It was the memory closest to the beginning that wasn’t really your own,” Namine explained. She slowly pulled her sketch pad back. X didn’t move. He couldn’t. How did she know? “I am a witch who has power over the memories of those connected to Sora. You are one of those people.”

“I see why so many people were interested in you,” X muttered. He slowly pulled himself back, looking away from her as if that would protect him. How much had she seen? How much did she know? Who would she tell? Phoenix was here, that meant Yuki wasn’t far behind. Would she tell Yuki?

“Do they trouble you?” Namine asked. X turned his attention back to her, despite his better judgement. Namine seemed to understand his silent question as she shifted again. “The memories of your past lives? If, if they did I could seal them like your sisters.”

“Seal?” X asked.

“Yes. It would help you forget,” Namine explained. “But, like your sister you would lose what little power you have kept. You would be almost normal.”

For a moment X could only stare at the Nobody. The idea running through his head. He could forget too? Just like she had all those years ago. When they had begged and begged for the pain to stop. For the torture to end. They had lived the same lives on repeat. And nothing ever changed. He could forget all of the struggle.

What would happen if he forgot?

X almost felt the chill go down his back at the very thought. If he forgot would they make her remember? Was it linked between them? He would never make her carry what he did. She had suffered enough this time around. He had made the promise to remember a long time ago. To protect her from this. To let her have her light as long as she desired it.

“I think I’ll pass,” X said. He glanced back at Namine to see her drawing once again. This time he could understand the memory he saw on her paper. He and his sister along with another woman. The ones who had asked for the change.

“I thought you might,” Namine admitted. “But I thought I should offer. You carry more than you should sometimes.”

“Yeah,” X agreed mindlessly. “Listen, about what you know-”

“I won’t tell,” Namine said. “I’ll keep it our secret.” X could only stare at her in shock. She really wasn’t what she first appeared at all. Just who was this girl?

“Thanks,” X said. Namine only nodded, continuing her drawings as if nothing had happened. X slowly turned his back returning to the door. It took every part of him not turn back and look at her again.

It was quite a power she had.

#kingdom hearts #kh #oc #kingdom hearts oc #x #khocweek2021 #khoc #heartless #naminé

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storysofmyown · 4 years

Text

Obey me! The passing of time

Plot: One by one, the brothers start to notice how Mc changes as time goes by.

Warning: None that I can think of

Word Count:2480 words

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

It started slow, very slow. You never noticed, of course you didn't. For you, this was something entirely normal but for the demons, it wasn't. After all, they could live for millenniums without suffering much but a cold but... for a human well... that's another story.

So no, you didn't notice as you grew older and started to look older, but the brothers certainly did.

The first one to notice was Asmodeus. The two of you were in one of those intense cuddling sessions; while he stroked your hair, he suddenly noticed a white hair. It made him froze in an instant.

Aging

It was such a slow process for them, for demons, angels and alike. But for humans, humans didn't even have a fraction of a demons life span. They all knew it. Humans were so fragile that even sleeping in a wrong position could hurt them. Yet, here you were. A human, surrounded by demons and still being able to hold your self with such confidence, sometimes even he forgot you were not one of them. Nevertheless, here you were mortal. Because you were human after all.

Asmodeus stared at your sleeping face, so peaceful... It made his heart ache, how has he gotten so close to you? To appreciate you as much as he does? To cherish you, to adore you...to love you? That night, he vowed to make the best of the time you two spend together. Occasionally, you noticed his sad face while painting your nails... but you never mentioned it.

The next one to notice was Belphegor; you usually napped together after classes every day, to get your energy up. However, he started to notice unusual sleeping patterns, the way you slept less at night and more during the day. At first, he thought it was probably Leviathan keeping you awake while gaming at night or watching some anime, but when Levi made a comment about you not connecting in a few days it sunk in.

He had researched human aging once, not because he cared or any deeper reason. He was just curious. He read that getting older, for some people, implied changes in their sleep routine. After that, he started noticing how tired you were often, the black circles underneath your eyes.

Ever since that day, he found himself thinking of Lilith, death, and mortality. Why? There wasn't any real reason, but just something in his heart that made him remember of how long ago his time at the Celestial Realm was every time he looked at you.

Ever since that, Belphie makes sure you go to bed at a reasonable hour, and even uses just a little of his demon powers to make sure you get enough sleep, and if sometimes he stayed awake just to look at you sleep... well that was for him to know and for you to never find out.

Next, was Lucifer. You both had fallen into a kind of routine; you would help him organize papers and such, nothing too important, just to help him around with minor stuff. Today was one of those days. He was looking at some papers and he gave you the ones that weren’t so important to either categorize or to dispose of. He lifted his gaze from the papers for just one second and noticed that something was off. The scene before him… it wasn't quite right. Maybe it was the fact that you had been looking at the same paper for 4 minutes trying to figure out where it belongs, or how your figure seemed... smaller for some reason.

As he stared at you, he suddenly remembered something. The Exchange Program you had participated in ended a while ago, but you had chosen to stay with them. He tied the knots by figuring that, yes, some time had passed since then and it was normal you didn't look the same. So, he kept reading a paper but then realization hit him…. the exchange program ended more than 15 years ago.

It cut him like a knife. It felt like yesterday you had just gotten into the Devildom and now... it had been more than 15 years. For him, it felt like nothing, but for you, a mere human, it must feel like a lifetime ago. Lucifer put the paper down, and suggested you two went out for dinner that night.

You found it odd, but not unwelcomed, and if this started to become a habit between the two... well you sure were not going to question it.

Then, it was Satan the one who noticed. You were reading with him, when he saw you struggling to read some words. You kept shuffling the book closer and then further from you, making weird faces and sighing in frustration. He put it down as you not being particularly interested in that book. So he suggested that the two of you took a break and watched the new episode of a detective show they were airing.

However, it kept happening every time you read together. So, one day Satan surprised you with a trip to the human world… but for medical reasons, he took you to an oculist. While waiting for you, he was reading a book, and he saw an old person walk by him. He then looked at the book and the first word his eyes saw hurt him.

Death

He read around thousands of books explaining humans. From the way their minds worked on a psychological and biological way, to the way a human’s body rotted after dead. Quite fascinating, but the thought of that happening to you... made him land from his fantasyland. Once you came out you, to no one's surprise, announced that you needed reading glasses, he only smiled and told you to pick whatever style you preferred. As you looked around and asked for his opinion on the glasses, Satan noticed another thing.

Even if you were getting older, your spirit was still the same. And that made him smile genuinely. Afterwards, he seemed to be more and more interested in your health and stuff like that, you really didn't question it, your memory was already bad, so it was not bad to have someone remind you to take your vitamins.

Beelzelbub has been sneaking into the kitchen every night of his long life. But specifically, tonight he sneaked into the kitchen and found you, bent over the counter with just a glass of water. He smiled and asked if you were also hungry, but you shook your head, explaining that the dinner you had eaten earlier made your stomach ache and you just wanted some water.

Beelzelbub stared in confusion, after all it was not often food made him feel ill. But lately, this has been something that happened to you a lot. He figured his midnight snack could wait and gave you a hug, hoping it will make you feel better. You smiled and hugged him back, resting against him.

You felt... tired and it wasn't because it was almost midnight or because you had a tummy ache... no, it was a different type of tiredness. After a while, you smiled at Beel and went back to your room. Beel staid in the kitchen, not eating but thinking. He was worried about you; Lucifer mentioned the other day a little off of hand that you seemed weaker.

Beel didn't pay much attention to it, until now. His mind went from Lilith to you, how that affected him, and suddenly, the answer was clear. Beel slumped in himself and tried hard not to wake anyone up on the way to his room. Ever since that day, he asked you to work out with him, even for just a little bit, and the intense cuddling sessions were now even more intense.

The truth was he was scared of losing you too. Only Belphie knew that, and he planned to keep it like that. And if the nightmares ever shifted from Lilith to you well... at least he had you to hold his hand... for now.

It was 3 am... and if Belphegor knew you were awake at this unholy hour he might kill Leviathan and never let you sleep alone in your room again. But here you were, Levi had told you he would be binging one of his favorite animes all night, and you just had to watch it with him. So there you were, 3 am and both, you and Levi, watching anime.

Levi was all excited about the story, the characters, and the plot but you... not so much. So, you ended up falling asleep. Once Levi noticed, he muttered something about how your normie blood had taken the better of you, before falling silent as he kept watching the anime. There, right in the middle of the screen, the protagonist best friend had been killed. Blood was everywhere and the episode ended. Levi's eyes fell on you.

You were Levi's only friend, and the thought of losing a friend made him break a bit. He’s been noticing how you have changed in the passing of time, but he never actually stopped to think of the implications of that. Humans die, very, very easily. He wasn't certain on how much longer you would be around to spend time with him, do cosplays, and talk about anime or manga. He was going to be as lonely as the Lord of the Shadows was before Henry became their friend.

Leave his room? He never did such thing. At least not for a few days after that realization hit him... but then he realized that he was wasting SO MUCH TIME. So, after that, wherever you were, Levi was. He started to talk more about your own interests and stuff. It was nice, he learned new stuff about you, and while the thought of losing you always lingered in the back of his head, he wanted to be close to you no matter what.

Now Levi spent less than 4 hours in his room during the day, it was a miracle really... that was something absolutely no one has ever done before. And honestly, you were not going to question it.

Finally, Mammon, THE Great Mammon noticed. You two were walking in town after one of his photoshoots. He was going on and on about how amazing he was while you trailed behind him... really behind him. Once he noticed, he slowed his pace to match yours. You started talking about something else entirely when suddenly your D.D.D rang. While you answered he checked the hour, and upon looking at his background, he felt a part of himself die.

As his background, he had set a picture of you and him. Not taken too long ago, just a few years... or so he thought. You looked so different. Your hair was now entirely white, matching his; he noticed the wrinkles around your face and the glasses that you now had to use all the time. Mammon fell silent. You informed him that Lucifer had called and wanted you two home now. He just nodded and didn’t say a word for the rest of the walk. You found it weird because... well, because it's Mammon, but you didn't mention it.

That night, Mammon didn't go to your room. He stayed in his, thinking about everything. Thinking how he didn’t notice that you were growing old. He was always with you, ALWAYS. It was impossible for HIM to not notice. Yet here he was, wondering how time slipped between his fingers, and now who knows how much time you would spend together. Mammon cried... all night, no one knew because he made sure it was a silent cry... but the idea of losing someone he cared about so much. IT hurt when Lucifer confiscated Goldie, and he knew losing you would feel the same... who was he kidding? It was going to be worse, so much worse. And so, he cried, but only for that night, the next day he was his usual self just... now he was aware. Suddenly he was being super kind to you and buying you stuff.

It weirded you out but it was fine, you let him have it... you knew what it was about. You started at him with a smile on your lips, ruffled his hair and made snarky comment about him already being broke and to stop spending in you.

If Mammon never left your side before just imagine now. And he was not the only one. You were constantly followed around by a group of demons that wanted to spend time with you. You knew why, but you never mention it... why would you?

Mammon and the others had never talked about it, they refused to do so but whenever you didn't look, they looked at each other, and with sad expression, they made sure to take in the moment, to save it in their hearts.

It was night. You and the seven brothers have been having a horror night but you were tired already. Your entire body ached. And halfway through the movie you fell asleep.

You woke up by a hand shaking you, once you opened your eyes you saw Lucifer. You smiled at him, sat up, and, to everyone surprise, hugged him. Blame it on your half-asleep state, but you dared to hug him, and even give him a kiss on the cheek. Then proceed to hug and kiss every other brother.

No one knew what had gotten into you, but once you kissed Belphegor and were about to say good night, Beel and Asmo pulled you into another hug, and before you realized, you were in a cuddle mountain with ALL the brothers. Lucifer may have taken a little convincing but at the end, he joined you all. After an intense two hours of cuddling, you went to your room. As you laid down in the bed with a smile plastered on your lips, you felt... at peace. With how your life had been up to this point, with how much you loved those seven idiots. Yeah, you really loved them.

During breakfast the next day, none of the brother ate. Not even Beelzeebub, they all waited patiently for you, they wanted to wait for you, even though... all of them knew you were not going to come down the stairs.

That's how it was, humans are born and humans die in less time than any other creature. It was the sad reality of their world, and as the brothers waited for a human that was never going to come down the stairs, all they could think about was you. It was sad, but it was true. And even if they were never going to see you, again... they really were grateful for everything.

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

Hello sweeties, this is actually the first fan fic I've ever made. I could not get this idea out of my head so I just had to write it. Hope y'all enjoy it!

#obey me one master to rule them all #obey me!#obey me #obey me! asmodeus #obey me! lucifer #obey me belphie #obey me beelzebub #obey me lilith #obey me leviathan #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me satan

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 years

Note

Imagine: Erik always rubbing the readers belly, because she loves it more than she does.

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Plus Size/Curvy Reader, Breeding Kink.

This is a short Imagine. Enjoy!

Y/N hated her belly. She felt like she couldn’t be sexy in anything skin tight and that included lingerie. Since she was so self conscious about it, Y/N always wore her tops oversized or she would wear flannels and cardigans. Still to this day, Y/N couldn’t understand why her boyfriend, Erik, loved her belly so damn much. When he first approached her at a bar and grill while she was out with friends, she thought he was pulling a prank on her. No man that fine would dare to ask her out with her size.

Her friends and family stayed on her ass whenever she talked like that. One asshole from her past made her believe that she was unlovable and disgusting. There were times where she felt beautiful though. Those times included when she got her hair and makeup done or when she wore a particular outfit that hugged her curves in a way that made her feel sexy for once. This Erik guy… her new man, expressed how much he would love to make her his girl through texts, over the phone, and in person. Always overly touchy, always freaky and vocal about how much he loved her big thighs and rolls.

“More for me to nibble on,” He would say.

It took her at least a month to finally consider having sex with him. When she decided to give her body to Erik she pulled out a gift bag from him in the back of her closet that contained lingerie, handcuffs, a vibrator that he could control when he was away, and a dildo that is the exact mold of his big dick. She dressed in the red teddy that was completely see-through, showing off her big areolas, dimpled fat ass, juicy thighs, and beautiful broad belly.

The minute Erik saw her dressed up in the lingerie he spent his money on, her nipples out and hard, pussy sitting fat, ass wide and ready to be spanked, he gave her one warning, and that warning was clear for the remainder of the night.

“Oh… you’re about to get it, girl.”

He picked her up, her legs wrapped around his waist, carried her to the bedroom, slammed her down on the bed and with little patience took control of her body in ways she only dreamed of. Moaning, crying, groaning, body exposed, ass in the air, pussy in his mouth, dick in her mouth, voluptuous body glistening from the intense sex, Y/N didn’t complain anymore. Her man’s actions proved to her that she was indeed a sexy woman who’s body deserved to be loved on and fucked. Erik didn’t care about her size. He didn’t care about what society’s “beauty standards” are. When he looked at her, when he touched her, she excited him in ways that words couldn’t begin to express.

