#Black Cemeteries Matter

[ausetkmt]

How Authorities Erased a Historic Black Cemetery in Virginia — ProPublica

Nobody working to bring a $346 million Microsoft project to rural Virginia expected to find graves in the woods. But in a cluster of yucca plants and cedar that needed to be cleared, surveyors happened upon a cemetery. The largest of the stones bore the name Stephen Moseley, “died December 3, 1930,” in a layer of cracking plaster. Another stone, in near perfect condition and engraved with a branch on the top, belonged to Stephen’s toddler son, Fred, who died in 1906.

“This is not as bad as it sounds,” an engineering consultant wrote in March 2014 to Microsoft and to an official in Mecklenburg County, Virginia, who was helping clear hurdles for the project — an expansion of a massive data center. “We should be able to relocate these graves.”

Mecklenburg County, along with Microsoft and a pair of consulting firms, immediately began a campaign to downplay the cemetery’s significance. Their most urgent task was to make sure the cemetery wouldn’t be deemed eligible for the National Register of Historic Places, the federal government’s list of sites worthy of protection. That designation would likely trigger an archaeological investigation overseen by the state and could force the developers to steer clear of the graves. Without such a designation, the graveyard could be moved with relative ease.

After the discovery of the cemetery, the county and its consultants turned to archaeologists, which federal law required they retain. But that didn’t go as they hoped. In a detailed report, the archaeologists determined that the cemetery “is eligible for inclusion” on the historic registry. The report stressed the cemetery’s significance to African American life and death in Southside Virginia, citing the fact that Stephen Moseley and his relatives were Black. “It is recommended that the area be avoided,” the report said.

To the county and its consultants, whose costs Microsoft covered, this was unacceptable. “We will challenge his recommendation,” wrote Alexis Jones, a consultant with a firm called Enviro-Utilities.

The firm and the county pressed the archaeologists to reverse their conclusion that the cemetery belongs on the National Register. And they asked the team to cast doubt on the central finding that made the cemetery historically significant: that all the people buried there — members of a community of landowners who farmed tobacco in the wake of the Civil War and Reconstruction — were Black.

The archaeologists would only comply with the latter request. They edited their report to say, “It cannot be ruled out that the burials are associated with white tenant farmers.” But when they sent Jones and her boss the revised report, they acknowledged that the new assertion was dubious: “All the evidence available at this stage suggests” the cemetery was the final resting place of an African American community, they wrote.

Asked about the addition of the white tenant farmer claim, one of the archaeologists, David Dutton, told ProPublica: “We hadn’t exhumed any bodies. We hadn’t done any DNA. We hadn’t done any analysis. So could we say 100%? I mean, look, this is archaeology, you don’t know until you actually know.”

Jones and her colleagues still wanted the eligibility for the historic registry designation nixed, so they sent the report to another archaeologist, seeking a second opinion. But the archaeologist didn’t go along, and in fact he rejected the notion that some of the people buried there might be white. “Jim Crow would not have had whites and blacks buried that closely together,” he wrote.

He suggested that the original firm conduct additional historical research. “More work needs to be done on Moseley family members to identify who’s in the graves,” he wrote in an email to Jones’ boss, who forwarded it to the county.

The county and its consultants ignored the advice.

What the county had to do, because Virginia law requires it, was run a legal notice tucked among the ads and classifieds in several weekly print editions of The Mecklenburg Sun. Even that, Jones had warned in an email to Microsoft and the county, would “risk” the “chance of a local family member coming forward.”

The second week the notice ran, in November of 2014, the paper published a front-page story about a controversy over new helmets for the high school football team following the death of a player from blunt force trauma. It appeared under the byline Mike Moseley. Moseley is a staff writer. He is also Stephen Moseley’s great-grandson.

“The Moseleys have been here a long time,” Mike Moseley said of his family’s roots in that part of Virginia.

When asked if he’d seen the notice in the pages of his own newspaper, he responded: “Do you read the classifieds and the ads? I do not.”

Mike Moseley would not have been hard to locate, had the county actually tried to find Stephen Moseley’s descendants. The tall, lanky 60-year-old went to high school in Mecklenburg County and played basketball on the school team. After high school, he moved away for a time — he wasn’t interested in following his father into the funeral home business — but he returned to Mecklenburg more than two decades ago. Since then, he’s worked a series of jobs at local papers, including at the Sun, where he is still a reporter.

Mecklenburg County did not reply to detailed questions about the handling of the cemetery and the contents of the emails, which were obtained through state open records requests. But in a phone interview, County Administrator Wayne Carter said that the newspaper notice was sufficient to comply with the law. He added that he asked some people who hunted on the land if they’d noticed anyone visiting the cemetery. “They had not seen anyone down there,” Carter said.

Jones, the consultant, declined to answer questions, referring them to Microsoft. Enviro-Utilities did not respond to emailed questions and multiple calls and text messages. In response to questions, a Microsoft spokesperson said, “the County followed all applicable federal, state and local laws.”

Like his nephew, David Moseley heard nothing from the county about the threat to the cemetery. The soft-spoken retired schoolteacher and administrator, who is now 85, grew up on the land adjacent to where Microsoft was building its data center and currently lives outside of Lynchburg, Virginia. “Yes,” he said, when asked in August about his relatives’ resting place, “there’s a cemetery there.” He did not at first believe that the remains of his grandfather, Stephen Moseley, were somewhere else. “Somebody would have called me if they moved the cemetery,” he said.

In the months after the notice that ran in The Mecklenburg Sun, workers kept finding graves, ultimately 37 of them. Some of the plots were marked with pieces of quartz or with yucca plants, which were used by many Southern Black families who could not afford stones. Each burial site added days to the excavation, to the frustration of the county and its consultants. A crew dug up each of the graves, collecting bones, casket fragments, metal handles and hinges, etched epitaph plaques, a pair of eyeglasses, an ivory comb. The remains and other items were packed in plastic crates and stored in an office. Months later, all of it was reburied in four tightly packed, $500 cemetery plots one town to the north.

David Moseley’s grandparents, Stephen and Lucy Moseley, and great-grandparents, James and Ellen Walker, in 1899 purchased 169 acres in a fertile region near the North Carolina border. His father, Douglas Moseley, inherited the Moseley homestead, and as a teenager, David woke in the early mornings to work with an uncle harvesting their tobacco crop. As far back as David knew, his ancestors had been buried on that land. In one of his earliest memories, from when he was about 4, he joined his parents in the graveyard to bury his stillborn sibling. “I remember being out there and the open grave,” he said.

David, along with his last living sister, Christine Moseley, and their children, nieces and nephews, still own the eastern 83 acres of the property, which they call “the farm.” The family sold the adjacent tract, which Microsoft now owns, generations ago; David said his family entered a handshake agreement with the white people who bought the other half of the property that allowed the Moseleys to continue to visit the graves. Today, the farm is surrounded on nearly every side by land zoned for industrial use, including three of the 17 parcels that Microsoft has acquired in Mecklenburg County for the ongoing expansion of its data center there. Every so often, David Moseley or his niece who lives outside Washington, D.C., gets an offer to buy their remaining land. Sometimes the correspondence is signed by Wayne Carter, the county administrator who oversaw the permitting process for the Microsoft data center.

The cemetery’s disappearance proceeded despite layers of federal and state regulations nominally intended to protect places like it and to facilitate consultation with people who might have an interest in what happens to historic sites.

But in Virginia, as in most of the country, the power over what ultimately happens to these sites often belongs to whoever owns the land. And the labor of investigating what could make the site historic is often outsourced to for-profit archaeological firms working for property owners who have a financial stake in finding as little as possible.

“We are among the only developed countries in the world that considers archaeological sites on private property to be private property themselves rather than cultural heritage,” said Fred McGhee, Ph.D., an African American archaeologist in an overwhelmingly white field.

“Black historic places are some of the first to get maligned,” he said.

African American cemeteries that are deemed abandoned or untended have routinely been treated as little more than a nuisance in the path to development. Historic preservation laws and regulations rarely protect them.

On the campus of the University of Georgia, builders discovered a cemetery of enslaved people, and in 2017 the remains were reportedly loaded onto a moving truck and reburied “in secret,” according to a faculty review. In Texas in 2018, the graveyard of dozens of men held as convict laborers, a site whose significance was long known to community members, was found by construction workers, and the remains were exhumed. In each case, the developers have said they treated the burials with dignity.

Earlier this year, an agricultural company called Greenfield LLC applied for a federal permit to build a Statue of Liberty-sized grain transfer facility on 248 acres along the Mississippi River in Louisiana. An archaeological firm had initially concluded that the development put several notable Black historic sites, including a restored plantation that serves as a memorial to enslaved people, in harm’s way. But in May, ProPublica revealed that the firm changed its report to back away from that conclusion after facing pressure from its client. The firm told ProPublica at the time that no one had forced it to make the revisions and that the report itself was a draft, noting that drafts often change “after clients review them.”

Without first consulting the communities that live beside the development site and trace their ancestry to the people enslaved on the same land, the Army Corps of Engineers, the agency considering the permit, allowed Greenfield to drive enormous metal beams into a sugar cane field — even before the Corps signed off on the project. That field, researchers and community members say, likely holds unmarked graves of people who were held as slaves. Greenfield has said that it considers the protection of historic sites a priority and that it would stop construction if any such sites were discovered.

