#(I KNOW the tattoo disappeared entirely. i know. but what if it left a scar or a birthmark and I cried)

[waitineedaname]

nothing is more delicious to me than greed having a permanent effect on ling, even after his death. maybe it's some of his mannerisms or some little change to his appearance, or my personal favorite: making his chi absolutely fucked forever. the yao prince goes to amestris and comes back with the secret of immortality and something about him that's just ever so slightly off-putting

[impala-dreamer]

Blind Faith

A Supernatural Story

~What if the cure was never really a cure? What if the curse was too strong and her love was too weak?~

Demon!Dean x Reader, Sam Winchester. 

9,760 Words

NSFW, Dark Fic, DbCn, NCn, Extreme Violence, Blood, Extreme Angst, Major Character Death.

A/N: This is for @jacklesversebingo - my prompt was "He gave her 36 hours"

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

She hadn’t been there when he died. 

She hadn’t seen the blade disappear into his chest, didn’t watch the blood bubble up around it like a geyser. She hadn’t heard his painful cry; hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye. 

Y/N stood frozen next to the glowing table, her eyes wide with disbelief as Sam carried his brother’s limp, broken body into the Bunker. 

He wasn’t safe, but he was home. 

“Sam- what-” 

Her voice was a distance crackle in the grief surrounding them both and Sam couldn’t find an answer that would soothe the break.

He stopped at the bottom of the staircase and looked at her with red, tear-soaked eyes. His lip quivered and he sucked in a quick, aching breath. 

“I don’t- I don’t know what to do,” he said. 

Shock crept through her bones and twisted every vein until the blood stopped flowing. She felt her heart stop short as if it had been slammed into a wall, crushed by an anvil, or trampled by a herd. 

Time slowed. She shook her head, unable to process the sight of Dean’s left arm falling from his chest as Sam’s knees buckled. Blood dripped from his fingertips and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his watch. Of all things, she focused on that stupid black watch. She could hear it ticking over the lack of breath and each click brought her closer to insanity. 

Sam’s balance shifted and Y/N broke free of Chrono’s paralyzing curse. She rushed to his side and put her hands beneath Dean’s cold form. 

He was heavy but she insisted on helping. 

She kept her eyes on the watch as they carried him through the hallway. 

“I wanna clean him up,” Sam whispered. “I… I gotta clean him up.” 

Y/N could barely breathe as they laid him down on the icy bathroom tiles. She couldn’t look at his face, couldn’t believe that it was Dean. She regarded him as an object while wiping the dried blood from his face and carefully dabbing his lips with a damp cloth. She gazed at the wound in his chest with vacant eyes as if it were merely a tear in a shirt she needed to mend. 

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. 

She smoothed out the beige blanket on his bed; fluffed the pillow and placed it in the middle, just as he would have. Dean always liked a tidy bedroom.  

Sam carried him in and gently laid him down. 

Standing back, Sam gazed at his brother and broke. Tears swept down his cheeks and his entire frame shook with tiny, nearly imperceptible tremors. 

Y/N touched his arm, gingerly reaching for her friend while the world shattered around them. 

He jerked away from her touch and turned, leaving her alone with the body. 

With his body. 

With Dean.  

Finally, she let herself look, really look at his face. His skin was bruised and broken, sliced open by Metatron’s fists. For a moment she worried that the cut above his eye would scar, but it never would. The flesh would never heal; the marks would never fade. 

“Dean…”

His name had left her lips a million times before but this felt like the last. Her breath caught deep in the back of her throat and her body crumbled. She fell beside the bed and grasped his hand, tugging it to her lips. She kissed his bloody knuckles, cradled the stiff joints, and left her tears on his palm. 

The Mark was there, forever tattooed on his arm, looming over her like some sinister warning. But it meant nothing. The threat was gone. Without Dean, it had no power. Without Dean, it was nothing more than an ornate laceration. 

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but eventually, she got up. Somehow she released his hand and placed it at his side. By some Grace of Heaven, she managed to turn her back on the man she loved and walk out of the room. 

Sam was drunk. 

Y/N found him sitting in the dark at a table in the Library, a bottle of whiskey slowly emptying into his veins. 

She tried to say something, to make her presence known, but nothing came out. Her words were trapped, and her thoughts were a mess. 

She sat down next to him at the head of the table and reached for the bottle. 

The cheap whiskey was poison and she wanted it to do her in. 

“What do we do?” 

Sam stiffened at her question and scoffed. “We?” He turned and snatched the bottle out of her hand. “We do nothing. I find a way to bring him back.” 

The offense tightened in her chest. “I can help,” she whispered. “I want to help. I have to.” 

Sam filled his glass to nearly overflowing and drank it down in two swallows. “No.” 

“No?” 

He wouldn’t look at her. The wood creaked as he leaned back and stretched his long legs out, purposefully turning away. 

“You’re not part of this family.” His voice was soft but the tone was viscous. Drunk and distraught, he aimed to take his pain out on anything he could. Y/N was the only one there. 

“Sam-” 

“You’re not.” He poured another drink and lifted it with a shaking hand. “Never were.” 

Y/N’s stomach cramped. “Don’t say that. I’m as much a part of this as-”

“As what?” Sam turned, spinning around so fast that he nearly knocked the chair over. Hazel eyes narrowed on her face; pink lips formed words she’d only heard from the mouths of demons. “As me? As Dean? Cas? No. You’re nothing. You’re not family. You’re not even really a friend. Just some girl Dean picked up on the side of the road and forgot to drop back off. You’re here by accident. By circumstance. Not because we want you here.” Licking his lip slowly, he dragged a drop of whiskey into his mouth. “You’re here because he was too nice to tell you to leave.” 

It was everything she thought to herself when the nights got bad; when trauma and depression worked together to try to bring her down. 

She held her breath in a feeble attempt to keep her voice steady. “You don’t mean any of that, Sam.”

He laughed. “Wow. You’re as dumb as you are useless.”

A sharp pain spread up her arms and Y/N realized she’d been gripping the armrests of her seat so tightly her nails had dug into the wood, forever marking her presence and Sam’s evil words. 

She stood up with fists and jaw clenched tight. “You’re drunk and you’re in pain.” 

“Oh, I am drunk.” He shrugged and took a long sip. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” 

Her palms suffered the same fate as the armrests. She cringed at the sting. “Why are you doing this?” 

Slowly, he stood and stumbled a bit as he turned to look at her. He towered over her, a giant blocking out the light and all hope. 

“I want you out.” His tongue was slow but his teeth were sharp. “I want you out of the Bunker, out of Kansas. Out of my life!” 

Y/N couldn’t move. A tightness inside was forcing a disconnect between her mind and body. Her legs felt like dead tree logs, her arms like lead weights pulling her down. Unable to blink away the tears, she turned her eyes towards the rows of books on the walls, the artifacts gathering dust on the lower shelves. 

“Sam…”

He would not be stopped by a display of tears or the meekness in her stance. 

“I said get out!” he roared, arms waving as his voice boomed through the empty rooms. “Now!” 

Y/N flinched, sure that he meant to strike her. 

When he saw the fear in her eyes, he stepped back, but not down. He grabbed the bottle and drank straight from it, chugging down more than he should have. 

“Just go,” he sighed. “Please.” 

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, needing a little pain to help her do what she needed to. 

She nodded. 

He turned away and slumped back into his chair, giving up on everything but the whiskey. 

She walked up the short steps and pressed her hand against the stone archway, saying goodbye. 

“You’re gonna regret this, you know.” 

He laughed bitterly. “Doubt it.” 

It didn’t take long to pack. Most of her stuff was already in her car, ready for a case or an easy escape. What she did have in her room, she crammed into a backpack. 

Leaving behind the place she’d called home for three years was hard. 

Leaving him behind was worse. 

Y/N stood in his doorway and said her silent goodbye. 

Dean was right where they’d left him; head on the pillow, bowed legs slightly bent, sleeping forever. 

When her eyes began to burn, she wiped them with the back of her hand and turned to leave. Sam was right. She was never really part of this. 

It was time to go. 

How long had it been? A month, two? She’d stopped counting after two weeks. It seemed pointless by then. Dean was gone, and Sam had kicked her out. There was nowhere to go, no place to call home. With no one waiting up for her, time didn’t matter. 

Y/N could tell that the summer was close to beginning its descent into autumn as she tracked it across the country. She drove relentlessly, pushing her beat-up white Tucson from its namesake to Annapolis and back again. The roads were too long; the future so unclear. 

She needed a plan for the rest of her life. Should she keep on hunting? Maybe try for that picket fence life she’d only seen on TV? A passing dream brought her to Costa Rica, but her Spanish was rusty and the Expat life seemed lonely. 

She needed to stop and figure things out. 

The only problem was, when she stopped, she had to think. And thinking was something she wasn’t too fond of. 

Whenever she closed her eyes she was met with beautiful memories of her time with Dean; of late nights cuddled in the back of the Impala, talking about life and counting the stars when they came out. If she tried hard enough, she could feel his calloused fingertips drag across her cheek, taste his bourbon-stained kiss. 

But, even the sweetest memories faded into blood-soaked dreams. She watched Dean’s death on repeat. Each time was slightly different, tiny details shifting and expanding here and there. She hadn’t seen it, she didn’t know the truth. She’d only seen the aftermath, so her horrible imagination filled in the blanks. 

Sometimes he reached out for her, screaming her name as Metatron plunged the blade into his chest. Other times, he was racing with her toward safety when she let his hand drop, losing him to the Scribe’s murderous intent.

She never slept much anymore.  

The third week of August found her sweating in the muggy heat of Savannah, a city she’d always loved to breeze through but never had the chance to visit.

Now, she was falling in love. Walking the brick-laid sidewalks of the historic district made her feel at ease. The dense air seemed to warm something frozen inside, and the weeping willows mirrored her heart. 

She breathed a little deeper, walked a little slower, and took her time exploring. 

She rented a tiny apartment in the attic of a little house on the border of town by charming the owner into a week-by-week lease. There was no way to tell how long she would stay, but the city was as haunted as any she’d seen, so if nothing else, there were a few weeks of cases she could work.  

Days were spent napping and pondering the existence of a real life out of the shadows and nights were draped in them. When the sun sank below the trees, she went out, walking the streets without fear or obligation. She followed the heavy wind and the sounds of music that pulsed from bars and clubs late into the night. 

One Tuesday evening, a mournful blues riff pulled her into a bar and she sat at a table in the back, nursing a cocktail that made her nose crinkle up after every sip. 

“Looks like you’re not a fan.” 

Y/N swallowed a bubbly sip and shook her head before looking up. “Not really,” she answered. “But hey, when in Rome.” 

She set the glass on the little square napkin and sighed as the band hit a crescendo. The music was blaring and it was hard to hear below a shout. 

“You should try their bourbon. I hear it’s amazing.” 

The voice tugged at her brain and Y/N finally looked up, nearly jumping out of her skin when she did. 

Dean Winchester stood before her, alive and well with a sparkle in his eye and a smirk upon his lips. 

Her heart pounded, her limbs tingled. 

“What the fuck-” 

Her entire being tensed and her feet prepared for a quick escape. 

The door was forty steps to the left- she always counted when entering a room. There were three tables in the way that she’d have to weave through, and only two people in danger of being knocked over. She could make it quick.

Dean smiled softly and placed his hands on the back of the chair closest to him. He leaned down a bit and sighed. 

“It’s good to see you, Y/N/N.” 

She flinched at the sound of her nickname and reached for the knife in her jeans. 

His eyes went right to her hand. 

“Come on, babygirl. You don’t need that.” He laughed sadly and licked his lip. “It’s me.”

She laughed sarcastically. “You’re dead.” 

Comically, Dean looked down at himself and then stood up straight. He patted his chest and shook his head. 

“I don’t appear to be.” 

Wide eyes studied his face and scanned his body for anything out of place. He looked a little bigger than last she saw as if he’d been working out or at least eating a little better. His hair was longer and stuck up on his head a little higher, but he moved the same; smiled the same. His voice- 

“Look, I know this is insane, but- come on, kid. It’s me.” 

She shivered. Everything she knew, every part of her said to run. But somewhere, deep in her heart, she held some blind faith that said Dean would never hurt her. Even if at his worst, he’d never raise his hand against her, never do anything but keep her safe. 

She prayed that her heart knew best. 

“I can’t-” She paused and looked around at the crowded bar. “I can’t do this here.” 

He nodded in understanding and gestured towards the door. 

“You first,” she insisted. 

Dean smiled and led the way. 

“How are you here? You… you died, Dean. I washed the blood off of your face myself,” she asked once the music had faded and the crowd had vanished. 

They stood in an empty lot behind the bar, two old friends amongst broken bottles and thriving weeds. 

“Thanks for that,” he said with a gentle laugh. 

“That’s not funny.” 

He sighed. “I know.” Dean kicked at a shard of glass with the tip of his boot, searching for the words she needed to hear. 

Impatient and brimming with nerves, Y/N took a step away. “Talk. Now. Or I’m out.” 

“OK. OK.” He held up a hand, begging for patience. His eyes were sad, his voice cracking. “It was Sam,” he said slowly. “Sam brought me back. He uh- he made some deal with Crowley and-” He looked off into the darkness and chewed his lip as if worried. “I don’t know the details, they wouldn’t tell me. But- I woke up in bed and… not even a scar.” The Mark burned his forearm and he covered it with his left hand, rubbing the ache beneath his shirt. “Well, except that one.” 

Hesitant, she moved closer. “How can I believe you?” 

Dean shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t even know if I believe it. But, I feel fine. They- Sam and Cas- they did all the tests. Holy water, silver… Fuck- Cas even did that reach into your chest and feel your soul thing… It’s all me.”

He sounded so sad, like her disbelief was breaking his heart. She took a breath and then another step in. 

“Dean, I-”

Green eyes filled with tears, and Y/N held her breath. 

“I woke up and you were gone,” he whispered. “Why did you run away?” 

Sam’s hurtful dismissal echoed in her head, but she didn’t want Dean to feel any worse than he already did. 

“I uh…” She looked down at the broken concrete, unable to watch his tears fall. “You were gone,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t see any reason to stay.”  

When she looked back up, he was impossibly close, his lips drawing ever nearer. She held her breath and wished for the strength to run away, but it was Dean. He was alive. He was really fucking alive. 

He brushed his fingertips over the apple of her cheek and she closed her eyes at the touch. It had been too long. Her soul was reaching out to him and she knew she was stuck. 

“I missed you so much, Y/N,” he breathed. “So fucking much.” 

She kissed him before he could get there, popping up on her toes to press herself against him. His hand came to rest on her cheek and his thumb massaged her temple like it used to. His tongue was just as warm and needy, his taste was still the same. 

When she let him go, she smiled and the tears came. When he kissed her again, that old familiar heat returned.

“Dean…” 

She led Dean to her apartment, too drunk on the moment to do anything but revel in the fact that he was alive. 

“What was the deal, do you know?”

“Crowley’s been kind of a dick lately, are you sure there’s no catch?” 

“What did Cas say when he soul-scanned you?” 

Dean laughed sweetly as he followed her up the three flights of stairs to her attic rooms. “Calm down, Y/N/N. I’ve already told you what I know.” 

When they reached the top landing, Dean grabbed her by the waist and tugged her to him. She gasped as her back hit his chest and his lips found her ear. 

“Why don’t we just focus on us for tonight?” he breathed. The tip of his tongue shot out to trace the shell of her ear and Y/N’s eyes rolled back in pure arousal. 

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Us…” 

Begrudgingly, Y/N pulled herself away long enough to unlock the door. Stepping into the dark living room, she flipped on the light and tossed her bag onto the kitchenette counter.

Dean was hovering outside the door with hands on the frame, pondering something. He scanned the room and cocked a brow. 

“What?” she asked, looking suspiciously at him. “Did Crowley bring you back as a vampire? Do you need to be invited in?” 

Dean laughed darkly and licked his lip. “No. Just, uh-” 

Y/N’s nerves kicked up. “What’s wrong?” 

“You stay here all by yourself?” 

She laughed and let out a calming breath. “Yeah. And? I’m a big girl, Dean.” 

He nodded with a smile. “Oh, I know you are. I’m just… worried. Ya know, about…” His face darkened slightly. “...Things. I don’t see any safety precautions.”

Y/N felt her cheeks blush. “Aww. You worried about me?” 

He grinned and shrugged. “Can’t help it. It’s my job.” 

With the movements of Vanna White, Y/N moved about the small room, showing off her hidden stash of supernatural weaponry. A silver knife tucked beneath the couch cushion; a bag of goofer dust in a decorative box on the bookshelf. A spare gun in the corner top cabinet of the tiny kitchen; a spray bottle filled with holy water by the aloe plant in the window. 

“Impressive,” he admitted. 

Y/N beamed with pride and then held up a finger. “Oh! And… so I don’t lose my security deposit by fucking up the hardwood…” 

Rushing to the door, Y/N lifted the small, brown welcome mat and flipped it over. On the underside, crafted in bright orange spray paint, was an intricate Devil’s Trap. She winked up at him and tossed the mat to the side. 

He seemed impressed. “Smart.”

“I got it all covered.” 

Dean smiled and stepped inside. “You absolutely do.” He reached for her shoulders and pulled her close. “I’m glad. I don’t wanna lose you. Not again.” 

Her heart ached for him, for the months they’d lost. “I’m so sorry I bolted, Dean. I just - I didn’t know what to do without you.” 

Gently, he framed her face in his big hands and pressed his forehead to hers. “You’ll never have to find out, OK? I’m not going anywhere ever again.” He kissed her softly. “And neither are you.” 

Each kiss was like magic. Every sweet memory was birthed into life and every nightmare faded away. 

They fumbled in the living room, kissing like teenagers while stripping layers of clothing away. He kissed the redness her bra strap left behind and pinched each nipple in turn. She dragged his jeans down to his calves and licked at his boxers, covering his clothed dick with her hot mouth. It swelled against her tongue and she hummed hungrily.  

Dean swayed above her and dropped a hand to her head, massaging gently. “Fuck, I missed you.” 

She looked up with wide, innocent eyes and wet lips. “I want you,” she mewed. “So, so bad.” 

He held her chin between two warm fingers and urged her to stand. “You’ve got me, babygirl. Always.” 

She fell forward against him and went limp, her mind swimming with shock and desire, love and hope. He kissed her slowly and lifted her in his strong arms. She gasped as the floor fell away and looked at him in awe. 

“I’ve got you.” He grinned. 

Her bedroom was small, nearly filled wall to wall by the full-sized bed. 

Dean laid her down and fell over her in one motion, suddenly between her thighs and rocking slowly. 

Y/N moaned into his mouth and drew her hands over his body. Warm, solid. Alive. 

He tugged at her panties and she shimmied herself free as he kicked his shorts away. 

“I’m so fucking hard for you, babygirl,” he moaned, staring at her soft body, her vulnerable position spread open wide for him. 

Her eyes fluttered, her nipples hardened. She arched her back and reached for him, but he had other plans. 

Instead of returning to her arms, Dean slid down onto the bed and grabbed at her hips, tugging her close and locking her pussy against his mouth. He licked a hard stripe up her slit and her jaw dropped. He nudged her clit with his nose and her vision blurred. He dipped his tongue into her cunt and her hips bucked. 

“God, it’s been too long,” she cried, squirming against him, desperate for him to devour her. 

He took his time, expertly using all his knowledge of her body to drive her insane. Each breath, movement, flicker, kiss: it was all designed to edge her to the point of breaking. Up and down, like a coaster, he drove her need higher and higher only to drop it back down again until she was shaking and sobbing his name.  

When he had licked every drop of will from her soul and her lips could no longer form the words her mind was screaming, Dean crawled over her trembling body and pressed his cock against her slit. 

“P-plee-”

Dean thrust gently and circled his hips. “What’s that?” 

Y/N shivered and licked her lips, desperate for some moisture to return to her mouth. “Pleea-”

“Try again.” He grinned. “Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” 

Clenching her teeth, Y/N lifted her shoulders from the bed and clawed at his broad shoulders. “Fuck me. Please.” 

Her begging made him growl and Dean dipped down to suck at her mouth as he pressed into her. 

She screamed into his mouth as the fullness of his cock buried deep in her cunt spread pleasure through her system. She tightened around him, dug her heels into the dimples of his lower back, and nipped at the thick muscle of his throat. 

“Missed… every… part… of this…” Dean's thrusts quickened with each word and Y/N broke, cumming hard and milking his cock with her pulsing muscles. He grit his teeth and let out a deep grunt as he came, flooding her cunt and settling against her.  

“Jesus, Dean…” 

They lay in quiet bliss, her back curled against his chest, his arms wrapped around her body. She traced the lines in his left palm with a delicate fingertip and sighed at the warmth pulsing off his skin. 

It felt like Heaven to be back in his arms, so close once more.  Safe and smiling, she started to drift off next to him, each rise and fall of his chest against her lulling her to sleep. 

“So glad you’re here,” she whispered. 

Dean kissed her shoulder and dragged his hand down her arm. “Me too.” When he reached her elbow, he moved down to her knee and lightly scratched up the side of her thigh and into the curve of her waist. “I would have come sooner, but I had some things to take care of first.” 

She hummed happily at the tingle radiation from his touch and snuggled a little closer. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mhm.” Another kiss on her shoulder, one on her throat. “Some things couldn’t be avoided…” His nails ran down her thigh and back up again, the pressure increasing slightly. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “What were you doing all this time? It’s been months… you could have called or something.”

His touch hardened and she cringed as his nails scraped hard against her hip bone. 

“I told you, I was busy.” Another scratch over her belly, a jab on her ribs. “People to see, places to burn.”

She stiffened. “What?”

Dean sucked hard on her pulse and clawed at her leg. 

“Hey! Ouch!” Y/N squirmed and tried to pull away, but he kept her there, held captive by his strong arms. “Dean!”

He hissed into her ear and cut the skin on her hip with the blunt nail of his index finger. “Stop. Squirming.” 

“What are you doing? Stop!”

She thrashed against him and his hand clamped down into the meat of her thigh and tore until she felt a gush of warm blood.

“Dean!” 

Y/N slapped at his arms, bucked her hips back, and fought against his hold, but he wouldn’t be moved. 

Annoyed, he sank his teeth into her shoulder and broke the skin, forcing a cry from her lips. He licked the wound and swirled his tongue into the grooves he’d made, laughing. 

“You stupid cunt. You should know better than to invite a dead man into your bed.” 

Pain and fear flashed through her and Y/N managed to get away and turn over. 

Blood dripped down his chin and he moaned in ecstasy as he licked a drop from his lips. 

Her heart pounded. Her skin crawled. 

“What are you?” 

In a flash too quick for her to register, Dean was on his hands and knees, stalking toward her like a lion. 

“What am I?”

He grinned as she cowered and set his hands on either side of her hips. He leered down at her, upper lip twitching and breath heavy. 

“I’m Dean 2.0, bitch.” 

He blinked and her world shattered. 

Icy black ink flooded his gorgeous green eyes, eclipsing every bit of him, body and soul. 

Y/N sucked in a terrified breath and he laughed wildly. 

“You thought I was back from the dead? I never died. This- thing- this mark on my arm- it kept me alive. It gave me a new life.” 

“It made you a monster,” she spat, determined to go down swinging if she was indeed headed that way. 

Dean exhaled hard and his glee turned to devilish anger. His face turned as dark as his eyes and he sneered. “It made me better.” Reaching down, he cupped her left breast and circled the globe with his fingers splayed out. “All the fun, all the charisma, and sex appeal… None of the pesky guilt or morals…” His hand flexed and each nail ripped deep into her flesh, opening new wounds and drawing fresh blood. 

He covered her scream with a kiss and Y/N tried with all her might to kick him off, bite his tongue, anything to get him to back up. When he jabbed his tongue down her throat, she gathered up every ounce of strength and brought her knee to his crotch, smashing his sack upwards. 

Demon or not, he felt it. 

Dean let out a roar and released her, rolling onto his back and grabbing himself in pain. 

“You bitch! I’m gonna rip your fucking heart out!” 

Shaking, she bolted, running through the closest door she saw. 

The bathroom was old and ill-lit, but the cabinets were deep and filled with supplies. 

Grunts echoed behind the door as she quickly wrapped a bandage around her shoulder and poured a painful ounce of alcohol onto her chest. She hissed at the sting and held onto the edge of the sink to catch her breath. 

“Did you really just run into the bathroom? I can break down that door with my pinky finger.” 