Besides his well-hung dick, Y/N also had to get used to their cuddle sessions. Erik has a habit of rubbing Y/N’s belly and squeezing it. When he first did it she was appalled and she pushed his hand away, covering her belly. Now, after getting all that fat dick up in her wet pussy she let Erik do whatever he wanted to her. If he wanted to get between her legs and nibble on her belly, she would let him. That’s what her man is currently doing now. He came over on a rainy Friday night with a fruit salad and a supreme pizza. She said she was craving it so he picked it up on his way. Drenched from head to toe with a Pizza Hut box in his hand and a bag that contained her fruit salad, Erik enters her apartment while Y/N held the door open for him.

“It’s pretty bad out there, baby,” Y/N stood up on her tiptoes to kiss Erik against his soft, full lips, “You shouldn’t drive in this weather.”

“I’m safe, aren’t I?” Erik says while savoring the taste of her lip gloss with a lick of his lips.

“Yeah, but,” Y/N’s words were cut short again when Erik’s lips pressed into hers. They tongue kissed, tasting each other’s mouths and nibbling on each other’s lips.

Y/N broke the kiss, wiping her chin, “Erik I’m serious I don’t want you getting into an accident with that car-“

“Aye, I’m good. I wanted to see you,” Walking away, Y/N gave up worrying over his erratic driving and closed the door to her apartment. Erik was inside of her kitchen grabbing foam plates and two red disposable cups. Y/N joined him inside of her kitchen, standing next to him at her kitchen counter near the stove to watch him pile pizza slices and fruit on both of their plates.

“Yesssss, you got the fruit salad with the kiwis and mangos in it,” Y/N clapped cheerfully.

“Still got some honey?” Erik asks making her smile.

“You know me so well, yeah, it’s in the cabinet next to the fridge…yeah…no, top-shelf babe.”

Erik finds the organic honey, grabbing it from the top shelf and opening the yellow cap to drizzle some on top of her fruit.

“This set up is weird,” She says with a scrunch of her nose.

“I think it’ll be bomb.”

“We’ll see,” Y/N thanks Erik before grabbing her plate and heading towards the living room.

“I’ll be out, girl, let me fill these cups with some liquor.”

“Not too much in mine!” She knew it was Hennessy and she couldn’t drink too much of it because it always made her feel sick when she drank too much.

Erik joined Y/N a minute later, Erik seated on the floor between her legs while Y/N sat on the couch. She actually liked the combination of the supreme pizza with the fruit and honey. Erik even went back for seconds and another full cup of Hennessy. They were both watching Booty Call with Jamie Foxx, laughing and vibing like they always do. His thick fingers started running up the back of her calf and down to her feet. Squirming where she sat, Y/N tries to pay attention to the movie but Erik’s rubbing and groping fought for dominance. Giving in, Y/N raises one of her legs to Erik’s shoulder.

“I can’t watch the movie when you do that, Erik,” Y/N spoke softly.

“And I can’t pay attention to the movie when you smell like you do and feel the way you do…you keep forgetting what you do to me, girl.”

“What could I possibly be doing now that has you so worked up?” Y/N asks, mostly so she could swoon over his response.

“Because you’re deliciously thick and yummy…anything you do turns me on you know that,” Erik looks over his shoulder at Y/N, “You just wanted me to say it.”

“Yeah, I did,” She admits with no shame, “You make me feel good about myself…”

“I want you to know how sexy you are…beautiful all over…I made you open up more when I gave you this dick, now every time you walk past a mirror with those chocolate cakes, heavy breasts, sexy plumpness that I just wanna fucking bite…you’ll see a beautiful, sexy woman. See? I love that smile.”

Y/N grinned from ear to ear with her leering smile.

“So beautiful, girl, always remember that,” Erik turned on his knees, bringing his face closer to hers before taking hold of her bottom lip with his teeth and dragging it into his mouth. Erik kisses with so much ardor. His hand is on Y/N’s chin, both of their heads moving from side to side while he attached her lips. His deep grunts into her mouth caused Y/N to claw the couch. He makes these noises because of how much she turns him on. Her panties surely has a dampened spot by now.

“Delicious, sweet chocolate,” Erik whispers against her lips, “I wanna hold you now…let’s go we’re getting in that bed, ma.”

Y/N knows exactly what that means. She eagerly lifted from the couch, taking the lead while grabbing Erik’s hand to guide him. They walked to her bedroom, Erik switching on the light and closing the door. Y/N was wearing a onesie shorts pajama set with no access to her stomach. Erik takes off his T-shirt and grey sweatpants, completely naked like he’d rather be. He practiced naturism privately. A Naturist who is lascivious and salacious in the best way. She’d never met a man so openly sexual and full of life before. To him, sex is the most fun you can have without laughing.

Laying naked on the bed, hands behind his head and his big black dick nice and solid against his thigh, Erik motioned with a curl of his finger for Y/N to come to him. Without further instruction, Y/N began to undress, the expression on Erik’s face so filled with desire and longing she moaned a little. He stared at her breasts while gnawing on his pouty bottom lip, then his eyes traveled down to her round belly, taking in the beautiful pattern of her stretch marks before landing on her juicy and succulent pussy. Y/N’s pussy is nice and fat and filled with all the wetness in the world. Like a rain puddle, Y/N’s tight, sweet pussy is a home for Erik’s dick and tongue anytime and all the time.

“So inviting,” Erik says with a low tone, “Come here so I can squeeze you.”

Y/N gave Erik a shy smile before crawling in bed with him, turning her back towards him so that her ass rested against his crotch. Erik’s dick is really on hard as it poked her ass. His hand came up and around her body, pressing against her belly to rub it in slow, soothing circles while his tongue slithered up and down her exposed neck. Y/N’s broad hips thrust back against his dick with a bite of her lip while he French kisses from her neck down to her shoulder.

“Damn…juicy looking body,” Erik whispered in her ear, “uhmmmm, is this my breakfast, lunch and dinner, ma? If so I’m ready,” Erik chuckles, causing Y/N to giggle, “a fucking meal…Daddy would love to show you what this tongue and dick can do…I just wanna eat that fat pussy and enjoy your cum all over my face…how’s that sound?”

With his hands rubbing, squeezing, and jiggling all over her stomach, thighs, ass, and titties, Y/N didn’t need convincing. She just wanted Erik to lift up one of her thick legs so he could eat her pussy from the side like he enjoyed so much. Then, she wanted him to hold her legs open wide into a side-to-side split while he fucked her and watched her breasts bounce and sway. He always liked smacking them and mushing them together.

“You are making my fucking mouth water,” He says with his dick nestled between her abundant cheeks.

“Erik,” She moans.

“Yeah, Daddy wants you bad, girl,” Erik pulls Y/N down flat against the bed while he positioned himself between her thighs, “play with your titties…do it.”

Y/N’s hands found her heavy breasts, twirling her nipples and pushing them together with her arms squeezing them. Her large chocolate areolas and nipples held his gaze like a pair of eyes.

“Pudgy pussy looking good good,” Her chocolate pussy looked so lavish covered in her natural fluids made her clit, and inner folds glisten, “Goddamn it’s so plump.”

She shivered when his thumb teased her clit before his hands dragged up her body to her belly. He stared into her eyes with his dilated pupils while he squeezed her belly lovingly. Y/N licked her lips when Erik leaned forward to flick his tongue in her belly button. Grabbing her titties, Y/N watched Erik bite her belly softly and drag his tongue over her stretch marks. She whimpers while moving her big titties around in a circle, mimicking how Erik would do it. His sexy, athletic body with all its hardness against her soft flesh felt amazing, especially with all the sweat from her. At this point he was putting passion marks all over her belly.

“Erik…fuck, you love my body so much,” Y/N moans, “You’re so good to me, Daddy.”

“You are just perfect,” Erik kisses around her belly button before looking up at her from in between her breasts with his beautiful eyes and long lashes.

“I’m so wet for you and you didn’t even fuck me yet…you get me so wet.”

“And you make my dick hard,” Erik lifts to his knees, grabbing one of Y/N’s hands to rest on his dick, “That’s because I want you right fucking now, girl.”

“Fuck me then, Daddy, please,” Y/N stroked his dick while rubbing her thumb across the tip of his dick, “Fuck me and tell me how much you love my pussy and my body…I can’t wait just put your dick deep in me.”

“Goddamn, ma,” Erik grabs his dick from her hand, rubbing her clit with it before sliding his dick into her snug and creamy pussy Y/N stared at his dick with a burning desire. While she fingered her clit, Y/N spreads her thighs even more. She craved his dick. All she wanted and needed was to be fucked. Erik held her thighs back while his big dick spread her tight pussy open. She hissed from his thickness at first but minutes later her warm, wet pussy opened up for him and covered him in her cream. Pussy making sloshing noises while Erik grunted and growled, Y/N twirled her nipples for him.

“You’re so juicy, baby…fuck…Daddy just wants to nibble and suck all over your body…mmm…”

“Yes, Daddy. Ooh-“

“Pussy so wet…keep it so wet for Daddy like a good slut-“

“Fuckkkk, fuck me, fuccccck-“

“I don’t feel sorry for stretching this little pussy I’m getting all this dick up in you…Pretty ass face and phat juicy, pretty, pussy lips-“

“Shit it’s so damn thick-“

“I’ma suck your beautiful pussy when you cum…cum on this fucking dick so I can suck that pussy up-“

“Yess, yes, yes, yes,” Y/N’s fingers shook while she rubbed at her clit. Erik’s thrusts increased with the speed of her fingers to make her cum hard and fast. She stared at him with pining desire before her eyes dragged down to his big fat dick drilling her with a slam of his hips.

“Where’s that fucking cum at? Huh? Give it to me,” He fucked her so hard her belly jiggled with her titties.

“FU-“

“Don’t worry, you ain’t even gotta talk I know what to do with your thick ass,” Erik brought Y/N’s legs back so her toes touched the headboard. In a push-up position, Erik dropped down strong into her pussy with his powerful hips. Y/N clawed his waist, while he stuffed her pussy deeply. Erik wanted to paint her cervix with his cum. With a plentiful body like hers, he wanted to breed her. He’d cum in her pussy so many times already and now he will make it his job to fill her deep pussy up with as much cum as it can hold.

“I’m cumming, you’re pussy is cumming for you, Daddy, you’re fat pussy is cumming! Ahhhh!”

Erik withdrew his dick with speedy delight before his lips caught her sugary filling with a craving close to starvation. Erik slobbered all over Y/N’s juicy twat until the mixture of fluids coated her asshole. She could feel her pussy clench each time he sucked on her clit like he was sucking whipped cream from a strawberry. She couldn’t help herself as she climaxed again on his pointed tongue. He slurped from her honey pot until her legs squeezed his head tightly. Wet face and beard, Erik lifted up, grabbing hold of her titties and with the strength of his hips, he thrusts forward into her fat pussy.

“Good girl, take Daddy’s dick, baby,” Erik leans over her body to suck on her nipples. He slowed down his strokes to a sinuous rhythm with a swivel of his hips. Y/N could feel every vein along his girthy shaft and how thick his tip is brushing directly over her G-spot.

“You look so beautiful taking all this dick. Daddy’s big dick is stuffing this little pussy and I’m filling you up with all my fucking nut since you wanna look at me with those sexy ass eyes…” he couldn’t go slow anymore because it was challenging from how good her tight pussy is.

“Shit, I’m fucking cumming again!” She shouted while slapping her clit, “ohmigoddddddd,” her words came out jumbled.

“Pussy is eating this fucking dick, shit-goddamn,” Erik grunts, “Hmph, I was daydreaming about this shit all fucking day LOOK AT THIS DICK NOW.”

His gruff tone made Y/N shiver as her eyes watched his dick pump her good and full. Using her large titties as leverage, Erik’s hips smacked painfully into her thighs causing her flesh to sting. Every muscle in his body flexed and his face frowned with a hankering to cum deep in her pussy. Y/N held her thighs open wider, using all of her self control to handle his crazy strokes to her pussy until he exploded. He began to swell and pulsate inside of her and Y/N’s nails were digging into the flesh of her thighs.

“Shit, Daddy-“

“Damn! This tight, gripping pussy! you see all that shit?! all this cream on my fucking dick like this? huh?!”

One of Erik’s hands came around Y/N’s head to pull her forward in a crunch position so he could hold his dick nice and deep inside of her pussy with so much force that he was pressed firmly against her cervix. Her ankles shook and her eyes rolled up into her lids. He was cumming so much and he still stroked her pussy. She could see his cum covered dick and she could feel how sloppy it is going in and out of her.

“Shit…I got more nut for you, baby,” He spoke between clenched teeth, “Fuckkkkkkkk, baby, fuckkkkkkk.”

“Umph!! Umph!!! Umph!!” She felt that this time, “THAT’S IT DADDY CUM INSIDE ME. PUMP IT BABY!!!!!!!” Y/N shouted to the ceiling.

“Ahhhhhhhh, FUCK!” Erik buries his face into her neck, fighting for his breath while his hips jerked out of his control. Y/N squeezed him tightly, her hand rubbing the back of his head soothingly.

“It’s okay, Daddy,” Y/N kissed his forehead, “You came so much,” She says with emerging gasps. She could feel him slipping out of her pussy.

Erik pulled in a lung full of air before lifting up to stare into her eyes. He pecked her lips a few times before chuckling softly. Y/N smiled up at him while rubbing sweat from his forehead.

“You see what I mean?” He whispers shallowly from his lungs, “that’s how much I enjoy your body, baby…and it’s all mine to play with,” Erik kisses Y/N with passion and lots of tongue action.

Gasping for air, Y/N pulls back from him, “it’s all yours, Daddy…whenever you want it…just keep fucking me and loving on me the way you do…it drives me crazy.”

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh @chaneajoyyy @pananegra @theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah @eyeknowmywrites @crowngold @njadakillthiscookie @blktinkerbell @luvanxi @sheisexcellent1 @chocolatedippedinhoney @brandithecrystalgem @dababydababydababydababy @soulfulbeauty19 @btitannaaa @sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted @harleycativy @rbhp @thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone @palmstreesallday @skylahb @bakaris-shorty @nizzle-mo @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser @theegoldenchild @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark @rent-emspoons @abluesforlyssa @abeautifulmindexposed @fd-writes @chasingsunlight @sickaddiktions @munteanhore @xo-goldengirl @tiava143 @33kiara@honeytoffee @asiasblackworld727 @momobaby227 @informalmelancholy @soulshinechronicles @hearteyes-for-killmonger @goddessofthundathighs @soulfxll @whazzzupmyhitta @seyven89 @lahuttor @janelledarling @shewritestheblues @fanfangal @kreolemami @thoughtsoftheantagonist @luvwitoutlimit1 @mygirlrenee @hippiesandpeacesigns @alittlejd @jaysaidhi @thewaysheis–awkward @walkrightuptothesun @sweetestdream92 @shawnstacksss @theesotericqueen @mareethequeen @browngirldominion @ceeverse @therealmrsrhodes @sensitivelegend @teheeboo @yomiloo @msreshel-blog @bbygirrll05 @fahi0nanart @afteracouplepuffss @shaelyn102 @yaminax-kuss-a @lackbbaby @amyhennessyhouse @thattruckinwitch @ajjiiaaahhh @dameshaemonique @naeelyniecee @glittermakesmesmile @ambthegamer @justgetitoverwith0 @efonteno @notavintagecliche @pariahcolored @cydneyrenee4

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#killmonger smut #killmonger x reader #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger imagine #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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love-and-monsters · 3 years

Text

Armon the Aqrabaumelu

Hey guys! Before I get into this, I’m just letting you know I won’t be posting writing for the next two weeks because it’s grad school final time and I have so much work. In the meantime, if you want to give me some prompts, I’m all ears!