For decades, the Army Corps has been criticized by other federal agencies, advocates and community and tribal organizations for failing to engage with affected groups about potential damage to cultural sites, as the 1966 National Historic Preservation Act requires.

“The way this is supposed to work is that the Army Corps, or whatever federal agency is issuing a permit, should have told the developers that the descendant community needs to be identified and interviewed and that their perspectives need to be taken into account,” said J.W. Joseph, an archaeologist with New South Associates, a cultural resources firm in Georgia that has done archaeological work in dozens of cemeteries, often as part of projects regulated by the federal law. “Far too often, that doesn’t really happen.”

In Mecklenburg County, before Microsoft took possession of the land — for free, with significant tax breaks, along with state development dollars earmarked for struggling tobacco farming regions — the Army Corps raised no concerns about the development’s compliance with the Preservation Act. Nor did the Virginia Department of Historic Resources, the agency tasked with enforcing state and federal preservation laws, make any effort to step in and protect the site. (The department said it has never denied a landowner application for a reburial permit and preservation experts said Virginia judges almost never do either.)

The Army Corps and the Department of Historic Resources facilitated the cemetery’s legal erasure. The graves were dug up in near silence.

“Although the Department’s position is that those laid to rest should be left undisturbed,” a Department of Historic Resources spokesperson said, “we also understand that this is not always possible.”

Once they had permission from the state Department of Historic Resources to excavate the remains, Microsoft, Mecklenburg County and its consultants showed little concern for anything other than speed and cost. It was a rainy spring in 2015, and the ground was soaked. The graves that an excavation crew dug open would sometimes fill with water. According to one crew member, Eric Mai, who had recently started a master’s program in archaeology, the already-fragile remains were further degraded — exposed, sometimes for days, to the wet muck.

Everyone knew it was the wrong time for the work. “The conditions on site are about as bad as they can be for exhumation,” Jones, the consultant, wrote to Microsoft and the county, explaining why the dig was taking longer than expected. “It’s a nasty sticky wet clay,” she said of the soil that had primed the land decades ago for prolific tobacco yields. But Jones pressed the gas. “THEY need [to] find additional help and work 7 days a week until it is done.”

The “remains were saturated and in very poor condition,” according to a report by the firm hired to do the excavation, Circa-Cultural Resource Management LLC. The Department of Historic Resources agreed with Circa that there wasn’t enough physical matter left to justify sending the bones to the Radford University forensic anthropologist they’d planned to hire to study markers of age, race and sex. It “would probably not add any new information to the record,” a Circa report said.

“WAYNE, this is a GOOD thing!” Jones, the consultant, wrote to Carter, the county administrator. “This would be a huge money and time savings for us.” (This year, Jones took a job with Microsoft, as an environmental permitting program manager, according to her LinkedIn profile.)

Mai said in an interview that he worried that in the rush to dig up the Moseley cemetery, the Circa team may have missed important artifacts and grave offerings. “I think it would probably be concerning for descendants to learn that the people out there doing the work, me included, did not really know what we were looking at,” said Mai. “Nobody on the team knew anything about African American burials.”

Circa CEO Carol Tyrer wrote in response to questions that the team members did have “knowledge of African American cemeteries and burial practices.” Tyrer referred other questions about the Moseley cemetery excavation to Microsoft.

In part because of his ethical concerns, Mai left the field of for-profit archaeological and historic survey work. “There is a disrespect in this process,” Mai said recently. “The people, the descendants, are not really part of what we do.”

Had the county or any of its consultants made more of an effort to determine who they were digging up, they might have learned from public death certificates and census records that in one of the graves lay the remains of Ellen Walker and likely her husband, James Walker, the parents of Lucy Walker, who married Stephen Moseley, a preacher’s son from one county away. They might also have found living relatives like Mary Taylor, who is now 83 and is one of Stephen and Lucy Moseley’s many great-grandchildren. She lives in Norfolk and keeps a worn folder full of records showing that one of her mother’s brothers was buried in the Moseley cemetery. They might have come upon the records of other cousins and aunts and uncles by marriage, who formed their own branches of the family tree, whose descendants still own other plots of land in Mecklenburg County, and who appear to have been laid to rest there, too.

Once the dig was complete, the Army Corps told Mecklenburg County that it had met its obligations under federal law. Construction crews leveled the ground where the cemetery had been. Ownership of the land was transferred from the county to Microsoft.

In response to questions, the Corps wrote that it had consulted with the Department of Historic Resources and with Mecklenburg County before issuing the permit. A spokesperson also stated that the Corps had posted a notice on its own website around the same time the county ran its notice in the Sun “soliciting comments on the project.” Nobody responded.

Aerial photos of Mecklenburg County going back to the 1990s show rows of evergreen trees that wind across both of the old Moseley plots like the whorls and arches of a thumbprint. Then, in a 2016 satellite image of the terrain, the contours of trees and their center point have disappeared. A row of rectangles, the backfilled graves, appear in the tan earth. By 2020, an aerial view shows only an undeveloped dirt patch on the far eastern edge of the Microsoft site, just over the line from the land the Moseleys still own.

In 2019, four years after the Moseley cemetery was dug up, Mecklenburg County began building a sorely needed new middle and high school. On the uncleared land, surveyors discovered a cluster of headstones inscribed with the last name Tunstall, a white family with a long history in the region. The graves would need to be moved for construction to proceed as planned, and the school board put a notice in the newspaper, like the one that had been placed about the Moseley cemetery. But in this case, the relocation was also discussed in open school board meetings. A construction firm that worked on the project trumpeted its effort to help find relatives.

A Mecklenburg County sheriff’s deputy named Dustyne Lett saw the news of the cemetery on Facebook. She is a descendant of the Tunstalls.

“By us being involved, we could have a say about where they would be moved,” Lett said recently.

A county judge issued an order giving the school board permission to disinter the remains. They were reburied in a family cemetery several towns away.

“Family members need to be buried with family members,” Lett said. “It’s not like they get together to have dinner. But for us living people, we want to have one spot where we can visit them, talk to them.”

David and Mike Moseley do not imagine that they would have won a fight against Microsoft or the county to keep the cemetery where it was, though they would have wanted the chance to wage one. They also were denied the chance to decide where their ancestors would be reburied.

“We would have wanted them to be moved here, where the rest of the family is,” David Moseley told me when we met in the Jerusalem Temple United Holy Church Cemetery, where the Moseleys have buried their relatives since the 1960s, after they moved off the farm. David’s sister Dorothy Tolbert, who passed away in New Jersey in May, is buried there, not far from Lucy Moseley’s grave — a grave that had been publicly logged online three years before the Microsoft project. “That would have been respectful, that would have allowed them to be together,” David said. In 1967, when Lucy Moseley died at the age of 96, relatives figured moving her husband’s grave to the Jerusalem Temple cemetery would have been too expensive. They would let their ancestors rest in peace.

State and local officials have actively worked to honor and preserve white cemeteries in Mecklenburg County. In a 2003 book about the successful effort to have several historic town centers listed on the National Register of Historic Places, the view from a white cemetery is described as “bucolic.” That view has been protected by a Virginia historic preservation easement. Another cemetery, with only three visible stones, is noted for its impressive gateposts, which are inscribed with the words “Love Makes Memorial Eternal” and which were donated in 1941 by the United Daughters of the Confederacy.

In August, I met David and Mike Moseley to look for their relatives’ reburied graves in a cemetery in Chase City, 15 minutes north of the Microsoft data center. The final excavation report had said there would be a marker placed “indicating how many remains, where they were removed from, date, and known family names.”

We drove slowly through the cemetery, looking for a sign. We did not find one. Over lunch at a local restaurant, we called the Chase City municipal office. A clerk told us that she thought she knew what we were talking about; in the new section of the town cemetery, past the mausoleum, we’d find “the graves the county sent.”

“There are no names. It just says ‘assorted bones,’” she said, reading off a paper on file in the town office. She gave us directions, listing the names on several other stones in the vicinity of the reburial plots.

Past the mausoleum, we spotted a grave with one of those names and stopped the car. David peered out the window. “I know that stone,” he said quietly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it.”

Stephen Moseley’s gravestone had been set in the ground. Six feet to the right stood the stone of his toddler son, Fred D. Moseley. There is nothing noting the existence of any other remains, just an unmarked stretch of grass.David and Mike Moseley placed their hands on the top of Stephen’s gravestone. “I would not have known where he was buried,” Mike Moseley said, repeatedly, and then sat down in front of the stone, his hand still resting on the top, and cried. Being here with them now, he said, “this connects us.”

[thashining]

[vidals-harkness]

sleepless nights (agatha harkness, rio vidal)

summary: having a toddler means a lot of work for parents. having a clairvoyant toddler, that’s the real test. especially when the lights go out.

fic type: fluff

pairings: agatha harkness x rio vidal x fem!child!reader

warnings: nightmares, tooth-rotting fluff, agathario being sweet but with an attitude with each other

word count: 1.3k

masterlist

Clairvoyance. The ability to see and sense spirits, in layman’s terms. Not an easy power to have, let alone be a child with it.