He was closer, surely stumbling through the messy bedroom. Y/N looked at her reflection and held back a stream of tears. 

“Just leave and we’ll forget this ever happened!” She shouted at the door. “I won’t tell if you won’t!”

Laughter answered her. “And who the fuck do you think you’re gonna tell? Everyone you know is gone!”

Her stomach flipped. She froze. “Sam?”

Dean jiggled the doorknob. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Casually, he turned and leaned his back against the door. “Sam’s out of commission. Permanently.” 

“You… you killed him?” 

“Nah. Just put the fear of God into him. Sent him off for a little me time in the I.C.U.” 

Y/N yanked open the cabinet under the sink and pulled a worn leather toiletry bag from the back. 

“See, he and Cas, they got stupid. They thought they could cure me. Rip the demon outta me.” 

She swallowed hard. “Oh? How’d that go?” 

“How do you think?” 

Just for fun, he jiggled the locked knob again, making her jump. 

“Tell me all about it. You know I love a good ritual!” Trembling, she pulled a pistol from the bag and loaded it with bullets from the medicine cabinet. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would slow him down. 

Dean knew she was stalling, trying to keep him talking while she regrouped. Hell, he’d taught her that. Still, he enjoyed fucking with her, so he played along.

“That whole closing the Gates of Hell thing? The last trial was curing a demon. You remember. You were there, cheering Sammy along.”

Y/N shivered at the memory of the dank chapel and Sam nearly collapsing with each syringe of blood she extracted from his veins. “I remember. So what, it didn’t work on you?”

Dean turned and pressed his palm to the door. “Not. Even. A little.” 

“Huh. Weird.” 

“Oh, don’t misunderstand. They tried.” 

Y/N withdrew an old metal canteen from the bag and shook it. A tiny wave of holy water sloshed inside. It was enough, she hoped, to get her out the door and down the stairs.

Dean ran his finger down a groove in the door and pushed his ear against the wood, listening for her racing heart. 

“Did a good job of it, too. Tied me up in the dungeon… big Devil’s Trap on the floor. I was stuck for a while, I’ll admit that. Good old Sammy coming in for the save. But ya know something, Y/N/N? I just couldn’t let him do it. I like what I am now. It’s fun. Hell, I feel like I’m on a permanent fucking vacation! This is great!”

Ready to attempt an escape, Y/N tugged on a dirty shirt and a pair of shorts from the floor and braced herself. 

“So what happened? How’d you get out?” 

He laughed. “Oh, you know me. I always find a way out. And trust me, when I did… Sammy was not happy. Neither was I. Not until I bashed - his face in - with my boot.” 

Every pause was a punch against the wood and Y/N felt each in her gut. 

She swallowed hard. “And what about Castiel? You said he was there.” 

Dean sighed. “Oh, I sent his ass packing. Little graffiti on the wall and bam! He got sent off to wherever the fuck angels go when they get blasted off the Earth. Sayonara, auf wiedersehen, good riddance.” 

“And-”

The door shook as Dean slammed his hands into it, cutting her off. 

“Can we just get to it, please? I’m bored with this monologue.” 

She unscrewed the canteen’s cap. 

“Actually, it’s a dialogue. If it was just you talking, it would be a monologue.” 

Dean clenched his jaw and growled. “Oh, I am truly going to enjoy biting that tongue out of your mouth.”

Another slam on the door and the wood splintered. The cheap lock gave way and Dean pushed inside, grinning. 

Not a second was wasted. With a nearly perfect mix of dexterity and core self-preservation instinct, Y/N lunged forward and swung the canteen, dousing Dean’s face with the blessed liquid. His skin burned instantly and he let out an aggravated roar as she spun around him and leapt for the front door. 

He caught her before she reached the couch, roughly grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her up off the floor. Her shriek echoed through the small attic abode and she grabbed at his forearm, desperate to hold herself up and relieve some of the pain spreading across her scalp. 

Dean laughed and lifted her higher. 

White flashed on the edges of her vision and Y/N swung her legs back hard, kicking down into the top of his kneecap, making him stumble. 

His ire was evident. Effortlessly, Dean tossed her down and Y/N slid across the old hardwood floor as if she were a ragdoll. Her bare legs skidded on the thin planks, stopping her before she slammed into the wall. 

Dizzy and aching, Y/N withdrew the gun from the waistband of her shorts and took aim. Heels dug into the floor and shoulders tight, she flipped off the safety and took a deep breath. 

Her finger tensed on the trigger, but Dean was fast. A swift kick had Y/N screaming again and she felt the bones in her right wrist snap. 

The gun flew from her hands and landed on the rug by the kitchen sink, too far out of reach. 

Dean cocked his head, looking down at Y/N as she cradled her arm. “A gun, Y/N/N? Really? What were you gonna do, shoot me?” 

Panting, she sneered up at him. “That is generally what one does with a gun.” 

Dean sucked his teeth in annoyance and shook his head. “You’ve always been a witty bitch. It’s very annoying.” 

“I seem to recall you liked it.” 

Onyx washed over his green eyes again and her pulse quickened. 

“Not anymore,” he whispered. 

Her body was rigid with fear; her veins throbbed with panic. Dean shifted and bent down at her feet. Y/N jolted back, kicking at him while pulling herself toward the door. He grabbed her calf and yanked her back, nearly dislocating her hip. 

His voice was steady, too calm, too sure. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I didn’t say you could leave.” 

Shaking, she thrashed in his grasp, trying to twist her leg free. He held tight. 

“Let me go!” 

Dean laughed. “Oh… come on. You really think I’m just gonna let you walk out? Sweetheart, you’re not leaving here. Not breathing anyway.” 

Knowing what was coming, Y/N took a deep breath and tensed her body inward. 

His hands were impossibly huge, wrapping nearly entirely around her neck. His palms pressed hard into her windpipe and his fingertips dug in deep. 

She slapped at his arms and kicked at his shins. 

“Just stop,” he whispered. “It’ll be easier if you just stop.” 

Going back to the playbook, Y/N brought her left knee high, but missed his crotch entirely, jabbing into his thigh instead. 

Dean groaned and removed his hold on her throat.

She gasped in relief but the moment was short. Tangling his fist in her hair, Dean lifted her head only to knock it back down with a hard punch to her jaw. Sparks littered her vision and Y/N could feel the broken blood vessels under her eye leak. 

Defiant, she blinked until her head was clear, and spit. “Fuck you.” 

Another punch nearly knocked her unconscious and the third broke her cheekbone and shifted her nose out of alignment. Dean heard the snap and smiled viciously. He leaned in close and watched the bridge of her nose swell. Blood dripped from a cut above her eye and he pressed his tongue flat against it, licking up the mess. 

“So fucking sweet…” 

Dean let go of her hair and Y/N’s head crashed back onto the floor, her neck limp and useless like a crushed flower stem. 

“Why?” 

He sat back, pinning her legs beneath him, and pondered her question. 

“I don’t know. Maybe you eat too much sugar…”

His laugh made her cringe and Y/N shook her head. It felt as if her brain was both swollen and sloshing around in her skull. It was hard to think; her thoughts were disjointed and fleeting.

“W-why are you doing this?”

Dean took a deep, satisfying breath and leaned forward. “Freedom,” he whispered, caging her head with his arms and moving in close, brushing his nose against hers. His eyes were still dark and he never blinked, looking deep into her aching soul. “Because I wanna be free from all the drama and responsibilities. Free from all the goddamned whining and guilt and love crap. I took out Cas, nearly killed my baby brother, and now it’s your turn. I can’t leave loose ends, Y/N. Don’t want any of you coming after me and putting an end to the fun.” 

Darkness was gathering around her like a vignette closing in on the image of her life. She fought against it, ignoring the searing pain in her bones and the growing urge to let go and sleep. 

“Someone will,” she moaned. “Might not be me, but someone’s gonna stop you. Cas will. Sam will. They won’t let you live like this. Not like a filthy fucking demon asshole piece of shit!”

Dean grabbed her throat again, squeezing tight with one large hand. “Knight of Hell, actually,” he corrected with a slick smile. “But that’s quite a potty mouth you’ve developed. I approve.” His thumb and index finger pressed into her artery, blocking the blood and making her head spin. She clawed at his wrist but her body grew weaker by the second. 

Desperate, she looked up at the man she used to love with tears flooding her eyes and whispered his name with her last breath. 

“Dean…” 

The air returned in a rush as if someone had opened an airplane door mid-flight. She gasped and the color around her brightened, including the emerald of his eyes. 

“Oh, I’m having too much fun with you, Y/N/N. Way too much fun.” He slid a hand slowly down her body, enjoying the look of revulsion painting her broken face. “I was planning on killing you outside that bar, but- I saw this… body again…” He grabbed her unmarred breast and kneaded it hard. “Saw these curves…” His fingers trailed downwards; his touch feasting on every ample curve. “I just had to have you one more time.” 

“Get. Off. Of. Me.” Her words were clipped, her throat raw and bleeding inside. 

With a smirk, Dean reached into her shorts and grabbed her pussy. His nails pinched the delicate flesh of her labia and Y/N grit her teeth at the pain. 

“No,” he answered. “Don’t think I will.” 

With demonic strength, he flipped her over in a split second and slammed her onto the floor. He held her down with a firm palm pressed between her shoulder blades while the other yanked her hips up high. He tugged down her shorts as she cried; slicked up his cock with a handful of spit while she struggled. Sharp, hot pain spread up her spine and down into each nerve. She screamed and he laughed, thrusting into her tightness without hesitation, violating her body without care. Her entire being revolted and fought, but it was no use. 

She closed her eyes and tried to pray but the words were fading, her vision blurring. She held her breath, trembling while he finished, covering her lower back with a thick rope of his evil seed. 

Momentarily satisfied, Dean dropped down on top of her, his full weight crushing her deeper into the unyielding hardwood floor. He licked the line of tears from her cheek and nibbled delicately on her ear. 

“Ya know, I’m having so much fun with you, I may keep you around.” 

Y/N shuddered. “I’d…I’d rather you killed me, thanks.” 

Feigning compassion, Dean rolled off of her back and onto his side. He pressed his face to the floor, mirroring her position, and softly brushed the hair back from her eyes. 

“I’m not going to kill you. Not yet.” He winked and pressed his lips to hers. 

It took all her strength not to scream. “Please,” she choked, “just… end it.” 

With a sigh, Dean popped up onto his elbow and debated. “I could. Very easily. Just one… little… twist of my wrist around your throat and you’d be dead. Clean. Easy.” 

“So, do it.”

“No.” Again, he ran his fingers lightly through her hair and tucked a few strands behind her ear. “I think we’ll keep playing.”

Tears ran freely from her eyes. “Please, Dean-”

“How about this…” He laid back down and moved in closer so she could feel the breath of every word against her lips. “We’ll play hide and seek. If you can hide well enough, I’ll let you live.”

“W-what?”

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll give you a head start. Thirty-six hours to hide and then… I’mma comin’.”

Before she could answer or even absorb his words, Dean pulled her head up and slammed it back down, shutting out the lights. 

She was sure an alarm was going off. A high-pitched shriek pulled her out of the darkness and Y/N peeled her eyes open only to realize that the ringing was in her head. 

Sunlight broke through the shabby window blinds and stabbed her eyes. She groaned at the pain and tried to sit up, but her head was throbbing, her body bruised and covered in scabs of dried blood. 

For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. The apartment looked strange, the air foreign. A rotten, metallic scent filled her nose. She cringed and sat up, instantly regretting it as pain gripped her body. Her ribs were cracked; her wrist shattered. Confusion tickled her mind like drops of acid rain. She closed her eyes and the blackness there brought it all back. 

Coal eyes. 

Ruddy lips. 

Leather, and smoke, and cheap cologne. 

Dean’s evil, blood-tinged smirk flashed in her mind and Y/N broke. Tears welled and fell without permission and her stomach emptied, washing the antique hardwood with hot bile. 

When her body calmed and she could shift the pain enough to think clearly, his words came back to her.

“I’ll give you a head start… Thirty-six hours to hide…”

Thirty-six hours to run and try to hide from him. Thirty-six hours to figure out how the hell to come out of this alive. 

For a moment, all she wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep until zero hour, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

It took her twenty-two minutes to grab her Go Bag, pull on some clean clothes, and leave. 

She left her interim life behind and headed out to meet her fate. 

The roads were long and her body betrayed her at every turn. The face she was in the rearview mirror wasn’t her own. It was broken and flushed; her gaze devoid of hope. 

Just outside of Alpharetta, she stopped for gas. She ignored the looks of concern from strangers and declined an offer of help from the station attendant. Breezing through, Y/N slammed two bills on the counter and left as quickly as she came, accompanied by a symphony of chimes that rang above the door. 

Twice, she had to pull over to vomit. She retched onto the dusty roadside, heaving fluid and burning her throat. There was nothing left inside of her, nothing keeping her going but pure, dim-witted faith that everything would turn out fine.  

She called Sam every few minutes, timing her attempts with the passing exit signs. There was never an answer, never a ring. Her calls went right to voicemail and after the twentieth try, she gave up. 

When the pain was bad and her body cramped up, protesting the old car seat and the constant pressure of her foot on the gas, Y/N took a breath and closed her eyes. She prayed to Cas, begging him to help, to show up and heal her, to find Dean and…

She wasn’t sure what she wanted for Dean. He’d ripped her to the core and there was no coming back from what he’d done, but still- it was Dean. He needed- deserved- to be saved no matter what his slick black heart wanted. 

And what he wanted right now was her limp, exsanguinated corpse at his feet. 

Outside of Dalton, she changed course. Dean was a midwestern boy and most likely to keep to the west, so she headed east, aiming to land as far from the Bunker as possible. 

Time was ticking away and her hope was fading. 

Miles stretched on forever and her eyes grew heavy. Watching the sun begin to sink behind the lush mountains of New York State, Y/N felt as heavy as the sky. Struggling to keep her eyes open and consciousness with her, she dug her fingers into the wound on her shoulder, clawing at the skin his teeth had ripped. The surge of fresh pain pulled her awake long enough to get to the next exit, and the next.. and the next. 

Sam never called her back. 

Cas never showed. 

Dean’s dark laughter and poisonous words echoed in her soul, haunting every moment.

Somewhere near Rockport, she collapsed. The blackness peaked around her vision and overtook her, knocking her out as the lights from oncoming traffic reflected on the windshield. She came to at the last second, pulling at the wheel and jerking the car away from the blue minivan headed straight for her. The vehicle left the road and slid across the rain-slicked shoulder into an open lot. Tires skidded on loose gravel; the air was silent as she held her breath. 

She gripped the wheel tightly and slammed her foot onto the break, nearly busting through the floorboard. 

The crash was quick. Silence was shattered by the sound of metal hitting concrete as the Tucson's front end crumpled against the corner of a building. The impact knocked her back out and Y/N slumped in the seat, her body held up by the seat belt, not will. 

Ringing woke her again. Heavy head lolling on her shoulders, Y/N managed to quiet the noise as she yanked her cell from her back pocket. The screen was cracked but she could still read the message: 

‘Time’s Up. Ready or not- here I come.’

Ice ran through her veins and she shook herself, desperate to clear her vision and think. There was no way he had followed her. Pointless turns, random exits, and twelve hundred miles left a mere dusting of breadcrumbs. It would be a hard path to track, even for a demon. 

Another ding made her jump. 

‘Better run 😈’

Every joint protested; her flesh screamed. Y/N bit back a cry as she forced the door open and fell onto the damp stone ground. A light mist began to fall, peppering her bloodied face with cool droplets that offered a moment of relief.

‘I’d get away from that wreck if I were you - the engine could blow…’

Y/N fell back onto her ass when the text came through. Shocked and terrified, she scanned the open lot for any sign of him but she was alone. The only tracks were her own, the only sound was the busted radiator hissing behind her.

“Dean?” Her voice was weak. Fear leaked into every inch of her but she clutched her phone tight and struggled to her feet. “You don’t have to do this, you know!” Grimacing, she pulled open the back door and dug through her bag. “We can just- I don’t know- call it even and walk away.” She tucked a flask of holy water into her right back pocket and tucked an anointed silver knife into the left. “No harm, no foul.” She withdrew her pistol and checked the magazine. “What do you say?” 

“I choose harm.”

He was close. 

Y/N fumbled with the gun; hand shaking as her broken wrist sent white-hot shards of pain up through her elbow and beyond. Swinging around, she readied herself for the fight, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

“Dean?” She swallowed hard and dug deep. “I thought I was the one doing the hiding.” 

His laugh wrapped around her. 

“Oh no, sweetheart. That’s you. And you should hop to it.” 

His voice was coming from every direction at the same time. Left, right, behind her, below her. It was like standing in a fun house full of mirrors and Y/N felt her stomach churn. 

“Go on!” He clapped his hands and the sound thundered around her. “Run!” 

Instinct drove her to the left and quickly she fit herself through the rotted planks of what used to be a door. She stepped inside and blinked into soft darkness. 

A shadowed silhouette in the dim light, Y/N rushed through the ruins of the abandoned fishery. Thick steel columns rose from the concrete slab beneath her feet to high overhead. Wind hissed through gaps in the roof, slithered through broken window panes, and whirled around her like the icy breath of death. The stink of seawater and fish lived forever locked into the essence of the building and Y/N gagged as she ran through the space. There was nowhere to hide safely and the ache of pain and exhaustion threatened to pull her down.

Dean broke through the pitiful door with one swift kick of his right leg. He stepped inside, his shadow reaching across the gray stone floor. 

In a panic, Y/N dove behind a stack of wooden crates and crouched down. She readied her weapons.

His boots fell like anvils and his steps echoed loudly. 

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty…” 

Y/N shuddered. Her breath was ragged and loud. She bit her lip to try and hold it in.  

“Give up, Y/N/N- There’s nowhere else to go!”

He was right. She was fucked. 

“H-how’d you find me, anyway?” she asked, lifting her voice and projecting to her left. 

Dean turned towards her words. He walked slowly but deliberately and every step made her heart beat harder in her ears. 

“I’ve got my ways,” he called back. 

She could hear the smirk on his lips and it made her sick. “Oh? Do tell…” Carefully, she crawled to the right and slipped around another pile of boxes. 

Dean searched for her around each column and stack, taking his time as if eternity was his to play with. 

“I honestly thought it would have been a little harder,” he confessed. “But as it turns out, Little Miss Clever forgot to turn off her phone’s GPS.” 

Y/N’s heart sank. “Fuck.” 

“It’s OK. We all fuck up sometimes. Some of us more than others.” 

He sounded far away, so Y/N stood up to peer over the crates. She saw him on the other side of the massive room and let go of a breath of momentary belief. When she turned back, her heel slid through a puddle of slimy muck and she faltered, tumbling into the crates. The topmost box careened off the pile and smashed onto the floor. 

Dean’s head snapped towards the splintered mess and his green eyes flickered black. “Gotcha.” 

They both ran. It was hardly a proper chase. Dean leapt across the floor with demonic speed as Y/N stumbled, her body too broken and twisted to perform beyond a halfhearted sprint. 

Dean grabbed a fistful of her hair and whipped her backward, tossing her to the ground. She hit the concrete with a gut-wrenching crash that sent a shockwave of numbness down her spine. Her head bounced off the stone and she swallowed a scream. 

“Wow.” Dean stood over her, looking down with a narrow, curious gaze. “You really look like shit.”

Blood pooled on her tongue and Y/N rolled onto her side to spit it out. “Me?” She laughed, pained but brave. “You should see yourself. The Hellfire’s not doin’ you any favors.” 

A wide grin broke out across his freckled face and the demon ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on,” he teased with a wink. “I make this look good.”

The walls were spinning and Y/N was sure her time was up. She grit her teeth and pushed up with her hands, ready to spin and run if she could. “Hey, Dean? Fuck you.”

His grin morphed into a sneer. “Been there. Done that. Not lookin’ for a replay.”  

“Yeah,” she agreed, rolling onto her hands and knees. “It wasn’t that great for me either.” 

Irked by her nerve, Dean lunged for her but Y/N had other plans. His fingers curled around her shoulder, and as he jerked her back, she pulled the blade from her hip pocket and swung, burying it deep between his ribs. Dean lurched back, teeth clenched with a roar. 

“You bitch!” 

The blessed silver burned his flesh but he pulled it free and the skin closed easily. 

It wasn’t enough to stop him, but it gave her time to get away. 

Offices sat at the back of the building, their doors promising a moment’s reprieve. Y/N tried door after door in a panic, but each was locked. When she heard Dean’s approach, she gave up and slipped around a corner, doing her best to keep quiet as she pulled another trick from her pocket.  

Dean grabbed her before she could get far, his nails breaking the skin on her left forearm as he hauled her back into the open. She spun to face him and spit a mouthful of holy water into his eyes. The water soaked into his demonic skin and burned him deeply. Steam rose from his cheeks, singed his lashes, and pulled a terrifying cry from his burning lips. 

“Keep running!” he dared, doubled over as the flesh on his brow healed. “I’m enjoying this!” 

Back into the night, Y/N ran from the building and down a long wooden pier. The derelict packing plant was situated on the edge of the Atlantic, with slips for fishing vessels still seated in the cold water. The gray ocean slapped at the aged wooden posts and the spray mixed with the rain, chilling Y/N to the core. 

Hopping over broken planks and discarded hunks of metal, nets, and empty bottles, Y/N ran until there was no place left to run. The pier ended in a steep drop off with nothing below but the sea, and Y/N finally lost faith.

The pain was too much, the path too broken and pointless. 

Looking out at the horizon, she prayed one last time. Not for herself, but for Him. She prayed that Castiel would return from wherever the hell he’d been blasted off to. She prayed that Sam would wake up and fight. She prayed that Hell would spit Dean out and Heaven would take him back. 

She heard his footsteps; felt the danger on the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes. 

“You really don’t have to do this,” she whispered. 

He sighed. “You’re right. I don’t have to…” 

A tiny spark of hope burned in her chest and Y/N turned around with a small smile percolating on her lips.

“But I want to.” 

The First Blade cut through her like she was nothing. Dean pressed the bone deep into her stomach and lifted his arm, dragging Y/N up off of her feet. Her body tensed and then went limp, her eyes wide with shock, her lips parted with a dying breath. 

“Dean…” 

He caught her against his chest and cradled her head on his shoulder. 

“Sorry, kid. I can’t leave loose ends…”

He kissed her forehead and then pulled back quickly. Her body fell at his feet and he wiped the blade on his jeans, smearing the last of her blood on his thigh. 

Rain fell freely, washing the blood away and pooling it like a halo around her body.

Her phone rang, but the sound did not wake her. 

Sam’s name flashed over the screen.

‘Y/N I’m so sorry. Stay away from him. He got away. We tried to save him but he got free. Please. If you see Dean-

Stay Away.’

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[terrence-silver]

What if John disapproved of beloved? Would Terry go as far as leaving them, Is he more loyal to him than to beloved?

---

Okay, I mean, to answer this, we got to research the supposed thirty something years of weird stalemate and absence John Kreese had in Terry's life and how Terry said, to quote, 'It's the best thing that's ever happened to him', which sounds like something someone embittered who had his heart broken by a close friend would more or less say anyway in the vein of 'You left!? Well, guess what!? It did me a world of good!' even though they're still hurting and reeling and probably will for the rest of their lives. Even their world actually collapsed when it happened.

I actually believe Terry Silver has a limit in patience. Perhaps not in devotion.

But, in patience? Yes.

Terry literally had the Cobra tattoo removed from his rib at some point or other and left a scarred maw behind because, well, yeah, if there's a brotherhood of two and one of the brothers leaves, there's no more brotherhood.

He's not a dog that can exactly be kicked without consequences.

You do it once and you wind up in jail under false charges, as witnessed with Kreese's case.

😬

I think his limit comes about when he tries everything --- and I do mean everything --- and nothing he throws at the wall for a person sticks or makes them happy. Truly content. Like in the case of John, Terry tortured a teenager for him, bribed referees, procured a champion, trained said champion, meanwhile, sent his depressed friend on a vacation, bought revenue locations for him all over town, offered him jobs time and time again, tried to bankroll his entire existence and ultimately, John still disappeared on him ---- or rather, made it clear he didn't want to be found. I think the fact Terry attempted so much and went truly and above and beyond for a friend only to still have that friend turn his back on him led to such a huge psychical shift and even breakdown for him that it shook Terry's existence and for a while, it is safe to say he indeed left John be for ages even though I'm convinced a man of his means undoubtedly knew exactly where the guy was; which means...Terry has the capacity to be loyal to himself and let the situation germinate untouched under extreme measures, and do so for thirty years. Ironically...it is still a form of devotion. If Johnny said, leave me be for the rest of my life, Terry could very well do it because it's anything Johnny says, always, for the rest of his life --- but I digress.