M aqrabaumelu X F reader, 2,895 words

You’ve been hired to paint a portrait for a local rich family. What do you make of your irritated (and a little irritating) subject?

Fortune Falls was a small town, but it was surprisingly bustling. Perhaps it was the variety of species that kept it that way. Perhaps it was just the sort of people who came to a place like Fortune Falls, excited young people who were trying to start up new lives and careers. At least half of the shops in town had opened in the last couple of years and were run by young residents.

You weren’t one of the excited newcomers, although you could have easily been mistaken for one. Your family was one of the first to move to Fortune Falls, which meant you had some roots here, and had managed to snag an apartment toward the town center for relatively cheap. Your family was friends with the building owner, and you were handy enough to earn your low rent.

It also meant that your career as a struggling artist was at least somewhat feasible. Your family had connections with the other families in town, especially the well-off ones. The sort of families with the disposable income who could commission artists for portraits.

That was your newest job. A commission for one of the older money families, a portrait of their second-oldest son, since he had come of age. Portraits were, in your humble opinion, exceedingly boring. Trying to paint a face staring off into the distance while subtly tweaking their worst features to suit their vain attitudes wasn’t interesting. You were much more partial to landscapes and nature scenery. Much more beautiful. But you still had expenses and if painting rich people managed to pay them, so be it. You would.

The Aristota house was technically just outside of town, on an enormous plot of land. You gathered your supplies into the passenger’s seat of your ancient car and hobbled up their long, winding driveway.

It was a pretty mansion, you thought. But it was also just a little bit too rich for your taste. The chandeliers, the velvet carpets, the deep reds and golds and creams. It was all just a little too much, like they were more interested in showing off their money than creating a house that was nice to live in.

Fortunately, you knew the family well enough for them to dispense with the overly stuffy pleasantries. “Good to see you again,” Mrs. Aristota said when you entered the sunroom. She was settled on a long, red couch, deep orange carapace glinting in the sunlight. “You’ve met Armon before?”

You looked toward the person she was gesturing at. He looked quite similar to her- a rounded, but sharp-cheeked face, thick lashes, rich, black hair, and long, delicately fingered hands. Like the rest of his family, he was, from the waist down, an enormous scorpion. His carapace was a deep shade of orange and his tail was lifted, curling behind him with its stinging tip brandished outward. You knew enough about aqrabaumelu body language to read the discomfort in his posture.

“We’ve met before,” you said. It had admittedly been years ago, when you were both teenagers, and neither of you had wanted to be around each other. “Hello.”

He dipped his head to you, then went back to staring out the window. He was wearing a black coat with little gold stitches around the hems. His long nails worked at the hem, tearing the stitches out a little at a time.

“You have the specifications for the portrait?” Mrs. Aristota asked. She rose from her couch and skittered over you, looking critically at your supplies.

“Same as the last one I did, I assume,” you said.

“This one will be a little smaller,” she said. “But roughly similar, yes. Armon will give you any more details he desires.” She walked over to him and lifted his chin in her hand. “And smile, won’t you?”

With that, she turned and headed out of the room. You finished placing your canvas on the easel and organized your paints before looking at your subject.

He’d mostly turned his back on you, staring out the windows of the sunroom into the garden. You cleared your throat. No response. You cleared it again, louder this time. His gaze flicked to you, expression unchanging.

“Are you ready to begin?” you asked. “Pick a position you think you can comfortably hold for a bit. I’ll take pictures, but I like sketching in person. It helps me with proportions.”

Armon let out a long, heavy sigh and crept across the room until he was standing in front of you. He stared flatly ahead, tail still hooked and lifted in its defensive posture. His expression was flatly neutral, almost bored. You frowned at him. “Uh. You sure that’s the position you want to go for?”

His dark eyes slid to you for a moment. Then they returned to their staring-blankly-ahead position. You shrugged. “Whatever.” You could make some touch-ups to make the position a little more interesting, more stately instead of bored. After snapping a few photos, you sat down and got to work.

A silence fell over the room. You could hear your pencil scratching against the canvas, the soft noise of your breath. Every now and then, Armon would shift a little and the hard plates of his carapace scraped quietly together. After thirty minutes, you paused, flexing your wrist.

“Wanna move around a bit?” you asked. Armon shifted his head toward you.

“I thought that would be disallowed.” His voice was both deep and quiet.

“Nah. You can shift around a little bit. Just go back to the position when you’re done. I can tweak a little bit to fix any problems. And I need a break too.” You stood up, rolling your wrist and stretching your legs. “Want to take a look at what I have so far?”

He scuttled over to you and peered at the canvas. You saw his eyes move, roving over the image, then he leaned back. There was no change in his face. “What, nothing?” you said. “I thought it was pretty good. Anything you like, don’t like, want more of?”

Armon sighed, shifting his weight. “I don’t know. I’m not an artist.”

“Well, if I think it’s a bad idea, I just won’t do it. I’m just asking your opinion. It’s your portrait.”

Armon laughed. It was a bitter, cold laugh. “This is not me,” he said, pointing at the painting.

You frowned, feeling a flicker of insult. It wasn’t your best work ever, but it didn’t look that bad. It looked like him! “In what way?” you asked, keeping your tone neutral. You’d never had any of them, but you’d heard about clients who wouldn’t let their painters stop until the image looked like a god come to earth. If he was trying that angle, you weren’t sure how long you could bite your tongue for.

Armon looked at you for a moment, then sighed out his nose and waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter.” He walked back over to his position and held it again. This time, he looked even more stiff and uncomfortable. His tail tip twitched like he was threatening to strike.

You looked consideringly at the painting. Even with your careful alterations, he still looked a little stiff. His tail was arched over his back in a way that seemed unnatural, and his expression was severe. You couldn’t give an accurate depiction of his smile because you’d never seen him give one. His brother had been all grins and self-importance. Armon seemed to be sulking.

“I need a break.” You tossed down your pencil. Armon gave you a look.

“Weren’t we just taking a break?” he asked. You stretched, groaning as your joints popped. Armon blinked at you as your arm twisted around. “Humans aren’t supposed to bend that way,” he said. His expression was vaguely queasy.

“I’m double jointed,” you said. “And I need to walk around for a bit. Stretch my legs, you know? And my fingers, otherwise my hands will cramp.” You tilted your head, staring around the room with feigned interest. “Mind showing me around the place?”

Armon clicked his many legs against the ground. “Something you’re particularly interested in seeing?” he asked with little enthusiasm.

“Whatever you’re interested in is fine by me,” you said charitably. Perhaps you could get another emotion out of him that wasn’t sullen disappointment.

There was a moment of consideration, then Armon opened the glass door to the outside. Without checking to see if you were following, he stepped outside and into the sunshine.

You followed him to a small stand of trees around a pond. He settled by it, back pointed at you. “This is nice,” you said, looking around. Your fingers were itching for your supplies. It would be a lovely scene. In fact, Armon’s form seemed to fit well with it. His unfocused, serene gaze, the curl of his lowered tail, the sweep of his black hair over his brow. He seemed much more relaxed than he had in the house.

“I have an idea,” you said. Armon’s gaze became guarded as he looked up at you. “We can continue the painting out here.”

Armon gave you a bewildered look. “What?”

“It’s a nice day. And the sunroom’s really hot. We can keep going out here. Much nicer.” Armon frowned. His many legs shifted, sharp tips digging into the dirt. “Something wrong with that idea?”

“I thought Mother wanted it done in the sunroom.” His voice was stiff and his tail was starting to bristle again. You put on your easiest smile and clapped him on the shoulder. He started at the touch.

“I’ll tell her I thought it looked nicer out here. I’m sure she’ll be fine with it.” You turned and started to head back inside. After a moment, you heard the quiet scuttling of Armon following you.

He watched as you gathered your supplies up. It took some skill to juggle them. You carefully slid the easel under your arm and tried to gather as many paints as you could into your arms. Armon stared at you for a moment, then picked up your paint box from the floor. He held it still while you carefully dumped your paints into it. “Thanks,” you said.

“Just helps speed things up,” he mumbled. Before you could say anything else, he headed out the door ahead of you.

You followed him back to the small stand of trees and set your supplies up again. When you looked up, you clapped a hand over your mouth, barely preventing a giggle.

There were several birds around Armon. Three of them were crows, and one was a blue jay, which was perched happily on his tail, apparently unconcerned by the venom. A chipmunk was eying him from a short distance away, and a squirrel was sitting by one of his hands without concern. Armon seemed to consider this as relatively unimpressive. His expression was just as neutral as it had been before. But his tail, you noticed, was relaxed.

“Uh,” you said gently, “so how long have you been a Disney princess?”

His tail jerked reflexively and the animals scattered. “Oh,” you said, watching in disappointment. “That would have made a cool painting. Can you make them come back?”

“I don’t make them do anything,” Armon said. “They just know me.” He looked around, his gaze softening. “I come out here a lot. It’s nice. Better than inside the house.”

There was something peaceful in his gaze. Almost without thinking, you reached out and started sketching.

“No wonder you seem comfortable out here,” you said. You kept your tone low, trying to encourage his mood. One of the birds hopped cautiously closer. Armon stretched out a hand toward it.

“Mm. The animals are nice.” The bird, a crow, closed the distance between them. Armon let out a low whistle and it hopped onto his hand. “There are stray cats out here too, sometimes. I feed them. Can’t have them in the house, though. Father doesn’t like furry pets.”

“Allergic?”

“No. He just doesn’t like the fur.” Armon stroked a finger over the bird’s head. It let out a croaking note. His lips twitched.

For the first time, you saw the tiniest of smiles appear on his face. You sketched it into place. One of his cheeks dimpled. It was rather adorable.

He stayed still and silent for several moment, stroking absently over the bird’s head. You hurried to get the scene out onto paper. It was a much more relaxed picture than the one you’d been trying to paint inside.

“You seem to have a strong connection with them,” you said after a few minutes. “Can you speak to them?”

Armon looked at you. For a moment, you were pretty sure he wasn’t going to answer, then he shrugged. “Not like we’re speaking. They’re not that intelligent. But I’ve spent enough time with them that I understand their mannerisms.” He glanced at you. “People, not so much.”

“I feel that,” you said. “I’m better with paint than people.”

Armon turned his gaze back to the bird. “You’ve been doing well to me.”

“Yeah, that’s lots of practice. I’m not very naturally good at it.” Armon snorted and his tail lashed.

“I was never any good at it. Nothing like my brother.”

You gave an absent nod. “He’s a charmer, isn’t he?”

Armon closed his eyes. “He’s much better than I am.” There was a pause as he swallowed. The bird fluttered back to the ground and pecked at the soil. “I think my parents have quite given up on me.” He said it with a bit of a laugh, but his expression was twisting in a way that almost made him look like he was going to cry.

You lowered your pencil. “Given up?”

“You need to be good with people to be good at business. I’m awful with them. I’m just too unapproachable. They keep me around, add me to the collection of family portraits, but I am not what they want in a son.”

“Fuck your family,” you said. Armon blinked at you. “Your family’s too up their own ass. No offense. Why don’t you just leave? You’re old enough, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Armon said. “But I don’t really know how. I’ve never been on my own before.”

“You’ve got a lot of money. You’ve got some time. Why don’t you just figure out what you want to do? Not saying it’s going to be easy. It’ll be a lot different than what you’re used to, but it’ll be better. I mean, being an artist isn’t easy. But it’s more enjoyable than doing something easy that makes me miserable.”

The grass rustled as Armon made his way over to you. He sat down, looking at the drawing over your shoulder. There was a moment of silence, then Armon let out a low, shaky sigh.

“That’s me,” he said, reaching over to tap the painting. He traced the slight smile that twitched at his lips, the softness that gathered around his eyes. “That one is me.” He leaned into your side, letting his head rest on your shoulder. “Thank you.”

You didn’t get much more painting done that day. Armon showed you around the grounds a little bit before dropping you off at the front gate. “I’ll show you the painting when it’s done,” you said.

Armon smiled again. It was small, and it looked poorly practiced, but it was something. “I’ll look forward to it.”

It was a couple of weeks before you returned to the house. You met with Armon’s mother before going to the sun room, where Armon was waiting. He looked up as you entered.

“Here,” you said, holding it out toward him. He took it delicately, as if he was afraid his claws would tear the canvas. He stared at it for a long time, just taking in the artwork.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “It’s better than I thought it was going to be.” He gave a weak smile. “All those portraits in the halls are so stuffy. So formal. They’re never something I really wanted to be a part of. This one is much nicer.”

You shrugged. “You can keep that one, if you want. I’m not getting paid for it.”

Armon’s head snapped up. “Why not?”

“Didn’t meet the specifications your mother was looking for, apparently. She said it was too… um… casual, I think.”

Armon looked down at the painting. “I’m sorry. I should have-”

“Don’t sweat it. It wasn’t your idea, remember? I pushed you into it.” You shrugged. “Your mom’s giving me a second chance, though. I would have to do it right this time.” You perched on the side of a lounge, looking steadily at Armon. “Are you going to be okay with that?”

Armon gave a small smile. “I don’t think I’d mind sitting for another portrait,” he said. “As long as you’re the one doing it.”

“Hey, I’m not exactly mad about it either,” you said. Armon made to hand you back the painting, but you pushed it back toward him. “I did say you could keep that, right? It’s a gift.”

Armon looked down at it with a faint smile. “Thank you,” he said. You memorized that smile. It was going into his portrait no matter what.

#exophilia #aqrabaumelu #fortune falls #monster boyfriend #monster lover #OCxOC #MxF

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zhonglishrine · 4 years

Note

Can i have a oneshot for gogol comforting his crying s/o?

Pairing: Nikolai Gogol x Reader Word Counts: 2.3k Note: Hello anon! Please forgive me for taking a long time to do your request! Since it was the first request on my blog, I thought I wanted to make it special. But I was stuck with writer’s block. So I used my old work before and re-edit it instead so it will be slightly different to match with the request! I’m sorry and I hope you will enjoy it and special big thanks to @soukokuwu for helping me proofread this one! Really, thank you so muchhhh <3!!!