The night was calm and peaceful, the moon rising with each passing hour, the sounds of nightlife subtle in the cold autumn air. However, your sleep was anything but calm.

You were in the park, your favourite park, going on the swings while your Mama pushed you gently. Mami sat on the swing beside you, laughing and talking, making funny jokes every now and then.

But something was wrong.

Their faces remained out of focus, their words were a muffled jumble. Was that screaming you heard in the distance? Were the clouds coming in?

You turned your head and Mami was gone. The swing stopped, and so was Mama. In the distance you saw them walking down the pathway, swallowed up by the fog. You tried to get off the swing, tried to run after them, tried to scream.

You couldn’t move. The ground seemed so far away, your voice was stuck in your throat. You put a hand up to touch your lips but were met with smooth skin.

The air grew chilly, and the screams grew louder. The whistle of a train carried it to your ears with a sharp, shrill tone.

You covered your ears and closed your eyes. Suddenly you stood in a courtroom, the jury were all spirits, and the judge opened his mouth, unhinging it like a snake, from the inside of which came a loud scream, “WHY DON’T YOU LISTEN?”

“I listen, I listen, I hear you!” You exclaimed. The sound of a sword had you turn. Mami. She swung it at your head…

…your eyes opened to a cemetery laden with snow. You stood in front of twin graves, bearing the names ‘Agatha Harkness’ and ‘Rio Vidal’. Your tears were red; blood. They ran down your soft cheeks and dotted the white ground red.

The cloudy day turned to night, and then you felt them grabbing, screaming, crying, wailing. Calling for help, begging for mercy.

“I can’t, I can’t, I CAN’T!” You screamed, covering your ears and crouching down at Mama’s headstone, trying to drown them out. But that amplified it all.

The ground opened up, swallowed you whole, and down, down, down you fell into the bottomless black.

Your eyes snapped open and you shoved the covers from your body. Your hair was sticking to your neck, damp with sweat. Tears streamed down your face and you checked hurriedly to make sure that they weren’t blood. Once that was confirmed, you heaved a sigh of relief.

Your plush spider was on the ground, pink blush and tiny smile upside down, its glass eyes staring up at you. You picked it up, dusted it off and gave it a kiss—apologising quietly.

You held the spider close, sliding out of bed. You shivered as the floor felt unnaturally cold on your bare little feet, as you made your way down the corridor to your parents’ room.

The door was open, so you padded in quietly, poking Agatha’s side.

“Mama?” Your voice was a quiet whisper, but she didn’t stir. You poked again, harder this time, frowning, heart racing as tears came up in your eyes. “Mama?”

Agatha opened her eyes, blinking tiredly to get somewhat conscious. At the sight of your crying face, she sat up, looking concerned.

“Hiya hon…” she whispered. “What’s the matter?”

You began to cry with relief when she spoke, which made Rio snap awake as well.

In seconds, Agatha had you up and in their bed, under the covers between them. They both lay on their sides, facing you, while they tried to solve the problem.

You were still crying, barely able to form a coherent sentence, so with simple questions they began to understand.

“Mi amor,” Rio’s voice was quiet as she ran her fingers through your hair, sighing at how damp it was with sweat. “Mi amor, was it a nightmare?”

You wordlessly nodded, fidgeting with your spider as a look passed between them.

Agatha spoke this time, her palm resting on your stomach as she patted a gentle rhythm on it. “Was it a one, five, or a ten?”

“N-Nine,” you admitted quietly, sniffling.

“Alright, alright…” she nodded slowly. “Wanna tell Mama and Mami was it was about?”

You shook your head quietly, turning over and burying your face in Rio’s chest.

The woman wrapped her arms around you, holding you close as her and Agatha had a bit of ‘eye conversation’.

“Amor…” Rio patted your back gently, making you look up at her. She wiped your eyes with her shirt and asked, “You want a little something to eat, nena?”

You nodded, sniffling a little. “Yes…”

It just took that one response to have Agatha scoop you up and out of bed, going towards the kitchen, Rio following.

“Who’s on nightmare snack duty today?” Agatha asked, placing you on the counter.

Rio rolled her eyes, turned to you and smiled, “What do you want to have, nena?”

“Milk. And cookies,” your standard answer.

“Excellent choice,” Agatha commented, tickling your sides to make you giggle.

Honestly, hearing you giggle was like a huge sigh of relief for them. Agatha and Rio both hated seeing you so distressed, but they knew all they could do at this time was lend comfort and love.

While Agatha grabbed the milk and cookies, Rio picked you up and held you in her arms, trying to rock you to drowsiness gently.

“Nena?” She asked quietly. As you hummed in response, inhaling the scent of her skin. She smelt distinctly like cinnamon and something slightly smoky, and it honestly relaxed you.

“What did you see, tonight? Was it clear, like a vision?” She asked, rubbing your back slowly.

“No, was blurry,” you mumbled, accepting the milk Agatha handed you, her hand gently ruffling your hair. You squealed at the milk and sipped on it, Rio sitting down on the couch.

“Baby…” Agatha said, giving you a look.

“What? It was bad dream only, and I don’t wanna talk about it!” You grumped.

“She’s your daughter,” Rio winked at her wife, earning an eye roll from Agatha.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, little miss has an attitude,” she scoffed.

Rio kissed your forehead gently, tickling your sides once you had handed the cup over to Agatha, making you giggle again.

“Is someone finally ready for bed?” Agatha said with mock-annoyance, making you poke her cheeks, smiling.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You grinned excitedly.

“And I assume you’re sleeping with Mami and Mama?” Rio smiled, taking you to their room while Agatha turned off the lights.

“Yes,” you nodded pointedly, holding your spider close to your chest. “Araña also,”

She chuckled. You loved that spider Agatha won for you at that one random carnival.

The three of you got into bed, and you trembled a little when Agatha flicked the lights off.

However, that fear was quelled the second your Mami wrapped her arms around you, and Agatha stroked your hair.

“My sweet, sweet lamb,” she chuckled, “What are we gonna do with you, hm?”

“Nothing, you love me,” you said plainly, giggling quietly.

“Don’t listen to Mama,” Rio sighed, kissing your forehead. “Get some sleep, nena,”

You nodded and hummed, slowly drifting off to sleep, visions kept at bay by your mothers.

That night, which began so terrifying and jarring, ended in peace and quiet, the moon rising high above the sky, while the nightlife continued as per usual.

And everything was still.

Hi hi, my bao buns! I hope you enjoyed this imagine! Parental Agathario is just so *chefs kiss*, don’t you think? Anyway, requests are open, and don’t be shy if you have something in mind!

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 18

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: Triggering conversation. Mentioned about sexual assault.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Author Note: After this, you will hate Steve more.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The news spread like wildfire: The First Lady has passed away from a sudden heart attack. The entire nation reeled at the announcement. It was a tragic day for the country, and the collective grief was palpable. You and Bucky struggled to believe it, exchanging shocked glances as you watched the news unfold on screen.

The twins, pale with grief, approached their father with questions in their eyes. “Why, a heart attack?” one of them whispered.

Steve’s expression was controlled, his answer calm. “Because with that, everyone will stop asking,” he replied. A sudden heart attack is understandable. Even General Carter died of one.

Just as Steve had predicted, people accepted it readily. “A heart attack? That’s horrible,” they’d say, before letting the matter rest. It was as if the finality of the explanation sealed Peggy’s fate in a way no one dared to question. And yet, to you, something felt out of place.

Only two weeks earlier, there had been news that Peggy had collapsed, and the doctors advised her to rest. You found yourself shaking your head as you spoke to Bucky. “She was so healthy, so careful with her lifestyle. Doesn’t it feel… odd?”

Bucky’s gaze was hard, thoughtful. “It does,” he admitted. “It really does.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The day of Peggy’s funeral arrived, a somber, overcast morning where gray clouds seemed to hang like a veil over the city. Dressed in black, the crowd of mourners filled the space around the somber cemetery, their faces etched with grief and disbelief. The country mourned the First Lady’s loss, and people lined up to pay their respects to Steve and the grieving family. You and Bucky observed from a distance, your expressions reflecting both sorrow and skepticism.

Caroline and Julius were also present, looking somber as they approached Hazel and Julius, standing silently nearby. Carol, her face set in sadness, touched Hazel’s arm gently. “Let’s go give Steve our condolences,” she whispered.

“You two go ahead,” Hazel murmured, looking away. Her eyes shifted, and a shadow of guilt crossed her face. She couldn’t bear to look at Peggy’s sons, William and Charles, standing on either side of their father, too young to fully understand the depths of their loss.

Carol frowned. “Hazel, don’t be stubborn,” she said softly. “Come on, Julius.” The two of them moved toward Steve, leaving Hazel standing there with her head bowed, biting her lip.

Julius, his voice low and respectful, extended his hand to Steve. “We’re deeply sorry, Steve. Peggy was a remarkable woman.”

Carol echoed his sentiments. “Yes, Steve. She’ll be missed so much. Our hearts are with you and the boys.”

Steve nodded, his face a well-practiced mask of grief. “Thank you both. Peggy loved you both very much.”