Point is; Terry Silver has limits.

Which means...if John didn't approve of beloved...and if it went to some really excessive measures where beloved's very existence could endanger their friendship, Terry Silver might just break away...but only ever if he himself considered beloved worthy enough for it. Very important to note.

He won't do this for just anyone. If for anyone.

Because I think Terry's self aware; like, don't figure he's gonna mess up half a lifetime of knowing John Kreese over someone he's randomly fucking or someone who's company he's effectively sponsoring, for example --- if John said he didn't like someone who has temporary written all over them, Terry could be very easily influenced by his Captain to leave such a person --- I mean, he very clearly leaves Cheyenne without a word and nobody can tell me it's, among others, not because it was blatantly obvious John didn't like her. So happened Terry internally agreed, cut his losses and moved on because he just about knew this would be the result of the relationship sooner than later anyway. You don't invest your stocks into a sinking ship; it's just basic business and Terry Silver's a businessman, first and foremost.

What if his relationship wasn't a sinking ship?

What if it was sturdy? Durable? Meant to last?

I think Terry would be heartbroken he has to do this, that he has to choose, that his hand is pushed like this, but he and John would have a huge fallout and it wouldn't be easy. It would be messy. Unhinged. Volatile. It would just about be the hardest decision Terry probably had to make where his connection to someone is concerned; he'd feel controlled. Ripped out of his own roots. Forced to choose. Lacking choices and authority, which he'd undoubtedly despise. He'd feel cornered --- and when a beast is cornered, it bites. It would leave behind this huge, gaping wound behind and Terry would try time and time again to make it work, but ultimately, if it didn't, he'd let John go and that would possibly just shatter his mind for a long while because here he was, attached at the hip with John since they were effectively boys in uniform and they were meant to die for each other, if need be, and here John was, leaving over something as offensive as Terry finding true love. John had his shot fair and square, Terry would be convinced --- with Betsy and Terry was happy for him when it happened ages ago, and now, when the opposite is true, John can't be happy for him!?

Terry Silver would be crestfallen and the distancing that takes place between him and John after this is probably the most sordid, complicated, layered and harrowing instance of two old friends falling apart imaginable to the degree if he ever had children with beloved he'd STILL downright name at least one of them John in spite of everything that happened because if the original had to be cut loose, Terry will create a new one literally out of his own flesh and blood mingled with beloved's and raise one that'll be so much a part of him he'll never leave or be able to because that's his child. His legacy. He'll have the upper hand this time. He'll ensure everything's under control. Everything will be as Terry Silver imagined it.

He'll have his own John. He'll fix the course of history this time around.

He'll have a second shot.

Terry's patience has a limit...but his devotion does not.

How's that for meta?

[thesightstoshowyou]

Freeze

- A Sights Original -

Unnamed Male Character x F Reader (NSFW)

(A/N: Are you a fight, flight, or freeze kind of person? I’m more of a “freezer” myself. This was based on a dream I had the other night. Happy late Valentine’s Day to my favorite pervs.)

Warnings: Very polite noncon, mentions of unresolved medical issues, threats, knife usage, praise, forced orgasm

~~

Paper crumples in your palm. Your brows furrow, scowl deepening as you stomp down the sidewalk. With each annoyed step, your knee twinges, bone grating on bone, the joint popping painfully.

This is the third doctor you’ve been to, the third time your concerns have been dismissed. You’re too young to have arthritis. Take some ibuprofen for a week, the pain will go away. Give it time.

You have given it time. You’ve given it weeks. Months. An entire year. At what age do doctors start taking you seriously?

Your dress billows around your thighs, ruffled by the breeze. The temperature plummeted while you were at the clinic. Shivering, you wrap your arms around yourself. Should have brought a jacket.

In the distance is the parking garage. Having to walk this far is not helping your knee. You’re nearly limping by the time you make it to the staircase leading to the lower levels.

Prickling on the back of your neck.

Discreetly, you scan your surroundings. Out of the corner of your eye is a man. You make a mental note of his appearance: Tall—maybe a little over 6ft—blonde, short cropped hair, lean, white t-shirt, ripped jeans.

It’s probably nothing. He’s just going to his car too.

But he’s staring right at you.

The stairs are difficult. Your knee clicks and the ache deepens with each hurried step. Your leg threatens to buckle every time it must hold your weight. Your knuckles blanche with how tightly you grip the railing. Breathe, breathe, slow your pulse, keep calm, it’s okay, stop panicking—

Tap, tap, tap. Footsteps behind you, closer now, matching your hurried pace. Your fingers fumble with the zipper of your purse. Frantically, you shove the crumpled doctor’s notes in your bag and search for your keys. You should have gotten them out sooner, what a stupid mistake….

Last two stairs, almost there, you can see your car just across the lot, look around, is there anyone near, can you yell for help? It’s so empty, there are only three other vehicles. Your phone! Idiot. It’s in your bag too, call the cops, hurry—

The footfalls suddenly disappear from behind you and you half turn in time to see the man leap clean over the railing. Effortlessly, he lands and uses the rail to swing himself around to face you and block your path.

“Hey,” he says, grinning wide like you’re an old friend. This close, you see a raised scar running from his brow and down across his eyelid. On the side of his face, near his left ear is a tattooed symbol or pattern of some kind.

You don’t waste time studying the composition, instead twisting on your heel and racing back up the stairs, heart in your throat. Adrenaline helps dull the discomfort in your knee, but your leg still trembles until you must clutch the railing.

You don’t make it far. He’s so much quicker, taking the stairs two at a time and gripping your upper arm to pull your hand from your purse and stop your hasty retreat. He whips you around and gently pushes you against the kneewall. His opposite palm comes up to cover your mouth, as pointless as it is. You’re too frozen in terror to react yet, your voice trapped in your throat.

What strikes you first is his grin. He’s smiling so warmly, his dark eyes lit up with such joy. It makes you second guess your fear, like maybe you should know him, like you should be just as thrilled.

You falter only for a second. A quiet click heralds the feeling of steel at your throat. Your eyes widen in horror and wildly dart around—no cameras, no people, you’re alone—as you hold your breath and stay as still as you can.

“Hey, I really don’t wanna kill you, but I’ll have to if you scream okay?” He speaks softly as the thumb of the hand covering your mouth caresses your cheek, a sick imitation of comfort.

Quickly, you nod, and the man’s smile widens. He huffs a relieved laugh, his palm sliding from your mouth to rest on your waist. The knife stays where it is, hovering just over your throat.

His kind expression is so jarring, so alien to the situation. He should be glowering like a villain, not smiling like a friend.

“Y-you can take my purse, please, I d-don’t have cash—

“Shhh,” he whispers with a chuckle, shaking his head like you made a silly joke. The hand on our waist slides lower. The warm, calloused skin of his palm brushes your thigh to push your skirt higher.

Terror chokes you, a strangled little squeak leaving your lips. It becomes horribly apparent what this is, what’s actually happening to you now with each inch his hand claims.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. You shake in his grip and clench your eyes shut, your breath only coming in sharp gasps. The scream is there now in the back of your throat, begging to be freed, but the blade now resting on your neck keeps it in check.

“P-Please, please don’t, please—

“It’s okay, I promise it won’t hurt, see…?” he murmurs, fingertips stroking your folds through your panties. A quiet whimper escapes, tears pooling in your lashes. He’s right, it doesn’t hurt, but that doesn’t make it any less shocking.

“What’s your name?” he asks, the gentle rumble of his voice buzzing against your palms.

Palms? When did you place them on his chest?

You’re not sure why you tell him, but you do, your name leaving you in a shaky whisper only he can hear.

“I love that. So pretty like you. I knew you would be really, really good for me.” His digits circle your clothed clit, languid circles that make your toes curl in your shoes. You despise the wetness gathering in your underwear and the wanting heat curling in your belly.

Your nails twist in his shirt when he nudges your panties to the side to touch you unhindered. When he finds you dripping, his pleased gasp makes you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. You could almost forget about the knife like this. Almost.

Your cheeks burn, mortification constricting your chest when your cunt squelches around his digits. He offers a needy groan in response and pumps his fingers until you’re fighting the urge to buck your hips.

What the fuck is wrong with you?!

“I can’t wait, sorry—sorry, god, you’re such a good girl,” he mutters, wet fingers sliding from your channel so he can shove his hand in his pocket. He produces a condom wrapper. Bringing it to his mouth, he rips it open with his teeth. Dexterously, he works open his pants to free his leaking cock and slides the rubber down his length.

Your heart stutters in your chest and you desperately shake your head when he hooks his hand under your thigh to lift your leg. A grimace twists your features when all your weight is put on your bad knee. Your hand flies to the railing to steady yourself.

“What—oh right, you were limping, I’m sorry.” Hurriedly, he sets your leg down and lifts the other, easing the pain in your knee. Confusion and dread addle your mind; you’re torn between his consideration and trauma he is about to inflict.

You can’t fight or flee with the knife at your throat. You don’t know how to react when he hooks a thumb in the crotch of your underwear to tug the soaked fabric to the side. All you manage is a pathetic whine as the tears pooling in your lashes streak down your face.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he chants like he’s trying to soothe an injured child. You tense, every single instinct in your body screaming at you to do something, but you’re trapped in your own body, like your brain is disconnected from the rest of you.

Eagerly, he lines up and surges into your slippery cunt. You barely manage to contain your shriek behind your teeth, his hand flying to your mouth to cover the strangled sound you emit. You look up at him through despairing, watery eyes, inhaling the scent of yourself on his fingers, your pleas of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” muffled by his palm.

He groans through his teeth, eyes fluttering, hips grinding against you when he rolls them. “It’s—ahh—it’s okay, honey, you didn’t mean it, I know it was an accident. I know you can be quiet for me,” he purrs and you’re…relieved.

His hand leaves your lips to return to your trembling thigh. He spreads you open to make room for deeper thrusts. It’s tender, though, the way he ruts up into you. He pushes you tighter into the wall, pins you there with his weight, holds you close like a lover.

Hushed moans wash across your skin when he leans down to drag his lips through your tears. There’s praise too, ‘so good,’ and ‘thank you,’ murmured near your ear.

Inside, you’re burning. Every gentle thrust sends pleasurable shock waves through your belly while conflict rages in your mind. It shouldn’t feel this way! You shouldn’t be fighting moans, your fingers shouldn’t be digging into his shoulder, you shouldn’t be leaking down your thighs, and you most assuredly shouldn’t be climbing the precipice of climax.

The man’s hand slips from your leg and his fingers quickly locate your clit to rub more torturous circles. You suck in air through your teeth and furiously shake your head. If you cum, you’ll never forgive yourself.

“Please cum with me, baby?” He moans softly and adds, “I’d love that so much.” With the way the molten knot in your gut tightens with each passing second, you realize you don’t have a choice.

Eyes snapping shut, quivering lips falling open in a silent cry, the knot unravels. Slick muscles spasm and grip the throbbing length buried within you. A strained exhale escapes from the man’s throat when his cock twitches and spills into the condom. For one, brief moment, you consider thanking him for using one.

The hand holding the knife shifts so thumb and forefinger can grip your chin and tip your head back. You sob against his lips when they press to yours. It’s too tender a gesture for what just occurred.

Would it have been less distressing if he’d been cruel?

“Thank you for being so good for me,” he murmurs against your mouth before pulling away. You snap your knees shut as he steps back. Your skin prickles. The loss of his body heat makes you aware of the chilly air billowing down the stairs.

Quickly righting his clothes, he flashes you another disarming grin and departs. Back up the stairs he goes, jumping two at a time. You watch him leave, tears cooling on your face.

Now, the only sounds echoing through the darkened garage are your haggard breaths and quiet sniffling. You’re alone. Slowly, you sink onto a step, legs shaking like a newborn calf. You stare blankly at the goosebumps dotting your skin.

Should have brought a jacket.

[chickensoupleg]

-pokes head in with a prompt- Hi, it me, Brightside!

Billy gets brought back 'wrong', Eddie gets brought back 'wrong', but one thing Vecna underestimated was the homoeroticism of one Steve Harrington. Now all three are on a cross country road trip in a stolen bus or RV to save the world. These are their stories -dun dun-

Your thoughts?

STEVEN NOT AGAIN.

Okay so what I'm imagining is the Upside Down after Vecna's defeat is repairing itself back to what it used to be, and since everything is a hivemind it just repairs everything. That includes whatever was left down there, including Eddie and Billy's body. Billy's body technically isn't physically there, but since he was hive-minded and kept in one piece at one point there is a Billy somewhere down there.

Except of course humans don't naturally exist there so they get revived using non-human materials. My idea is the UD repaired them like they did the Mind Flayer body so they're semi... liquid. Not entirely! But whatever was lost was filled in with evil putty. And the evil putty may or may not be controllable.

To make it cool it looks like tattoos once their bodies (forcefully) accept the goo. I am a sucker for sun scar Billy and bat scar Eddie, so that's what the 'tattoos' look like, which are entirely black. They're not entirely controlled by the Upside Down, but there's a part of it still in them. It freaks Billy out way more than it does Eddie since he's half convinced that he's not in control of himself again, but Eddie manages to calm him down and get everything explained for him.

After a while Vecna (>:() gets a hold of himself and decides to try yet again! Man is as stubborn as a toddler in search of ice cream. Eddie and Billy find out somehow, perhaps through a democreature they managed to befriend to their side and decide 'Yeah no that's not gonna happen again' and figure out a way to portal back into the real world. They're not the greatest at it (all hands on deck), and only manage to open a rift near the closest person they could imagine.

That being of course a Steve Harrington. Steve of course is besides himself because not only is Eddie alive, so is Billy. They're both supposed to be dead! Eddie and Billy find out that after Hawkins was destroyed Steve stayed just long enough to help with reparations until he disappeared with Robin out across the country, back in sunny California because where else would it be. Perhaps Steve wanted a taste of the sea, reminiscing about stories Billy told him by the quarryside and needing to see it for himself out of memoriam for both him and Max.

Except, well. Turns out he's back.

And after a tearful reunion and some relaxing they explain what was going on in the UD and Steve decides (after a lot of griping) that he's going back into the fray.

Lucky for him, he's gotten the RV of his dreams and now his Billy and Eddie back. He finds out about their new abilities a few hours in when a bump in the road knocks over a cup and before it shattered Eddie caught it with a black vine shooting out of his side.

... So there's that.

For a lingering danger over their heads they sure do take a long time getting there. Why stress? The world is their potato. Perhaps the black duo still have a connection that tracks how close Vecna is to coming back again and know there's a lot of time (Steve and Robin get a lot of congratulations for defeating Vecna so hard he's taken this long to collect himself). Steve's learning a lot about his feelings towards the recently revived and also a lot about his body's feelings towards the recently revived.

Robin comes along as well. She has to leave the RV often for the privacy of her best friend. Perhaps even picks up a girlfriend on the way who is oddly very okay with what's going on in the studio. Maybe even two girlfriends, Robin has two hands.

They have a lot of souvenirs as they go along and the RV is just filled with trinkets by the time they return to Hawkins to save the world a fifth time.

[erabundus]

anonymous &&. said... How does his healing work? Do bits that have come off merge back together, or are new bits grown? Is it a mix of both?

it's  a  bit  of  both!  i  like  to  use  the  analogy  of  ren's  body  having  "save  states"  that  it  defaults  back  to  every  time  he's  been  injured.  his  body  has  one  recorded  way  of  being  that  it  wants  to  maintain  at  all  times  —  this  is  why  he  doesn't  scar,  because  that  would  constitute  as  changing  the  default.  his  wounds  don't  close  naturally,  either.  if  he  gets  a  cut,  his  skin  isn't  going  to  go  through  a  fast  forwarded  version  of  a  human  healing  process  —  it's  quite  literally  going  to  stitch  itself  back  together  in  the  reverse  of  how  he  obtained  it.  (  like  his  body  is  reverting  back  to  his  previous,  uninjured  state.  )  how  quickly  ren  heals  also  varies  depending  on  the  extent  of  the  damage.  if  he  has  a  bruise  or  a  little  scratch,  it  will  probably  disappear  before  he  even  notices  it.  meanwhile,  if  his  entire  body  has  been  fed  through  a  puppet-sized  blender,  it's  going  to  take  time  —  because  it  wants  to  heal  everything  simultaneously  and  it  only  has  the  energy  to  go  so  fast  without  putting  a  strain  on  his  power source.

ren's  default  state  can  also  be  changed!  (  that's  why  it's  a  save  state  and  not  a  save  file.  )  it's  not  something  you  can  just  do  —  you  need  to  actually  know  how  his  body  works,  but  the  enhancements  from  dottore  edited  what  he  reverts  back  to.  otherwise  he  would  simply  return  to  the  sealed  form  ei  left  him  as.

it  also  leads  to  the  horrific  fun  fact  that  ren  is  basically  running  around  with  a  near  blank  slate  of  a  body.  any  muscle  memory,  any  pain  tolerance  is  entirely  mental  —  if  he  gets  stabbed,  it  feels  like  he's  being  stabbed  for  the  first  time,  every  time.  (  he  has  brand  new  pain  receptors.  )  his  tolerance  really  is  just  a  lot.

as  far  as  missing  pieces  go,  he  can  actually  just  pop  them  on  if  he  feels  so  inclined.  if  ren  loses  an  arm,  a  leg,  even  his  head,  you  could  stick  them  where  they're  supposed  to  go  and  his  body  will  do  the  rest  —  because  it  recognizes  those  pieces  as  part  of  himself  and  wants  to  assimilate  them  back  to  where  the  default  state  indicates  they need to be.  there's  no  real  time  limit  on  this,  either.  he's  built  to  last  forever;  you  could  pop  an  arm  back  on  two  minutes  after  it's  been  severed  or  two  weeks  and  the  end  result  will  still  be  the  same.  (  nothing  decays  or  degrades  over  time.  )  that  being  said,  he  can't  regenerate  entire  limbs  —  a  few  inches  of  flesh  here  and  there  are  fine,  but  he  isn't  an  axolotl.  on  the  bright  side,  because  ren  is  effectively  indestructible,  he  doesn't  really  have  to  worry  about  situations  where  the  parts  he  can't  regrow  might  be  destroyed  entirely.  you  could  throw  his  arm  into  an  active  volcano  and  he'll  just  have  to  go  digging  for  it  —  but  it  will  stay  mostly  intact,  and  he  will  be  able  to  pop  it  back  on  after.

i've  noticed  there's  kind  of  a  sliding  scale  of  people  who  headcanon  wanderer  as  more  of  a  conventional puppet  and  those  who  headcanon  him  more  squishy  —  and  i  personally  envision  ren  as  being  on  the  more  fleshy  side  because  i  like  the  symbolism  of  him  appearing  so  outwardly  indistinguishable  from  a  human.  his  ley  lines  /  tattoos  /  built  in  mood  lighting  are  the  only  real  indicator  something  is  off  —  and  those  are  only  visible  due  to  the  fatui's  enhancements.  (  they  are  where  his  joints  used  to  be,  though.  )

broken  bones  are  also  effectively  worthless;  ren's  bones  are  made  to  be  incredibly  dense  —  they  don't  shatter.  they  snap  cleanly  if  they  ever  snap  at  all,  and  in  that  case  he  only  really  needs  to  slot  them  back  into  place  like  he's  solving  a  little  jigsaw  puzzle.

basically,  this  man  is  built  like  a  nokia.  the  only  injury  that  could  ever  realistically  threaten  him  would  be  a  blow  directly  to  his  core / chest / self replenishing electro power source  —  but  even  that  technically  isn't  enough  to  kill  him,  just  his  consciousness.  (  like  removing  the  battery  from  a  toy.  )

[midnightscxre]

Professional touch vanished from the wounded areas as swiftly as the Zeus's lightning rips the sky apart before it dies in the same glorious light. Elegant, inked legs rose from the floor taking a step closer, devouring the already scant distance between them. Emerald orbs darkened for a few shades, carrying something untamable, puissant, dauntless as a remorseless hurricane consuming entire rows of decades old houses, leaving only bricks and wooden boards in the mud as a reminder of its power.

" Listen here ' Billie Eilish's Bad guy '. "

Full cotton candy lips now more ferocious than a viper's bite. " I am certain you are used to that disposable quick - fuck dolls with more silicone in them than a toy factory owns, rolling on the floor on that shabby charm of yours accompanied with a busted lip and few battle scars, but . . . " Face in face, scarlet locks falling to the man's color bones, as she could inhale the warmth and the woody aroma of cigarettes carried by the carbon dioxide escaping his lips.

". . . I'll shove my foot up your ass further than Vlad the Impaler did a stake to his enemies if you don't cut the shit this instant. "

Nails sharp as jaws of a great white shark slowly sinking in the leather of Vince's jacket. Tormented by the yearning of the restless spirit residing in the touch starved body that was rattling its chains on Vince's closeness, Clare consumed the iron determination almost desperately, so she does not waver in his presence as the foolish heart wanted her to.

If only she stuck by her own laws engraved on the soul. Tattooed rules resembling the real ones adorning the silky smooth skin, presenting a Japanese demon mask on the shoulder blade, image of ripped skin on the left side of the ribcage with small demons escaping the void, two feral snakes crawling along the thick thigh, all of it, clear warnings for everyone to stay away. Inside, holy scripture was no different -- solitude golden. But not after that cursed evening where the seductive baritone was too sweet, tempting gaze of artic blue eyes penetrating the high walls, euphoria of his last victory infecting her bones, sudden touch burning the skin with more than just cheap pleasure. . . leading to heated moments that didn't stay in the shadows of the night, but followed her to every morning after, till the present day.

Clare could still feel the velvety sheets of the king sized bed from which she escaped as soon as their bodies stop dancing the erotic dance. It was the usual routine: no talking, no cuddling, no useless prolonging the inevitable. . . However, this time, it was not some nameless guy from the bar, it was someone she actually knew, admired, enjoyed his company. And it terrified her. Dreading the unknown drove her to the unpleasant end of their evening -- waiting for Vince to head for the shower, before disappearing from the apartment seconds later without even a ' goodbye '.

Void of nothingness never howled as loud as it did that sunrise. Regret gnawing at the empty stomach, shrieking of guilt relentless. For the first time in her existence, ruby haired woman confided, well at least tried to spill bits and pieces of her concerns, to one of her friends -- and those, she had just a few. Maybe only one. Although, Irishman's advice fell on deaf ears, discussion cut short by the one that started it, and the bitter woman decided to bury the idea of the man she longed for along with avoiding the place he fought at. And here he was now . . .

" I know damn well you didn't come here for no medical treatment. You are prone to walking around with broken bones and not doing shit about it, so insulting my intelligence by pretending a few busted knuckles brought you here will not slide. "

Why was it so difficult to go head to head with this man? Others would be crushed like bugs under her boot a long time ago, kicked out from her living space without as much as a ' good riddance ' .

" So spill it. What is it that you want? "

A better show, he repeated internally, knowing that wasn’t the case. At least, in his perspective. Paulie’s was a well-known hot spot compared to the few other hidden arenas located within the area, the difference was many men begged for inclusivity and with initiation being difficult to achieve, it brought in more competitive bodies. So, he swallowed his pride and didn’t question it further, holding back a scoff and replacing it with a nod as if he understood why she had ventured to the others. “I see. Gotta expand your horizons. No big deal.” Even though it was, it bruised his ego just a bit. Having convinced himself that no other could bring or match the same amount of energy he did, obviously not being the case, but that was the cocky side talking. Perhaps a subtle hint of jealousy as well? Yeah right. Much too stubborn to accept that being a factor.

Vince's eyes darted down at the hand that took a gentle, yet firm grasp upon his own, the unexpected touch causing his heartrate to accelerate a tad compared to its usual pace. Biting the inside of his cheek while porcelain fingers examined the bandages with concern, something he happened to pick up on as he studied her, the anxiousness within her tone being a clear indicator. "I can't recall, Dex wrapped them up and didn't tend to them any longer after that." Paul happened to keep another individual around to play doctor when in need for a replacement, a man named Dexter. They called him mantis due to his bug-like appearance. Tall lanky frame and speedy hands, claiming to have some form of experience yet happened to lack in that department.