It was empty.

In this dark cold continent, there was nothing but void and darkness inside. You either existed or your mind was playing a trick on you. It felt like a grand illusion - that nothing was real. What you were searching for was not there. Nothing you did would ever make you feel complete in any sense. There was always this feeling that haunted you, always reminding you of how miserable and disgusting you were. Gnawed and woven to your very soul like wild ivy tendrils wrapping around your empty heart and kept whispering down to the deepest recesses of your mind.

You were a monster.

You were a demon.

You were a human with no heart.

You were no different than a dead soul.

Then, why were you still alive?

For what purpose were you even here?

You shut your eyes tightly. You wanted to scream and block every deafening sound that suffocated you in this insufferable world. It exacerbated and tightened in your chest the more you struggled. Had it not been your sanity that kept you sane, you would already be consumed by madness. But would it be better if you just let yourself loose? Let it take over and become nothing but a shell of a living monster? Would it be better just to let what remains of you and burn it into a fire of anguish and let it turn to ash? Let it destroy you with the spite and hatred you harbor towards everything?

You were desperate to reach for something.

Anything.

And that was when he came along, when you were at a loss, as though he knew.

"Would you like to join the Decay of Angels?" He had said, with eyes as vacant as yours, but his hypnotizing violet eyes beneath that moonlight was much deeper and darker. It feels like you would lose yourself and drown in it if you were to stare any longer. Yet without exchanging any further words, he seemed to understand the unspoken pain that has festered through your being at that very moment. You looked exactly like a lost child that desperately needed guidance, that needed to cling onto something.

"...What will I get if I join you?"

"You will be free. From your sins."

That was what he had offered. His soothing, saintly voice was like a remedy that could mend your broken soul that needed salvation, which had been beyond redemption at that point. You had nothing to lose and thus accepted his invitation back then, with a little hope thinking something might change. But after so many years, it still remained the same. You were still the same old you. No matter how much you wanted to pretend, you could never fake a smile and pretend to be happy. It felt like it would be hypocritical- like it would only make you lose sight of yourself even more.

Then, what is it that you were searching for, actually?

Why were you still here?

A soft sigh escaped your chapped lips as you stared long at the night sky above. The stars twinkled, a million light-years away from the orbit. Yet you still reached out your hand, as if attempting to pick one and keep it in your pocket in a futile endeavor.

"A beautiful night, isn't it?" a familiar voice chirped, interrupting your time alone. You were never one that liked the companionship of others, but even so, no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, he'd just pester you even more and pop out randomly, much to your distaste. He was the last member of the Decay of Angels that you would want to interact with.

"Why are you here?"

"Aww, don't be so cold with me~! I merely passed by and just wanted to say hello to you~" Gogol winked and gave you a finger gun, as though his intentions weren't obvious.

"Bother someone else."

"Ah, are you upset that I'm not Dos?" He smirked as he guessed that.

You felt that he could easily read right through you and you didn’t like it - the feeling of being exposed. Fyodor was a man of mystery, a puzzle that you couldn't solve. You thought of him as someone who understood you and despite the terror associated with his name, he was still someone that you respected profoundly. Not out of fear, but maybe, admiration. But you hated that Gogol was right. You wished you were talking to Fyodor instead of the clown, and Gogol had gotten it right on the nose. And yet here you two were, with different circumstances that bring you two to join the association, even with different goals.

"Shut up. Just leave me alone, will you?"

"Aw... but no one wants to play with me. Even Sigma is busy. But you have been doing nothing but stargazing~ Don't you get tired doing that every night? If it were me, I'd die of boredom!" He flailed his arms in an attempt to get your attention. You cursed under your breath. This clown was too energetic for you to handle.

"None of your business what I do." You replied back to him crudely. But he took a seat beside you anyway, sitting by the edge of the building and swinging his legs back and forth with those comical pointy shoes of his. For someone his age, he acted rather childishly. Though, maybe that's just one of his antics as a clown. But he was the epitome of someone you could never understand. Since you can ever be two-faced like he is.

Gogol hummed. "You always come here, why is that?"

"I told you; it's none of your business."

"Aw. Here I thought that we were friends~" Gogol made it sound like he was hurt by your words.

You ruefully snorted at that, "Funny hearing that coming from you." Did he think you were that naive? Naive enough to think that you two were friends in this organization that was solely established with terrorists that can backstab you at any given moment?

"Is it not right? You've been with us for years, yet you seem so distant. Just like the stars." He remarked while spreading out his left arm to the sky.

"Is that so?" You looked up at it again, attempting to count the innumerable stars, albeit knowing how futile it was.

"Say... why did you join the Decay of Angels?" You posed the question to him, though you weren’t really curious. You just needed something to fill the awkward silence.

"Why, indeed. If I must answer that, why don't you tell me your reason first?"

Reason. You were still unsure about it yet. Why? You had killed so many just for that answer alone but the book that was your mind still drew a blank. Nothing was written on it yet. Was it because you were drawn to Fyodor's words at that time? Had he lured you in with nothing but empty promises?

"Perhaps… I was searching for the meaning of my existence." You curtly answered, but your mind still pondered on it.

"Then, have you found it?" Gogol asked, evincing interest to know as he turned to look at you sideways. There was something between you, something that somehow made you feel connected to him. Both of you were pawns that would soon be disposed of once you have served your purpose. It didn’t scare you, though. You would do what you had to, even if that meant dying in the end. The only thing you were scared of is regret - of not finding what you were searching for in the first place.

"...I don't know. Maybe not yet. Maybe I never will." You said, feigning nonchalance. "Then, what about you?" Now it was your turn to look into his molten gold eye, the one scarred with a vertical cut. Was there a story behind it? You wonder inwardly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask Gogol about it. In the Decay of Angels, every member came from a different background and it was unknown what they did before. If you asked him he might tell, either in a jesting manner or make it overly complicated, like another riddle you had to solve.

"I search for my freedom. Just like a bird that soars the skies without being bound by anything," he replied with a wistful tone and his expression softened, "I am seeking for a perfect freedom, like that."

"Freedom, huh..." You repeated, "you're one strange guy." Indeed, he was. Nikolai Gogol was an enigma himself, just as Fyodor was. As though he was standing between the bridge of psychosis and rationality that he wants to get rid of. You failed at understanding his essence, but you could empathize with his pursuit.

"Funny hearing that coming from you~" He retorted with your earlier words. "But birds and stars, are they not so different?"

"How so? They are two different entities, to start with."

"Because both are up far in the sky, seemingly unreachable for a mortal like us. Even so, we still gaze at them longingly, wishing upon the star, wishing to fly, wishing to escape from this warm, wet hell."

You couldn’t refute that. Technically, he wasn’t wrong.

"Then, have you found it?"

Gogol looked at you again, his eye reflecting every little light in the world that you see. He softened his countenance as if he actually understood what lay within your heart that you tried to conceal.

"Maybe I do. Now that I met you."

Within the span of a second that felt like an eternity, your heart thumped loudly in your ribcage, like he took your breath away at that moment with his gaze alone.

No...

Don't fall for it.

Don't fall for it again.

It would be the same. He would just be like the others. He too, would leave once he saw what was inside - that which was hiding and cloaking you in the darkness, that which enshrouded and imprisoned you inside.

And just like he said, you were exactly like the stars.

You were in front of him, and yet you felt so distant and too far away to reach.

"...It's nice talking to you. But I must take my leave now..." You wanted to withdraw yourself before you started to harbor hope and belief in someone again. Before you fell for it again, only to be tripped afterward. Only to be deceived, left broken, and uncared for years.

But he held you back by your wrist.

"Won't you stay a little while longer, my dove? A star will one day perish, and I would feel so lonely if you are truly gone." His voice somehow pulls the strings of your heart. But you know better than to fall for him.

"Wouldn't it be better? You don't know who I am..." You tried to break free, yet he was stubborn, he didn’t want to let you go. "I am not what you think I am... I'm just another monster who has no heart. You shouldn't get close to me..." Your eyes were already starting to well up with hot tears. The stinging pain in your chest throbbed, each passing second with him made you feel suffocated, as though causing you to drown in your own misery. Inevitable it was that you would bring him down with you as well.

"...Or else, you would destroy yourself too," you warned him,

"You’re either human or you are not, either you are a monster with no heart or not, what difference does it make?" He questioned you back, "Be whatever you want to be. It's your freedom, it’s your life, it’s your call."

"It's easy for you to say that... I'm not like you."

"Then tell me, what do you wish for every time you look at the stars? Have you no will for yourself? Have you not wished to break free from your cage as well?"

"I..." Stumped with his questions, you gazed into his eye once again, tears blurring your vision. Everything that was pent up inside you until this moment felt like it was crumbling, disintegrating into dust. Like waves crashing against the sand, such brittle was your resolution now when faced with his raw, naked, and pure emotions when he took off his clown mask.

"I want to... I just want to escape from this place... from my demons..." You said with a trembling, shaky voice, all the remaining strength in you threatening to leave the more you looked into his eyes. What kind of pain does he hide behind them? Why did it hurt you as much as well? As ironic as it sounded, in this moment, he looked more human than you were.

"Then, I will be the one that frees you from it now, my dove. Go, fly to the stars as you wish." He said and held you near, and contrary to his words that coached you to be free, he actually looked like he never wanted to let you go, yet you felt strangely safe and found warmth in his arms. You felt like you were finally being liberated from that which imprisoned you in that bottomless darkness. Even if what you see is just a glimpse of light. Then, that should be enough rather than nothing at all.

"You are beautiful when you soar free that way."

Two humans. Two monsters. Two beating broken hearts.

Under that starry night that illuminated the sky with constellations, it's like your fate entwined and mirrored each other on how almost tragically similar it was, with the demons that were trapped inside the both of you, seeking solace in each other's existence to remind you that you two were still human beings that just wished to be free.

#nikolai gogol x reader #gogol x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd #nikolai gogol #finally i post something after so long haha xD #curse me and my procrastination #orz #i work on other requests so slow too #please pardon me and gimme time ;w;

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its-sixxers · 3 years

Text

Tandreth and the Dragon

Idunn, Dragonborn, has Tandreth, Grandmaster of the Thieves’ Guild, as her captive. Taking him to Windhelm for judgement after he fails to steal from her, fate has different plans in store - and a lifelong thief makes a choice of selflessness that will change his life forever. A hero dies, and another lives.

Tandreth’s nose had begun to itch.

The bruise the great ox of a woman in front of him had given him was starting to fade, and with healing flesh came the itch. He wanted to scratch it desperately, but his hands were bound - and the woman in front of him held his leash. Idunn, her name was - not uncommon among Nords, and though she was a little smaller than her kinsmen she made up for it with her bullheadedness. All he’d done was try to snatch the silver amulet around her neck - and she’d taken it upon herself to drag him back to Windhelm to be prosecuted for it.

They were only just within the border of Eastmarch when she’d caught him, and three days on the road saw them making slow progress through the jarling’s hydrothermal plains. Three times he’d attempted to escape, and three times he’d been pinned to the ground with her fist raised and threatening to break his nose.

He liked his nose - it being intact was a point of pride for him, and so he resigned himself to managing a prison break from the Stormcloak’s cells.

Tandreth kicked a pebble down the path in front of them, knowing it would annoy his captor. It was all the rebellion he was able to have - bothering both his captor and her horse. The beast was a beautiful dapple-grey, beloved by its owner and loaded with saddlebags. He wondered if it was her only friend in the world, and was tempted to say so - but decided that such a cruel remark was best saved for when he needed to cut with words.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he had much room to talk. He hadn’t even a horse - long lived as he was, animals died quickly. Men only died slightly less quickly. Loss was something he’d spent his life trying to avoid - he’d tasted enough of it.

His gaze followed the line of rope from his bonds to Idunn’s free hand, resentment bubbling in him. It was all a giant waste of time, yet here they were - a thief, an ox, and a horse. The start of a bad joke travelling north to Windhelm, the stench of Eastmarch’s hot springs thick and pungent as overcooked eggs.

“Could you just save me the trouble and kill me here?” he finally broke the silence, resentment boiling over. “My feet hurt, and I think the stench is going to drive me mad.”

“Then you can greet Sheogorath for me.” Idunn said dismissively, his attempts to annoy her sliding off as ever. It was like throwing snowballs at a wall. “You made your choice.”

“Do you arrest everyone who gets up to a little mischief?”

“I try to uphold justice where I can. What you did was not mischief.”

“I was only trying to see if I could. I wasn’t actually going to steal your trinket. I’ve just been sitting on my laurels, you see - taking a necklace from a sleeping woman was a challenge. I’d have placed it neatly on your nightstand and left a reassured man.”

“Is your ego that fragile?”

“Yes.”

Idunn turned her head at his answer, frowning humorlessly. He hadn’t seen her smile once since their trip began - though he knew his ribbing wasn’t helping matters there.

“You know, I’ve been purposely tied up in more compromising situations than this.” Tandreth continued, knowing this line of conversation made her uncomfortable and relishing in it. “I admire your tenacity with how tight you’ve made these bindings -” He wiggled his hands for emphasis, his wrists itching from the rope tied around them. “- but I could teach you a more elegant -”

Idunn stopped in her tracks and raised her hand, and with a thrill he thought she was going to hit him. He quickly realized it was meant to quiet him, however, as a faint noise echoed in the distance. For once he decided to follow her instruction, curiosity keeping him silent. The noise happened again - thunder, he thought, though there were no clouds in the sky. Idunn’s already pale face went a little paler as the thunder went on longer than Tandreth had ever heard in his centuries of life - and then the thunder did something thunder never did.

It changed in pitch, as if alive. As if a roar.

His captor dropped the rope she led him by and unsheathed her hunting knife from her belt. If it were anyone else the gesture would have him running, but Idunn was a Nord, and killing a bound opponent would be a black mark against their ever important honor. Fool’s honor, in his experience.

To his surprise, her knife cut through his bonds. Tandreth smiled in relief and rubbed at his wrists, but his good humor was dampened by yet another roll of roar-thunder. Idunn took the reins of her horse in hand, and he thought they were going to ride to safety - but instead she thrust them into his hands and pointed to a rocky outcropping some distance off the road. It was ringed with great standing stones, offering more than enough cover for both him and the horse, and Tandreth connected the dots before Idunn gave her instruction.

“Hide. No matter what. If I die, wait until the beast is gone.” she spoke, just as he saw a black figure rise over the mountains in the horizon. Idunn saw it too, and sharply inhaled - a fool might think the figure a bird, but at such a distance it was far too large.

Tandreth had heard the rumors, but never had he thought he’d see with his own eyes.

A dragon.

“No, no no.” Tandreth said quickly. “You don’t fight something like that. We need to ride, find shelter- “

“It will find me.” Idunn replied just as sharply. “Hide. Trust me.”