As the guests continued offering their sympathies, Natasha appeared at Hazel’s side, touching her arm and gesturing discreetly. Hazel hesitated but glanced over, catching your eye. You nudged Bucky, motioning in Hazel’s direction, but he shook his head. “Let them go,” he said quietly. “Not here, not now.”

Following Natasha, Hazel found herself being led to a private corner, away from the public’s eyes. Steve was already waiting, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. As Hazel approached, she looked pale, her posture small, as though she wanted to shrink away.

“Why do you look like you want to hide?” Steve asked, arching an eyebrow, his voice a low murmur.

Without a word, Hazel handed him her phone. Her hands were shaking. Steve took the device and glanced at the screen. What he read there made his expression falter, if only for a moment. The message on the screen was Peggy’s final words:

"I’ll give him to you. But know that each time you’re with him, I will always be the thorn between you two."

Hazel’s voice trembled as she spoke. “I found this after she…after she died. She sent it before… God, Steve, she’s gone because of me.”

Steve stepped forward, gently placing his hand at the back of her neck, pulling her head to his shoulder. “No, Hazel,” he murmured, his voice smooth and unyielding. “None of us lifted a finger. It was her choice. Her own doing.”

Steve held her tightly. “You’re my only anchor now,” he said softly, his hand stroking her hair. His tone was oddly calm, as if nothing truly rattled him.

Hazel gave a slight nod, though her face remained haunted. Steve’s grip around her tightened, but his gaze held a glint of satisfaction, a twisted sense of relief. Peggy’s demise, as he saw it, had finally cleared the way.

Later, as guests continued offering their condolences, Bucky made his way to Steve. His handshake was firm, his voice steady. “Steve,” he said, his eyes meeting his in an unreadable gaze. “My deepest condolences. Peggy was… well, she was a force.”

Steve’s expression was solemn, though his eyes glinted with something inscrutable. “Thank you, Bucky,” he replied smoothly. “I know Peggy always respected you.”

Bucky paused, holding Steve’s gaze a second longer, as if searching for something beneath his composed exterior. “If there’s anything you or the boys need, don’t hesitate to let us know. We’re here for you.”

Steve gave a small nod. “I appreciate it, Bucky. Really. This will be hard for the boys, but we’ll get through it.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he stepped back, his gaze never leaving Steve’s. “Take care of yourself. And of them.” He glanced briefly toward William and Charles, whose solemn faces seemed carved in stone, their small hands clutching each other as they mourned.

When Bucky returned to your side, he was silent, his eyes hard with an unspoken realization. Both of you had been deceived by Steve’s flawless facade for years, but now, something dark and undeniable seemed to lie beneath.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Three Weeks Later

Carol sat on the sofa, her eyes fixed on the TV screen where Steve’s face appeared at an international summit, calm and composed, every bit the statesman. She frowned, resting her chin on her hand. “It’s not even a month since Peggy’s passing, and already there’s talk about him looking for a new partner,” she muttered with a casual nonchalance. “Should I introduce him to one of my friends?”

Julius, seated across from her, snapped his head up, a look of disbelief etched onto his face. “Carol… you were Peggy’s friend. How can you talk like this?”

“Because I was her friend, I want what’s best for Steve,” Carol replied, dismissively scrolling through photos on her phone. “Peggy would want someone from our circle by his side, someone appropriate. Maybe Emily? Or Kelly?”

From across the room, Hazel’s voice interrupted, quiet but firm. “Mom, you don’t have to go through all that trouble.”

Carol looked up, her eyes sharp. “Oh, but I insist,” she said with a sigh of self-importance. “Steve’s in his prime. Women would kill to be with him. Even women your age, Hazel.”

Hazel paused, her teacup clinking against its saucer as her hand trembled slightly.

Carol turned to Julius with newfound excitement. “Maybe we should introduce him to your cousin who just got divorced. She’s still young, and she can bear children—Peggy would approve of someone in our league taking her place. Steve has a mistress. I don't want that woman took Peggy's place.”

"Carol. Stop," Julius said, his voice sharp, cutting through his wife rambling.

A flicker of annoyance sparking in her eyes. “What? Imagine having someone actually related to the President by blood," she insisted, folding her arms, her tone dismissive as if Julius didn’t understand the gravity of her idea.

Julius took a step closer, his face tightening. "We already have," he replied quietly.

Carol looked at him in disbelief, then scoffed. “I don’t mean Bucky," she shot back, waving a hand as if the idea were absurd. "He's still just the Vice President. And I don't even want to think about him having kids with that woman.”

Julius’s expression darkened, his jaw clenched as he leaned closer. "He won’t forgive you if he hears that," he warned, voice low and tight, the threat clear. He knew how much Bucky loves you, even Bucky already gave a warning to Caroline, she still won't accept it.

She felt the heat of his words but only tilted her chin up defiantly. Julius took a deep breath, struggling to contain his frustration. "Carol," he said in a grave tone, “I’m giving you a warning. This is the last time." His hand closed into a fist, and the silence that followed was thick, crackling with unspoken tension.

“Mom. You can stop now,” she said, her voice edged with a firmness that made both her parents turn. “There’s already someone from our family related to the president”

The room fell silent. Carol’s fingers froze on her phone, and Julius looked up from his drink, confused. Hazel met their eyes steadily.

“Nate,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, yet each word felt as though it struck with the force of a hammer. “Steve is Nate’s father.”

There was a stunned pause, a dead silence before Carol’s phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a loud clatter. Her face turned pale as her mind scrambled to process the revelation, her hand covering her mouth in shock.

“All this time,” Hazel continued, her voice quiet but steady, “you wanted to know who Nate’s father was. Now you know.”

Carol’s face twisted, disbelief transforming into a horrified expression. She lunged forward, gripping Hazel’s shoulders tightly, her nails digging in. “Tell me this is a joke,” she hissed.

“You… you always kept things to yourself, dropping these bombshells when we least expect it. You came home one day, huge belly, and just announced you were pregnant, like it was nothing.” Her voice wavered, a mixture of anger and desperation. “You made me hide my face from our friends, miss every gathering because of you!”

Hazel stayed silent, even as her mother’s words lashed against her.

“Haze—Hazel,” Julius interjected, his voice a strained whisper, barely able to meet her eyes. “Is this true?”

She nodded. “Yes, father.”

“But why him? Of all people… what could he possibly give you that we haven’t?” Carol’s voice quivered, the shock laced with bitterness.

Hazel met her mother’s eyes, unflinching. “Because he listened to me. He understood me.”

Julius’s face hardened. “We gave you everything, Hazel. How can you say that?”

She drew in a breath, her expression bitter. “That’s the problem. You gave me everything I never asked for. All I ever asked is for both of you as my parents to listened to me.”

Carol scoffed, her face paling as realization settled in. “Listening?” she muttered, rubbing her forehead as if it hurt. “You keep talking about that. I don’t even know what you mean.”

Hazel’s hands trembled slightly, but she steadied herself, her tone cold. “Do you remember when I told you my ballet teacher kept touching me? That’s why I quit. But you didn’t believe me because he was ‘experienced,’ and you said I was overreacting.”

A silence so heavy settled in the room that even the ticking clock seemed deafening. Carol’s face twisted with a fleeting look of guilt, but it passed quickly.

Hazel’s gaze shifted to Julius. “And you—do you remember when I told you I was drugged by your best friend’s son at that party I didn’t even want to go to? You made me go. I came home, barely able to stand…” Her voice broke, the words hanging heavily in the air.

Julius covered his face with his hand, his shoulders slumping as the reality crashed down on him.

“I am your daughter!” she yelled, the hurt and anger of years pouring out. “And all you did was listen to their excuses. That was my breaking point. That’s why I left.”

Julius’s face fell, and he murmured, almost to himself, “Then… you met Steve.”

Hazel nodded, her voice softening slightly. “I was vulnerable. And after hearing me out just once, do you know what he did?” She looked at her parents, her gaze hard and unwavering. “He made sure that ballet teacher never danced again. And that boy? He’ll never see daylight without a drug in his system.”

Carol heard the news that the former ballet teacher got into an accident, leaving him unable to move his fingers or toes. As for Julius, he heard from his friend that the son ended up in rehab. His case is worse than Shawn's.

Carol gasped, horror dawning in her eyes. “You’re the woman Peggy mentioned. The mistress…”

Hazel’s voice was a whisper, calm yet unyielding. “Yes. I’m the other woman. The homewrecker. Whatever you want to call me, I am it.”

For a moment, a heavy silence settled in the room. Hazel scoffed, looking from her mother to her father. “Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? Your grandson is the President’s son, your son the youngest Vice President. Now you can tell that to all your friends.” She shot them a hollow, bitter smile, watching as her words landed. Carol looked down, her face flushed with shame, while Julius couldn’t bear to meet her gaze.

Turning, Hazel strode from the room, leaving her parents in stunned silence. For the first time, the weight of Peggy’s suicide note no longer haunted her. Steve had been right. Peggy’s death wasn’t her burden to bear. And with that realization, she walked away, shoulders straight, head held high.

In the deafening quiet that followed, Caroline sank onto the couch, feeling a mix of shame and a deep, gnawing guilt. She was beginning to understand. All those times she had cursed the “mistress” Peggy hinted at… it had been her own daughter.