He decided to use that as some form of excuse if she were to question his motive, since he couldn’t outright admit that he missed seeing her around aloud and wouldn’t leave his headspace. Having her close in his proximity. Lured by her headstrong and intellectual nature. Entranced. Longing the instances where he'd bare his teeth like an aggressive canine if any of the men happened to look at her the wrong way, newbies finding out the hard way when they’d end up going home battered. The subtle moments that occurred between the two. A specific night still fresh on his mind when other times it would’ve been another notch on his belt. The reoccurring members noticed a slight change in behavior, even though it didn’t affect his performance. They knew better to question it. Paul was too fixated on other business matters to give a damn, only caring if it were to cause him to lose profits.

And when she prevented him from keeping his hands hidden into the pockets of his jacket, his brows rose slightly in amusement, taken aback by the sudden movement. Unable to utter any words in that moment. Behind the glare sent towards him and the irritation she held; he could sense that she cared just a little bit. Although, completely oblivious to her true feelings. What floored him was her permitting him to enter and he couldn’t help but blink a couple times in disbelief. Following alongside her like some lost puppy as they maneuvered through the corridors of her apartment, removing his sunglasses in the process and stuffing them in his jacket pocket, icy hues scanning every inch of the living area as if to memorize it, even if it were missing a few things; not that he had room to talk. Taking sight of the shelves and reading the spines of the books that were stacked with care. “Nice place.” Upon being seated, nearly by force, his attention was then brought to the guitar case; making a mental note to ask about that when the opportunity arose. Drinking in every ounce of her personality he could see in her visual effects. Once she obtained the necessities needed to assist mending his wound, the touch of her skin on his made him slightly retract his hand, but not out of discomfort.

Wincing once the process began, nerves sending a sharp pang through his digits. Well, if it weren't the consequences of his own actions. While Clare ‘operated’ on him, he shook his head in response. “Don’t think so, doc." He almost cracked something of a smile, it teased at the edges of his mouth, flickering for a moment. Amused. "Unless you care to take a look?" Boldness weighed heavily on his words, almost challenging.

[outerspacebisexual]

You're It For Me - Eddie Munson

Requested: Yes

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: After the death of your parents, you're moved to Hawkins where you find your chosen family, including your boyfriend Eddie Munson. But when your old best friend comes knocking on your door, Eddie struggles with something he's never had to worry about before: jealousy.

Word count: 4.0k

Warnings: grief, swearing, jealous eddie, angst, fluff

Masterlist

The day you left your hometown was a blur.

Everything had melded together in a mess of the grief of losing your parents and being torn from the only place you had ever known. You were young enough that your aunt had decided that you would do better in a new town, away from the constant reminders of your parents. That town being Hawkins, Indiana, where she lived.

You could hear the removalists boarding up windows downstairs, moving furniture into the truck parked in your driveway. You were sat in the corner of your bedroom, curled into yourself between the end of your bed and the wall, making yourself as small as possible. If you tried hard enough, maybe you could just disappear.

There was a soft knock on the door, and you didn’t need to look up to know that it was Ian.

Ian had been your best friend your entire life. His house sat opposite your own, as it had since you were born.

You heard the door push open, soft footsteps creeping closer until he sat in front of you. You didn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry you’re leaving,” he said, his voice cracking with his pre-pubescent drop. You had made fun of him for it mercilessly in the past, but now, you could only think about how you would never get to hear it again.

Your eyes clouded with tears, and he hesitantly reach out and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“We can still write to each other,” he tried again, and you knew that he had tears in his own eyes. “And I can call you, too. My dad says he won’t mind the bill.” Your heart ached as you recognised he was trying to comfort himself as much as he was you.

You sniffled. “I don’t want to go. I hate that she’s making me leave. I hate her.”

“You don’t mean that,” he said. Even at 13, he was wise beyond his years. “She’s your aunt.”

“She’s still taking me away from you.” You finally looked at him, and his own face had tear tracks running down his cheeks.

“We’ll still be friends. Plus, you’ll make new friends, too.”

You sniffed again, wiping at your cheeks. “Do…do you promise?”

Ian managed a smile as he unfolded something in his hand. You hadn’t even noticed he had anything. “Always,” he said, handing you a photo of the two of you from when you were little.

+

A pounding on the door had you waking up well before you had wanted to.

“Eddie! I need your help!”

You groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket closer as you kicked Eddie’s legs. “Your son is here,” you grumbled.

Eddie huffed, not moving. “It’s the weekend. He should be annoying Harrington on the weekends.” His voice was thick with sleep as he slung an arm over you. “If we ignore him long enough, he’ll go away.”

Apparently, Eddie was choosing to ignore the fact that Dustin Henderson always got what he wanted.

“I know you’re in there! If you don’t come out right now, I’m breaking the window!”

Eddie pulled you closer for a second, before finally conceding. You cracked an eye open as he stood shirtless, stretching his arms above his head, giving you a clear view of his back. Your eyes drifted over his tattoos, before landing on the new scars littered over his back, chest, and arms.

They were healed, thankfully, but the raised scars were a reminder of his close encounter with Death itself. When you had gone with Steve, Nancy, and Robin to kill Vecna, you had made him promise to stay safe; a promise that he had failed to keep when he chose to save Dustin by sacrificing himself.

You could still hear your screams echoing in your ears as you returned to find him lifeless in Dustin’s arms, blood leaking from every part of his body. It was touch and go for hours, sitting beside him as he was stitched up while he was still unconscious.

You still had nightmares about it.

When Eddie turned to look at you, he saw your eyes on him and leaned forward, capturing your lips in a soft kiss that said everything he didn’t have to. I’m here. I’m OK. I love you.

And then he was at the front door, shouting at Dustin.

The scene was familiar, and you smiled before rolling over and falling back asleep.

+

“I don’t understand,” you said, spooning a mouthful of yogurt into your mouth. “Why are you letting Dustin be the DM?”

Eddie sighed from where he was sitting at your dining room table, books open all over the surface, eyeing you on the couch. “Because he needs to learn how to run a campaign properly, and he can’t do that without practice.”

You frowned. “And you’re doing all the hard work…why?”

“Because he is a total shithead and can’t seem to understand the logistics.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Kid is the dumbest smart person I’ve ever met.”

You had played D&D with Hellfire a few times for One Shots, but had never had to actually worry about how things worked in the long term. Eddie, however, had done this more times than you could count, and it still left you in awe of how his mind worked and his ability to foresee each tiny little change and adjust the story accordingly.

It was hard work, but he made it look easy.

You watched him flip through pages and write down different bits of information, his tongue darting out to brush over his lips. His hair was fluffier today, freshly washed, and you desperately wanted to run your fingers through it.

He caught your eye and raised his eyebrows. “What?”

You shook your head. You were long past feeling embarrassed for eyeing up your own boyfriend. “You’re so pretty.”

He brushed your comment off playfully, rolling his eyes, but you could see his pink cheeks as he looked back down, smile on his face.

You had your own small smile as you picked up his copy of The Hobbit, the calm quiet falling over the two of you. You enjoyed this, the soft domesticity that you two had formed over the past two years. You knew Eddie loved it, too.

It was broken, however, when a hesitant knocking on the door had the two of you looking at each other.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asked.

It was supposed to just be you and Eddie all day until that evening when the whole gang came over for a movie night. Steve and Robin having unlimited access to new movies meant that movie nights were commonplace now.

You stood and made your way to your front door, and as you pulled it open, you jaw nearly hit the ground.

“Ian?” you said, but it was more of a question.

The man was standing on your doorstep, backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked completely different from the last time you had seen him. His blond hair that had been buzzed for so many years as a child was longer, hanging just above his neck, and his teeth were straight, no doubt from braces that must have been and gone in the years since you had been gone.

He flashed a welcoming smile and hadn’t changed. “Hey, Y/N.” You couldn’t pull your eyes away from him. “Are you going to let me in?” he said after a moment, and you shook yourself out of your thoughts and threw yourself into his arms.

His backpack fell from his shoulder, and he just laughed as he hugged you back.

“What—what are you doing here?” you asked when you pulled away. “Your last letter said you were in—”

“—Maine. Yeah. I finished my college scout earlier than I thought and I decided to catch you on the way home.”

You furrowed your brows. “Indiana isn’t exactly on the way home.”

He shrugged. “Close enough.”

His eyes flicked behind you just a moment before you felt an arm snake around your waist.

You looked up to see Eddie assessing Ian. “Eddie,” you said, resting your hand on his chest. “This is Ian.”

“Ian? As is Ian from home?” He raised a brow.

You nodded, turning back to Ian. “Ian, this is Eddie. My boyfriend.”

Ian grinned as he held out a hand to Eddie. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Eddie stared at his extended hand for a moment too long, and you thought he wasn’t going to shake it, but he did. “Yeah, same. Y/N’s mentioned you a few times.”

Ian’s face dropped almost imperceivably, but you caught it just before he slipped on his usual smile. You could see Ian giving Eddie a once over. You had no doubt that he was surprised at his appearance. Eddie wasn’t quite the type of guy you had fawned over when you were a kid flipping through magazines, and while you had mentioned that he was a metalhead in your letters to Ian, you doubted the tall, long, shaggy-haired guy was what he pictured.

“Come in,” you said, stepping back closer to Eddie to gesture to your living room.

Ian sat on the couch, Eddie slipping in the armchair opposite him while you grabbed some water and glasses from the kitchen.

You poured a glass and handed it to him. “So, what are you doing here?” you asked, handing another glass to Eddie, who just raised his eyebrows as he took it from you before you plonked yourself at the opposite end of the couch.

“I’m here for you. And to see you and this town you can’t stop talking about.”

“Do you want me to show you around?” you asked eagerly. It felt slightly surreal. Ian was a reminder of your previous life, and now he was here in your current one. It felt like a weird mix that you never thought would happen.

Ian nodded. “Absolutely.”

You turned to Eddie, who had been silent, just watching the two of you. “Do you mind if I take Ian out today? I know we have plans later, so I’ll be back—” You turned back to Ian suddenly, leaning over and gripping his arm. “—Oh! We have a movie night tonight. You should totally come! My friends Steve and Robin—you remember me talking about them?—well, they’re bringing over a new movie, and the kids will be here; Dustin, Will, Mike, Lucas, Max, everyone!”

Ian was already nodding vigorously. “Hell yeah! I’d love to.”

You stood, mind whirring with everything that you wanted to show Ian, before looking back to Eddie. “You still have to do your D&D stuff, right? I can take Ian now and meet back here before everyone else gets here?”

Eddie was standing and moving for the table where your keys were before you could get another word out. “Nah, it can wait. I’ll drive.”

You blinked. Normally D&D took precedent over everything. “Yeah, sure.” You turned back to Ian, who was standing, backpack slung over his shoulder. “You ready?”

+

Eddie was sure that his brain would explode if he heard Ian laughing at something you said one more time.

He knew you were funny; it was one of the biggest reasons he loved you, but you weren’t that funny.

So far, he had driven you around nearly everywhere in Hawkins, the two of you giggling like schoolgirls in the back seat as you talked about things you had never even mentioned to him before.

Then, the two of you were jumping out of the car, you pulling Ian along before Eddie could even put the park brake on, disappearing into the arcade.

Eddie tried not to let the growing feeling of resentment climb any higher, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep it at bay. He knew that Ian had been a big part of your life before Hawkins. You had talked about him so many times, he practically knew the guy inside and out. And yet, having him here, on his turf? Yeah, that was chafing on his male pride.

He caught Steve’s eye through the glass of Family Video and entered the store.

“Who is that?” he asked immediately.

“Ian,” Eddie grumbled, leaning back against the counter.

“As in Ian?” Eddie only grunted in reply, and Steve only looked in the direction of the arcade. “Weird. He’s different that I expected.”

“Who is different to how you expected?” Robin said, suddenly appearing from the back room.

Steve glanced at her. “Y/N’s friend Ian.”

“He’s here?” she asked. “What does he look like?”

Steve nodded towards the arcade. “Like Billy Hargrove on steroids.”

Eddie grimaced. Great. As if he needed that comparison floating around.

“Oh,” Robin said, leaning on the counter beside Eddie. “that’s why you’re moody.”

“I’m not moody—”

She tsked. “I beg to differ. Look at the stance on you.” She gestured to his crossed arms and rounded shoulders. “That is a moody stance if ever I saw one.”

Eddie sighed, looking at the ceiling, willing whatever god was there to give him strength.

+

You were on a high when you got back to your place late that afternoon.

Ian had been just as excited as you all day. It felt like you were two kids again, racing down the streets of your hometown, getting into mischief. When you and Eddie had dropped Ian at his motel, he had promised to be at the movie night tonight.

You had still been rambling as you entered your place, Eddie following behind you. “I just can’t believe he’s here,” you said as you entered the kitchen, beginning to get ready for everyone to be at your place in a few hours.

Eddie slumped down at his place at your dining table. “Neither can I.”

“He said that he’s going to stay for the next few days before heading back home.”

Eddie scoffed. “Home.”

You paused, pulling out a popcorn bowl and placing it on the bench. “What?” When he didn’t say anything, you looked at him, raising your eyebrows. “Eddie.”

Eddie twirled his pencil in his fingers as he flipped a page. “This is your home.”

You frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, this is your home. Here. In Hawkins.” There was an edge to his voice that you didn’t like.

“I know.”

“So, why do you keep referring to it at as home?”

You blinked, trying to follow his train of thought, but getting derailed about a mile away from it. “Because it is? It’s just as much my home as Hawkins is.”

Eddie gripped the pencil so tight his knuckles turned white. “Right. I mean, why wouldn’t it be, with someone like him.”

“What is your problem?” you questioned, your voice rising.

Eddie leaned back, crossing his arms. “My problem? I guess I just didn’t expect to have to drive my girlfriend and a random guy around all day.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I said you could stay here—”

“—Oh, and what? Just thinking about all the stuff you two were doing all day? Yeah. No thanks.”

You could feel every drop of joy and excitement about today leaking from you with every word Eddie said. “Where is this coming from? You like Ian. You always said you wanted to meet him one day.”

“Well, maybe I didn’t think about the fact that he would be all over you and you just wouldn’t care.” The ice in his tone was lethal, and you physically took a step back despite the large distance between you.

“So, what? You don’t trust me?” You couldn’t keep the hurt from your voice. “Is that why you offered to drive us?”

Eddie didn’t answer. He just kept his gaze on the table. But it was all the confirmation you needed.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Yeah, well,” he said, and you thought he was going to continue, but he just sat there, content to let the silence speak for him.

You stared at him as your heart clenched painfully in your chest. “Fuck you, Eddie,” you spat, letting the words hang there with your heart, silently praying that he would say something.

But he didn’t.

And so, you turned away from him, continuing to get everything ready while trying desperately to keep the tears that clouded your vision at bay.

+

When everyone arrived at 6:00, you welcomed them into your house like normal. You and Eddie had spent the past two hours pretending that each other didn’t exist. You hoped that the tension between you wasn’t palpable enough that the others noticed.

You thought that he would apologise, but he hadn’t. He’d just ignored you the whole time, not even looking at you.

It turned out that Ian had no idea what the kids were talking about most of the time, but he engaged in conversation regardless, trying his best to keep up.

Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Will were in the midst of trying to explain D&D to him and he nodded along attentively, but you could see the information was just going straight over his head.

Once Nancy and Jonathan arrived, Steve put in the movie. It was some new Tom Cruise action movie that was supposedly good. You knew Nancy would love it, and normally you would, too.

Everyone took their usual spots, spread out across the floor and multiple couches while Ian sat in the armchair.

You paused, staring at the two-seater couch that you and Eddie normally shared. He was already sitting there, looking straight ahead at the TV. If there was literally anywhere else to sit, you would have taken it gladly, but there wasn’t. So, you took your seat beside him, curling your legs beneath you and leaning as far away from him as possible.

If the others had somehow missed the fact that something was wrong, they would definitely be able to tell now. Normally, the two of you were practically in each other’s skin with how close you sat. You caught him glance at you out of the corner of your eye, but you didn’t look at him.

You tried to pay attention to the movie playing, but you couldn’t stop thinking about the fight between you and Eddie. Of course, you guys had fought plenty of times before, but nothing had ever felt like he had questioned your relationship. You had been talking about your future just weeks ago; he had even broached the topic of getting married at some point, to which you had agreed. It wasn’t a proposal, but more of a confirmation that you were both with each other for the long haul. It seemed so long ago after today.

Three movies later, and everyone was asleep. Everyone except you.

Nancy and Jonathan were curled up together. Max and Lucas were the same. The others were in different positions across the floor.

You stood, trying not to disturb Eddie, who had his head resting on the armrest, eyes closed, with that deep breathing you had come to know so well.

You pulled open a drawer in the kitchen, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and heading to the front door. Cracking it open just enough to let the smoke out, you leaned against the frame and closed your eyes after lighting up and taking a drag.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Ian said, and you snapped your eyes open. He leaned against the diving wall, blocking out your view of some of the living room.

You took another drag. “I tried to kick it a few months ago. I only really do it when I’m stressed now,” you replied, dropping the ash outside.

“Are you?” he asked and amended when you looked confused. “Stressed, I mean.”

“I guess I am,” you said, eyes flicking over to Eddie’s sleeping form. He always looked so peaceful when he slept. Like nothing could possibly faze him.

“I’m glad you found a family, Y/N,” Ian said after a moment. And you looked at him. “They seem like really great people.”

You couldn’t stop the small smile that graced your face as you looked at the mismatched group spread out across your living room. “They are.”

“I was worried about you, you know? Your letters seemed really sad for a while there.” Ian’s voice had dropped, and your heart clenched. You had been really sad for months, before you became friends with anyone. Before Eddie. “But then you started talking about him.” He nudged your shin with his foot. “After that, I knew that you would be fine.”

Your eyes softened as you eyed you boyfriend laying on the couch. “I don’t know where I’d be without him," you admitted. Your voice cracked as you continued, “Sometimes I think about my life without him—” You didn’t mention the fact that you had faced monster and death on multiple occasions, but you could explain around the truth. “—I almost lost him, a bit over six months ago. And it was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. Everything I see in my future, he is right beside me. I can’t remember a time where I ever thought he wouldn’t be.”

You wiped away a tear that escaped your eye as you finished off your cigarette.

“He loves you, I know it.”

You swallowed. “Maybe.”

Ian didn’t say anything, and you sent him a sad smile as you headed upstairs to your bed.

+

Everyone had left by the time you woke.

When you walked downstairs, the living room was empty and everything had been packed away. It was like no one had even been there.

Your back door opened, and you turned to see Eddie. He froze when he saw you, half-way in the door, empty popcorn bowl in hand. He cleared his throat and closed the door after a moment before heading into the kitchen.

You stared after him.

He washed up the bowl, setting it in the drying rack. “Everyone left about an hour ago,” he said, and you glanced at the clock. It was nearly 10:00am. “Do you want something to eat?”

You looked back at him to see him leaning against the sink, looking at you. You shook your head.

Eddie didn’t move, he just stared at you. You could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “I—I heard you last night,” he confessed, and you closed your eyes, biting your lip. You didn’t want to think about it.

You heard him move, and he was in front of you.

His hand came up to rest on the side of your neck, just as it always did. “Open your eyes,” he asked, voice soft. “Please.”

When you did, you saw how close he was. His brown eyes were misty as they scanned every inch of your face. You own hand came up to rest on his forearm.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry for yesterday. For making you think I don’t trust you. That was me being…insecure.” He brushed his thumb across your jaw. “But I’m the most sorry for making you think that I would ever stop loving you.” He stepped closer, so that your chest was flush against his. “I love you. More than I could ever try and say.”

He pressed his lips to yours in a soft kiss that nearly took your breath away with its sincerity. When he pulled away, you said, “I’m sorry if I made you upset yesterday, too. I was just excited.” You placed your other hand on his chest, right above his heart. “You don’t have to ever worry about anyone else. You’re it for me, Eddie Munson. No one else could take my heart from you.”

Eddie grinned, a proper grin that had you kissing him again.

a/n: this ended up a lot longer than i thought it would, but i hope you liked it!

please check out my prompt celebration, and if you would like to request something, please do!

[newtonsheffield]

Hi, Molly!

If you feel like doing a Spicy Sunday this weekend, my suggestions are:

- Simmering: Making up after Anthony says Mary is a better cook than Kate.

- Yours To Tame: Anthony taking care of Kate during her period (may not be spicy (or maybe it is, who knows?) but I like the sweet intimacy of it).

- All That I Am: Kate being turned on by Anthony's candle making.

- Lavender Haze: Anthony getting Kate off while she tattoos him. (This premise may or may not haunt me. Again, who could say?)

Hello!

I'm going to go with Option number 4

Anthony couldn't believe how far he'd come, laid back on the table, the lights dimmed all around them as Kate squeezed out the ink n her work tables into little cups.

The first time he'd walked in here he'd been so ready to disapprove. He'd been nothing short of furious when he'd asked Eloise what she wanted for her birthday and she'd texted him a time and address along with And bring cash! They don't take cards! His car had pulled up outside with £500 in his suit jacket pocket and the minute he'd seen his sister, 18 for all of 10 hours outside Pins and Needles and he'd thrown the door open.

"Eloise Bridgerton you get in this car this instant!"

Eloise had rolled her eyes, her arms crossed over her chest and stopped just short of stomping her foot. "No! I'm an adult, Anthony! And I already paid the deposit so unless you want me to starve, we're going inside and a woman named Kate is giving me a tattoo!"

He'd huffed, looking around, squaring his shoulders as his sister had thrown the door open and stomped inside leaving Anthony to mutter, "A delinquent named Kate is going to be scarring you for life you mean! Giving you some infection that'll make your skin slough off your body like a fucking cartoon!"

He'd been wrong. The tattooist, Kate, hadn't been a delinquent. She'd been the most beautiful woman Anthony had ever seen. Her dark hair piled on her head cascading around her shoulders like a waterfall of curls, colourful ink crisscrossing her skin left on display by her crop top and her bare arms but it had been more than that. More than the way she'd teased him and poked and prodded. She'd also handed over her business license, then run through her experience with him before letting him inspect the needles she was about to open, her eyes sparkling.

"Have you washed your hands today?" Anthony sighed, as she pulled on her gloves, Eloise already on the bed

"I washed my hands 13 seconds ago. You watched me." Kate had tutted but there had been something soft in her smile as she'd sat on her chair, picking up the tattoo gun. "Last chance to restrain me, Daddy. Careful though, I know how to get out of handcuffs."

He hadn't stopped thinking about her, not since Eloise had sprinted off to take pictures of her new tattoo and left Anthony staring after her, paying the bill.

"I get that you don't agree with this but for what it's worth: I think you're doing a good job of taking care of everyone." Kate had sighed, "You let her make her own choices you just made sure she was being safe. That's sweet."

He'd thought and thought about the smile in her eyes and they way his stomach had lurched when she'd taken the money and their fingers had brushed and he'd made the rashest choice of his life, walking back into Pins and Needles weeks later.

"Viscount Daddy!" Her voice had called out as she'd looked up from the person she was working on, a smile growing on her face. "You are jus about the last person I ever expected to see in here."

"I was hoping you might have some time to do a consult for me, I'm looking at getting a sleeve."

He'd been so nervous when he'd gone for his first appointment that he'd passed out before the needle even touched his skin. But he'd gone back, ready to disappear into the ground he was so mortified, and he hadn't stopped.

He'd spent his entire life, trying to live up to his name, to his father, trying to compartmentalise sections of himself and he'd liked seeing that first piece of self-expression appear on his skin. He liked knowing beneath his shirtsleeves, his entire life was being marked on his skin, especially marked by her.

"Wanna tattoo me today?" Anthony had nudged her as they'd lain in bed this morning, his lips pressed into her neck and their legs intertwined.

Kate sighed, her fingers running through his hair, her engagement ring scratching against his scalp, "I don't know, my Lord, What are you going to let me tattoo, and where?"

Anthony sighed, pressing her even more firmly against the mattress, "Whatever you want, but I'm thinking my chest."

"Eventually I have to take on some paying customers, you know."

"Oh I'll make sure you're very well paid."

Kate had moaned as their lips met, her hips already grinding against his thigh. "Come by after four, I should be done then!"

She hadn't even let him see the stencil yet, covering his eyes as she measured it against his chest with a light hum, "Handsome."

She laid it on his skin now, the black gloves on her fingers tickling against his skin as she pressed it over his chest, smoothing it down gently. Anthony smiled down at it, a Bee against a flower, a hyacinth, curled over his skin.