Hiding was what he was best at, but trust was something he never gave. Still, the shadow in the sky was growing larger and he wasn’t so willing to throw his life away as she was. Tandreth sprinted to the stones, another louder roll of thunder cracking through the sky - the sound was closer yet still a mix of the natural and organic, elements interweaved. Idunn’s horse followed him without him needing to tug on the reins, likely as terrified as he was.

He glanced back to see Idunn still standing in the path. She’d drawn her warhammer and held it in both hands, staring defiantly upward at the approaching shadow in the sky like something out of the wall carvings in so many old tombs. Tandreth turned his focus back to the path in front of him, dreading what he’d see next.

He made it to the stones just as the wingbeats of the dragon became audible. The standing stones were purposely placed, he realized, for there was a weathered and ancient shrine within their borders. On an old stone altar he recognized the small statue of Akatosh, carved from pure obsidian. For a fleeting moment he smiled at the sick humor of it before the great beating of wings filled him with fear once again. He flattened himself against the stone of an arch, Idunn’s horse sheltering under it with him, and against his better judgement he peeked around its side.

The dragon was close enough that its shadow fell across the path Idunn stood on, so large it made Tandreth’s stomach flip. Its scales glinted in the sun as it circled overhead - it must have spotted Idunn, for it roared so loudly his ears rang. To his horror, it dipped downward midflight, approaching the ground at a speed far too fast for such a large creature.

Idunn stood fast even as the beast opened its mouth, and Tandreth bit his tongue to keep from crying out as a stream of flames shot out from the back of the dragon’s throat. Liquid fire spilled forth aimed directly at Idunn - but before they made contact she shouted in a tongue he’d never heard of or known. Her voice was like a clarion bell, powerful and clear - and to his awe the flames flowed around her as if around a shield.

It was then he realized Idunn was dragonborn, and a new kind of horror settled within him.

Tandreth had known another chosen by fate, and he knew what fate did to such a person. The familiarity made him want to jump in the saddle and run, but he knew he’d long since missed his chance.

Instead, all he could do was watch Idunn and the dragon do battle. The creature was huge - judging by the tension in Idunn’s stance, it was larger than even she had seen. It kept trying to blast her with flames, but she kept up with its attempts with startling reflexes. It was a shouting match, her clear voice answering each rasping roar. Eventually the beast seemed to tire of her antics, and settled on the ground to do battle with tooth and claw. It tried to bite at her, its great jaw snapping like cracks of nearby thunder - but it earned a warhammer to the jaw each time for its trouble. Idunn swung her weapon with precision, striking the same point on the beast’s jaw each time. Tandreth realized her focus was an attempt to crack the beast’s face plating, hard and shining like steel.

Idunn’s last hit managed to crack the faceplate open, scales and dragonflesh falling to the ground. It roared and took off before she could drive her hammer into the exposed flesh beneath, and Idunn roared back in frustration.

The next time the dragon opens its mouth a great wind echoed out with its cry, nearly knocking Tandreth from his post. Idunn stood firm - she shouted back with a blast of wind of her own, the power of her voice causing the dragon to waver in the sky.

Tandreth understood with terrible clarity the tales of Ulfric shouting Torygg to pieces. Such power he’d never seen in his life - not even at his sister’s hands, the knowledge of Ashlands magic at her disposal.

Idunn was tiring with each shout - he could see it in her posture, how her warhammer seemed to be growing heavy in her arms. He could hear it in her voice - it was growing hoarse and weak. For a few minutes he thought, ridiculously, that she might have a chance against such a creature. Now he realized he was likely to see her die.

He looked around desperately for escape routes, a familiar panic settling in. It wasn’t fear for his own life that had him wanting to run - he’d been fearing death the past few minutes and stayed rooted to the spot. No, there was something else that filled him with greater fear than anything else, a fear that was rooted in his bones.

He didn’t want to watch her die.

His search for escape was quickly routed, however, for the dragon landed again, clearly sensing Idunn’s flagging stamina. The next time it roared, Idunn screamed in pain with it - he watched the flames break through her shouted shield at the last instant, the heat so intense he could feel it from his hiding place and staggering Idunn. The dragon followed it with a swipe of its claws, peeling open her breastplate as if it were scrib chitin. Idunn staggered back before falling to the ground, her warhammer clanking against the worn cobblestone.

It was over. Tandreth knew that if he remained hidden he had a strong chance of survival - Idunn had told him as much, had instructed him as much. At first he’d followed her instructions gladly, thinking her a fool - but she hadn’t died instantly to the dragon. She wasn’t a fool. She was dragonborn - and perhaps if it wasn’t for him distracting her and wearing her down, she would have succeeded in her battle.

If he did as she said, he knew it would result in her death. If he didn’t, it’d result in his.

Helplessness was a feeling he’d spent over a hundred years running from, and now it had settled over him in force. Tandreth’s bow was tied to the saddle, but for all of his years of experience - for those golden days he was his tribe’s star hunter, an aspiring ashkhan - against the dragon’s steel hide even his arrows would be of little use.

There was nothing he could do, and yet he did not wish to believe it.

Help. His heart shouted as loud as Idunn did. Daedra, ancestors, someone, please -

Tandreth’s thoughts were cut off by a sudden flash of light, blinding him. The dragon roared again, and he thought it was over well and truly. But there was no snap of bone, no heat of flame, no rending of steel. When he regained his sight there was a ghostly armored figure walking away from him toward the dragon, shining silver as the moon and holding a spear blazing bright and fierce as the stars.

A spear he knew. A lump formed in his throat. He had summoned ancestor spirits out of fear before, but never one he recognized. The ghost could be one of two of his blood - and he hoped desperately it was the elder.

The dragon stood over Idunn’s prone form, its attention diverted toward the ghostly figure - and Tandreth. Its wings raised, beating as it began to take off and sending great gusts of wind with each sweep. Before it could lift into the sky, however, the ghostly figure threw its spear. It pierced the dragon’s wing, and on making contact ignited the entire limb with flame. The dragon screamed rather than roared, and fell back to the ground.

The ghost approached the fallen dragon and pulled its spear from the wing while the dragon howled on the ground, the magical flames fading and leaving a melted mess of scales and flesh in their wake. The dragon tried to snap at its new opponent, but its teeth only moved through the ghost’s ethereal form.

In spite of himself Tandreth squinted against the ghost’s shining light, trying to make out its features. It looked like an Ordinator, those guards he’d seen only in childhood and illustrations - but the armor was too old, too well-worn. Tandreth knew who the Ordinators were meant to emulate. He knew the figure before him was too slight, too small to be the patriarch of House Indoril himself. He realized with ice in his veins who the ancestral spirit was.

The Nerevarine.

Mother.

It had been sixty years since she’d last been seen, and now her ghost stood before him with her spear in hand. The woman who had killed a god. Dead.

She watched the dragon thrash and raised her spear up once more. With careful aim, she threw it at the beast’s head. The blazing spear pierced where Idunn had broken the beast’s faceplate, moving through exposed flesh and impaling it through the skull. All at once, the dragon’s roars were silenced. It collapsed to the ground in a limp heap.

His mother’s ghost pulled her spear from the creature’s skull and turned to look at him. Tandreth could not see her face under her helmet, but he didn’t need to. She lifted her free hand and placed it over her heart, a farewell he’d seen so many times. A gesture she’d made at the docks, over and over, leaving him and his sister behind while she tried to save their people. Tandreth wanted to cry out, to scream at her for leaving again, for leaving forever - but only a moment later her ghost faded.

In the sudden silence he could hear Idunn whimpering in pain, sounding the opposite of the powerful figure he’d seen shouting down a dragon. Setting his roiling emotions aside, Tandreth scrambled over to her frantic horse, doing his best to calm it so he could grab a healing potion from the saddlebags. With the potion in hand, he turned to run over to Idunn - but the sight that greeted him was extraordinary enough to stop him in his tracks.

The dragon’s scales and flesh were turning to glowing mist, flowing down toward Idunn. He watched transfixed as the mist wrapped itself around her like a cloak, flowing into her eyes, her nostrils, her mouth. Idunn tipped her head back, gasping and shuddering as the essence flowed into her until only bones remained of the great beast. With the mist gone, Idunn collapsed fully to the ground.

It jolted Tandreth back to action, and he raced toward her. Blood was pouring out from the tear in her breastplate, and he feared she had a punctured lung from how she was wheezing. Tears of pain were streaming down her face, but she was trying her best not to whimper.

“Here.” he said, kneeling beside her. He uncorked the potion and placed his hand on the back of her head to support it - momentarily marvelling at how such a warrior had such soft hair, the auburn strands a contrast against his dark blue skin. He tipped the potion bottle to her lips with his other hand - shaking from adrenaline. All sensation was heightened, the sight he’d just witnessed sending his mind reeling. Idunn drank the healing mixture greedily, and gained a small amount of awareness. It wasn’t enough - not nearly enough - but it’d keep her from death’s door for a little while longer.

“You should have run.” she said weakly - using what little strength she had to speak. It echoed his own thoughts only minutes ago - but she was not scolding him. There was pride in her eyes beyond the pain. He hated it.

“I’ve seen too much death.” he responded quietly, so quietly he hoped she wouldn’t hear. He raised his voice. “You need a good healer. The nearest ones I know are at the temple in Windhelm.” The temple of Talos, another hero-god, another alleged dragonborn - and Tandreth fought against what felt like fate’s hand.

Idunn was pale before the blood loss, but seemed even paler in that moment. Windhelm was still days away, and he knew she feared how long the journey would take. Yet her expression turned to that same stubborn one he’d seen when he first met her, when the innkeeper questioned why she was taking a petty thief all the way to Windhelm. She nodded. Idunn tried weakly to unfasten the bindings on her torn breastplate so she could move, but Tandreth nudged her hands away and started to do it himself.

“I’m not going to steal your armor.” he reassured her, at the sight of her wide eyes. What would Raansi do, he thought, trying to remember his sister’s methods as a healer. All he could do was offer Idunn a smile, an attempt at normalcy.

It worked, and she blinked back her tears of pain while he worked the breastplate off of her. There was a great gouge taken out of her lower chest, and it was bleeding heavily - but her armor had protected her from the worst of the dragon’s wrath. If he could get her to Windhelm before infection and fever claimed her, she’d survive. Tandreth hastily untied his silk sash from his waist, binding her ribs with the colorful patterned fabric. It cost as much as her warhammer, he was certain - and he was staining it with her blood.

“You’re… a strange thief.” Idunn murmured, face ashen as she watched him work. Her green eyes were growing unfocused. Time - Akatosh’s domain - was not on their side.

He decided he hated dragons.

Tandreth looped his arm under her shoulders and helped her to her feet, struck by the weight of her as she leaned against him. Even with her injured, her warmth and solid form against him was oddly comforting - it had been too long since he’d allowed another to touch him, since he’d touched another, and he missed the feeling of safety. He needed to make haste, or her warmth would fade. “I’m a lot of things, dragonborn.” he grinned at her, joking to take the edge off his nerves. “I’ll take strange over the other things you’ve called me.”

Idunn managed a weak laugh as he helped her to her still-nervous horse - and it’s a wonderful sound to his ears, her smile softening her hard features into something quite pleasant. It took all of her energy and a boost from him to help her into the saddle, where she wavered dangerously in place. He gathered up her dropped warhammer and breastplate and quickly affixed them to the saddlebags. By the time he did so, Idunn was slumping forward in the saddle. He hastily put his foot in the stirrup and took his place behind her, taking the reins in hand. His arms were at either side of her body, keeping her steady even as consciousness faded from her.

“Stay with me, dragonborn.” Tandreth remembered one thing from his sister’s lessons - that as long as Idunn was conscious she had a better chance to fight the punishment her body had taken. “If you die I’m taking your things.”

There was a murmur of protest from her. He tapped his heels against the horse’s flank, and the mare quickly began to move, eager to leave the dragon behind.

Tandreth glanced back at the bones, and the cracked skull his mother’s spear had penetrated. He swallowed - he wanted to leave Idunn in Windhelm with the priests and flee back for the comfort of the Rift, but the ghost he’d seen had reignited his flagging sense of duty.

His mother was dead, and his mind was fleeing from the grief approaching him like a black fog. But he couldn’t run - not when he wasn’t the only one who suffered. Not when he wasn’t the only one who needed to know what he had seen.

Tandreth’s journey would not cease at Windhelm. He couldn’t turn back after seeking help for the dragonborn however much he wished to.

For the second time, he was to head to Winterhold with grim news.

For the second time, he’d watch his sister’s heart break.

The Nerevarine was dead, and her twin children were the only souls left alive left to grieve her.

#fanfic #skyrim #dragonborn #skyrim oc #oc: idunn / dragonborn #oc: tandreth #oc: azuraansi #aka how tandreth finds out his mom died #kinda a proof of concept fic to test the waters on if i want to actually write more for these two #or if no1curr and i should just keep things to my imagination

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stereksecretsanta · 3 years

Text

Merry Christmas, vyxynheartssterek!

For @vyxynheartssterek. I hope you enjoy it!

Read On AO3

*****

Forward Motion

Claudia rocked back on her heels and brushed her hair out of her face. “Well, I think that was the last box.”

Stiles admired their shelves, the glossy dark wood lined with dusty tomes that they’d finally hauled from home. They’d been in the attic, the basement, the kitchen and the living room for longer than Stiles had been alive, and seeing them on display, all together and organized neatly instead of piled haphazardly on a box of old baby clothes was surreal and a little thrilling. “It looks great.”

She gave him a sideways look. “We still have stock to put out, pal. Don’t get comfortable.”

He laughed, knocking their elbows together. “Yeah yeah. It still looks good. I told you it would.”

She snorted. “Save the “I told you so”s until after opening day. Why don’t you go get us some caffeine to power us through until lunch, then we’ll get your dad to help us with some of this?”

“He said he’d help this morning, too.” Stiles stepped over a crate of crystals, around two stacks of boxes, and through a maze of shelves they’d yet to fill. “Usual order?”

“Yes, please. Oh, can you move that shelf to the window on your way out? It’s where I want to put the potted herbs.”

“Sure. Be right back.” He maneuvered the herb shelf—still empty for the moment—over to the window, adjusting it until it was lined up with the window, before he stepped outside. It was chilly out, just on the edge of cold, with a breeze that smelled like wood smoke. He turned and stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, balancing his sneakers on the curb so he could admire their sign.

It’d just arrived the day behavfore, and installation had only taken minutes. The Beacon’s Raven curled in the deep red Claudia and Stiles had chosen weeks ago. The window had a beautifully painted raven with its wings outspread on it, front and center, and off to the side, a neat list of their hours. A banner hung over the glass door: “Grand Opening: 2 Days!” It was satisfying to see people passing by, peering in the windows on tip toes to see deeper into the store, chatting about how soon they could go in and poke around.