“Julius,” she whispered, voice cracking as she reached out for her husband’s hand.

But there was no answer. Julius sat, staring into space, his face ashen. When she touched his shoulder, his body slumped.

“Julius!” she screamed, shaking him, but he didn’t respond. Her world spun as panic surged, echoing her daughter’s revelation with one devastating blow after another.

Julius suffered a stroke and required emergency surgery, leaving the family on edge as they gathered at the hospital. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a harsh glow over the sterile waiting room. You and Bucky arrived, and he turned to you, his brow furrowed with concern. “Where’s Hazel?” he asked, scanning the area for any sign of her.

“Don’t. Mention that name,” Caroline snapped, her voice taut with tension. “That girl has ruined Peggy’s marriage.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You knew?” he pressed, the shock evident in his tone.

Caroline's eyes flared, realization dawning on her. “Wait! You knew all this time?” She stepped forward, her hands gripping his collar, her fury palpable. The Secret Service agents on standby instinctively moved closer, but Bucky raised a hand, stopping them. “Stand outside. This is a family matter, and keep this secret,” he commanded. They nodded reluctantly, stepping away but keeping their ears perked for any sign of trouble.

“No wonder why Steve chose us,” Caroline sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as the weight of the situation settled in. “But I still can’t accept this. No, I don’t. He used Hazel's innocence.” Her laughter was manic, echoing off the walls, a bitter sound that filled the room.

“Does he think he can underestimate me? He’s just a nobody without a strong background. He’s nothing without the Carters.” Caroline’s voice dripped with disdain as she spat the words, but when she noticed Bucky’s silence, her eyes narrowed.

“You have a plan, don’t you?”

Bucky nodded, his expression serious. “I do.”

“Good. Me too,” Caroline replied, her tone fierce. “I won’t accept being humiliated.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky turned his gaze to you, his expression shifting from determination to concern. “Dear,” he said, his voice steady but laced with urgency.

“Hmm?” you replied, sensing the gravity in his tone.

“I’m telling you right now,” he began, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, “from this moment, everything is going to turn ugly. You might end up hating me in the end.”

You felt the knot in your stomach tighten. Why is he telling me this?

“I told you before, you could stab me, poison me,” he continued, his voice unwavering. “I meant it. You could do it when you felt that I was way out of line.”

He’s serious, you thought, a mix of fear and disbelief coursing through you.

“You should’ve said this before I married into the Barnes family,” you shot back, your tone sharper than intended, but the weight of his words hung heavily in the air between you.

Bucky’s eyes softened slightly, yet his resolve remained. “I never wanted you to be caught in the crossfire.”

His jaw tense, and he took a deep breath as if preparing for the weight of the world. “If this is too much for you,” he said, his voice steady but low, “you could leave.” Also, the one-year agreement to help him is coming to an end.

The finality of his words struck you like a punch to the gut, and you felt a flicker of panic surge through you. “No. I won’t leave,” you responded fiercely, the conviction in your voice surprising even yourself.

Bucky’s brow furrowed, and he studied you, as if searching for signs of doubt in your eyes. But all he found was unwavering resolve. “You really mean that?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, a blend of surprise and hope.

You nodded, a small smile breaking through the tension. “The first time, it was me helping you become vice president,” you reminded him, your heart racing with the unspoken promise that lingered between you. “Now, I’ll be beside you as you become president. I won’t let this position slip away to another woman.”

“Then let’s face this together,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. The space between you charged with anticipation, every unspoken feeling bubbling to the surface. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in this moment.

A slow smile spread across Bucky’s face, warmth radiating from him. The tension that had permeated the air shifted into something different—something electric. In that moment, the world around you faded, leaving only the two of you and the undeniable connection you shared.

Bucky leaned in slightly, closing the distance between you, and your breaths mingled in the charged space. The weight of your words hung in the air, promising both conflict and a shared future. You reached out, your fingers grazing his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin under your touch.

He moved closer, tilting his head slightly as if to capture the moment forever. The longing that had been building between you ignited, and without thinking, you both closed the gap.

The kiss was genuine, filled with unspoken promises and a shared understanding of the battles ahead. It was tender yet passionate, a release of the tension that had held you both captive for far too long. As your lips met, time seemed to stand still, the world outside forgotten. In that moment, you were not just allies in a political game but partners, united in a bond deeper than either of you had anticipated.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, breaths mingling in the charged air. You could see the reflection of hope and determination in his eyes, and for the first time in a long while, you felt like you could face whatever challenges lay ahead—together.

Author Note : The next chapter will be the end.

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[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt ~Dead on main~Someone is walking over my grave

Jason sits on his tombstone and thinks about..something.

He lazily washes off the dirt that has been stuck on his army boots after the rain. It covers the year of his death perfectly. Grinning, he puts out a cigarette by using the mentioned stone. The cigarette butt throws between ugly funeral wreaths.

Danny: Hey, asshole, stop it!

Jason turns around. A very angry twink is rushing at him. The notorious crime lord does not have time to react when a fist hits him. Red Hood falls into a puddle. Shit! His favorite leather jacket!

Jason: What the hell are you doing?

Danny: No. What the hell are you doing?! Just because a man is dead doesn’t mean you must not respect him. You’re in a cemetery. Behave yourself, shithead. Or I’ll teach you manners.

Jason: You’re not from around here. Right?

Danny: So what? I doubt it’s normal to wipe your feet using a tombstone. Even in Gotham.

A malicious gremlin folds his arms on a chest.

Jason sits in a puddle more comfortably and pulls another cigarette out of his pocket. Damn, it’s wet.

Jason: If you were gothamite, I wouldn’t have to explain. It’s my grave, idiot. I do what I want with it.

Jason throws useless source of nicotine at his photo with black ribbon. The person who convicted him takes a couple of seconds to compare the vandal to the buried one.

Danny: Aw, shit, man. My bad, I didn’t mean to interrupt your break.

Jason’s eyebrow rises in surprise. From the outsider he expected more screaming and running. Not…apologies.

Jason: Yeah? Tell that to my favorite leather jacket. Now you can bury it next to me.

Bad Jason, bad. That’s not how normal people talk.

Danny: I’ll make amends. Tomorrow, okay? It’s my first working day. I’ve decided not to take my wallet. Need to find a safe route.

Jason: First day?

Danny: Yes, new cemetery guard here in the flesh. But I have not had time to meet all of inhabitants. Mistook you for a bad boy in a story. Well, it is your fault too! I understand you’re upset about death or maybe about the color of wreaths but please just put all the shit in the trash. I’m Danny, by the way.

Jason: Ha, I was wondering why there was no regular dude at work. Probably my neighbors drove him to a breakdown. He was an asshole, so no regrets.

Danny: Do you think so? Mrs Dent didn’t seem restless to me, she was quite nice.

The guy didn’t seem to catch the joke. Or was crazy. Why are all the hot people in Gotham are? Doesn’t matter. Why not try, right?

Jason: Don’t worry about the money. You can repay me with something else.

Danny: So you regenerates the suit? Cool. What do you want?

Jason: Um, I don’t get it, but… as compensation, I’m wanna have your number and one date.

Danny: Sure, why not.

Danny looks at the headstone.

Danny:Can you go outside the cemetery...Jason? The place is romantic, I agree, but where I grew up, it’s not customary to bring a mate at the place of rest until you meet parents.

Jason: Seriously? Cheesy horror movies didn’t teach you not to mess with zombies?

Danny: Well, I’ve never had a partner who was attracted to my brilliant brain. It must be pretty nice. And I don’t mind a couple of love bites, zombie boy.

Danny’s playfully batting his eyelashes. Jason can’t help laughing.

Danny: The less fair opinion among my friends is that I’m just brain-dead idiot. But I think they just don’t understand the benefits of adrenaline addiction, miserable humans. *pretends to wipe off a tear*

Jason *pretends to sniff*: Aw, hell, you really are a brainless doll, aren’t you?

Danny: Even so, it just means I’m perfectly safe.

Jason: Don’t think so. I want a piece of you.

Danny: Then don’t be afraid that the feeling is mutual. My teeth are also quite sharp. And when I’m haunting, it’s not easy to get rid of me.

The cheeky smile has given way to a serious look.

Danny: If we don’t get along, tell me right away, I’m not good at reading other people’s emotions.

~~~~~

Red Hood may be the son of the greatest detective but blinded by love Jason realizes that his boyfriend is quite dead only after a couple of months. He used to think Danny was a little…weird. Well, who in Gotham isn’t? It wasn't a problem. But during a funny fight about ignoring Danny in favor of a conversation with Tim , Fenton goes through him to grab his phone and then shouts that 'ghosting him is racist'.

Jason was delighted that he was able to hide his surprise. His boyfriend was too sweet, but sometimes insecure. Jay didn’t want Danny to start being cautious. Evidently, Honey thought from the first day that Jason knows. Let him keep it that way. Nothing has changed.

But now Danny’s promises to haunt Joker for the rest of his life if Jason wants it stopped being just super-hot flirt. So Jason need to make sure he doesn’t sic his darling poltergeist or whoever Danny is on someone. Even if it sounds good.

~~~~~Family dinner~~~~~

Dick: How did you two meet?