"Ready?" Kate was grinning at him, wiggling her eyebrows. "Sexiest canvas today by far."

Anthony rolled his eyes as the needle bit into his skin, "You're just saying that because I let you mark your territory on me."

Kate tossed her hair smugly, "Wait until I get that ring on your finger as well, you'll never get rid of me."

"As if I'd ever fucking try."

Kate's lip caught between her teeth as she wiped the excess ink from his skin, her brow furrowing as she clicked her tongue. "Just as well because I've already marked my body for you twice and you've got me wearing a ring so..."

"You said I had to get you a ring to get my baby," Anthony said gruffly, his chest feeling tight in a way that had nothing to do with the ink being sunk under his skin and everything to do with the vision he had for the rest of his life. With Kate by his side every day, tiny little versions of her all around. "You promised I could father your children if I did."

Kate shook her head, chuckling slightly, "You're incorrigible."

"You're really pretty."

He loved watching her work. Loved everything about the confidence that she exuded, the power she held in her hands. She looked stunning like this, with her hair tied back with loose curls framing her face and the gold ring in her septum shining back at him and her arms flexing with the movement as she worked over his skin and the minutes ticked by into hours.

Anthony could feel her breath fanning over his skin as she worked, her eyes burning into his skin as the image appeared there, his cheeks burning as he took in his fiancée, something hot and languid settling into his bones. Anthony cleared his throat, trying to push burn the desire burning in his chest for her. he let his eyes slide over her body, ghosting over her chest, pressed into the crop top, the smooth sliver of skin between her top and the waistband of her jeans calling to him.

He could see the caricature of himself that Sophie had inked into her skin after a bet winking back at himself, marking his territory, even it it had been a joke.

He loved seeing his name on her skin, seeing the cartoon version of him winking, loved that this one, unlike the Lord Bridgerton marked on her inner thigh, was on display most days. parking for posh boys only.

Without thinking much beyond how desperately he wanted to touch her, he reached out as she turned away to get more ink. His hand closed around the edge of her chair tugging it forward so she was within reach.

Kate rolled her eyes, as his thumb pressed against the spot on her hip where the tattoo sat briefly, "You love that one don't you?"

Anthony felt it, the flicker of pride in his chest as he preened under the press of her hands. "I like everyone knowing you're mine."

she scoffed, "Come the fuck on, Anthony. You're mine and you know it."

"I never fucking denied that."

He let his fingers trail down to the waistband of her jeans, tickling along the skin there, tugging at the button until it came free.

"What are you doing?" Her voice shook a little though he could tell she was trying to appear unaffected as his fingers pressed against the seam of her jeans making her squirm against the seat.

"Nothing."

He tugged gently at the zip, pulling it down, the sound filling the air, thickening it with tension all around them.

"You aren't doing nothing." Her voice was breathless, her hands stilling on his chest as his fingers slipped first into her jeans, pressing against her through her underwear, his lip curling at the feel of her.

"I told you I'd make sure you were well paid." He let his fingers slide up, enjoying the shiver that ran down her spine as he pulled at the waistband of her underwear, tickling at the smooth skin there. Soft and warm.

"Well, can you wait until I've finished?" Kate sighed, going back to work "Or I'm going to completely fuck this up."

Anthony shook his head, sliding his fingers more firmly against her, his eyes fluttering back in his head slightly at the feel of her, just as Kate's hips bucked against his hand.

"I'll stop when you finish, babe."

Kate bit back a curse as her breath stuttered in her chest, the fingers of her hand clutching at his chest briefly before her eyelids flutter closed steeling herself against the feel of him.

There was something possessive rising in his chest already, Kate's hips making tiny motions against his chest as she laid purple ink into his skin layer after layer. She was warm and soft and so at odds with the personality she presented to the world like this. When she as well had spent her entire life pretending to be someone else, a thick skin hiding the gentlest heart Anthony had ever known, and every part of her belonged to him. Just as he belonged to her.

Her fingernails were biting into his shoulder as the needle cut into his skin again and again and still her hips rocked against his hand into steady, rolling motions. Her lower lip was blanched as her teeth bit into it, a muffled moan falling from her chest as his fingers slipped inside and her body sought more and more from him.

Anthony could feel the tension thickening all around them, something so intimate in the press of her hands against his chest and the concentration, and something fucking burning between them stretching on and on forever.

The muscles of his forearm were on fire cramped in their position but he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop until he heard that noise she made, gasped against his skin for him just as it always was.

"I'm nearly done." The words were strangled as her eyes screwed shut for a moment, a muttered fucking hell Anthony falling from her lips seconds later and Anthony pushed forward, his chest burning with pride as he looked at her, coming undone for him while she marked his skin forever.

Fucking Hell!

Her body shuddered around him as the tattoo gun fell to the tray beside her and Kate lunged forward, claiming his lips with hers roughly as she fell apart for him, her hands holding him tight to her.

He couldn't help but feel a little smug when she finally pulled back, her cheeks flushed as she pulled her gloves off.

"You're a bastard."

Anthony clicked his tongue, leaning forward to chase her lips for a moment. "I'm not actually. My parents were married, hence my being a charming viscount and not a sad, spooky, scar like figure."

Kate rolled her eyes, "You aren't cute. How would you feel if I hid under your desk and sucked you off while you were in a meeting?"

Anthony's stomach dropped, "I would- Um-Fuck. I'm going to be so hard at the office tomorrow now."

And god damn her, all she did was smile devilishly "And you'll be staying that way."

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Darker Shadows

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Azriel

Rating: PG-11/T-

Original Idea: Nothing in particular. Finished the first 4 books. Dunno if I can stand Nesta long enough to read ACOSF, so I wrote this with no information from ACOSF. Have fun.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) Whaaaaa...? I break my ongoing hiatus for this? Yep. I did. I hope a few more one-shots join this one, but I am making no promises. This one just came to me for about an hour so surprise! Happy August.

^^^^^ 

“Darker Shadows”

Azriel said nothing as he slipped through the door to our apartment, quiet and soft as the shadows surrounding him. I watched from the sitting room adjacent to the foyer. He must have known I was there—the shadows must have informed him—but he didn’t so much as look at me. Just rested his forehead on the door and sighed.

“Long day?” I asked.

He blinked his eyes open and turned. “Incredibly,” he replied.

I patted the sofa next to me, indicating he come sit.

Azriel’s shadows seemed to grow more numerous around him as he crossed to me. I realized why as his leathers thumped to the floor in his wake, leaving him in a light undershirt and undershorts.

No matter how long we lived together, he was always so modest.

Part of me wondered if it was more insecurity than modesty; but I would never invade his privacy that much to ask. He’d tell me when he was comfortable.

He hit the sofa cushion next to me hard. His wings barely missed getting caught behind him. Ever the precise, too. One arm and one wing wrapped over my shoulders. He was warm, even if his underclothes were cold from his sweat. I snuggled into his side. We both stared at the fire for a while.

“Did you eat up at the House?” I asked.

The shadows shrouding him retreated a little, going back to their usual shades. He glanced at me with those sharp hazel eyes before returning his gaze to the fire. “Yes. Rhys and Feyre were hosting a dinner for the Palace governors. A private celebration of rebuilding the city so quickly before the grand, public celebration in three days.”

I snorted. “Bet they loved that,” I said sarcastically. Among the family, it was well-known that Rhys and Feyre both hated formal parties and dinners with a fiery passion.

A glimmer of amusement joined the reflection of the flames in Azriel’s eyes. “Oh, they slipped out an hour in. I heard them in the library… having fun amongst the stacks. I left them to it and didn’t interrupt.”

I couldn’t stop the laughter that burst from my throat, but clamped it down hard to not disturb the neighbors.

Azriel held me tighter. “Would have been more enjoyable if you were there,” he said. His voice was soft, almost as though he didn’t actually want to admit it.

Reaching up, I cupped the side of his face. “Sorry I couldn’t go. I’d have liked to have been there.” I gestured to my wrapped leg. “I just don’t think I could handle a party today. If Rhysand had decided to host it three days from now with the rest of the celebrations, I would have been able to make it.” I made a face. “Sorry I missed it.”

“It’s alright. I understand.”

I reached around his wing to the end table, picking up my glass and handing it to him. He downed the rest and handed it back to me. I chuckled and set the glass on the coffee table instead.

After shuddering at the freezing chill of the water from my glass, Azriel turned to me. “How’s the pain?”

I shrugged. “Better than it was,” I said.

“At least you’re healing quickly.”

“Mmhmm.”

“How did you spend your night?”

I waved a vague hand to the small pile of books on the coffee table. “Just decided to read a little.”

“A little?” Azriel quoted. “You read five novels in four hours.”

“Oh, no. I didn’t finish them all. When I got bored I’d switch between them.”

“None of them holding your attention?”

“Not like they used to. Not since—”

The War with Hybern. Azriel knew. We all broke in some way over the course of it. I hadn’t had the attention span I used to since.

Azriel smiled at me. “Bathe, then bed?”

“Sounds great,” I replied.

He scooped me into his lap and stood up. I yelped at the sensation. My bad leg dangled looser than my good leg. My yelp earned me a twitched smile from my spymaster.

He carried me into the bathing room and sat me on the edge of the tub before turning it on. As it began to warm up and fill, he helped me unwrap my splint and undress. I returned the favor as best I could.

We bathed quickly and then got in our sleep clothes after drying off. After carrying me to bed, Azriel poked the point of my ear. “Goodnight,” he said softly.

I smiled, never able to contain my affection. “Sleep well,” I replied.

He doused the faelights and climbed under the covers.

We snuggled against each other. One of his wings draped over the both of us, keeping us warmer than the covers could. That warmth, his scent… it helped lull me to sleep. I could fall fast asleep on stone if Azriel was beside me.

—

Azriel watched his own scarred hand brush her nightshirt away from the skin of her back, revealing two sharp scars and an elaborate tattoo. Another rare Illyrian/High Fae hybrid, she’d been born with wings. Unlike Rhys, who could summon and desummon his wings at will, hers had been permanent.

Until her High Fae mother ordered her wings removed when she was still a child. Barely more than a toddler.

Azriel hadn’t met her until Rhys disappeared Under the Mountain. She’d been fifty-seven-years-old at the time. He’d seen her in the Rainbow, in one of the pottery studios, on a hot summer day. Her clothing revealed her back. The deep, disgustingly neat scars that made it clear how her wings had been taken from her, and the deep blue-black ink covering most of the exposed skin. She’d told him once she got it to both hide and show off the scars. When he’d asked why, she’d simply replied, “I’m stronger than the people who tried to hurt me.”

She hadn’t told him it was her mother—who’d wanted her to be a normal High Fae—for another decade.

He hadn’t been in love with her at the time. But during those fifty years everyone was stuck in Velaris, they became good friends. Azriel found her company much more peaceful than the other members of the Inner Circle. He loved them all—his family—but there was no harm, or shame, in being around someone who was quiet.

Then, a human girl broke Tamlin’s curse and Amarantha was dead. The High Lords and the members of their courts were released from Under the Mountain. And Rhys came home. And Azriel was both busier and freer than ever to spend time with his new friend.

He’d been so quietly pining for Morrigan for so long that, at first, he hadn’t realized the subject of his affections had changed.

During that final battle, when Prythian’s forces were spread so thin and even every reinforcement that came didn’t seem to make a dent… she’d taken a hit. A bad slash across the lower back.

And Azriel had seen red. His powers had already been mostly used up, his Siphons dim, and his wings badly injured.

But he’d gone to rescue her anyway.

His wings had screamed at him the entire flight back to a healer’s tent and then back to the battle. But during those moments, as she bled in his arms, he knew his feelings had transcended just friendship. “If we get out of this alive,” he’d said, “I’d like to treat you to dinner.”

She’d hummed, her side vibrating against his torso. “Mmm… dinner sounds nice. Afterwards, I can buy dessert.”

“We’ll see,” Azriel had said, smiling.

After they’d both healed and returned to Velaris, they’d done just that.

They’d been together ever since.

Azriel smiled at the memories.

—

“You’re staring,” I said quietly. His staring and touching had woken me.

“You’re incredible,” Azriel replied. “Have I told you that?”

“Today? No. This week? Many times.”

A soft chuckle. “So long as you know it.”

I rolled over so I was facing him. With his wing bent over both of us, I felt like I was in a sheet fort.

His eyes harbored a small glint in the half-light. I stared at him. “What is it?” His question was gentle.

I shrugged, feeling my scars pulling on my skin. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” he said.

“Charmer,” I teased.

That earned me a chuckle. Though his smile dropped after a moment. “Does it bother you?” He asked.

“What?”

“That you can’t fly?”

My humor disappeared. The phantom wings I still felt sometimes shivered in the back of my mind. “Sort of,” I replied. “I’d only barely taught myself how when Mother forced me to get them removed. It’s hard to miss what I didn’t really know. But I remember the wind over my scalp. My entire body fighting desperately to keep me aloft. I loved it. But now… now I get to fly with you and remember what it felt like. It’s not quite the same, but it’s enough for me.”

Azriel kissed my forehead. “Sorry I woke you,” he said.

“It’s okay. Any extra time I get to spend with you is worth it,” I replied with a smile.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Soulmate au! tattoos - Harry Hook x Reader - Oneshot

Small spin on two soulmate au ideas that got sent in, name tattooed somewhere on the body and whatever is drawn on the skin shows up on the other, and im including tattoos (except those don’t disappear so if your soulmate get a tattoo you get one too and unless you get it removed it's there to stay)

soulmate au ideas from anon and @harryhasmehooked 

tattoo designs/ideas borrowed from @kindofchaoticgood 

=

Everyone was born with their soulmates name tattooed somewhere on their body, on their wrist, on their collarbone, on the back of the neck, anywhere really. Another thing was that whatever your soulmate had something written or drawn on their arm, it would show up on your body as well.

Many soulmates found each other by communicating with a pen and writing their information on their skin, others liked to make it a hunt and only give hints to their soulmate.

Then there were the tattoos. and not the ones that one was born with. The ones that someone got willingly inked onto their body.

If someone got a tattoo, that same tattoo would appear on their soulmate's body, but unlike when they simply wrote on their arm with a pen, it wouldn’t disappear unless they got it removed.

Sometimes, people gushed over their soulmate's tattoo and proudly wore them, others hid their tattoos away in fear they would be judged.

Usually, the ones who hid their tattoos either had a good reason to hide them or were just ashamed of their soulmate's choice of art.

You weren’t one of those people.

Around the time you were 11 or 12, small temporary tattoos began to appear on your skin, first just little inked ones that would easily wash off, but soon little stick and poke tattoos started to appear, they would fade after a while but they were cute and you retouched them on your own when you could. Some were little music notes, others resembled constellations, and one, which was your favorite, was a small hook nestled in the crook of your palm.

The first “real” tattoo showed up several months after the first poke and stick tattoos, your cousin had joked about how cliche it was and your soulmate must be a pirate or something, a skull with crossed swords on the right side of your chest.

Your parents had pretty much freaked out, you only being 12 and already having a tattoo but you brushed it off and admired it every day, writing on your arm to ask your soulmate where and how they had gotten the tattoo.

Unfortunately, you had never gotten a response.

The next tattoo to appear, on the left side of your chest this time, was a ship sailing into the horizon. Again you asked them where and how they had gotten the tattoo, along with asking the name of the ship, once again there was no response.

Only a week later a new tattoo showed up, this time on the inside of your left arm, written in slight cursive were the words “No grave can hold me down” you had traced the words the entire night into the next morning.

Soon after that, another tattoo showed up, this one on the back of your left hand, depicting three swords crossing their blades.

Your cousins always teased you about how pirate-like your soulmate's tattoos were, but you laughed at the slight irony of it since your soulmate might have been a pirate after all.

Considering their last name was “Hook” it was a pretty good chance that they had followed their dad's footsteps.

“Harry Hook” a name that drifted through your dreams, you always imagined what they would be like, hopefully, nothing like James hook.

It was years before a new tattoo showed up, when you were 16 and attending Auradon prep, after King Ben had invited four villain kids to Auradon, curling black inked words on the inside of your right arm ‘death before disloyalty’. You had no clue what it meant, but it clearly had a deeper meaning.

Throughout the years you had no luck in attempting to contact your ‘Harry Hook’, you had either sent a simple ‘hi’ or a small little note mentioning one of the tattoos. It was always no response. Though you got little notes from them that were rare and never had anything to do with what you sent him. Just little ‘hello’s and asking your name, but every time you responded, nothing came back.

you had mentioned it to Evie, who was in your art class, who said that because of the barrier, it prevented soulmate magic as well, meaning Harry hadn’t ever seen your little notes and didn’t even have your name tattooed on him somewhere.

Evie was also the only one who knew of your soulmate's name that was willing to tell you about him, being the least…biased against her fellow vk. Mal, Jay, and Carlos all seemed to have some sort of grudge against him and always badmouthed him when the topic of Harry came up.

Though thanks to Evie and her thankfully amazing art skills, she had depicted Harry for you, she had said it wasn’t perfect since she was more of a concept artist than one who practiced realism, that was more Mal’s thing, but you could tell she was just being modest.

Black fluffy hair, ocean blue eyes always lined with liner, plump lips that Evie said were always in a sharp smirk, a jaw that could cut someone. He was perfect, and you hoped you could meet him soon.

Three months after the vks had come to Auradon, a new tattoo appeared; this time of a solid black anchor on your right forearm. You traced it constantly with your finger, wondering what this one meant, just as you did with every tattoo appearance.

Soon after that, a swallow appeared just above the crook of your right elbow, and a lioness with a language you couldn’t speak written under it appearing on your left wrist.

Then a watercolor lily on the side of your right forearm, then constellations started to appear on your back, you had Evie take a picture each time one appeared, smiling as yours appeared among them (star sign, like Virgo or Capricorn)

Around April, another tattoo appeared, again on your right forearm, this time of a treble clef symbol with a series of notes within the loops. You wondered what the song was, humming it under your breath as you tapped out the notes on whatever surface your hand was resting on.

It was several months later before another tattoo appeared, and it was the most beautiful one yet. Swirling turquoise tentacles curled around and down your right arm, starting from your right shoulder and ending just below your elbow.

You had started wearing sleeveless tops more often, wanting everyone to see the masterpiece that was curled around your arm.

Once you turned 18 you started to decorate your skin as well, your first being a watercolor compass on your left bicep that melted into waves as it drew away from the middle.

Next, you got one with a moon theme on the back of your neck just below your hairline, reaching down your neck and connecting with the constellations on your back.

After that you got a skeleton hand on your right hand, then the map of Neverland on your thigh, then the north star on your ankle.

You were almost covered in tattoos, to which some people gaped and gasped, but you paid them no mind, your tattoos were your only connection to your soulmate and you couldn’t wait for the day that he would finally see your combined works.

-

Harry didn’t know if he had a soulmate or not, the barrier prevented any type of communication through writing on their skin or their names being tattooed on their body.

So Harry had gone his entire life without knowing the name of his, possibly non-existent, soulmate, and no matter how many times he had tried to talk to them, there was never any response.

He always did wonder though, if he had a soulmate, what they thought of his tattoos. Did they like them? Did they wear them proudly? Did they hide them? Did they get them removed? He would probably never know.

Until one day, only a couple days after the four traitors had invited four new vks, he was outside of the barrier.

The blank spots on his skin bloomed to life, a watercolor compass on his left bicep, a skeleton hand on his right hand, Gil told him about the moon tattoo on the back of his neck, the tingle of magic on his thigh and ankle told him there were new tattoos there was well.

He stared at the new tattoos, smiling slightly at the realization that he did have a soulmate. His smile dipped a bit as his left wrist started to burn slightly, and he ripped away the old bandage that covered his scar from years ago, eyes widening as the curving letters of his soulmates started to appear.

‘(y/n) (l/n)’

Harry stared at the name, not realizing everyone was moving towards Auradon till Gil gently pushed at his shoulder to get him to move “oh” Harry muttered, catching up with Uma and smirking as she stared at the large tattoo sleeve on his right arm.

“you are such a dork” she snorted, pushing at his arm and looking at his hand “didn’t think you were one to get a skeleton tattoo”

Harry just held up his left wrist with a grin “Oh holy shit!” Uma laughed, grabbing onto his hand and examining the name “(y/n) huh?...nice name” Mal yelled at them to catch up, making Uma glare at the girl. “hold your pants princess were dealing with some shit back here!”

Uma and Harry shared a look ‘we’ll talk about this later’ and followed after the other vks, Uma continuing to poke and prod at Harry's new tattoos.

-

Harry stood awkwardly in a quiet corner at Mal and Ben's engagement party as everyone else danced in the middle of the large garden. He swirled the pink lemonade in the small glass cup and took a careful sip. He let a small smile grow on his face as Gil and Uma spun around on the dance floor.

He glanced down at his left wrist, flexing it a bit as his soulmate's name shined lightly in the sunlight. He let out a sigh and took another sip of his drink, he had no idea where his soulmate was, they could be anywhere really, in Auradon, or maybe on the other side of the world.

“I like your tattoos” a voice spoke from beside him, and Harry glanced at them for a moment before looking back at the dance floor.

“Thank yeh” he muttered back, pausing as he went to take another sip of his drink. He whirled back around, eyes widening as he really looked at the person who had complimented him.

They were covered in tattoos, ones that matched his exactly, on their right arm were turquoise tentacles, an anchor, a swallow in flight, a watercolor lily, a treble clef with music notes, and…his name on the inside of your wrist. “Harry Hook…right?” you asked nervously, tapping your foot against the ground.

Harry looked down at his wrist again and looked back at you “aye…(y/n) (l/n)?” he asked softly, smiling as you grinned and nodded.

“That would be me, it's nice to finally meet you Harry” you held out your hand, your grin widening as Harry eagerly took it. “Come on, let's talk”

“Okay,” Harry muttered, sharing a smile with Uma and Gil as they pointed at your tattoos with wide grins “let's talk.”

You tugged Harry out of the garden party, your hands tightly intertwined. Just below your intertwined hands at the wrists, the tattooed names glowed for a moment then shimmered to a shining, just visible, gold color.

A symbol that one's soulmate had been found.

-end-

 another short but sweet oneshot! probably didnt make complete sense but im just wanting to get back into writing since ive been feeling a bit of a block with my main stories, so if anybody else has anymore soulmate au ideas send em in.

permtaglist

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@thecaptainsgingersnap​  @imtryingthisout​

[sanders-sides-fic]

A hole of your shape in my heart

So… My brain went to war with me today. So I wrote some Anxceit-centred angst to cope. Consider yourself warned, this will hurt. I do hope you'll enjoy it regardless, though.

Trigger warnings: implied depression, mentions of panic attacks, self harm, fainting, memory loss

If I forgot a trigger or there is something you would like to be added to that list, please go ahead and tell me. You can do so anonymously as well.

It wasn't that bad at the beginning. A bit of a cold shiver, running down his spine. Ice that seemed to settle in his lounges. A dull ache. Nothing serious, really. He knew that it wasn't good to ignore it, he knew that from the start. And yet he couldn't help it.

They were happy. That was all that mattered to him then. Remus and Janus were happy. That was more important than a bit uncomfortableness. He was used to having panic attacks, mental breakdowns and the sudden urge to cry anyways. This didn't make such a big difference.

Except that it did.

You see, Remus was born without a soulmate. He just didn't have one. Janus, on the other hand, had an accident when he was younger. There was a nasty scar on the left side of his face, which he had covered up with a tattoo of a snake later. Ever since that accident, he'd been soul-blind. Colourblind for soulmates. He did have a soulmate, he just couldn't feel the bond anymore. Oh, it was still there, alright. He could feel that much. But he just couldn't tell anything beyond that. So he'd given up on finding that soulmate.

That's how Remus and Janus had gotten together in the first place. And that was wonderful. It was great. They made such a nice pair. They were happy and in love and sweet and… And it had come as a blow to the face to Virgil.

The three of them had been friends for years. When they'd become teens, Virgil had finally realised what the bond had been telling him all the time. The pretty sparkles around Janus, the glitter in the air that portrayed his emotion in colours, the warmth around his heart that reminded him of Janus. Janus could only feel that warmth. He wondered what it felt like to him. What he felt like to him. Because Janus was Virgil's soulmate.

Virgil had been a bit happy and a bit sad about that. Happy because he liked Janus and he knew him and that was fine. Sad because Janus couldn't tell that they were soulmates.