Stiles headed for the coffee shop down the road. He’d finally talked his mom into opening a real, actual store after years of her (and, eventually, him once he’d gotten old enough to grind herbs and mix potions) operating out of their house. The supernatural community of Beacon Hills had known and trusted Claudia and her family for generations, trusted and knew their magic and quality of products. It only made sense to finally move from backdoor sales to a real shop, where people could browse and where they could store extra potions without accidentally mixing them in with the cooking spices.

Although Stiles still thought John was overreacting about accidentally putting a sleeping potion in the chili that one time.

The coffee shop on the corner, Mocha Latte Memories, was also relatively new—only two years old, which in Beacon Hills meant it’d be referred to as “the new place” for another thirteen years—but it was doing great. It also happened to be Claudia’s favorite, so she’d dragged Stiles there as soon as he’d come home from college; they’d both been going at least once a week ever since.

Stiles caught sight of his reflection in the big bay window of the café and paused. His hair was covered in dust bunnies and cobwebs. “Gee, thanks, Mom,” he grumbled, using the window as a mirror to bat the dust away. He spent a minute combing through his hair with his fingers so he looked less disheveled.

A shadow moved beyond the glass.

Stiles reared back. “Oh! Oh, gods.”

A man on the other side of the glass was grinning at him, apparently watching while he fixed his hair.

Heat rushed to his face. “Oh my god.” He turned on his heel.

Claudia laughed at him when he told her why they wouldn’t be having coffee and why they should promptly move to the next town over. She called John to ask him to bring lunch and coffee while still tearing up with laughter.

Stiles worked through his mortification by sweeping aggressively.

“You two,” John sighed when he arrived. He took a drink of his own coffee while they were digging into their lunch. “The place looks great already.”

Claudia smiled up at him, heels bouncing off the crate she’d perched on in lieu of a chair. “You should’ve seen Stiles with the books.”

“My organization skills are legend,” he muttered, biting into his sandwich.

John snorted. “I still can’t believe you’re putting them out like this.”

She shrugged. “Beacon Hills is our town. We’ve always shared the knowledge anyway, and this way, they can look for themselves.”

The family spellbooks weren’t for sale; they’d dragged them all out and to the shop with a different idea in mind: at the back of the shop, they’d created a little reading room filled with chairs, two-top tables, and jars of pens. Witches and starter spellcasters could come to research spells and potions from their collection if they wanted, copy down instructions, or just read a while, rather than asking Claudia for a copy of a spell they’d heard she had.

And as an extra bonus, whatever they needed for most of the spells, rituals, and potions could be purchased from the shop before they left, if they wanted.

Stiles couldn’t wait to get started.

John stayed to help until well into the evening, when he made them leave for the night. “Your boxes will still be here in the morning,” he sighed. “Let’s go get dinner.”

Claudia set out one last display container, waiting to be filled, and let her fingers trail over the shelf, smiling as John led her out.

Stiles hung back, watching them hold hands down the sidewalk. He and Claudia had come in the jeep this morning, but he figured she’d ride back with John. He brushed dust off his cheek and smiled to himself. He’d missed them while he was away at school, he’d missed Beacon Hills, and being back, opening the store…it felt right.

“Absolutely not.”

Claudia grinned, shaking a box of amethyst at him. “Stiles, don’t be a coward.”

“Mom, don’t be annoying.” He ducked when she swatted at his head. “Why don’t you go get the coffee, and I’ll finish putting the crystals out?”

“I have a plan in mind, I need to do it a certain way.” She arranged the amethyst in the display box she had on the shelf, then tilted her head, studying the effect. She bent to grab some jasper.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You just want me to embarrass myself again.”

“You did that all on your own.” She set down the jasper next to the amethyst, then wrinkled her nose. She faced him, putting her hands on her hips. Her white POISON shirt was smudged with dirt and old paint stains, hair braided back with flyaways sticking up around her face. “What are the odds of seeing that same guy again? And,” she continued before he could reply, “what are the odds that he’d even recognize you? The man saw you for a total of ten seconds, kid.”

He made a face at her. “What if he works there?”

She smiled.

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. But you’re getting the coffee next time.”

“Of course. Next time it’ll be my turn.” She shooed him and turned to the flat carts of planters, which were filling the shop with the heady scents of jasmine and lavender.

Stiles preferred to make potions with dried plants himself, but a lot of people were into growing their own lately. He didn’t stop outside this time—he didn’t want to give himself time to chicken out and go to Starbucks further up the road.

Mocha Latte Memories was right between the breakfast and lunch rushes when he got there; there were three girls at a table posing for a picture and an older man sipping from a mug and reading a book, but otherwise, the place was empty.

The walls were strung with photographs and every other table had an instant camera set up on a bolted tripod next to it. There were also disposable cameras set on the bookshelves, the counters, some tables, the window sills, and the console by the door, with a laminated sign on the wall explaining. The cameras confused Stiles until Claudia had dragged him and John to a table, set the timer on the instant camera, and took a photo of the three of them, waving it in his face.

Patrons were encouraged to take pictures with any of the cameras so they could be displayed on a rotation—they were also just allowed to take the instant photo home, if they wished. After a week on display, the pictures could be claimed by the person who took it or who was in it.

It was cute, Stiles thought. There was potential for creepy people to abuse it, but from what he’d seen, the staff kept a sharp eye on the cameras and who claimed which photos, and the owner was an old high school friend of Claudia’s and had gotten some witchy protections against that kind of thing. Photos taken of people without their consent would show up completely blank, as far as Stiles knew. There were other protections in place, but he hadn’t gotten any further details.

“Hey, Stilinski,” the barista, Cora, called out. “The usual for you and Miss Claudia?”

“Yes please.” He used his card to pay and found two fives in his wallet. Feeling cheerful—one day until opening and they were nearly done setting everything up—he dropped one into the tip jar, making Cora grin.

Behind him, the bells set above the door chimed as someone came in.

He set the five on the counter. “Put that toward their order?”

Her grin widened. “If you’re sure…”

“Yes, please.” He moved off to wait by the pick-up counter, looking at this week’s photos while he waited.

“Hey, thanks for the coffee.”

Stiles winced. He knew Cora was quick, so he’d kind of hoped his drinks would be done before the guy could notice him. He turned. His smile froze on his face.

The guy’s eyes lit up with mirth and recognition.

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed. He looked down and wondered how hard his mom would laugh at him if he filled the place with smoke and fled.

“You do remember me. I’m Derek.”

“Stiles,” he managed, strangled. “I-I—we’re—there was dust,” he blurted. “There was dust and I was trying to get it out of my hair, okay, and I don’t think it was that big of a deal, okay?”

“Okay,” Derek said, still looking amused. “I didn’t say it was a big deal.”

“Right.” Stiles eased back, even more mortified. “I-I-”

“Stiles! Drinks are up,” Cora called.

“Bye,” he croaked. He snatched the drinks and left as fast as he could.

Claudia was waiting outside when he returned, a worried frown on her face. “I felt you panicking, what-”

He shook his head. “I bought,” he gasped, “the guy coffee.”

Her brows shot up. “Start at the beginning,” she said, so he did.

He was right: she laughed at him.

The Beacon’s Raven opened at nine sharp on Saturday morning, doors flung wide and a mixture of orange and lavender smoking gently, filling the place with Claudia and Stiles’s favorite scents. The shelves were full, neatly organized, and inviting, the floors gleaming clean, and there was a carafe of hot chocolate and individually wrapped cookies set up by the register. Claudia turned on lively violin music and Stiles kept himself busy straightening the shelves.

“Mrs. Stilinski,” a familiar voice called out. “It looks wonderful in here, doesn’t it, Mom?” Lydia and Natalie Martin came in, arm in arm, already holding two other shopping bags.

“It does! Good job, Claudia.” She grinned, crossing to give Claudia a quick squeeze. Like Lydia and Stiles, Natalie and Claudia had gone to school with each other. “I wanted one of those wind chimes you make for Lydia’s new house and we thought we could take a look at the tarot cards—I’ve never been much of a reader myself but we think Lydia’s a bit of a sensitive.”

Lydia rolled her eyes at Stiles, but followed their mothers into an aisle anyway.

Two more people, witches Stiles recognized as regulars for dream talismans and ritual potions, came in, chatting about the store. Dotty, dream talisman buyer, spotted Stiles and shot over to commend him on the choice of orange and lavender— “Peace and energy in one, what a good idea for the first day,” she said, catching his arm.

Melissa and Scott showed up after that, then Heather and her boyfriend, and a group of local witches and some shoppers who were non-magical but interested in the local-made jewelry they were also selling.

Stiles kept busy ringing people up, helping a man pick out the right set of rune stones, and bagging things, keeping up a steady chatter about the store, so he shouldn’t have noticed one more person entering the shop. He should’ve heard the bell and called out a greeting and let Claudia handle it. Something made his head snap up. His eyes narrowed.

Coffee Shop Derek waved at him.

A tall, dark haired woman stood next to him, reading from the back of a crumpled receipt.

Stiles blinked back to his customer and smiled. “Thank you, have a great day.”

Mavis smirked at him. “Oh, you too, Mischief.”

He grimaced.

Mavis had been buying ritual herb bundles from Claudia since Stiles was three. She knew too much.

Claudia crossed to Derek and the woman and, to his surprise, hugged the woman. She gave Derek a sober handshake, smiling and saying something Stiles couldn’t hear.

He didn’t really recognize them aside from some vague familiarity, but Claudia clearly did. He glanced around, but everyone was busy looking—they were crowded, which wasn’t surprising. Beacon Hills was small enough that everyone and their grandmother had heard that little Dee Gajos, no, Stilinski now, and her son were opening a shop finally, and they all had to check it out, witches or not.

Stiles flicked his fingers.

“-Mom wanted some new talismans for the house, and Aunt Nettie wanted some cleansing potions for the party we’re having,” the woman was saying. “Mom also wanted us to congratulate you and let you know she’ll be out to see the shop as soon as she can.”

“Thank you, that’s sweet. I know she’s busy. Oh, one moment.” Claudia turned. “Stiles!” Her voice boomed, making him clap his hands to his ears.

Crap. He’d definitely been caught eavesdropping.

Her smile was far too wide. “Sweetie, why don’t you help the Hales find the things on their list while I run the register for a while?” Her voice was still too loud—raised so he could hear her across the store, if he hadn’t been eavesdropping.

He had two options, and only one of them would preserve what little dignity he had left at this point. He sighed and rounded the counter.

“Hey, I’m Laura.” She smiled when he approached. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Stiles.”

“Oh, really?” He narrowed his eyes at Derek, cheeks going red. Two mildly embarrassing run ins and the guy goes blabbing to his family.

“Yeah! You’ve met my mom Talia Hale a few times when she was picking up talismans from Claudia.”

Stiles’s gaze snapped up to Laura, then skimmed over her. “Oh, you’re werewolves. And Hales. I’ve met some of your pack.”

She laughed. “Yeah, that’s us.” She passed the list to Derek. “I actually wanted to talk to you about some blessed candles, Claudia, if that’s alright? I’m sure Stiles and Derek can handle the list.”

“Oh, sure. Here, we can go up to the register and talk.” Claudia smirked over her shoulder.

Stiles turned his back on her. “So.”

Derek lifted a brow. “You aren’t going to run away this time?”

“I’ve got nowhere to run,” he muttered, making Derek laugh. “Besides, I didn’t run. I just—I had things to do.” He cleared his throat. “Your mom buys talismans from my mom. I’ve helped make them before,” he added with a grin, deciding that he could push past his embarrassment. “She likes her bases covered, huh?”

Derek chuckled. “You have no idea. She’s going crazy over having the whole family at the house for our winter gathering. That’s why she wants to replace the talismans now.” He checked the list. “Four talismans, a house cleansing potion for Aunt Nettie,” he yawned widely, “new bells for the windows and,” another half-stifled yawn, “my uncle wants bloodroot.” He made a face.

“For what?”

He lifted that brow again.

Stiles flicked a hand at the shelves behind them. “I just mean if he’s making something for protection, we can make a bundle that’ll help more than just one plant.”

He shook his head. “No idea. He just came in and scribbled down bloodroot when we told everyone where we were going.”

“Ah.” Stiles shrugged. Not his problem. “Well, if they’re all concerned about the house, we can get some herbs to help with that, too.” He glanced at Claudia, but she and Laura were still talking. “The talismans take three days to make—they’re specific, so we don’t typically have them ready-made.”

“Oh.”

“Everything else is ready though.” He led Derek down the prepared potions aisle; already-made potions were popular with werewolves, shifters, and regular humans who couldn’t make potions themselves. He handed him the teal-colored cleansing potion. “There’s a tag with instructions on the cap, but I know Annette Hale buys this every few months.”

“She does.” Derek yawned again as they made their way to the herb aisle, stifling it in his elbow and shaking his head, like he was annoyed.

Stiles scooped bloodroot into a bag, avoiding eye contact. “Did you have a…long night?” he asked, and cursed himself for being so awkward.

Derek shook his head. “I just keep having these weird, vivid dreams, and when I wake up, I feel like I haven’t slept. And then I can’t make sense of the dreams.” He shrugged self-consciously.

“Have you tried-?” Stiles paused and frowned at him. “Sleep potions don’t work for werewolves.”

“Nope.”

“Huh.” Stiles touched some vervain thoughtfully, then shook his head. “No. What about an herb bundle?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never tried any of this stuff,” he admitted. “I don’t usually have trouble sleeping, either.”

Stiles dropped his hand and wandered over to the bells. “Maybe you should put a bell on your bedroom window instead.” He examined the smallest bells they had on display and picked out a silver one with a raven carved into the side; some of the bells had symbols or animals carved in them for extra protection, and others had nothing, a blank slate, but Stiles thought Derek could use the raven for some clarity. He held it out with a smile. “If anything is causing bad dreams, the sound will ward it off, and it should help make the dreams clearer so you can figure out what’s going on.”

Derek held the tiny bell in his palm. “Thanks.”

Stiles nodded, then looked back at the others. They had sets and singles. “Did Talia say what colors she wanted?”

“Oh, uh, no. Just some basic, uh, bells for us to string above the windows this winter.”

“Hmm.” Stiles chose a brassy gold set and a few tiny yellow gold chimes, and added a coil of delicate, triple braided twine. “Your mom will know how to string them.” He helped Derek carry everything to the register. “We’ll get the talismans started today.”

Claudia smiled as they set everything on the counter. She was wrapping up a full set of candles for Laura already. “One of you can come back to get them on Tuesday,” she assured them. “Oh, bloodroot alone? But-”

“Uncle Peter only asked for bloodroot.” Laura shrugged. “Nettie tried to get him to explain but he wouldn’t.”

“Huh.” She shook her head. “Maybe he’s got something in mind.” She rang them up while Stiles carefully bagged the rest of their purchases.

“Maybe.” Laura poked at the silver bell.

Derek snatched it and put it in his pocket. “That’s mine.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh-kay. Thanks again, Claudia. We’ll be back on Tuesday for the talismans.”

“No problem, thank you guys for coming in!”