Jason: That’s a great story. My brave man beat the vandal who was messing with my grave.

Bruce: What? Who dared?

Danny: Jason, stop. It’s embarrassing.

Jason: No~ My family needs to know that chivalry is dead. My hero. Jason can’t resist a kiss on the cheek.

Danny: Taking this opportunity, I want to thank you all. It means a lot that you accepted Jason even not fully alive.

Alfred: Nonsense. Of course we..He’s family, no matter what.

Danny: Until the death separates us. Even at a wedding, love is promised only for a while. In parenthood, they do not take any oath about it. You’d be surprised how little past relationships can mean to people and how easy it is to hate what we are.

Danny: Damn, I ruined the mood, didn’t I? Sorry.

~~~~~

Jason: B, with all due respect, back off. You should ask Constantine how to help Danny if his family becomes a problem. Don’t mark my babe as a problem.

Bruce: I asked. And he laughed at me and said that you are the one who need protection. not him. Your Fenton is dangerous. Ghosts of such power only emerge in cataclysms after a large burst of energy or reach this level after centuries of battles or cannibalism and battles.

Jason: Seriously, old man? My boyfriend’s not gonna eat me. I’m not Red riding hood and he’s clearly not pretending to be my grandmother.

~~~~~~

Danny: Hi, honey. what’s new?

Jason noted with satisfaction that Danny had eaten all the supplies he had prepared for him.

Jason: Nothing, but now I have an idea for great Halloween costumes for us. They are gonna drive the old man crazy.

Danny: Did you fight again? What is it this time?

Jason: Guess what, now B’s worried you want to bite off my dick or something.

Danny: First, eew, disgusting. Don’t talk about our intimate life with fucking Batman. Why would he think that? I like you whole.

Jason: Whore?

Danny: Idiot.They don’t even sound alike.

Jason: Just admit that I am an eye candy and kiss me already. I need a break from the madness of my family.

~~~~~

Later Danny blackmails Constantine for information about the interrogation from Batman.

Then he sends a short message to the group chat : Tell the future father-in-law that while Jason can cook, he is safe from me.

The chat explodes from questions of Batclan to Bruce. Jay has great brothers and sisters. Danny knew their chaotic energy could be relied upon.

~~~~~

In the morning Jason yells at Tim. Why the hell did Replacement put "Friends For Dinner" from The Land Before Time as his alarm melody?

~~~~~

Bruce *is suspicious of the ghosts at the wedding*.

GhostWriter: Do not think that we like it. The boy is involved in his own version of Twilight. Oh Ancients, I hope the Ancients don't know about it.

Clockwork aka one of Ancients: Come on, that’s sweet. And story will have a happy ending. I guarantee.

~~~~~

Jason's in a date simulator with no chance of losing when everyone thinks he’s in a horror game. Is Danny dangerous? Yeah. Did he hunt when they first met? Who knows. The main thing in the middle of the conversation Danny realised he found a creature with a similar sense of humor. So that made Jason 10 out of 10 aka soulmate and he would kill for him.

[animasola86]

🦇 FANGS TO REMEMBER

m!vampires x f!reader 🔥 very explicit 🔥 words: 3.6k

On your way back to the party, you come across a graveyard. Unbeknownst to you, you are trespassing onto someone's property, and they are not happy about it. Or are they?

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Vampires! Noncon/dubcon! Threesome! Spitroasting! Biting! (READ ON AO3!)

A/N: This is part 5 of my CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE smut series! 1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7 This is the continuation of OPTION 3/PART 4 - but can be read individually, let me just set the scene:

CONTEXT: You were invited to a Halloween party in a mysterious house, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, and after drinking a strange drink, you decide to get some fresh air, running into a werewolf who instantly decides to knot and breed you, and after that ordeal is done, you flee from him, and come across a graveyard...

ADDITIONAL WARNING: This one is very dark. It's more noncon than dubcon, so if you don't like the themes, you can skip it (imagine something dark happening) and read the next part here.

You look around, but there's only one way forward: through the graveyard. It's too dark to see anything else, no maze, no garden, no house, you can't even see the cabin anymore you just left. The night is eerily quiet, no critters, nothing. Even the wind seems to take a break for now.

Inhaling deeply, you hug your arms around your body and take a step through the large wrought-iron gates, looking left and right at the rows of crooked tomb stones. A strange mist wafts close to the ground, giving off an otherworldly glow. The moon is long gone it seems, the sky too cloudy to show any stars, but still you can see the various shapes around you.

You're not easily spooked, usually, but being alone in a cemetery at night makes your imagination run wild, wilder than it has been all evening. The slightest movement makes you flinch as you tread carefully along the path, goosebumps rippling over your exposed skin whenever something brushes against your bare legs. The shirt is soft and warm, but in the end not long enough after all, no matter how hard you tug at its hem.

A sudden shuffling sound makes your blood run cold and you freeze on the spot, your heart beating out of your chest, cold fear gripping your limbs. It came from behind one of the larger tomb stones, decorated with a small angel statue. You stare into the darkness, pressing your lips together to keep the noises from spilling past them. Probably just an animal. Your mind is surely playing tricks on you.

But when the same sound comes from right behind you, you whirl around with a shriek, stumbling back as you see a large black shadow blocking your view. You expect to fall onto your butt, but something keeps you from it, another shadow – and this one has hands. Hands that grip your arms, holding you tightly. Another scream rips from your throat as you thrash about, trying to get away, before another hand finds its way to your mouth, muffling all the noises you want to let out.

Your eyes are wide when the shadows around you form into the shapes of two big men, pale in the eerie light, tall and muscular, dressed surprisingly well for creatures that lurk in the dark.

“What do we have here?” the one with his hand on your mouth says, tilting his head, giving you a smile that makes his handsome face look almost diabolical. “A little rabbit? In our cemetery?”

“Did you get lost, little one?” the other man, the one behind you, whispers as he leans his head closer, rubbing his smooth cheek against yours. It's cold to the touch.

You stiffen, unable to do or say anything. Maybe you're still dreaming, or again. But the way these men grab you feels too real. They are strong. Intimidatingly so. You swallow hard, gasping when the one behind you gives you a deep sniff.

“Ugh, she reeks of dog,” he says with a drawl. “Had some fun with the beast, didn't you?”

Suddenly you feel a hand between your legs, a cold touch, coaxing a muffled yelp out of you as you feel probing fingers right against your warm crotch. “Huh, yeah, he got to her alright. Filled to the brim...” He pulls his fingers away and raises them to your face, and you can see the thick substance coating them. “Too bad, really, I was looking forward to ravaging that sweet cunt...”

You glare at him, both in shock and indignation. He pulls his hand from your mouth and shoves his soiled fingers between your lips. A muffled grunt of protest slips from your throat, but your attempts to get away are futile as the other man still holds your arms tightly. A bitter and slightly salty taste fills your mouth, but with how the man presses his digits onto your tongue you can't do anything but flick it around them, licking them clean.

“At least she seems quite obedient,” he muses with a menacing tone, watching you closely, moving his fingers in and out of your mouth.

“We can still have some fun with her,” the man behind you says quietly, his nose nuzzling your neck. “He hasn't marked her yet. She's fair game.”

“Splendid,” the other replies with a laugh and pulls his fingers away with a wet popping sound. You quickly swallow the spit gathered on your tongue and lick your quivering lips. “So, little bunny, do you wanna try to run? I would die for a little hunt... if I wasn't already dead,” he adds with a reverberating laugh that makes you shiver deeply.

You just stare at him, your chest rising and falling faster. “I don't think she'll come far,” the man rubbing his hands over your arms retorts. “She seems weakened. The beast clearly got her good. Let's just enjoy her until her heart gives out, hm?”

You gasp at the implication, immediately silenced by a hand reaching out to grab your chin. “Fine. It is already enough to hear this beautiful beat,” the man in front of you whispers as he leans closer. “Are you scared, rabbit?”

Your eyes dart over his pale face, and when he bares his teeth and licks them slowly, you stare at his pointy canines. After having just met a real werewolf (or so you think, it's all so fuzzy in your head right now), you shouldn't be surprised to meet actual vampires, in a graveyard no less, pale and cold and strong, with sharp fangs and insatiable appetites, but your body still reacts as if you were indeed just a bunny cornered by two predators. A tiny whimper escapes your throat. “Please...”

“Hmm? Please what? Use your words, darling!” the man behind you snarls, rubbing his nose against your neck before you feel his lips on your pulse, nibbling teasingly.

“Please let me go...” you press out.

“Not going to happen, sweetheart,” he replies, his low voice muffled. “You came to us. Walked right onto our property. It's our right to do with you whatever we like...”

You squirm in his hold when he laps his tongue up your neck. The other man watches you, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip before he suddenly leans closer, pressing his forehead to yours. You gasp, staring at him. “You won't regret it, little one,” he breathes against you. His skin feels cold, but the close proximity makes your cheeks burn up badly. “We'll give you a good time, don't worry your pretty little head!”

And suddenly you are being lifted, nausea rolling over you as you find yourself somehow floating in the air. It's all a blur at this point. Footsteps crunch over gravel and dead leaves, thump against stone plates, old hinges screech as a door is being opened. The fresh air becomes stale and dusty, the light even darker. You move down a set of stairs, but you can't move, your head is swimming, your insides tensing up in a way that borders on painful. You can barely breathe, and you have no idea why.