And that was why he kept telling himself that he'd tell Janus. For sure. But somehow he always ducked out the last moment. Something always happened. Just little things, but things that were bad enough to make him retreat into his shell.

He should have known. When Janus said he would give up on searching for a soulmate he couldn't even tell apart from the rest of the world, he should have known. And yet he hadn't expected Janus to start dating people. Janus was his soulmate, his. He didn't even consider the possibility that he might see other people. How very stupid of him.

He had almost told Janus that day. They were eighteen then, and he had bought a yellow nasturtium, Janus's favorite flower. It was inside a black pot that he'd made himself. He'd always liked to do pottery, it calmed him down. This was the best one he made so far, he thought.

He also wrote down what he wanted to say. How much Janus meant to him, how badly he wanted to be with him, that they were soulmates, that he didn't even mind that Janus couldn't tell and that he was sorry he hadn't said anything before. That it was okay if Janus needed time because this was so sudden, but that he hoped he'd give Virgil a chance anyways. Virgil had used his favorite paper. It was a bit fancy, but not over the top. And it smelled like Lavender, which always calmed him down. He'd wasted quite a bit of this paper because he kept starting over, but that was worth it. Janus was worth it.

But Janus had already told him that he wasn't waiting for his soulmate anymore. And when Janus arrived at his apartment that day, it was with his hand in Remus's.

"He asked me out earlier. I can't believe I said yes, the way he did it was terrible, really." But Janus had smiled, and Remus had laughed, and Virgil had been late.

He knew Remus wasn't to blame, and neither was Janus. They were happy right now. Remus hadn't been happy or confident when it came to the topic of love in forever. Janus had suffered because he'd always been so, so scared of his soulmate rejecting him for not being able to tell. And now they were happy and it was without him.

It hurt. A lot. But he didn't want to ruin their happiness. It was only his fault. He was to blame, for hesitating. For not wanting to ruin their friendship. For being selfish.

So he secretly took the letter and hid it in the bottom of his desk drawer. And he wished them the best.

After that, they started to drift away. Remus and Janus had a lot of date nights. And Virgil drifted away from them because he couldn't stand seeing them. It hurt too much, was all. Whenever Janus would smile at him, whenever Janus laughed, whenever Remus sighed and told him about a cute thing Janus had done, whenever they shared a milkshake, whenever they were so there, so with each other.

Whenever Janus insisted Virgil come as well, saying he missed him. Because Virgil knew, he knew that was because Janus could still feel the soulmate bond. But Janus didn't know, and Janus didn't see him that way, and that was just cruel. Why did fate do this to him? Why did it hate him so much?

After a while, when Virgil couldn't take it anymore, he begun to initiate fights. Janus was too much of a liar, he was too anxious to trust him. Remus was creepy and gross, he couldn't understand why he would say something like that. In the end, he became more and more of an asshole to the two of them. Their days were either spent apart or fighting, and Virgil would cry himself to sleep, pain and cold emptiness gnawing away at his soul.

After a while, he had pushed them so far away that he barely saw them at all anymore. And by then he was so used to it that he could just pretend everything was fine during the day. Sure, he couldn't bare to take off his hoody even in scalding hot summer. Sure, his panic attacks got worse and more frequent. Sure, he had started to wear black eyeshadow purely to hide the bags under his eyes. Sure, he woke up to dried tears on his face every single day. But it was fine. He was fine. He could take this, if it meant that the two most important people in his life were happy.

Patton, the soulmate of Remus's brother, had somehow ended up noticing how he was alone all the time now. And he'd adopted him into their friend group.

Roman and Remus were on bad terms with each other, so he barely knew them. It was kind of a fresh start, even if it was a rocky one. Remy and Roman were the least accepting of him. Roman because "A, he is the type of person Remus would hang out with. And, B, he hurt Remus with his sudden bullshit. Believe me, if you knew the things I learned through my brother…" and Remy just because he didn't want to breath the same air as him. Apparently.

Remy didn't hang out with the group if Virgil was with them. They meet up without him, which was a solution everyone was fine with. Besides, Remy had always liked to suddenly disappear and appear according to his mood. At least that was what his soulmate, Logan, said.

Roman, on the other hand, couldn't stay away that much. After all it was Patton who stuck to Virgil like friendly glue made out of puns, and Patton was Roman's soulmate. Both of them were extremely clingy too, apparently. So the two of them exchanged sarcastic comments and rude nicknames, but they didn't outright hate each other. At least Virgil didn't hate Roman.

Logan was nice to talk to. Almost as good at debates as Janus. They didn't have debates about philosophy, though. Those were reserved for Janus, and it felt like betraying him to have such a debate with someone else. They soon got to a point where hanging out was almost enjoyable, where they kind of liked each other.

And then, suddenly, it got a lot worse. A lot worse. So bad, Virgil couldn't get up in the morning. He couldn't eat anything, couldn't stop crying, could barely breath. About four panic attacks and one night of terrible, terrible loneliness later, Roman, Logan and Patton showed up at his door.

He couldn't help himself. He was so lonely, and he felt so worthless, and Patton was the only one who really wanted him around anyways. So he shrugged their concerns off, taking a sip from his hot coffee - the only acceptable hot beverage in August - and saying: "Well, I just… assumed you didn't want me around. I mean, you don't like me much anyways, so."

Patton had gasped in offence and horror, and Virgil couldn't help but smile at that, though the hole in his chest was still too much to bare and he couldn't look at them. "Yeah, yeah. Except you, Pat."

He'd been wrong. Logan drew up an entire chart to prove how much he contributed to their friend group and how much he provided. Even Roman told him that he was wanted, needed even. It was nice and wholesome, and to his surprise, it made him feel so much better. For just a moment, the hole inside his chest wasn't as icy and cold.

They ended up watching Disney that evening, with a bowl of popcorn and too much comments to actually concentrate on the movie. Later at night, Virgil even confessed that he knew his soulmate. A sore subject he didn't want to touch normally. They asked him why he was single, of course, whether it didn't work out between the two of them, whether that was even possible. And Virgil had shrugged. "I wouldn't know. We never tried, he already has someone." Then he'd chuckled. "I guess that was why I was such an asshole to Re and Jan when they got together, too. Kinda made me feel jealous and… lonely. Don't tell them, though. They don't even know that I already met my soulmate."

Janus would have been proud of him, for how well he had managed to lie to his new friends. Well, not lie directly. But a lie of omission, right?

There were many days like this after that. Days where everything got too much. His new friends understood that he sometimes had bad days. Patton would sent him videos of cute dogs and cats when he let them know he was out of order for that day. Roman would send him memes and Logan would tell him fun facts. It was precious of them, and it made Virgil feel a lot less lonely. The cold was still there, layered around the soulmate bond, the hole was just as gaping as always, but he didn't feel as lonely. And that was good enough.

Other days he could almost pretend that things were fine. He would be around his new friends for as long as his little, introverted heart allowed him. Then he'd listen to music, get stuff done, worry about dead lines and the world instead of Remus, or Janus and his absence in Virgil's life. Sometimes he would read, too. Or do pottery. He didn't do pots anymore though. Or flowers. Just art or tableware.

He didn't even mean to do it the first time. Really, it was an accident. He was just tired, and he did the dishes and then he accidentally cut himself with a knife. But as the blood trickled down his finger, the pain outside kind of overwhelmed the pain inside. So he sat down and watched his finger bleed. Because his hand was wet, it looked like more blood than it actually was.

He thought about that moment often after that, whenever the pain got too much to bare and he could barely hang on. And he did try to fight it, really, he did. But in the end, it was too tempting. Just a few cuts at a time, at first. Somewhere where no one would notice. With the hoody, that wasn't even that hard, actually. He always put on gauze, too, to make sure it didn't get infected.

It got a bit more when he heard from Roman that Janus and Remus had broken up. Apparently Janus felt weird dating Remus. They suspected that it was because Remus wasn't his soulmate - because Janus was Virgil's, his, he was supposed to date him and he wanted to yell it at Janus already, telling him the truth, finally holding him and kissing him and filling this Janus's formed hole in his heart - and Remus fully understood it. Things were a bit awkward between the two of them, but they would keep being friends.

And it got even more worse when Patton was Patton and decided to use this opportunity to get Virgil to make up with the two of them. It was nice of him, but the thing was that Janus was still Virgil's soulmate and didn't know about it.

He and Janus didn't get along too well. He made up with Remus way faster. And Roman didn't like Janus too much either, but once again Patton insisted on adopting the man into their friend group and Roman was too clingy to avoid him. But Janus made it, in the end. Of course Janus made it. He was dazzling and charismatic like that.

Only Virgil couldn't help keeping his defences up. If he let them down, he would tell him the truth. And he couldn't do that, not now, not until he made everything okay again. But he couldn't do that, not without letting his defences down and that just killed him on the inside.

And then he had a bad day. But he wanted to see Janus, so he got up and met up with the others. It helped. Seeing Janus there helped. Hearing him and Patton talking about Kant, watching him smile at Logan and joke around with both Remus and Roman… It helped. And yet it made him so much more aware of what he was missing.

Remus and Roman drove home together. Logan was supposed to meet Remy, so he had excused himself earlier. Patton worked in the café they'd been in, and his shift started after their meeting. So that left Virgil and Janus to walk out together.

Janus smelled like coconut, and his lips were a little chapped. Early winter, he always got chapped lips this time of year. The light made his skin glow, and from this angle with the way the light hit them his left eye looked a lot more golden than brown, unlike the right one.

It hurt. He wanted to grab Janus's hand, he wanted to kiss those lips, he wanted to hug him and never let him go, he wanted to grab him and hold him close until the smell of coconut would transfer to himself as well. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted so bad.

But how was he supposed to do any of it? How was he supposed to tell him?

In the end, he decided to just get it over with. Like a bandaid, just ripping it off. Straight out with it. But just when he was about to, had already taken a breath and opened his mouth…

"I missed you." Janus's melodic voice sounded way too sad. Virgil didn't like it. "Why did you just leave us behind, Virge? I missed you, but… You were acting so strange. You still are. Are you mad because I never texted you?"

He didn't say anything. Couldn't, even though he wanted to.

"If that's it, then I'm sorry. But, Virge, I… I did miss you. And you acting so cold to me really sucks. You're getting along fine with Remus now, so why not me?" He stopped and looked Virgil in the eyes, looking like he was searching for something. What, Virgil didn't know. But he didn't find it, judging by the way he averted his eyes. And that hurt, too. Everything hurt. He just wanted to go now. "I thought we were friends."

"No. I don't think we ever were supposed to be friends." Virgil took a deep breath. Now. He had to tell him now. Bandaid, remember? Just tell him. Virgil opened his mouth, looking at Janus.

Right. Just out with it. "The truth is we're soulmates. I'm sorry I never told you, I was scared. But I love you, Janus." Right. That was all he had to say. Just three sentences. Go on, do it. Please, just get them out already. It's been years now. You've known since you were sixteen, you've known for four years now. He deserves to know, too.

In the end, he shook his head. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that, I…" couldn't say it again. He ignored the tears gathering in his eyes as he turned away from Janus's hurt look. "I'm not feeling that good."

And he ran. He ran away, like he always did. God, he was such a coward. And for what?

At home, he pulled out the letter from last year. Then, he screamed. He couldn't take it anymore, he just screamed and sobbed. And he knew that it wasn't fair, that he'd done this to himself, but he was in so much pain. He just couldn't take it.

But he'd done this to himself. By hesitating, by not giving the letter, by ruining what little relationship he had with his soulmate, by pushing him away, by lying, by not saying what he wanted to. And what for? A fleeting happiness, a failed relationship, a churning ball of fear in his stomach?

Virgil didn't mean for it to get that bad. He meant to stop earlier. He didn't mean for the wounds to be that deep either. But they did, and he didn't, and he only really realised when he got dizzy at standing up. Oh. Oh, that was a lot of blood. And he was still bleeding. Damnit, he needed help. But who would…? Who could…

He grabbed his phone and called the first number in his contacts. It was Remus's voice that picked up after the second ring. "Hey, Rem. It's me." He winced at how weak his voice sounded. "I, uh… I did something stupid. And I know I've been an asshole, but I really, really need your help."

"Janus said you didn't feel so good." Remus sounded genuinely worried. And was that Janus's voice in the background? It was, wasn't it? Tears sprung to his eyes again.

"Yeah. Hey, tell him I'm sorry for me? I wanted to say something, but I didn't again, and… yeah." He couldn't understand the response he got. Blinking, he tried to stay awake. Falling asleep was bad, right? Oh, right. Remus. "Listen, Remus, I… Did something stupid. There's a lot of blood. I think I need to go to the hospital."

"Blood? The hospital? Virgil what did you do?!"

He flinched at the panicked voice. That didn't suit Remus at all. Wait, wasn't that Janus? Had Remus put him on speaker? Well, it didn't matter, really. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." He said instead. And then: "I'm scared."

"Okay. Okay, shit. We're almost there. It's alright, we're almost- Take a left, Re, that's faster. We're almost there, okay Virge?"

"Okay." He hesitated, lump in his throat. He thought he could feel tears running down his face, but he was a bit too out of it to be sure. "Thank you."

They kept their word. He could hear Janus's shocked cry and Remus's cussing before the darkness took over.

❖

When he woke up, he was in a white room. Around him, he could see a bunch of people. One with dirty blonde hair and freckles, holding hands with a brunette with glasses. Next to them sat a man with similar glasses and black hair. On the other side was a man much like the first, but with one strand dyed silver and the rest chestnut brown. And another man, who stole the breath right out of his lunges.

Long, golden hair, tied up to a bun, pale skin, warm eyes somewhere between gold and brown, and a snake tattoo on his left cheek. He wore black, with yellow and gold accessories, and he was absolutely stunning. Around him there were weird fireworks, almost like glitter. Did the others see that, too? It was blue, and something inside him told him that that was worry. The same part clenched around his heart, demanding to make the worry go away.

But… "Who are you?"

They all gasped, looking at him. "Virgil?! Oh my god, you're awake." That was the voice of the man with the dyed hair. What was his name? He couldn't quite remember.

"I don't… Who are you? Where am I? Do I know you? I think I know you, but…" He trailed off, regretting having said anything when hurt crossed the stunning man's face. "Sorry."

"Oh, no, you don't… I'm sorry. I should've noticed you were hurting." He sighed, putting on an obviously fake smile as he grabbed his - Virgil's? His name was Virgil, had the man said, right? - hand. "We are your friends, Virgil. That's Logan, Patton, Roman, and Remus. And I am Janus." Janus. Yeah, Virgil though, that fit him. But somehow, Janus looked like he was steeling himself for something. He took a deep breath, smiling more, tears in those wonderful eyes. "I'm you soulmate."

"My soulmate?"

Janus nodded, clutching a purple piece of paper in his hand. "Yes. It's a bit complicated, but, I am. We're soulmates."

Virgil nodded, looking around. There were a lot of people around him. And they all looked so happy to see him awake. His friends and his soulmate, huh? Virgil looked back to Janus. "There's a lot of people here."

"Do you want us to go, kiddo?" That was Patton who'd said that, right? He sounded sad at the idea, and Virgil didn't like it much either. So he shook his head.

"No. I was just thinking, there's a lot of people caring about me."

He got a few sad smiles in return. "Of course, Virge. We all love you very much. And don't you dare to forget that again, you hear?" Janus clenched Virgil's hand in his and put it to his forehead, almost desperately. "Don't you ever dare forget that I love you. You idiot."

General taglist🖤: @gattonero17 @alias290

[angry-geese]

Devil Town

Risotto Nero x Reader

Warnings: none, entirely fluff. Fem!Reader

Notes: this is sort of a sequel to a fic I did awhile back which you can read here. I don't plan on this being a series, I just like the concept of scary ex-mafiosos becoming house husbands

Risotto settled into civilian life better than he thought he would.

The change wasn't easy, but it felt natural to return to the way things were before you left. When the two of you lived together, he was always the one who woke up first. He'd have coffee ready by the time you got up. You took yours with so much sugar that he'd always poke fun at you for that. The house- no matter how busy the two of you were- was always tidy. He would cook when he had the free time- and he was quite good at it, having learned from his nonna when he was much younger. It wasn't often the two of you had time off together- even back then.

Living as a civilian was something he still had to get used to. He was intimidating. No longer was that an advantage, but a roadblock in his path to settling down. The dirty stares he was used to getting, but he was no longer some faceless man working in the shadows; he was a husband, and now a father. He needed some sense of normalcy. The frequent nightmares that plagued him showed no sign of stopping. The moment he closed his eyes, your old teammates would be there. They clung to the shadows; just out of sight, but always there. You'd comfort him the best you could- you always would, and he knew that- but the wounds were still fresh to him. You had time to heal; he was only just starting.

"Leader of a hitman team" isn't exactly something you can put on a resume. "Stay at home father/house husband" only covers so many of the years he was in Passione- and by then half of the neighborhood had heard about your mysterious husband showing up one day. Risotto found work at a local market- only part time. He hadn't had a job like that since he was a teen. Stocking shelves turned into security work, as he was the most intimidating person in the store at the time. Strong-arming shoplifters was the closest he'll ever get to his old work. The extra income helped you out. You said he didn't have to pitch in- at least not until he was ready. But he did anyway. Seeing you not worried over housework or bills was worth it to him. As he fell into a routine, things got easier.

The other side of the bed is cold by the time he wakes up. Mid-morning light streams in through the window. Your phone and keys are still on the bedside table, so you must not have left yet. It isn't often he sleeps so late- if he sleeps at all. Many nights he spends his time watching your bedroom door, ready to move if something happens, while you sleep soundly right next to him. Some nights Maria will have a nightmare, and wriggle into his arms, laying there until she falls asleep. Over the past few months he's shown some improvement, but he still expects Passione's hitmen to walk through that door. While he knows you won't blame him for being gone, the guilt he feels for missing so much of her life eats away at him. Risotto never considered himself sentimental, but seeing his daughter grow up so fast changed that.

Five years never seemed like a long time until he showed up on your doorstep.

Although it's your day off, you're already dressed, holding a cup of coffee in each hand. You are nothing but familiar to him. Your edges have softened, but you have not gotten weak. The scars still remain, your actions are the same. Passione has left lesions that will never heal; habits that will never be broken.

"You let me sleep in." Risotto says. The way he looks at you with pure adoration makes affection swell in your chest. It's been years and he still looks at you the way he did when you first drunkenly confessed your love to him.

"You were up half the night reading to her," you sit on the bed next to him, "it seemed like you needed it."

He sits up, taking the cup of coffee from you. It's plain, just as he always took it. Risotto scoots closer to lean against you. It's not often he talks so much. You can barely coax more than a few words out of him at a time. Maria is the only one who can get him to talk.

He's protective of her- even more so than you. She was hardly ever out of his sight. She'd have to grow up some time. Adults were terrified of him, but kids loved asking about his eyes, and the stories behind his tattoos.

"You're leaving without me?" He asks.

You giggle and nuzzle a bit closer to him. He pulls you into his arms so you're sitting on his lap, holding onto you tight. "I'm just going for a run."

"But you hate running."

"I do." You say. "But I have a playlist specifically for this and the ability to zone out for hours at a time."

Though you can't see his face, you feel his lips curl into a smile. "Stay with me. Just a bit longer."

He clings onto you like you're going to disappear. You card your hands through his soft hair, letting him rest his head in the crook of your neck. The moment is only disrupted when Maria comes in, drumming her tiny fists on his arms until she's let up too, cradled between the two of you.

Moments like these make him wonder what she'll grow up to be. A doctor? An athlete? Would she go on to marry- and have a big family? Often you would jokingly ask if he wanted another one. He did. You really weren't joking. All of it seemed too good to be true. He wanted to give her the childhood he never had, the one that was cut short by the death of his cousin.

People like him don't get happily ever afters. His teammates would have made fun of him relentlessly for becoming such a family man. But he was no longer under the all-seeing eye of Passione; he could love the two of you without the worry that his past would catch up to him.

[xivedgerunner]

The Wayhaven Chronicles | Ask Game

Got this from @Houndedfangs! ---

1. What's their name?

Max Luna

2. How do they look?

Max is 6′4″ with very fair skin and a gymnast’s build. His hair is near-black dark brown with a streak of stress silver in the bangs. Light blue eyes. I sort of describe him as having a perpetual neutral expression bordering on a scowl that makes some folks perceive him as unfriendly.

3. Do they have any piercings/ tattoos/ scars?

Max has a scar on his neck from where Murphy bit him during the final encounter. The only piercing he has is a silver stud in his left ear.

4. What is their personality like?

Max is quiet, reserved and stoic. He prefers relying on logic and reason over emotions and, as such, is incredibly cool under pressure. He prefers his own company to the company of others and tends to have little patience for those that act emotionally. He had been content to live a solitary life outside of his role as Wayhaven’s Detective, but that all changed when Unit Bravo came crashing through his town.

5. What is their favourite animal?

Owls

6. Do they own a pet?

Max has a black cat named Boot

7. Do they have any fears?

Max isn’t a big fan of planes and doesn’t do well in overly crowded or small spaces. He’s also not great with deep water/oceans.

8. What do they think of Unit Bravo?

Max spent a lot of time getting good with his own company what with Rebecca being gone for most of his life. His apartment only had a single arm chair in the livingroom, his bed is just a twin bed, and in lieu of a dining room table he just ate his meals at the kitchen bar or on the window seat--his entire life was designed around the idea that he was going to spend it alone. So when Bravo arrives and he’s stuck with them and their bullheaded Commanding Agent, he wasn’t exactly having the time of his life. But Unit Bravo *chose* him, in the end. They stayed. They want to be involved in his life and want him involved in theirs, and for someone that’s felt fairly unwanted their whole life that was probably the most touching thing anyone could have done. So now, even if they *do* get on his nerves from time to time, he considers them family.

9. What is their relationship with their mother like?

Gonna post a thingy I wrote in my Book 1 expanded stuff:

"After my dad died, Rebecca may as well have disappeared,"  Max said, turning to level his eyes with Nat. "She couldn’t even be bothered to show up when I got hurt or when I stole a car. She wasn't there when I was grieving for my father, she wasn't there when I had my heart broken for the first time, she wasn't there when I had to teach myself how to shave and how to drive, she wasn't there when I came out, she wasn't there when I graduated, and now, when my entire life is dedicated to the protection of others, she finally shows up just to hold me back while others die on my watch and then claims it's out of love." Max shook his head, his usual mask of complete neutrality cracking into the slightest scowl. "Rebecca hasn't loved me a day in her life."

10. What about their hobbies?

Max doesn’t really have any. He reads, when he has free time, and when he was backpacking Europe and Asia he really got into nature photography. But he works as often as he’s allowed.

11. What's their favourite food/ drink?

Curry and black coffee

12. Favourite colour?

Grey

13. What do they think of the Agency?

He doesn’t quite know what to think. He thinks they have a lot of power, and power corrupts, so he doesn’t entirely trust them as a whole. But he thinks that there are a lot of people within the Agency that are doing what they can to make this all work, which is good enough for him. He’s *mega* sus of Elidor, though. After his lab results got leaked and the guy conveniently showed up right as two trappers were trying to nab him? Yeah doesn’t trust him at all.

14. Who do they romance?

Ava, though after rhe Book 3 demo I consider him kinda hardened. He can't deny that he has strong feelings for her, but he's been abandoned and hurt by too many people to keep giving her opportunities to hurt him. If she wants to be with him, she'll have to work for it now. He's kinda done. Though honestly almost as important as the romance I think is his bromance with Mason.

15. Would they have reacted to Falk's flirting, if given the opportunity?

No. Max is *very* demisexual, so flirting doesn’t really do it for him.

16. Did they want to become detective?

Yes and no. Max is a hard worker, so when he became an officer it was just sort of natural progression for him to climb up to Detective.

17. How did they join the Police?

He never planned on joining Wayhaven PD, but his old med school roommate Solomon Verda practically begged him to consider it with how lazy the Captain and Reele were.

18. Do they prefer savoury/ sweet/ spicy?

Max isn’t big on sweets and he admittedly can’t handle super spicy food, so I guess if he had to pick from the three savoury would be his.

19/20. Can they cook/bake? Do they enjoy it?

Max can cook and bake, but it’s nothing stellar. It’s more self-sufficiency than it is him busting out amazing home cooked meals.

21. What does their apartment look like?

I wish I could combine minimalist and dark in-game, so I just headcanon it that way lol. Not a lot of decorations, very understated, scant furniture all in dark colours.