Derek turned back so he could wave and smile at Stiles one more time as they were leaving.

By the time they closed at seven, Stiles was dead on his feet; the plan was for them to open again the next morning at the same time, and be closed on Mondays and Thursdays, but he wasn’t sure they’d make it to Monday at this point. They needed to hire some more people.

Claudia was sprawled in a chair in the reading room, beaming and as exhausted as Stiles. “That was…better than I had hoped for.”

Stiles flopped into a chair across from her. “I told you people would come.”

She shrugged. “It’s different, selling little mixtures and plants from my kitchen and selling it in a store.” She flung her hands out over the arms of the chair. “I expected…well, you know how people here can be.”

“Assholes.”

“Fickle,” she shot back. “Supportive one second, and then the next saying I’m thinking too highly of my skills.”

He snorted. “I would love to see anyone from Beacon Hills claim that. They know you, Mom.”

She smiled. “They can be assholes, a little bit,” she admitted, and he laughed. “I was thinking of hiring some part timers, to cover us when we need breaks and a day off. Thoughts?”

“Yes, please.” He dropped his head over the back of the chair. “If we have more people here, we can close a little later, stay open most days without working everyone twenty-four seven, and be able to help more people. Also, we have to get the Hale talismans going.”

“Right.” She tapped her fingers on the edge of the chair. “What did Derek Hale need one bell for?”

Stiles lifted his head. “Hmm?”

She shot him a look. “Don’t play dumb. One silver bell.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Well, he kept yawning while we were finding the stuff his pack asked for, so I asked him if he was having trouble sleeping. He said he was having vivid dreams that were keeping him from resting, so I thought a bell would help, you know, in case it was something coming in.”

She frowned. “But they’re not nightmares?”

“Apparently not. Just vivid dreams.”

“That’s odd.”

“Maybe the bell will help.”

She nodded. “Okay! Let’s go straighten up, count the till, and get started on the talismans for the Hales.”

Because they’d known they would be brewing potions on-site, they’d picked this building in part because it had a kitchen already, so they wouldn’t have to have one built.

“We really need more people working here.” Stiles rocked to his feet.

“I’m working on it. Natalie Martin was interested already, but I’d like a few more witches on staff, too.”

“Dad can help out.”

She smiled as they headed for the kitchen. “He’s bored now that he’s retired.”

“He needs a hobby.”

“Please.” She handed him a broom. “Sprinkle some orange and violet ashes for luck first.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

It wasn’t quite as busy the next day, although they were making an almost equal amount of sales—fewer browsers, Stiles guessed. Around noon, Claudia left him alone to get some coffee and lunch, which was when Derek wandered in. Stiles straightened from the counter and smiled.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” he replied uneasily. “Um, your talismans are still soaking in the first potion.”

Derek looked blank. “Oh, no, that’s not why I’m here, but thanks. I actually—the bell didn’t help,” he blurted.

Stiles frowned.

The woman over in the reading room sneezed, making Derek jump.

“Alright…let’s try an herb bundle.” Stiles rounded the counter. “Something to promote deep sleep, good dreams, some peace….that could help.”

Derek followed him. “I’m willing to try, I’m exhausted and the dreams don’t even make sense.”

“Hmm.” Stiles picked up a mesh sachet and skimmed through the dry herbs, letting his magic pick for him. He sprinkled in lavender, which was an obvious first, a tiny bit of valerian followed by peppermint mostly to disguise the foul scent of the ashes, chamomile, a tiny bit of eryngo, and some gardenia to tie it together, then sealed the bag. “Okay, there’s enough in here for you to sprinkle a tiny bit around your room, and keep the rest in this bag under your pillow while you sleep.” He put the sachet in Derek’s hand.

“You didn’t look at a recipe,” he pointed out.

Stiles frowned, plucking at the hem of his shirt. “Well, I don’t need one for that. I was just…feeling out what seemed right for you.”

“Do you do that for all of your customers?” he asked, smirking. His hair was damp from the chilly rain turning everything gray outside, curling over his forehead.

Stiles focused on a drop forming just above his eye. “No, not really. But none of them have asked,” he added defensively. He crossed his arms. “I was trying-”

“Excuse me. How much is this journal, young man?”

Stiles held his finger up at Derek and went to help the guy in a patchy tweed jacket with the journals. To his surprise, Derek was still waiting when the guy had paid and left. “Yes?”

He lifted the sachet. “I haven’t paid.”

Stiles blinked. “Oh, I—I was giving that to you.” They stood, blinking at each other for a prolonged moment.

Slowly, Derek’s cheeks reddened. His eyes went wide. “Oh, I didn’t realize. Thank—you?”

“No problem.” He smiled. “Did you ever figure out what your uncle wanted the bloodroot for?”

He shook his head. “He just took it and left, didn’t even thank us. He’s been annoyed all day, too, which for Peter means he’s been insufferable.” He turned the sachet over in his hand, then lifted it closer to his face to sniff.

Stiles glanced around the store, but the only person there was the witch in the reading room still. “We have some cookies left from yesterday, want some?”

“Sure.”

Stiles went to get them from the kitchen and poked at the talismans that were gently simmering in a warding potion. The first of three; the next would be applied later that evening. He scooped up the cookies.

Claudia had returned when he got out to the front, asking Derek how his parents were. “The cookies are still good,” she added with a quick smile in Stiles’s direction. “Why don’t you two eat in the kitchen while I watch the store? I can eat after you’re done.” She smiled again. “I got an extra sandwich.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes.

She winked at him and looked at Derek again. “You have time, don’t you, Derek?”

“I…uh, sure.”

“Great!” She thrust the sandwiches at Stiles. “Derek, I hope you like roast beef on rye with mozzarella and onions?”

Derek looked between her and Stiles. “Yes…that’s…my favorite.”

“How lucky,” she chirped.

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, “lucky.” He glanced at Derek, who looked surprised but not suspicious.

He clearly hadn’t spent enough time around witches.

Stiles took the sandwiches to the kitchen anyway. “You don’t have to stay,” he told Derek. “She’s just…” He didn’t know what she was doing. Teasing him for his two embarrassing encounters with Derek? Being overly friendly? Trying to help Stiles make friends like a shy five year old?

“It’s okay. I was just going to get lunch when I left anyway.” Derek looked around the kitchen, the glass front cabinets and the crockpot simmering on the counter. “I guess customers aren’t really meant to be back here.”

Stiles shrugged and set the sandwiches on the table. He grabbed some napkins, gesturing at the seat closest to Derek. “It’s only our second day open, we don’t have rules yet.”

Derek tucked the sachet into his pocket before he sat and unwrapped his sandwich. “You guys have been selling potions and talismans and stuff for a while though, right?”

“Yep.” Stiles licked mustard off his thumb. “Mom’s been doing it her whole life—before she and my dad got married, she and her parents sold supplies and stuff from their kitchen.” He rotated his wrist. “Beacon Hills is getting bigger and it was getting harder to run all this from our kitchen without overrunning the whole house with it.” Stiles took a minute to eat a few bites, watching with his head lowered as Derek did the same. “Your mom and your brother Sean, your dad Leo and your cousin, I think, Connie, I’ve met them all in passing. Annette, too. Amulets, talismans, potions, herbs, crystals—Connie bought a crystal when she was doing her midterms, more for a worry stone than anything, I think.”

“She still has it,” Derek said with a smile. “She wears it on a chain.”

Stiles smiled, too. “See, I’ve met several of your family members—your pack mates. But you’ve never come for anything.”

Derek shrugged. “Everyone else always had plenty and I never really needed anything.”

“Until now.” Stiles nodded at him, indicating the sachet in his pocket.

Derek flashed a grin. “Until now.”

After Derek left, thanking them for lunch and smiling at Stiles an extra time before he left, Claudia whirled on Stiles, beaming.

“What are you up to?”

“Absolutely nothing, how dare you accuse me of being up to something.” She wiped the counter with a damp rag, a smile playing on her lips.

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was accusing her of quite yet, so he fell quiet. He’d bide his time and get her back later. Three giggling high schoolers came in to ask about love potions and, having already been subjected to the Love Potion Lecture at age seven, and then twelve, Stiles made himself busy straightening the shelves and checking the plants for dry soil.

Claudia went into the back to eat after the girls left, so Stiles was left to deal with Mrs. Howard’s very particular taste in rose quartz for her daughter’s birthday. It wasn’t so bad, not nearly as bad as the PTA parents wanting “luck” potions for a bake sale.

John wandered in when things died down, while Stiles was drawing mindlessly on a legal pad. He leaned over. “Anything good?”

Stiles studied the shape. “Not sure yet.” He added another line. “I think it might need…copper. Amethyst.” He tilted the pad. “Some spirit quartz for an added layer, maybe, to clear things up.” He rubbed his finger over the top curve thoughtfully.

“Who’s it for?”

“Dunno. It just keeps coming to me.” He finally looked up and grinned. “What’re you all dressed up for? I thought you were strictly into jeans these days.”

John ran a hand down the neat button down shirt that he’d paired with a completely wrinkle-free pair of khakis. “I’m here for a job interview,” he said grimly. “Think I got a chance with the boss?”

Stiles grinned. “I dunno, she’s pretty strict.”

Claudia came out of the back wiping her hands on a towel. Her eyes widened. “Well, now, Sheriff, don’t you look handsome.”

Stiles, still grinning, shook his head and hopped off the stool behind the counter to hunt up some of the materials he needed for the amulet he was going to make. Chips of amethyst and flint were his first ingredients, and the rest, he figured, would come to him as needed. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, just copper wrapped around three very small stones in the shape he couldn’t get out of his head.

He rang himself up after he’d gathered a few more things, then put his supplies aside—his tools and the other things he needed were at home.

“What’re you making?” Claudia asked after watching him tuck his bagged purchases away.

“An amulet, I think.”

“Hmm.”

John was across the shop enthusiastically helping a witch select a chain for her new pendulum.

She looked amused despite the fact that John clearly had no idea what to direct her toward.

“He always was better with herbs,” Claudia mused. “I can’t believe he hasn’t picked up more from us after all these years.”

“Maybe he should just run the register.”

“He’s got it.”

Stiles shrugged and went back to his rough sketch, tracing the spirals with his finger.

He spent the evening coiling copper wire at the kitchen table, carefully wrapping it around the smallest piece of pearl dolomite he’d been able to find, then spirit quartz, and finally a tiny piece of flint. The amethyst chips went along the wire, and after that he sprinkled gardenia and lavender ash on it to sit for the night. He studied it; it wasn’t his best work, but not his worst, either. The amulet would need to be charged with his magic to bind it together, and he’d need a chain for it before it could be worn. The amulet itself was small, about the size of a silver dollar.

He left it overnight and took it to the shop the next morning. Stiles and John were handling the front while Claudia retreated, with a miserable growl, to do the accounting.

Her day job, after all, used to be the head of an accounting firm, and she had the most experience. Besides that, she wasn’t ready to hire someone else to take care of it.

“I’m still not sure, this one over here is really beautiful.” The customer indicated a hand painted tarot deck made by a local witch Claudia had grown up with.

“If you’re just starting, a basic deck is the best way to learn how to read the cards.” He smiled. “You can get fancy later, I promise.”

“Well…I suppose you’re right.” She sighed. “My mom said the same thing, and I definitely knew that was the right way to do it, but the hand painted deck is so…” She picked up the deck Stiles had pointed out to her. “Do you guys carry altar cloths? I would like to get a new one.”

Stiles grinned. “We do, actually. Dominic Birch embroidered them, his work is unbelievable.”

After she’d paid and left—with two new journals, an altar cloth, and her tarot deck—John helped a guy pick out a potted aloe plant and Stiles sold three necklaces and a ring.

The bells chimed as he was restocking with more jewelry. “Hi,” he called out, turning.

Derek waved awkwardly and held up a piece of paper. “Peter wants some more stuff.”

“Ah. Did he say what it was for this time?”

“Nope. He’s just as irritated today, too.” He passed the list to Stiles, thumb brushing the back of his hand. He was wearing a blue sweater in concession to the chill hanging in the air, and the fact that the sleeves were just a little too long for him was too much for Stiles. “Oh, hey, I think those herbs you gave me worked, last night I barely had any dreams at all.”

Stiles smiled at him. “That’s great.” He flipped the list over. Buchu, rose, dandelion—dried and ground. Huh. “Did he say how much of this stuff he wants?”

Derek shook his head. “But he did send his debit card, so feel free to ring up as much as you’d like.”

Stiles snickered. “I’d love to, but I think we should try to keep our reputation good, you know, since we’re so new and all.”

Derek snorted. “If he noticed, I doubt he’d say anything anyway. There’s so much going on at home, though, I don’t think he would notice.”

Stiles bagged the herbs as they talked. “What’s going on?”

“Just the usual holiday madness. For our winter celebration, our extended pack—that’s everyone who’s moved away and joined or formed other packs—comes to visit. All three houses are overrun for days.”

Stiles laughed as he tipped a scoop of dried dandelion into a bag. “That sounds awesome.”

“I guess it is, sometimes. That’s why everyone is freaking out, though. It takes a lot to prepare for all those werewolves.” He rubbed the back of his head, sighing. “I’m gonna have to share my room with a couple of my cousins.”

“Aw, didn’t you miss your cousins?”

“No.” He scowled, then sighed. “Yeah, a little bit. There’s just a lot of them—we all end up completely sleep deprived by the end.” He took the bags Stiles held out. “But it is fun. You guys should stop by. The festivities start on the twentieth.”

“You make it sound like a carnival,” Stiles laughed as he walked him to the counter.

“More like a circus,” he muttered. “But I swear it’s fun, and there’s enough food to feed at least three armies.”

“Won’t your family mind if we crash a family gathering?”

“No, I’m pretty sure my mom invites Claudia every year, only she always had plans.”

“Yeah, we usually do year end rituals and stuff, but I can probably, uh, stop by. If you wanted.” He studiously avoided the way John was looking at him while he rang up Derek’s purchases.

Derek beamed at him. “That’d be great.”

Stiles smiled. In his pocket, the amulet grew warm, then hot. His hand jumped to it, closing around the wire, and his eyes widened. “Should—should I bring…anything?”

“Just yourself. Maybe some earplugs. Aunt Nettie’s sister-in-law just had triplets.” Derek grinned at John. “Sheriff, you and Mrs. Stilinski are more than welcome, too. My mom will probably be calling sometime tomorrow or the next day to invite you herself.”

John smiled. “Maybe we’ll stop by this year.” His gaze inched over to Stiles and his smile stretched into a grin. “Just to make sure Stiles stays out of trouble.”

“Very funny,” Stiles muttered. “I’m an angel.”

“Lying is a sin, angel.”

Stiles, unable to flip him off, stuck his tongue out, and got a pitying look in response. He remembered Derek a second later and flushed, whipping around so his back was to John. “Uh, uh—let me know how—if the weird dreams come back,” he stammered. “We can try something else.” He cast around for something else to say as they inched away from the counter and noticed Derek’s bag. “Your uncle isn’t…trying to see the future, is he?”