Candle light flickers to life when the men take you through a large wooden door. Your eyes blink into focus slowly. You seem to be in some sort of mausoleum, old looking, corners full of cobwebs, aged statues lining the walls. In the middle of the round room, there are two stone coffins, both of them open, their heavy stone slabs pushed to the side. You swallow hard, trying to see this as a scene, a decorated room fit for an elaborate Halloween party.

But somehow you doubt this is part of it.

“Excuse the mess,” one of the men says as he walks to the coffins. “We didn't expect company tonight...”

He raises a hand – and as you're being set down on your feet again, you witness how the heavy slab moves seemingly on its own or by a strange unseen force, leaving you even more confused. Both coffins are closed now, and before you can question anything else, you are being draped over the short side of one of them, stomach pressed to the cold stone, arms and legs hanging off the edges. A groan escapes you.

“Let's clean her up first, I can't stand the stink of wolf,” one man says as he steps behind you, pushing your legs further apart. You feel a strange coldness rushing through your body, like water, but not really wet, a sensation that leaves you choking on your own spit. “There, better. Don't you feel better too, darling? No longer stuffed full of disgusting beast semen? Well, I don't want to kink shame or anything, maybe you are into being bred, but we do like our holes squeaky clean – for us to soil all over again.”

You squirm on the stone slab, your hands trying to find purchase on the smooth surface, your legs kicking helplessly, but before you can do anything, the other man steps in front of you, grabbing your chin and lifting your head up. You find yourself face-to-face with his throbbing cock. They don't seem to waste any time, huh? He presses his thumb and finger into your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. You issue a groan of protest that is quickly muffled by his surprisingly warm member. You have no choice but to close your lips around it. (Even if you wanted to bite down on him, you couldn't, his hand is still holding your jaw open.)

“Good bunny, you know what to do, hm?” he tells you, slowly rolling his hips against you, his tip scraping along your gums, teasing at the back of your throat. Saliva pools on your tongue, and you feel the need to swallow it before it drips past your lips. When you do, he groans quietly. “Oh, yes, like that. Do that again.” Somehow his words seem to encourage you, and you swallow around him once more, straining your throat enough for tears to fill your eyes.

Behind you, you feel two cold hands rubbing up and down your thighs, gripping them, pulling them apart, before they slip up your rear and push the large shirt out of the way. “So I assume after your little werewolf ordeal, your poor little cunt is a little tired, wouldn't you agree?” he rasps teasingly. “Good thing you have another hole, huh, my sweet?”

You let out a series of muffled cries around the cock in your mouth when you feel probing fingers between your ass cheeks. “Mhmmnngh!” you croak out, thrashing on the stone slab, trying to get away. A sudden slap on your soft rear makes you howl, but ultimately stops your fidgeting. Your skin burns and throbs horribly. “Shh, relax, rabbit. You can take it. See?”

Before you can react, you feel a strange pressure against your sphincter, a teasing touch but unrelenting, and suddenly you have a finger in your ass. Your tight muscles clench around the thick digit, and you wriggle in your compromised position, almost gagging yourself on the dick between your lips when you push yourself against the man's groin and his cock deeper into your mouth. A jerk goes through your body, your hands fruitlessly trying to hold onto anything.

You don't feel in control of your limbs anymore, it's strange. You can feel everything, but you can't move, only rock back and forth on the coffin. The man behind you pushes his finger deeper, then pulls it out and replaces it with two. The stretch hurts, and you let out a muffled wail. Your noises seem to encourage him when he moves them in and out faster, deeper, a hard press against your protesting muscles.

Meanwhile the man holding your jaw increases the pace of his hips slamming against your face. His cock pushes deep, and you gag violently when he breaches your throat, your body convulsing, spit filling your mouth. He pulls back slightly, allows you to breathe and cough and swallow, but then repeats the motion, and you gag again, and the cycle continues. Your head is spinning by the fifth time he forced his length down your throat, and you feel too weak to protest anymore.

Not even when you notice that the man playing with your ass has added another finger and is plunging his hand hard against your rear, a dizzying rhythm, forceful, stretching you for whatever comes next. You can guess and it scares you. But there's nothing you can do as he suddenly pulls his fingers out with a wet pop and you feel his cockhead pressing against your slightly gaping hole. A deep grunt escapes him when he rocks his pelvis forward, sinking into your depths without mercy, carving his way through your impossible tightness.

Your muffled scream is overpowered by loud gurgling noises as the cock in your mouth pistons in and out fast, always pushing deep, bulging your neck, his crotch slapping into your face with each thrust. You are pushed and pulled, rocked back and forth, impaled front and back, cold hands holding your head up or digging into your hips as the two men use you for their pleasure, their grunts filling the space around you.

Despite their rough handling, you feel a strange heat growing inside you, and you realize that with every slam into your ass or snap into your throat, you are rubbed over the rough stone, and your clit quickly feels raw and swollen from the added stimulation. Moaning into the rapidly moving cock in your mouth, you focus on the good feelings, not the burning friction in your rear, not the rawness of your throat, the lack of air or the helplessness, just the bliss that tries to fight through the pain and discomfort.

But before you can even imagine any edge to fall over, they suddenly slow down, languid strokes that push deep until they stop altogether, one cock buried deep in your ass, the other pushed all the way down your throat as pubic hair tickles your nostrils. Your eyes roll back, your lungs burn, your body spasms fruitlessly. Groans echo in your ear.

“Let's turn her around,” one says.

“You wanna switch places too?” the other replies, almost a little breathlessly.

“Sure, I bet she doesn't mind a little ass to mouth action, huh, sugar?”

A loud slap against your bruised rear makes you gag violently, and as spit fills your mouth and tears stream down your face, you are being rotated on the cold stone slab, arms still hanging limply to the ground while your legs twitch as they're being pushed up and against your heaving chest, opening you up further. Cold air brushes over your exposed skin, and for a short moment they let go of you, cocks pull back, leaving trails of stickiness all over your face and crotch.

You are lightheaded, barely able to function, and that moment of reprieve is short-lived. You didn't even get the chance to swallow or breathe properly before a cock is being shoved back into your mouth. Hands curl around the back of your head, holding it up as the stiff and slimy length is pushed straight into your bruised throat. You can only croak out a muffled grunt before a heavy pair of balls slam against your nose.

“Tongue out,” the man above you orders, and you comply, hoping it'll be easier with your mouth wide open and your tongue extended to guide the throbbing cock in and out. “Good. Just like that. Look at that neck bulging. Ugh,” he continues, groaning as he rams deep into your throat and rests there, cutting off any air flow you may have had earlier. You squirm on the coffin, limbs twitching helplessly.

Before you drift off into unconsciousness, he pulls back and slaps your cheek. The pain drags you back immediately. “No fainting, rabbit, we need you awake for this.” You cough hoarsely, spit and precum flying through the air. You're too weak to open your eyes, and it doesn't matter anyway. His hand is on your neck now, squeezing slightly. “Ahh, yes, listen to that frantic heartbeat,” he rasps, slowly slipping his cock back between your lips. “Are you afraid to choke, hm? Or does that turn you on?”

You gag when he presses into your throat slowly, your whole body jerking against the man on the other side, who's holding your legs open and pressed to your chest. You are allowed to cough and swallow before it happens all over again, again and again, and while one man fucks your throat with reckless abandon, the other rubs his cold hand down your mound, teasing at your swollen clit, parting your puffy labia, but then he dips his finger into your ass, completely ignoring your hungrily clenching cunt.

There's no further preparation, and a moment later he shoves his cock into your tight hole, making you wail against the dick in your throat. He lets go of your legs, causing them to flop about wildly with each thrust as he starts pounding into you hard and fast, then you feel his long fingers on your burrowed shirt. You barely register how it's ripped open, but you do feel those cold palms pressing onto your soft mounds, pebbling your skin, your nipples hardening instantly. The touch is almost soothing among all the other things happening to you.

It's a whirlwind of sensations, the lack of air and strain to your throat and jaw on one side, the rough friction and burning heat and hard pummeling on the other. You are moved back and forth on the stone surface, a limp body to be used. You don't know how long this is going on, but these guys seem to have incredible stamina. They just won't stop.

Whenever you feel as if you're slipping into the welcoming darkness, you are slapped and brought back, your cheeks burning and throbbing, but it's only one of many aches by now. You can't decide which is worse, the suffocating stretch when a cock buries deep into your throat, or the rough pummeling of sore muscles when the other cock rams into your tight ass. It's all a blur in the end.

The men are groaning and grunting, snapping their hips against you, uncaring of your discomforts. They're chasing their own orgasms while you remain teetering far away from any sort of release. The room is filled with loud squelching noises, gurgles and slurps, slapping of skin against skin, a soundscape that seems to be your only form of stimulation. Not even the cold hands on your breasts push you further to the edge, they are just there, holding you, groping hard, anchoring you as you are pushed back and forth.