22. Did they have a relationship before meeting UB (Bobby/ others)?

Nope. Max has never been on a date in his life. Never been kissed. Never held hands. Ava is a lot of firsts for him.

23. How are they with children?

Not great lol. Max just tries to ignore them when they’re around. He’ll never be ‘fun uncle Max’ to Verda’s kids, that’s for sure lol

24. Do they have any keepsakes from their father?

No. Max is very head over heart so while there might have been things Rebecca held on for him to have someday, Max doesn’t really feel any connection to them. Even if he *does* miss and love his dad.

 25. How do they handle the reveal of the Supernatural?

Max had put two and two together that *something* was up with Unit Bravo before the reveal. He had been thinking something along the lines of super soldiers or something to that effect, but he wasn’t the least bit surprised to find out that they were something other than human.

26. If given the choice, would they become a vampire?

I don’t think the thought ever really crossed his mind until he had to choose between saving Ava or Sanja. Being unable to save them both (really, just being unable to save Ava) hit him hard, to the point that I absolutely headcanon he asked Mason about turning him after that.

27. Game wise: What are their stats?

Charming: 57%

Cautious: 54%

Sarcastic: 66%

Stoic: 55%

Stubborn: 65%

Mind: 84%

Optimist: 65%

Team Player: 74%

28. Did they get into trouble as a child/ teen (in school or otherwise)?

Oh yeah big time. Talked about it above, but he really just wanted Rebecca to come home. His dad died and he was sort of just left alone with nannies and sitters until he was old enough to be on his own. It didn’t work so he turned things around.

29. If they could have chosen a different profession, what would it be?

Probably a photographer for National Geographic.

30. Any funfacts about them you'd like to add?

Mentioned it a little bit above, but Mason is his ride or die bff and it’s just such an unlikely pair. They’re so similar while being so wildly different. But Max understands Mason, as best as someone like him can, and vice versa. They help and support each other in their own detached ways. From a side thing I wrote about them (takes place after rescuing Sanja while Ava is recovering):

The open space for sparring and training still remained in the middle of the collection of equipment and Max was quick to cross the room to it. Mason shrugged off his jacket and tossed it aside before flicking the stub of his cigarette away. "Not gonna go easy on you," said Mason as he stepped into the makeshift ring.

"That's why I asked for you," said Max matter-of-factly. He tugged the black framed glasses off from over his eyes and tossed them. Mason gave the gesture a quizzical look, as if to say 'thought those were expensive, but whatever'. The room shifted out of focus and Mason's edges became a smeared blur. Max blinked, trying to adjust. He might not have been able to see his sparring partner clearly anymore, but there was something else that remained in perfect focus.

Mason didn't wait for Max to square up. He moved forward in a flash. Max tried to side-step the blow but felt an unpadded fist slam into his ribs, the force of the blow sending him to his back.  -*A dozen Trappers encircling Ava. More. Flashes of light as those prods sliced into her...*-

Max began to push himself to his feet. "Again," he said, and before he could recover he felt the hard sole of a boot stomp into his solar plexus. -*Ava's wounds open and refusing to heal*-

Max gasped for breath, half feeling like his lungs were threatening to collapse from the blow. He pushed himself up to his knees, the entire room falling out of focus. “Ag–” he began to say before he felt the distinct shape of Mason’s fist connect with the side of his head.  -*Max furiously rolling up his sleeve to present his wrist to Ava so she could drink and heal*-

Max spun from the force of the blow and his vision filled with spots of sharpened colour. His body already ached but now it was near on excruciating. His temples throbbed, each pulse coming with white flashes of pain. His bones ached with sprains and bruises. His mouth tasted like iron which he thankfully had the foresight enough to swallow instead of spit. He would feel it tomorrow. He would feel it for a week. But he could tell Mason was pulling his punches. He’d been hit by the full force of the vampire before. Max drew in a ragged breath. “Again.”  -*Nat telling him she had to get her out, but his fingers were intertwined with Ava’s shirt, terrified that if he let go he would never see her again. Why had he been so slow? Why had he chosen to save Sanja? He abandoned Ava, how could he hav*-

“Max,” Mason’s voice was forceful, like a blow from another fist to the detective’s senses. Max pushed himself once again to his feet, his fingers curling into weakened fists.

“Just do it, Mason,” said the detective. “Finish the spar. I’m still standing.”

“You are,” said Mason. Max felt two hands collide with his chest and it took all he had left to keep from toppling over, instead slamming into the wall behind him. He moved to use his weight to pivot off of the wall, but an impossibly strong hand pinned him there by the shoulder. “If you’re still standing,” Mason continued. “Then you can get better. You can get stronger. This isn’t the last fight we’re gonna be in, not by a long shot. So instead of looking for a beating to make yourself feel better, how about you *actually* get better.”

Max’s hands remained in loose fists, balled now against Mason’s chest. He heaved a breath. He heaved another; this time a shuddering one. “I…I can’t lose her, Mason.”

“You won’t,” said the vampire. Max felt Mason’s strong hands slip into his own to pry his fists apart. Something light and plastic was set into them; Max turned his glasses around and set them back over his eyes. The slightly shorter man came back into focus, a strange shadow of remote gentleness in his scowling eyes. “If you actually wanna train, we’ll do it after you’ve gotten some rest.”

“Alright,” said Max. He let his weight sag back against the wall. “Thank you,” his throat felt like sandpaper, so his voice came out as more of a croak. “For,” he gestured between them.” This.”

“Yeah, well,” Mason said, his lips already closing around a new cigarette. “I'd be a shitty teammate if I didn't tell you when you were being an idiot. Even if you don’t wanna hear it.”

Max’s pained but neutral expression cracked into the slightest smirk. “You know another word for that is ‘friend’.”

Mason scoffed, an erratic billow of smoke escaping from behind his lips. But there was a smile there, however small. “Night.”

“Goodnight,” said Max, and with that, both men left the room in silence.

[ninnodesu]

“Can I See You?” || Modern!Thomas

Modern-day AU:

It's still Thomas B. Hewitt we know, the only thing that's different is the fact that it's set in modern days! Making it easy for our Big Man to actually communicate with the help of text messages. He gots one of those nasty vocabularies.

I'm still learning how to write smut, okay :( Also, try changing my mind that Modern!Thomas wouldn't have both tattoos and a frenum piercing.

Oh, and sorry that this is AFAB, but it's easier for me to practice writing smut since I'm cis myself, but one day I might evolve!

You sigh as you lean your head on your steering wheel and bonk it a few times. “Please. Move. Please. Move. Please. Move.”, you chant in rhythm to your head hitting it, and glare out at the cars in front of you.

Of course, you got stuck in traffic. And of course, you still had about maybe two hours left to drive to get home, meaning, you would get home much later than you had hoped. Turning your head, you decide to unbuckle your seatbelt and just lean in more comfortably on your wheel instead and look out at the horizon to your left.

“I jus’anna’go’ome.”, you mumble into your arms and groan slightly before fishing your phone out of your pocket to lazily browse your social media in a rotation, hoping something will happen, knowing nothing will. The line of cars is ever un-moving in front of you, and you can even see some people going out to check on the miles of cars. Checking the news section, you see the cause of the traffic jam. A big accident, apparently. With several cars.

“Well, I’m not gonna get home any time soon…”. A thought crosses your mind as you scroll through your contacts, looking for a specific little icon you know so well at this point.

A chainsaw one.

You press it and bring up the message window to your earlier conversations and start typing.

“I’m stuck.”

It takes maybe five minutes before you hear the familiar chime.

“In a baby swing?”

“Ha-ha. No.” “In traffic.” “And I’m bored.”

You knew he had a particular small pet-peeve to other people multi texting but had a habit of doing it himself.

“And you think I care?”

“I know you do.”

“I don’t.”

“You seem in a happy mood…” “What made you so grumpy?”

“Can’t get the shower to work.” “And I really want to take one” “but my uncle is an ass and refuse to fix the plumbing” “so I have to.”

All you do is sit there and watch as the pet-peeve he so vehemently screams about when you do come through.

“Uh-huh. All I could focus on were you, naked, alone.”

“No.”

“What do you mean by “no”?

“I won’t do it.”

He saw right through you. You’d been talking with this somewhat mysterious man for a few months now, you’d never seen him, all he’d done was to describe himself to you, but you had never seen his face directly before. He refused to send any kind of clear picture of himself, but you loved teasing him about it in a friendly way, making sure to never sound like you were making fun of him. And even if he seems like he didn’t want to, he also seemed to loosen around this subject, one time going as far as to send half of a mirror selfie to you. Showing a strong arm with a tattoo covering most of it that pictured a chainsaw - the sole reason why you’d saved his phone number as a chainsaw icon, not thinking about asking him for his name - shoulder long brown hair flowing in locks and the half of what seemed to be a broad chest. He had his face turned away, sadly, but what you saw made you more curious. It seemed like he was wearing a mask in the photo that covered the parts of his face that were visible in the mirror.

“Aaw, come on. I know you’re hiding something really handsome. I won’t tell anyone~” “What if I send you something naughty? ;)”

This time he seemed to disappear on you for a longer time and during the thirty minutes he was gone you thought you had almost offended him or finally made him tired of your ramblings. But then the chime came back.

“Finally!”

“Finally I’m getting a nude?”

“...”

“I’m just messing with you, big man.”

“Look, you won’t like what you see, okay?” “I’m nothing more than a freak” “I’m ugly and disfigured” “that’s all there is to this.” “People don’t like looking at me” “so I don’t bother showing my face to anyone”

A part of you broke when you saw his confession. He had never told you why he didn’t send you pictures, and you didn’t want to pressure him by asking. All you did was type one reply.

“Try me.”

Silence. Pding! This time, however, you froze when the notification said that “ Has sent an attachment ”. Your thumb hovered over the small icon with its glowing and angry red one. You opened the chat, and the attached photo showed you a man, who looked to be in his mid-thirties, he had one arm laid over his broad chest, the one heavily tattooed arm taking the mirror selfie resting on the one crossed over the chest. He did have a mask on, it looked homemade, but what you could see showed a strong jawline and a masculine face. The most striking part of him was his eyes, they were amazingly blue, and he looked directly into the camera. And you melted. Your eyes traveled over his tank topped clad shoulders, down his biceps, and up to his arms. He looked like he was made by an artist. His dark locks sweaty after seemingly working the plumbing, a sheen of sweat lingering on his collarbone.

“Jesus fucking… christ…”, was all you could mumble behind your mouth. Seemingly in a trance, as you just ogled the stranger you’ve barely gotten to know, the two of you mostly using the other for some sexual relief during the nights. You glanced up to the traffic in front of you, making sure it was still stuck and yes, just as stuck as when you first messaged him. Your phone chimed into a melody as a series of short sentences came through, and you woke up from your trance.

“I’m sorry…” “I’m not what you expected, am I?” “I figured.” “This is why I never sent you anything back.”

“No, I… You’re just really… really handsome. I couldn’t stop looking at the picture.” “I really can’t. I had no idea this is who I was having such naughty thoughts about at night.”

“Heh… No need to be polite.”

“I’m not being polite! I’m being honest!”

“You really like it?”

“Yeah… I do.” “Can I ask why you wear the mask, though?”  

Silence. You tapped the side of your phone as you saw the three dots.

“My face isn’t like everyone else's” “I don’t want to scare you off” “like I do with everyone else”

You bite the side of your thumb. His responses made your heart sting. How would anyone be scared of him? You want to see more of him, want to see him without the mask. And suddenly, you felt nervous. You’ve never been nervous about having sessions of dirty talk with him before, but now? When you’ve seen him? You were. And you decided to take the plunge and ask for more.

“Can I see more of you…?”

For some reason, you were shaking as you pressed send.

Why do I suddenly feel like a fucking schoolgirl?!, you thought as you waited for a reply, feeling a small tingle starting to emerge in your body.

A new picture came your way, this one accompanied by a text on top of it.

“Time to give the new plumbing a test drive…”

He had no shirt on this time, your breath hitched slightly as you saw his bare torso. His mask was off, but he had one hand hovering over his face, parts of it seen through sprawled fingers. Like he did want to show you, but not all at once. What you saw was shocking, yes, and you couldn’t deny that fact. His nose was missing, large parts of his face were scarred and dried, but you didn’t care. All you could really focus on was his blue eyes. Your own traveled over what you could see. He was gifted with the absolute perfect ratio of muscles and fat all over his body. A towel wrapped around his waist, the angle of the camera showing a beautifully delicious happy trail leading down from his navel down below the towel.

“Are you sure you’ve never taken photos like this…?”

You couldn’t help but tease a little bit.

“Positive…” “Am I doing good?”

You breathe a laugh out.

“You’re doing great.” “I hope you think of me when you shower~”

The cars finally started moving again after that message and you happily went on your way home. Having a hard time ignoring the chiming that went on in the passenger seat next to you, having to chew the inside of your cheek as to focus on the road the best you could. Absolutely not thinking about this mysterious man you’ve never met before having a shower… naked.

When you finally arrived home you basically threw everything on the couch and almost ran to your bedroom. Sinking down on your bed, covered by big pillows, you take a shaky breath while opening your phone to check your messages. There weren't many, but the few you had from the giant man was enough to send chills running down your spine to end up exploding in tingling fireworks between your legs. You chewed your lip slightly as you opened his chat.

“Would be nicer if you could join me, though.”

Another picture had joined the chat while you were driving.

The bathroom is foggy, the mirror covered by condensation, but he’d wiped straight across it so he could take another picture in it.

This was the one where he had - apparently - gathered enough strength to show his entire face. His hair was dripping, laying over the upper half of his face, eyes peeking through it, and he had a towel laid over his shoulders, the one hand not holding the phone in the midst of wiping excess water from his thick and wide neck. Although now, a smirk was splayed across his lips, lips that seemed to be missing a few pieces, but god did they look kissable. His smirk letting you know he knew something you didn’t. This angle also showed a bit of skin like the earlier one had done, but this time you couldn’t see a towel in the fogged-up mirror. This bastard had consciously wiped the mirror off just enough for you to see his face and down just above his navel where the fog took over, covering the rest of him up. This one also had a message over it, strategically placed on the lower end of the picture.

“I hope you make it home fast, I want to practice this thing. ;)”

You trace the shape of his body, thoughts running wild at how his hands would feel, what sounds he would make if you bit down on his throat, his strong hands gripping and groping every part of your own body. You two had exchanged dirty texts for a long time now. It had mostly only been dirty words, with you sending him the occasional picture, but he’d never sent anything back. Until now. You couldn’t help but smile at that fact.

“This is a new side of you.” “I’m home now, by the way” “I like these welcome home messages ;)”

All you do as you wait for a reply is look at the pictures again. You had no idea this was the man you’d been talking to. He did describe himself, but it was obvious he was oblivious to just how attractive he actually was. You did guess it was because of his facial deformities, and while you could agree that it was bad, all the words you’d exchanged between each other made so it didn’t matter. This man was hot.  

“Heh… Welcome home.” “Mmh. I’m not sure what happened” “but I wanted to make you happy” “and if showing my ugly mug makes you happy” “so be it.”

You frowned when you read how he called himself ugly.

“You’re not ugly. I can’t stop looking at you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you on my drive home, either. My thoughts have been nothing but impure because of your pictures~”

“What did you think about?”

“You really want to know such dirty things?”

“Mmh. Tell me.” “‘specially if it’s dirty. ;)”

You sank down lower on the bed, biting your lower lip as you pondered how to word your response. Deciding it’s time to bring the teasing out and see if you can lure more pictures from him.

“Mmh~ I don’t know… What do I get if I do?”

“Are you starting to bargain?”

“Maybe~ ;)” “Maybe I just need some convincing before I actually tell you such naughty things”

“You’ve never had any problems in telling me naughty things before, little lady.” “Why now, all of a sudden?”

“Tell you what, big guy. If you do me two favors, I’ll tell you what I was thinking about…” “Deal?”

Your phone got quiet for a minute, you figured he was thinking about your proposal.

“Deal.”

“First, tell me your name. I want a name to moan while cumming to that handsome face of yours” “Secondly, I want another picture~” “It doesn’t have to be spicy, I just want to see more of you.”

It was weird, but you’d never thought about asking his name before. You guessed it was because you didn’t have a face to him until now. Apparently, he had decided to play along, seeing as he’d sent you a new photo.

It showed you a lap, thighs that looked just as muscular as his upper body, he was sitting down, relaxing it seems. This man was either a huge tease by nature, or he knew how attractive a guy in gray sweatpants was because he had chosen to put a pair on. His left hand lazily resting on his left thigh, big fingers adorned by clunky rings and a worn-out watch on his wrist. Nothing sexual, if it wasn’t for the generous outline of what seemed like a properly proportional dick resting in between his meaty thighs. And a name sprawled in simple text.

“Thomas.”

You hummed to yourself.

“Well, Thomas, I guess it’s up to me to uphold my part of the deal then...“

“I’m waiting, darlin"

A tingle runs down your back again, he’s never called you that before.

“I was thinking about you in the shower. How the water ran down you back, how much I would love to be in it with you, pressing my tits against your back as my hands run down your strong arms” “then back up to massage your shoulders. You don’t know how much I wanted to do that, to join you in your shower. I want to run my tongue on your throat, I want to know what you taste like”

“You can’t.”

“I know, and it’s killing me. And now when I’ve seen you, I want you more. Want to hear you breathe in my ear as you fuck me” “to hear you moan” “you have no idea how hard you make me cum when we talk”

“This is definitely a new side to you” “I didn’t know you could talk like this” “what’s made you this bold? ;)”

“You, Thomas. You awoke something in me when you showed me your face.”

You can’t help but be honest with him at this point. You agree that you’ve never talked to him like this before, even if you’ve been texting dirty, it’s never been to this point. Arousal starts to build up between your legs and you press your thighs together, not wanting to give in just yet.

“That makes me happy, baby.” “Nice knowing I have this effect on you” “so, you’re telling me I make you horny?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know you do.”

“I do, but I want to you say it” “I want to see you admit I make you horny” “tell me I’m the one who makes your pussy wet”

A shaky breath escapes you seeing him talk like this, but you give in and give him what he wants.

“Thomas, you make me so horny. You’ve always had.”

“That’s my girl” “You like how I talk about how I would fuck you?” " Is that what you like hearing?”

“Yes…”

“Mhm.” " I bet you would look lovely stretched around my cock”

That was the point where you couldn’t ignore the growing arousal spiking through your body, and you could feel yourself starting to get wet by the thought of him ravishing you. Him moaning as he pushed inside your wet cunt. Your thighs rubbed harder, your hand shaking as you could only watch the three dots come up as he was typing.

“Show me.” “Show me how your body reacts to me” “I want to see how wet I make you”

“Persuade me…”

You grinned, thinking you had the upper hand this time.

“Nuh-uh” “you don’t get to set the rules this time” “this time; I’m in charge” “and if I want you to show me your pussy before I give you more” “that’s what you’ll do”

You shivered hard at this series of texts from him. You loved that he showed his dominant side. Pulling off your jeans along with your moist panties, you sit back on the bed, half laying, snapping a cheeky photo of your lower half, fingers only crazing your mound, being more in a teasing mood than in a give-him-what-he-wants-straight-away kind of mood.

A satisfied smirk dances on your lips as you send it away. Not long after a reply comes.

“Don’t play games with me, now.”

“Or what? You’ll spank me?” “You know you can’t do that~” “So what’s gonna stop me?”

A few minutes of silence followed before you got another picture, one that made you moan slightly at the sight of it.

His left hand was grabbing over his crotch, fondling what looked like a half-hard cock through his pants, nothing fancier. But it did look like he was definitely… proportional to the rest of him that you’ve seen.

“if you don’t stop playing games, the pictures stop here” “and I think you want to see more than this.”

You cursed him silently because he was right. God did you want to see more than that. You huffed at his reply and decided to be good and give him what he wanted.

Spreading your legs as wide as you could, you snapped the photo he wanted. Showing him how wet you already were.

Over it, you slapped a text.

“See how wet you’ve made me by only showing me what you look like. This is what only your words did earlier, now this is because you showed me ~”

You scrolled up to watch the latest picture he showed you and massaged slow circles around your clit while waiting for a reply. You wanted to see what he was hiding inside his pants. Finally, his reply came.

“That’s what I wanted to see” “to think I did that to you” “you make me hard, baby”

His multi texting habits were really going strong today, and you giggled a bit at it before replying.

“Oh yeah?” “I’ve shown you mine, now show me yours ;)”

“Mmmmhhh…. No”

“Why not? You can’t tease me with a picture like that and then not follow up with more”

"Because you haven’t earned it yet” “and I just don’t feel like showing you my fat cock just yet is all”

“What do I have to do to deserve it, mister?”

He’d admit it early on that calling him mister or sir sent chills down his spine, something you’ve used sparingly, as to not overuse it on him. The thought of him caving in and finally showing his cock made you rub your clit a little harder, earning a low moan as you tried picturing it behind closed eyes.

Pding!

“Hmm…” “surprise me with a movie” “but don’t tell me what it is.”

Oh, you liked that idea. You thought for a bit before you figured something out.

Pulling your top off, laying naked on your bed, you started the recording.

Angling the camera to focus on you sucking on two fingers, making them nice and wet, and making sure a string of saliva was attached between your lips and your fingers as you removed them from your mouth. You slowly moved your hand down together with your phone, until you reached one of your breasts where you circled a hardening nipple with your saliva drenched fingers, making sure to amplify your breathing.

As your hand traveled downwards, the one holding your phone stopped right at your navel and returned up to your face to focus on your expression as your fingers reached your wet cunt and pressed down on your clit, something that was accompanied by a breathy moan of his name. “Thomass…”, right before you turned the recording off you made sure to look straight into the camera with lustful eyes.

On the receiving end of that video, Thomas quickly opened the message. Eyes wide as he followed the way your fingers moved down your body, around your breast, gingerly moving around a nipple. He cursed silently to himself as you stopped filming downward right above your navel, but when the camera returned up to show your face and the way he heard his name escape your lips as you reached that sweet, sweet spot between your legs, some part of him snapped.

He shot up from the chair he was slumped in and silently sneaked over to his door to listen if anyone needed him in the house, it was silent, which was a good sign. He closed the door and locked it. Making sure no one would disturb him.

Sitting back down he smirked as he grabbed the base of his now rock hard cock, still tucked away in his sweatpants to snap a new picture, a small dark stain resting where the head was located.

“That was dirty, see what you’ve done to me?”

Right after sending the picture, he sighed as he slid his hand down into his sweats to lazily stroke himself, closing his eyes, he fantasized about how your lips would feel gliding over his cock and stroked it a way he thought your tongue would move, a trembling low groan left him at the thought. All regrets he had earlier have about starting to send pictures blown out the window as your voice replayed from his phone.

It dinged with a reply and he quickly looked at it.

“I can get even dirtier~” “You remember how I told you I went shopping a few days back?”

He gulped, his hand was shaking slightly as he tapped away with this thumb. He did remember you had briefly told him you went “shopping” a few days ago.

“Mhm. I remember that.” “What did you get, baby?”

His breathing went up a notch as he sent the question. His hand stopped moving, having to already calm himself down a notch. Your video and photo had worked him up something awful.

“Do you want to see~?”

“Oh hell yeah"

It took a while to receive a response from you, but when he finally did, it was a photo. One that made his dick jolt in excitement.

It showed you, holding a dildo against your tongue. He shivered hard at the sight, a tingle reaching his cock.

“You got that just for me? ;)”

He smirked slightly.

“I did… I thought of you when I bought it.” " Wanna see me use it~?”

“Fuck yourself for me” “I promise to give you material” “you won’t regret it, believe me”

He finally let his erection spring free, the hefty weight of it making it bounce back on his stomach and he sighed again in relief. He pondered if he should send another photo already, but decided to tease a little longer before giving in. It took a while to get a new reply, during this time he entertained himself with lazily stroking his leaking dick. Smearing precum over his sensitive head, a finger caressing over the silvery barbell placed right under it, his breath hitching as his sensitivity had gone up tenfold since got the small jewelry. The other arm is flung over his eyes as he tilted his head back and smiled as he always did when he was stroking himself, and deleted every single regret about getting the erotic piercing.

The ping of his phone jolted him back to reality. A video. He hesitated at first but decided to press play.