“No idea.” Derek peered into the bag. “Why, is that what this stuff is for?”

Stiles tilted his hand side to side. “They can be used for a few different things, but yeah, divination and visions are some of the more popular things.” He shook his head. “Not that it matters, it’s not a big deal. Plenty of people use herbs for prophetic visions,” he assured him. “Us, we prefer crystals if we’re trying to see something.”

“Do you look into the future often?”

Stiles shook his head and met Derek’s gaze. “I prefer to be surprised. The future can change, so what’s the point in worrying about one vision you saw once, by chance, that might not even happen?”

Derek’s lips quirked. “Speaking from experience?”

He glanced back at his dad automatically; Claudia had joined him at the counter, their heads tipped together as they spoke. “Yeah, I peeked and I didn’t…” He shook his head again. “Doesn’t matter, it’s already changed.” He smiled at Derek.

“What kind of magic do you use, if you don’t try to see the future?”

He lifted his shoulders. “All kinds, I guess.”

“What are you good at?”

He laughed. “You want me to brag about my skills?” He waggled his fingers.

“Yeah.”

Stiles laughed again, he couldn’t help it. “Well, I’m pretty good with water-based magic, and my telekinetic prowess is, if I do say so myself, pretty awesome.”

“You’ll have to give me a demonstration sometime.”

Stiles nodded and lifted his hand, palm up. Water formed on his fingers and slid down, gathering into a ball. He flexed his fingers. It froze solid.

“Okay, that was impressive.”

“A Stilinski, flirting by showing off, why am I not surprised.” Mavis’s voice made Stiles jump, the ice ball flying out of his grasp. “How utterly predictable.”

Derek snatched the ball before it could hit the ground and shatter.

“Mischief, you are just like your mother, I swear. You can do better than that to impress the man. Claudia,” she called in her croaking voice, “did you see what Mischief was doing?” She shuffled away from them.

Stiles covered his eyes. “Good gods.”

Derek mouthed, “Mischief?” but dropped it when Stiles shook his head. “Well, I thought it was impressive.” He held out the ice.

Stiles closed his hands over it. “There’s no reason to do big spells indoors, Mavis.”

“Balls of ice aren’t impressive, Mischief.”

He rolled his eyes at Derek. “I’ll see you later, I have to go chase an old lady with a broom.”

He laughed. “Good luck.”

Stiles finished the amulet on his break, holding his hand over it and binding the ingredients together, all the pieces, the copper, the flint, the quartz, the dolomite and amethyst, with his magic. He found a black chain he thought went well with the copper triskelion and attached it, then stared at the completed piece. It’d come to him for a reason, amulets usually did, but he just couldn’t figure out who it was meant for.

Claudia put the Hales talismans in the last potion while he was still staring at it. “Looks good. What made you use a triskelion?”

“I’m not sure, it just…came to me.” He shrugged. While Claudia had always had an instinct for talismans, Stiles had the same instinct for amulets, the shapes and materials often coming to him and hovering in his mind, behind his eyes, like he’d stared at a light too long. She’d found him making them enough throughout his life to know he hadn’t made it for himself.

“Have you figured out who it’s for?”

Her tone made him look up, eyes narrowed. “No…why?”

She poked at the talismans, then covered them again. “Well, the triskelion is the Hale pack’s symbol. They use it to identify their pack.”

Stiles looked at the amulet. “Huh.”

“Maybe you made it for Derek,” she teased.

“Mother, are you implying something?”

“Just that he keeps coming here…daily…and that he invited you to his family gathering.” She shrugged. She had an ivy leaf caught in her hair from that morning.

“He’s just being friendly.”

She snorted. “Laura, maybe, Nettie absolutely, but from what I’ve noticed, friendly is an optional trait in the Hales and they don’t bother unless they think you’re worth it.” She held her hands up. “Could be he just likes you as a friend, that’s true.” Her eyes gleamed. “But I say you take that amulet over on the twentieth and see if he says no when you ask him out.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“If he turns you down, I will admit I was wrong, somehow.”

“Not good enough.”

She tapped her fingers on the table. “If I’m wrong, what would you like?”

“Grandpa’s book of charms.”

“Oh, Stiles.” She shook her head. “They’re messy.”

“Blood?”

She held her fingers a half inch apart. “But it’s more in the mud and clay and wet ashes way. Trust me. Messy.”

“I want them.”

She put her hands up. “Fine, since I’m sure I’m right, if Derek shoots you down, I will dig out your grandfather’s book of charms. Only if I’m wrong. If he accepts, you do Laura Hale’s interview. She wants to work here,” she added with a smile.

“That’s absolutely not on the same level.”

“Those are my conditions.”

“Ugh, fine. Are you and Dad going?”

She smoothed the wrinkles out of her black and pink dress, smiling serenely at him. “We have to be there, dear, it’s only polite.” She turned on her heel, ponytail swishing as she left.

“You’ve got ivy in your hair!” he shouted after her. He looked down at the amulet. “Damn it.” He needed to find a box for it now.

The twentieth arrived before Stiles was fully prepared. They’d been busy with people coming for ritual kits, herbs, potions, and gifts, enough that they could consider their first two weeks of being open a resounding success. Stiles found a decorative cherry wood box with a small raven carved into the side to put the amulet in, on a bed of gardenia and lavender, and dressed casually for the party.

Cora at Mocha Latte Memories turned out to be another Hale that Stiles hadn’t met and had told him to just show up whenever. “The dress code?” she’d repeated blankly when he’d asked. “Uh…casual. We’re a mess, don’t worry about it. Some of the littler kids probably won’t even be dressed.” She’d shrugged. “Shifters, you know.”

So Stiles wasn’t sure what to expect as he headed to the Hale property. It used to be just one house, but they’d added two more to accommodate their growing pack. Stiles hadn’t seen it in a while—not since he was a teenager, wandering the preserve at night with Scott and Heather, being stupid—so the sight of about twenty extra cars and a camper clogging the long driveway and part of the yard, plus about six people on the wrap around porch just chatting, was something of a surprise.

Stiles parked behind a blue SUV and turned the jeep off deliberately slow. He stared at the little box on his passenger seat and sighed.

John and Claudia had come over earlier, just after noon, but Stiles had managed to procrastinate so long that he now had to arrive alone. Maybe he could just sit here until he spotted Derek and act like he’d just arrived.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

‘Coming in at any point, son?’

Stiles scowled. He figured blocking her wouldn’t work, so he just shoved it back in his pocket, swiped the box, and got out. He had to weave through several cars to get to the yard, where he could see a flattened path from everyone walking the same route.

Behind him, someone shouted, “Quit it!”

He turned.

Fifteen feet away, Derek got tackled by a tall, skinny werewolf with short dark hair.

Stiles tensed, but it wasn’t until another werewolf, shorter, partially shifted and snarling through long fangs, joined in that he started running. “Hey!”

Derek snarled and rolled, but the shifted werewolf bit his ear, making him yelp, while the other sat on his legs to pin him down.

“Hey!” Stiles shouted again. He stopped before any of those flailing claws or fangs could hit him and studied the ball of werewolves.

Someone up on the porch noticed them and snickered.

Stiles flinched when blood spattered the grass, a yelp coming from the bottom of the pile. He rolled his eyes and put his free hand out, then swept it aside.

The taller werewolf tumbled aside, landing on his butt a couple feet away.

Stiles caught the other one and flicked him away, too, leaving Derek disheveled and a little bloody. Stiles turned to the two that’d tackled him and shook his head. “Two on one is shameful,” he scolded. He could see now that they were teenagers; their partial shifts had made them look older, but as the fangs and tufted ears melted away, they looked young.

The taller one looked petulant while the other simply looked mortified.

“He drank our hot chocolate!” the tall one snapped.

“Uh—what?”

Derek sat up. “You can’t prove that.” Blood trailed down his cheek, but the cut had, thankfully, already healed.

“It’s always you,” the embarrassed one piped up. “Uncle Peter says you keep stealing his coffee, too.”

Derek’s ears went red. “He’s exaggerating.” He looked up at Stiles sheepishly. “I always refill the cups after. I’m just useless in the morning.”

“You’re always useless.”

“Markus,” a man on the porch snapped.

He rolled his eyes. “Sorry.” He looked at Stiles. “How’d you do that?”

“He’s a witch, dummy.”

“Todd,” the man scolded.

Todd held his hands up. “But he is.” He squinted at Stiles. “Right?”

“Right.”

Todd smirked at Marcus.

Stiles held his hand out to help Derek up. “Brawling with teenagers?”

“They hit me first.” He smiled. “I thought you’d decided not to come when your parents showed up without you.”

Stiles shook his head. “Just running behind.”

Derek nodded, fighting a huge yawn that nearly wrenched his jaw apart.

He lifted his brows. “Dreams again?”

He nodded. “They came back a couple days ago.” He looked toward the house, ears going red. “You were in them this time, even though they still don’t make sense.”

Todd rolled his eyes and pulled Markus to his feet. “Stop stealing everyone’s drinks!”

“I thought it was Peter’s coffee,” he admitted. “I didn’t mean to steal your hot chocolate.”

Markus rolled his eyes. “Make your own coffee, jeeze, Uncle Peter’s right. You are nose blind.”

“I am not!”

Stiles prodded Derek’s shoulder. “Excuse me, did you just say you’ve been drinking your uncle’s coffee?”

Todd nodded, aggrieved. “Derek steals everyone’s drinks, every year.”

He looked guilty. “Only when it’s really early, and I always refill the mug, brats.” That last bit was directed at his cousins, who were clearly unconvinced.

“You do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“You can sleep in Cora’s room tonight,” Derek hissed.

Stiles shared an exasperated look with Todd, though he was sure Todd was more bothered by the hot chocolate theft than he was. He had a bigger problem. “Derek.”

“Yeah.”

He tried to think of a nice way to phrase it, but… “Are you, possibly, nose blind?”

Todd and Markus cackled.

Derek looked insulted. “No!”

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Uncle Peter is the uncle who’s been sending you to get potion ingredients from my shop, right?”

“Yea—ah, fuck.”

Markus’s mouth opened in a wide, wide grin. “I’m telling Aunt Talia.”

Todd’s hand shot out, catching his shirt. “Derek can buy our silence.”

Markus’s eyes went even brighter, delighted.

He glared at them. “What do you want?”

“Take us to the potion place.”

“Excuse me?”

“We never get to go to witch stores, we want to buy magic potions.” The boys looked excited by the mere idea, breathless at the power that was just in their reach.

Stiles leaned around Derek. “If you go find Miss Claudia in the house, she’ll tell you all about magic potions. That way when Derek takes you, you know which one to pick.”

They looked at each other, smirking, then ran for the house.

He straightened up. “That lecture should keep them busy for at least twenty minutes.” He swung back around to Derek. “You’ve been drinking coffee laced with potions.”

“Apparently.”

“Potions for prophetic dreams.”

“Yep.”

“Then refilling the cup before anyone noticed the coffee was gone.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Which means your uncle has been drinking regular coffee thinking it was laced with potions, and probably getting annoyed that it’s not working—stop laughing!” But Stiles was laughing, too. “This is serious, you could’ve poisoned yourself.”

He shook his head as he wheezed. “Peter’s been so pissed lately, and it turns out it’s because his experiments aren’t working—because I’ve been drinking them.” He shook his head, overcome.

“Didn’t he—no, you said he didn’t tell you guys what it was for.” Stiles rolled his eyes. The cold was starting to seep under his jacket finally, chilling him.

“No, he didn’t. Serves him right for not telling us what he was making us run errands for.”

Stiles lifted a brow at him.

“Hey, I got my payback by losing sleep.”

“Somehow that doesn’t seem to compare.” Stiles looked at the box in his hand and sighed. “When was the last time you drank his coffee?”

“Yesterday morning,” he admitted sheepishly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and shuffling his feet. They were barely an arms’ length apart, over the muddy disturbed grass where he’d been wrestling with his cousins. He scratched drying blood off his temple.

“You’ve probably got another couple nights before the dreams wear off.”

He nodded. “Hey, I’m—I’m glad you came over.” He smiled shyly.

Stiles smiled back. “Me too. Now I know why none of my usual tricks worked for your weird dreams.” He tapped his finger on the box. “You don’t remember any of them?”

“Nothing that makes sense.” He shrugged.

Too bad. He shook it off and held the box out. “I brought this for you.”

“Thank you.” He took it carefully, tilting it so he could see the carving on the side. He traced it gently with one fingertip. “You guys are fond of ravens, I guess.”

“They’re a thing with my mom’s family. And they’re good friends.” He shrugged. “You don’t have to wait ’til sundown to open it, you know.”

Derek made a show of examining every inch of the box before he pried it open. His lashes fluttered. “You made this.” Not a question, no surprise. A fact.

“How’d you guess?”

He lifted his gaze. “I can feel it. You weren’t kidding about your magic being powerful. Can I wear it now?”

“Of course, I made it for you to wear.” Stiles had to look away, his neck prickling. He normally didn’t make a big deal of his amulets and the receivers of them typically followed his lead. He didn’t know what to do with such gravity. When he looked up, Derek was wearing the amulet around his neck, the triskelion resting just beneath his collar bones.

“How’s it look?”

Stiles nodded. “Pretty good,” he squeaked. He looked over his shoulder, but everyone who’d been on the porch was gone. He took a deep breath. “Well, now that I’ve given you fancy jewelry…”

“A protective amulet,” Derek corrected, cupping his hand over it as if he was shielding it.

“Right. I was—I wanted to ask if you wanted to go out on a date. Maybe get coffee from somewhere your sister doesn’t work.” He caught his breath and reminded himself that either way this went, he would get something he wanted.

He just, maybe, wanted to date Derek more than he wanted that book of charms.

Derek smiled. “Sure, that sounds great.” He lifted his gaze and winced. “But, uh, first we have to survive this.” He pointed.

Claudia and Talia were watching from the door, both grinning, while noses pressed against nearly every window around them.

“We could make a run for it,” Stiles said out of the corner of his mouth. “I think I can hold the door closed from here and we can make it to the jeep.”

“You can’t run from every problem.”

“I am fast enough to out run most of them,” he pointed out.

Derek caught his hand, twined their fingers together, and tugged him up toward the house. “There’s not that many of them in this house—most of them are out in the backyard.”

“Your mom is in there,” he whined.

Claudia winked.

“My mom is in there,” he added under his breath.

They laughed together and moved out of the doorway, linking arms and heading toward the kitchen, by the looks of it.

Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand. “Because you didn’t shoot me down, I have to give your sister a job interview.”

“If you can survive this, interviewing Laura will be nothing.” Derek kissed the back of his hand, making him flush all over, before he went into the house.

“Derek!” a man growled, followed by a yelp and a thud.

Stiles shook his head and went inside to save him from Peter’s wrath.

#vyxynheartssterek #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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