It was you, at first sucking the dildo, swirling your tongue around the head of it, a string of saliva snapping as you smiled into the camera before moving both the phone and dildo slowly downward. A small gasp escaped you off-camera as you slowly pushed the fake dick into your already soaking cunt. You started slow, just teasing yourself with how it filled you, but after slowly pulling it out you suddenly shoved it in, and he vaguely heard his name escape you again.

One part of him couldn’t believe you were actually sending him videos, while the other part of him kicked itself for not asking for it earlier. This was pure bliss for him.

This video was what made lust take over, though, and he decided it was time for him to give you what you’ve asked for for a long time

Checking the lightning around him, he grabbed his cock at the base, angling it just right, he snapped a picture, doing his best to really show the sheer size of him. He was fully aware of the fact that he was way above average. His butchering job making sure he’d seen a good amount of men, making him realize how big he actually was. His small light made the silvery part of him glint.

“I hope this is what you’re thinking of when you fuck yourself like that” “because I sure as hell am thinking about fucking your tight pussy right now”

Sent.

The smile on your lips transformed into a needy grin as you bit down on your lower lip when you opened his convo, a quiet moan leaving you as you saw it. All you could do was stare. You dropped the toy to hide your blushing cheeks and needy grin behind your hand, for whom you hid, you had no idea. What you saw must’ve been the biggest dick you’ve ever seen outside of porn.

He must’ve been around 7 - 7,8 inches long, the girth almost scary, your toy suddenly felt way too small for you and you spasmed around nothing. You couldn’t help but drool slightly as you followed every inch of him, brows furrowing in want when you saw the barbell snugly fastened under his swollen and leaking head.

After ogling the huge cock, you gave him what he wanted; you to admit that he was right.

“You’re right, big boy.” “I did want to see this” “I wanna taste you”

"Yeah?” "You wanna suck my dick?”

A shiver runs down your back as your fingers play through your folds at the way he’s talking to you.

“Yeah, I do” “I want to hear you moan as I swallow your big fat cock down my throat”

The phone went quiet for a minute or two before you got an attachment sent your way, this time, he had sent a video, and you thought you were going to lose your mind at what you saw.

Pressing play, you saw his cock twitching in his hand before he slowly started stroking himself. He was slow at first, teasing himself - or you, you weren’t sure and didn’t care at this point - before he decided to up his tempo. Off-camera, you could hear his heavy raspy breathing, a deep moan, and something that sounded like a breathy “ fuck ”, it was low like he didn’t mean for it to escape his throat.

"Where have you been all my life?" "Your cock is amazing"

This time, you grab your dildo and sit down in front of the full-body mirror you've placed in your bedroom. Spreading your legs, you tease your slit with the toy smiling straight into the camera and furrowing your brows with want and need before pushing the toy in your wet cunt. You fuck yourself slowly as you decide to start talking instead, asking one simple question. “Want to watch me cum?”

When Thomas' phone dinged he almost dropped it out of excitement.

His head rolled back against his chair as he watched you fuck yourself, a growl low in his throat as he started dreaming of how it would feel when your muscles clench around him, making sure to squeeze his own hand in a desperate way to mimic that feeling. He started thinking how in the hell he’d been happy just reading your words earlier and seeing the occasional nude photo coming from you.

The videos were so. much. better. He almost couldn’t type anymore. He’d lost his words in fogginess that was lust, if he talked he’d be speechless at the amazing view coming from his phone. He was close, but he refused to cum without seeing you do the same, letting his aching cock go, he pulled up the keyboard.

"Please… " "I do want to see you cum" "need to" "need to see that beautiful pussy cum because of me"

You huff slightly as you see his desperate plea for you to show him. But at this point, you can't keep edging yourself. Your pussy clenched hard as you watched yourself in the mirror.

Alright, you thought. I'll give you what you want

"Do you think of me when you cum, Thomas? Ever think of how I would look covered in your cum?"

Hurrying, you prop your phone up in a standing position, making sure you are well visible in the camera you hit record; Your toy pumps in and out in a hectic tempo, hitting a really sweet spot inside your cunt, the other hand rubbing your clit.

Your orgasm was approaching fast and just moments before it hit, you look straight into the camera and with a breathy voice you say; "Because I think of you when I do." And just as your orgasm hits, you throw your head back, your voice loud as you scream his name in ecstasy.

Before stopping the recording, you lean in close to your phone and whisper; "I hope you do."

He was in the middle of replying to your questions when he saw you’d sent him a video, completely ignoring to reply to you, he pressed play. Thomas’ mouth just hung open as he watched the - for him - most beautiful and erotic scene he’s ever seen play out on his phone. His hand pumped in time with the way you fucked yourself and he almost had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from moaning out loud in fear of his family heard him.

The sounds your toy made as it went in and out of your wet cunt sent shivers down his spine and exploded in a myriad of tingles in his dick, making it twitch, his own orgasm building at a rapid speed.

But when he heard and saw you cum, and the way you screamed his name as you did, he couldn’t hold it at bay any longer. His orgasm washed over him, a low choked groan left his lips as his thick and almost cream-like seed shot over and covered his hand, landing a good way up to his chest. He forced himself to let his phone go because if he didn’t, he would surely have crushed it the way his fist clenched until his knuckles turned white. He grit his teeth, heavy, huffing and wheezing breaths coming from his lungs.

You’d made an absolute mess out of him, and you hadn’t even touched him. Sweat was running down his temple, his hair stuck on his neck, he was absolutely spent .

If only you knew, he tilted his head back, trying to catch his breath, how much I think of you when I do.

It's been two weeks since you've heard from this man who now has a name resting before his little chainsaw icon. It wasn't that weird not hearing from him for a few days, but never two weeks. You'd gotten a special assignment from work, meaning you'd had to travel to Texas. Before you left you sent him a short message.

"I just wanted to tell you I'm going to drive for a while, so can't text much."

No response. You guessed he'd had his fun with you, gotten what he wanted, and now he was tired of you.

You were stranded at a small dip in the road, your car had broken down in the middle of it, but you had managed to push it into a safer spot away from the traffic - if there actually were any. It was hot and humid. And you hated yourself for actively choosing to drive instead of taking a flight as you kicked your car out of anger.

"I. Fucking. HATE YOU! You absolute…" Kick "piece" Kick "of" Kick "trash!"

You were hot and you suspected your skin was starting to turn red due to the angry sun screaming down at you.

Footsteps coming your way distracted you momentarily from abusing your poor car and you got happy for only a moment as you went to turn to the person. Before you had the chance to fully turn towards them the butt of a gun slammed against your temple and everything went black.

You wake up with your head throbbing, you move to sit up from an apparently horizontal position but notice you can't.

You're bolted down.

"What…", you try looking around, but your position makes sure you can only flip your head from side to side, the room is cool and dim. From a distance, you hear voices shouting in what sounds like a heated argument. "Hello…?", you try to yell out. Your heart begins to beat in a rapid rhythm as the voices quiet down. They heard you. Not long after they go quiet, you notice the floor above you start cracking and creaking with footsteps, and soon after a door slides open. "Hello?", you try again.

An angry voice rings out again; "You heard me, boy! I don't give a rats fuckin' ass about what you say. You take care of 'er now, or I will!", the door slides shut again.

Heavy footsteps are coming your way, and your breathing starts picking up. "Who's there?", you hear heavy breathing in the room, the person is moving closer. "Please… I beg of you.", you try pleading to the stranger. You're so, so scared, you don't know if you're about to get killed, or used for other things, to be locked up on the surface you’re pinned down to only be viewed as an object. You don't know anything.

The person stops close to you, you see them in the corner of your eyes. But they're not saying anything, only watch you in silence.

You turn your head towards them, and they back off into a shadowy corner. They seem… afraid. "What do you want from me? Who are you?", they seem to flinch slightly at your words. You can see their whole body moving with each breath. "I don't know what you want!", tears start prickling in the corner of your eyes as panic sets in. "Please, let me go! I… I don't… I was just passing through!", you thrash against your restraints as your tears start streaming freely. Pain shooting through your restraints digs into your skin. "I don't want to die…", you sob.

Thomas can't move. He's frozen. He wants to move, he really does, but his body refuses to cooperate.

You're here. In the basement. Where everything grim happens. Where no one gets out alive. Where he is supposed to kill and butcher you. The person who’s been so nice to him over text messages, keeping him company during lonely nights. The one who willingly showed herself reaching her climax thanks to him, even after he had shown you his face.

Charlie has already told him he can't keep you. He didn't care that Thomas knows you, he didn't give a fuck about how nice you've been, how you didn't stop talking to him after you've seen his face. Thomas had a job to do, but he couldn't. He's breathing heavily as your voice pierces the otherwise quiet basement, his mind flashes back to the video saved on his phone. All those late nights where he’d read your words with his hand down his own pants.

You're here. What are you doing here?

Three words from you wake him up from his trance-like state.

You sigh. "Just do it..", you've given up. You realize you won't get out of here alive, a part of you already accepting that fate. You won't see your family anymore.

You'll never hear from Thomas again. The last thought makes another stream of tears run down the side of your face and you turn to your captor. "Please, do it fast… I… I don't want to feel pain.", a weak defeated smile reaches your lips, "Just kill me." Your last words seem to trigger movement in the figure as it moves towards a wall close to it, a small click and a light flicker on. You're bathed in a harsh white light, your newly cried eyes burn slightly as you adapt to it.

And you guess this is it.

The figure moves close to you again, and suddenly; he's right next to you. Your eyes widen in nothing but pure shock as you see dark, shoulder lengths locks. "What…", your heart beating a panicked drumming melody against your ribs. "You can't be…". The man reaches up to his head, and that's when you realize he's wearing a mask that looks way too familiar to you. He unbuckles it, and that’s when it clicks in your head. You see a face you recognize. A face you've dreamed off. A face you've masturbated to almost every night for two weeks.

But seeing this face makes tears well in your eyes for the third time and a cry that almost makes you scream bubbles up from your stomach. He just looks at you with sad eyes, eyes you wish you hadn’t seen, eyes you wish you didn’t recognize.

Thomas’ eyes.

[happytroopers]

Toeing a line // Fox x Reader

TW: typical club stuff, alcohol drinking, arson mention, a random guy being a douche

Ahh, yes enemies to lovers but Fox has the emotional intelligence of a raisin

The music was pounding in 79's, a rhythmic bass line thumping so loudly that it created a ring like ripple with every beat in the cheap Nubian whiskey. Fox wrapped his hand around the low ball glass to absorb the vibrations before quickly retracting it- didn't want his drink to get too hot. After all, the cheap booze was probably the highlight of Fox's night and it was barely tolerable when chilled. He allowed himself a deep sigh, but at least tried to mask his scowl. No one else seemed to mind the colorful flashing lights or the shrieking Sullustese singing that accompanied the bone shaking bass. So instead of dampening the mood for the other party goers, Fox ordered another drink.

If you asked him how he ended up at 79's on one of his very, very rare days off? Fox would tell you that his brother's promised to pay his tab.

Well, that's not entirely accurate. You wouldn't have asked, hell, you probably would've avoided interaction all together. You had been exceptionally angry the last time you'd seen him.

After all, he was in charge of the Coruscant Guard. Which meant it was his job to inform you, one of the Coruscant Security Force's lead field detectives, when one of your cases fell under Guard jurisdiction. And during wartime, that was exceedingly frequent. So frequent in fact, the two of you were on a first name basis- that is, when you weren't calling him an ass.

Like, two days prior when he'd swiped up an arson case after you'd already almost solved it. Fox couldn't help that the arsonist burned a senator's sidepiece's apartment, and therefore it became a political issue which technically made it terrorism. You hadn't felt that way, and weren't afraid to let him know it.

Fox told you it was Coruscant Guard jurisdiction. You told him to go fuck himself. He asked if you had a problem with how he did his job. You asked if there was room under that helmet for the boot he was licking.

Fox shook his head as he sipped his drink, you had quite the mouth. You were feisty, a trait that was almost admirable when it wasn't infuriating. He finished his first drink as he thought about the last time he saw you, chest heaving as you tried to control your temper, eyes glinting maliciously as you glared at him, and fists clenched at your sides like you were going to punch him. Yeah, feisty was one word for it. Force of nature was another. Fox took another sip as he corrected his line of thought. Yes, objectively you were attractive, exceedingly clever, witty, and good at your job- but above all you were a pain in the ass. Especially, when you got angry at him for doing his job.

From his stool at the corner of the bar, he had a decent view of the entire club. Instinctively, his eyes did a sweep of the building. Nothing out of the normal- dancing women, drunk soldiers, server droids. He took a longer gulp as he finished his habitual sweep, almost choking when his eyes landed on something shocking.

You. You- in a hem line much shorter than anything you wore in the office. You- with a fruity, glowing drink in your hand as you leaned forward laughing as something the heavy artillery trooper said. You- with an easy grin and no tension in your shoulder.

Apparently, you weren't that angry, was Fox's first thought. Or at least you didn't look so angry when the heavy gunner kept an arm around your waist to keep you close- bordering the line between chivalrous and 'copping a feel', but you didn't seem to mind.

Fox narrowed his eyes in on the kid's face- obviously young, cropped hair, scar over through one eyebrow, and a fresh tattoo over the bridge of his nose-, wondering if he knew this trooper. He didn't know why it mattered, but it did. Mattered so much, in fact, that he didn't know he was staring until suddenly he was making eye contact with the soldier who was whispering something in your ear. Even though Fox pointedly looked away, he could've sworn he heard you giggle before you excused yourself.

When he looked back up, you were sauntering towards him with a light step, flushed face, and easy grin. Obviously, you hadn't seen him yet, so Fox tried angling himself away from you. When you got to the bar, you signaled to the bartender.

"Two shots, whatever's most popular tonight, please." You announced, running a hand through your hair. Even your voice sounded different, there wasn't an edge to it. Fox fully planned on staying silent, letting you go about your night with out him bothering you. But when a wave of your perfume hit him or maybe it was the double of his Nubian whiskey, he couldn't help it.

"I didn't picture you as the club type, Detective (Y/L/N)." Fell out of his lips before he even realized he was speaking. You tensed for a moment, you'd recognize that sarcasm anywhere. Fortunately, two drink in or not, you were never without a witty response for your favorite least favorite case stealer as lazily turned his way, hip cocking to one side and head to the other.

"Is that your way of asking if I come here often, Commander?" His title rolled of your tongue in an irritatingly, enticingly ironic way. He was pretty sure it was more respectful when you called him an ass. But at least this time you were smiling at him.

"What you do in your personal time is completely up to you." Fox answered formally, but the raised eye brows and raised eye brows told you otherwise. Like him, you couldn't help your next snarky comment.

"Well, since you took my case, I have plenty of personal time this weekend." You shot back, turning towards him. The commander was sans helmet, but still donned his red painted armor, "Besides, I could say the same thing about you."

Fox was about to shoot something back but suddenly, two armored arms wrapped around your waist pulling you back, “Sweet cheeks, what's the hold up with our drinks?"

Your demeanor changed immediately as an over exaggerated giggle bubbled out of your throat. A sugar sweet smile plastered to your face as you leaned back into that same trooper's chest, and your voice raised two octaves, "Bartender's busy, but they're coming!"

Whoever this was, it wasn't you. Snarky and 'irritating' as you were, he liked the real you much better. Fox had to look away as the heavy gunner in brownish-orange armor pressed kisses down your neck as you tried to flag the bartender again. Like Fox, the bartender assessed you and the trooper with an air of disgust and an over exaggerated eyeball- at least Fox managed to hide his.

“Get a room.” The bartender gruffed, sliding two shots of a glowing pink liquid towards you before following the statement in a string of angry curses in Neimoidian. You paid the insult no mind as you scooped up one of the shot glasses, and you escort of the night did the same with a grin.

Out of the corner of his eye, the commander saw you throw back your shot, even noticing how a stray streak escaped down the corner of you mouth, leaving a subtly glowing trail before your tongue darted to remedy it. Fox was so preoccupied in watching you that he hadn’t even noticed the gunner was staring at him.

You bounced slightly on your feet, enjoying the rush that the unidentified libation gave you and giving Fox a devilish wink before grinning back at your beau.

“Do you know him, baby?” The tattooed soldier asked with a slight slur, nodding his head towards the commander, voiced bordering between indulging for your sake and territorial to ward Fox off. He had adjusted his grip, now one of his arms was tight around shoulder with his gloved middle finger rubbing small circled on the exposed, tender skin exposed by the rather daring neckline of your outfit- but Fox was more distracted by the body glitter he’d just noticed. The commander cleared his throat and averted his eyes as he took a long sip of his drink, preparing himself for whatever description you’d cook up after your appraising stare (was your little smirk appreciative or malicious, Fox couldn’t decide).

“Oh, yeah, we work together sometimes.” You told him, before shrugging his arm off your frame. That was not the scathing review Fox had been expecting, and work together was a very generous way of putting things. You gave the commander another smirk, this time with a challenging raised eyebrow before laughing to yourself as you shook your head. Your drinking partner watched this micro interaction with the same level of confusion that Fox had, barely smoothing out his jealous sneer in time for you to turn back to him, “Order another round, I’m going to go freshen up, mmkay?”

You didn’t wait for confirmation as you left the two confused soldiers in your wake, hips swaying as you disappeared in the crowd.

Clearly not used to taking orders from pretty little things like you- Fox shook that line of thought out of his head and started over. Clearly not used to taking orders in his time off, it took the trooper a moment to catch up, before flagging down the bartender, “Another two shots, something to make her a little… frisky.”

Fox’s emotions went from annoyed at his presence, to a quick decision he hated this soldier. Similarly, the bartender gave him an actual disgusted reaction but got to work while Fox gave the gunner a nasty side eye.

“Got a staring problem, brother?” He huffed at the commander, with the intent to sound intimidating. But after seeing the kid down a neon pink drink, it missed by a long shot. Fox turned face towards him with an unimpressed stare, but the gunner kept going, “Yeah, I’ve noticed you staring.”

“Believe me, I wasn’t looking at you.” Fox informed him, voiced dripping with sarcasm as he shook his head as he went back to his drink, wishing you’d show back up and whisk the orange painted trooper away. He pictured it mentally and then decided you could take as much time as you pleased, because- for some reason he couldn’t place- the image made him aggravated. The barkeep placed two shots in front of them, both a dangerous deep black, before dropping a heart shaped fizzy tablet in both, turning them bubbly an a dark, transparent red. The sight would have made Fox wary had he not seen women order them for themselves before, but seeing as it was you- the commander still didn’t like it.

“Yeah, well, that hot piece of ass is with me, so keep your eyes to yourself.”

Fox snapped his head up, sending a glare to the younger soldier. Did he not have the decency to use your actual name? Did he even know your name?  The gunner smirked thinking he had struck a nerve- he had, but not the one he had intended to strike- so he continued, “Or, you can keep watching from here, I guess it doesn’t matter. We'll be too preoccupied to care.”

That was enough.

Fox stood to his feet, not that it mattered seeing that all clones were the same height for the most part. He gave the soldier a once over before coming back to his eyes which were bordering on glassy as the gunner slightly swayed on his feet.

“What’s your name and rank, soldier?” There was an edge to Fox’s voice, that even he couldn’t quite place, but nevertheless he continued to glare at the trooper.

“Are you trying to pull rank on me, man? Who do you think you are?” The disbelieving soldier shook his head as he shoved Fox’s shoulder. He had a point. It was considered a dick move to pull rank when off duty, and Fox made it a point to offend doing so. But here he was doing it anyway, over a girl who probably hated him.

“Clone Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard.” Fox answered, letting the hostility flavor his words. The difference was immediate, like he instantly sobered up as his face went white. The orange painted soldier straightened his posture and dropped the challenging glare in favor of an apologetic stare.

“C-Commander?,” He sputtered at first, before  shaking his head to center himself, “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t recognize you.”

The kid sputtered for another second, settling on the excuse, “I’ve had too much to drink.”

Fox took a little too much pleasure in the anxiety on the gunner’s features, and since he’d dug this hole, he might as well finish it, “Then maybe you should be done for the night.” Fox ’suggested’ sternly, pushing the two red shots out of reach without looking away, “Before you get yourself into trouble.”

The younger trooper nodded frantically, even throwing in a salute and a ’thank you, sir’, before quickly brushing past the Commander.

Fox caught his arm as he passed, pulling him in close enough to add on menacingly, “And stay away from (Y/N).”

The Gunner nodded again before scuttling out of the club, in an alarming hurry. Fox shook his head, already feeling a little bad for scaring the kid- the young trooper would probably wait for weeks in fear of a formal reprimand or demotion that would never come. Fox was mean, but he wasn’t going to hurt the kids career, just because he tried picking up the wrong girl. But then again, maybe a healthy dose of fear would do the kid some good, maybe he’d even stop using phrases like ‘hot piece of ass’- anyone who said that seriously maybe did deserve a demotion.

Shaking his head, Fox already felt a little embarrassed about his little display as he slid back onto his stool and finished his second drink.  The bartender saw the empty glass and came to top it off, but Fox waved him off- maybe he should take his own advice.

All that fuss, over the lead deceive who called him an ass like it was his name. Sighing, he ran a face over his head and reminded himself of all the reasons you weren’t worth the trouble.

Number one, you most definitely hated him and he (probably) hated you too, because you both found each other infuriating enough to ignore any redeeming qualities.

Number two, you could handle yourself and would at least attempt to kick Fox ass if you found out he intervened. He remembered watching you take down a suspected murderer- hell you might actually kick his ass if you were angry enough.

Number three, you didn’t seem to have minded the attention at all. It was Fox the interaction had bothered.

Fox was having trouble with a number four, and was growing agitated at the rather short list. A moment later, you sauntered back up, hair a little more in place and lip coloring touched up. Upon only finding one soldier, you looked around in confusion but found nothing.

“Where’d Blast go?” You asked over the music which had turned to a electro tech song with no words. One side of your painted lips tugging downward as you gave the club another once over. Fox just then realized he’d never even learned his name, no matter, to put himself back on track he let sarcasm roll off his tongue.

“You’re Coruscant’s lead field detective, you tell me.” Fox shrugged. Instantly, you sent him that annoyed glance he’d been waiting for all night. There you were, the real you. No more over exaggerated pouts or fake giggles.

“Well, I’d start the investigation but then you’d swoop it out from under me after I basically solved it for you, so why don’t you go ahead and tell me.” You sneered back, sharp eyes waiting expectantly. Fox was most definitely not going to tell you about his a tad bit over aggressive piss contest, you’d either punch him or never let him live it down- and the commander wasn’t sure which was the worst option. Instead, he nodded towards the mens bathroom as he twirled the ice in his empty glass.

“Kid said he was gonna hurl, apparently he hasn’t learned to hold his liquor yet.” He couldn’t help the subtle dig as he smirked, that wasn’t even true.

“Gross,” You muttered under your breath before you eyed the two shots on the bar. You plucked them both up, thinking about offering one to Fox before deciding against it, “Well if they’re already paid for.”

With that, you downed both shots without even checking what they were. The confidence in that action almost impressed Fox, but he told himself it was obnoxious. With no escort and no more booze, you sighed rolling your neck from side to side as the alcohol settled, “Well, probably for the best. I have work tomorrow.”

Fox quirked an eyebrow, “I thought I “stole" your case.”

He put extra emphasis on the air quotes just to annoy you- it worked. You threw him another withering look, but Fox- who was used to your scathing glares- didn’t flinch.

“Yeah, for every case you steal from me, I get three more.” You defended hotly, but eased into a laugh as you theatrically added, “Because criminals never sleep.”

Yep, that would definitely be those last two shots kicking in. You waited patiently for another sassy remark, quite frankly this conversation was much more riveting than anything Blast had said to you all night. Fox rose both eyebrows at your rather lame joke, but huffed a laugh anyways (at your humor or your lackadaisical demeanor, you weren’t sure).

“If that’s the case, why are you always so mad at me for- rightfully- taking cases that fall under my jurisdiction?” He pressed, flagging down the bartender for a glass of water that wasn’t for him. When he turned back to you, you annoyed glare had softened ever so slightly and your smirk had faded into a softer smile he’d never seen before.

“Just cause it’s you, Fox, just cause it’s you.” You told him, and Fox detected a lick of honesty behind your teasing grin. Hold his gaze for a second before shaking your head, you looked to the barkeep before he could set down the water, “His drinks are on me.”

Fox didn’t have a chance to protest before you winked at him again over your shoulder, already walking away, “See ya around, Commander.”

Yeah, Fox was definitely toeing a dangerous line. A very, very dangerous line.