At least they have a rhythm now, in and out in an alternating way, almost like a seesaw, in goes the one in your throat, out moves the one in your ass, and then it's the other way around. And somehow you find comfort in it as you lie there, held in place, unable to move, your eyelids fluttering, tears and snot drying on your sweat-slick skin.

It's then that you feel cold fingers brushing down your quivering belly, down, down, until they rub against your clit, and you arch your back, inhale that cock in your throat, jerk your hips against the one pounding into your ass, and you come, clenching down hard, stiffening, eyes rolling back, bliss exploding through the veils of darkness.

You feel like floating, leaning into the wave of pleasure that washes over you as you let it all happen. And as you do, the men's motions grow jerkier, rougher, faster, and they come too, almost at the same time. Cum shoots down your throat, and you'd expect to feel the same sensation in your ass, but the man there pulls out and empties himself all over your mound and stomach, all the way to your neck. The pressure in your throat loosens then, and similar spurts of wet warmth hit your face.

Raspy breaths make it past your soiled, swollen lips as you lie there with your eyes closed. Strong hands move you until you're lying fully on your back, legs outstretched, arms put at the sides of your body, head supported by the hard stone slab beneath you. Cold fingers trail your skin.

“I wish we could keep her,” you hear a quiet voice that barely makes it past the cotton in your head.

“I'm not risking another war with those savages just because of one puny human...” says a different voice. “We'll find another one.”

“Let's feed and get her back onto the path.”

You blink your eyes open, noticing the two men, the two vampires, standing over you, staring down at you from both sides of the coffin. Their teeth are bared, fangs glistening in the swaying candle light, and before you can do anything, they lean down, one goes straight for your neck, his pointy canines sinking deeply into your skin, and you feel it, despite your fucked-out state, you feel the cold crashing through your veins.

The same sensation happens between your legs, on one of your inner thighs as the other bites down into your soft flesh. You whimper soundlessly, throat hoarse and sore, body too weak to move against the assault. They suck your blood noisily, like the thirsty monsters they are, and you just let it happen, again, what other choice do you have? Your head is spinning as you feel the cold spread through your trembling limbs.

And the world fades...

1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7

End notes: The last part is here!

By the way, this is a nod towards my standalone Vampire oneshot Down the Rabbit Hole which also has dubcon elements and more than one vampire, but isn't as dark.

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KINKTOBER 2024 MASTERLIST

[spookyserenades]

Trouvaille - Drabble #4

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader (This is a Namkook x Reader centric drabble!)

Genre/Themes; Hybrid!AU, themes of the supernatural and the occult, religious themes, violence, hurt/comfort, horror, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Word Count; 3.4k

Trouvaille Masterlist

Trouvaille playlist

Prompt; Trouvaille Namkook x Reader, snapshot of a random paranormal investigation (Halloween edition!)

Long time no chat! I hope you all like use this little drabble to help through the Trouvaille hiatus :) We've got some ghostbusting shenanigans in this drabble! I love this trio (and missed them so so much!) There's a slight fright factor for this fall season (spooky setting, jumpscares, grabbing) But fluff and some cheekiness there as well. Chat soon and I love and miss you all! <3

“You’re a filthy liar,” Y/N refused to budge from her passenger side seat, even with the expectant looking hybrid flicking her tights-clad kneecap. “This is not a new dive bar. You can go. I’m staying here.”

“The wolf has already driven all the way into the city, Y/N. Might as well see what we can stir up,” Jeongguk, in a recent attempt to cut back on smoking, stuck a toothpick into the corner of his mouth. Y/N wondered if he truly had an oral fixation. “Come on. You’re always going on and on about ‘spooky vibes’ ‘halloween spirit’ ‘doing seasonal activities’, all that shit. Now that I’m taking you up on that, you’re backing down?”

Y/N bit her lip, cornered and effectively silenced. Sensing her defeat, Jeongguk stepped aside, allowing Y/N to slither from her seat and the warmth of Namjoon’s van. She wasn’t planning to traipse around a weathered and dark graveyard days before Halloween– rather, she was in a skirt, heeled boots, and a delicate off-the-shoulder sweater, meant for slinking around a cozy bar. Immediately, the crispness of October evening air had a shudder rolling down her spine, and the haunted-looking cemetery beyond Jeongguk’s leather-clad shoulder wasn’t helping, either. 

“Look at you, Bambi. You already have the camera bag,” Y/N muttered, somewhat mourning the loss of getting tipsy with him and Namjoon that evening. Despite the nickname, Jeongguk’s antlers were completely absent, only the two vaguest spots of calcification present over the spots where the bones usually sprouted from visible. 

Jeongguk hummed like he hadn’t heard her, double checking the batteries on his flashlight. Y/N, rubbing her arms for warmth, scanned the graveyard. It appeared that they were alone, which Y/N chalked up to people actually celebrating in the new dive bar Y/N was supposed to be at that moment. About to open her mouth to complain, her posture went rigid when a heavy garment, laden with rich scent and crushing warmth, was draped over her caved-in shoulders from behind. 

“The least you could have done was tell her to dress to be outside,” Namjoon spoke to Jeongguk through gritted teeth, watching the girl in front of him nearly dissolve into pieces in response to the jacket he offered her.

 Y/N promptly maneuvered her limbs into Namjoon’s sherpa and denim jacket, not even feeling badly that the wolf hybrid sacrificed it to her as she let his smell and body heat curl around her. No matter how gruff his voice registered to the ear, Namjoon had an undeniable concern for those he cared about. 

“Thanks, Joon,” Namjoon’s jacket was somewhat akin to a safety blanket, drowning Y/N’s figure and making her feel like a cake topper next to the tall wolf hybrid. 

Jeongguk had already wandered off on his own, and it was hard to make him out in the darkness since he was both dressed in all black and he had shed his antlers again. 

“I swear, I wasn’t in on this. Your outfit isn’t warm enough, and obviously being here is making you uncomfortable,” Namjoon lamented, Y/N snorting at his insistence of his innocence. 

“I’ll be fine. Just hold my hand,” Y/N reached for her wolf hybrid, hooking her index and middle fingers around his thumb and shivering at the spark that resulted in the contact.

Namjoon made a noise in the back of his throat. Not moments prior, Y/N clocked the way Namjoon’s ears drooped sideways: he was uneasy, too. Her wolf hybrid was amongst the bravest of her boys, but with the amount of intense horror movies Jeongguk was making her and Namjoon watch that week, Y/N thought his trepidation was quite a natural outcome.

“You suspect I’m going to trip on something, don’t you?” Namjoon grunted resentfully, though he adjusted his grip swiftly so the entirety of Y/N’s hand was completely engulfed by his. 

“Watch your step. If she goes down with you, you’ll fucking crush her,” Jeongguk called back, Namjoon’s chest rumbling deeply– while simultaneously squeezing Y/N’s fingers in a vice. “Wait. You have something to record audio with, right?”

“He thinks it’s amateur hour,” Namjoon seethed, jaw pulsing when he waved his Walkman around for the elk hybrid to see.

 “Jeongguk, this is too much. It’s cold and damp out here, why can’t we just go to the bar?” Y/N complained, attempting to save her evening of dodging shadows and being smothered by her wolfish security detail. “We can come back during the day, when the sun can warm us…”

“I’ve told you, Y/N, your pouting doesn’t work on me. You’ll be glad we did this, you know,” Jeongguk replied promptly, speaking around the toothpick in his mouth. Y/N scowled at him, watching her elk hybrid bend to his knees to set up a tripod by a crumbling monument. 

“What are you even looking for tonight, hmm? The spirit of Sam Adams?” Y/N let Namjoon tug her along with defeat, though her mood brightened when she earned chuckles from both of her hybrids. 

“Yeah, I bet you two would love that,” Even under the darkness of night, Y/N could see Jeongguk’s wide eyes rolling back. She was just putting on a show, standing stiffly beside Namjoon with her lip jutting out in a false pout, but by some Samhain miracle, Jeongguk physically seemed to soften in response. “Give me like, an hour of your time. The bar will still be open after.”

“Oh, really?” Y/N cheered, relieved that Jeongguk wouldn’t be conducting a four hour long investigation. “You promise?”

Letting go of Namjoon so the wolf hybrid could place his recording device on a nearby boulder, Y/N gently smacked her chilly palms against Jeongguk’s cheeks and pressed. The action had his lips puckering, the hoop through his lower lip pressed against her thumb, and his eyes as wide and round as they could possibly get. His tapered ears fluttered and stilled, like caught prey, and without his antlers, Jeongguk looked a lot like his least-favorite nickname. 

“Leggo ‘e,” Jeongguk attempted to talk with his lips still pursed, one of his inked hands wrapping around her wrist once the shock wore off. Grinning, Y/N released the elk hybrid, who inelegantly rocked backwards– ass landing on the heels of his combat boots. “You gotta stop doing that outta nowhere.”

“But you look so cute when I surprise you… so no, I won’t stop,” Y/N stuck her tongue out at him, his camera sitting in his lap, forgotten. “Okay, you’re on the clock. 58 minutes left and I’m out of here.”

Shivering like he was trying to shake off tension, Jeongguk squared his shoulders and resumed adjusting his camera. Fortunately, the dimness of the evening saved Jeongguk from being caught with reddened cheeks. 

“What’s my task tonight?” Y/N straightened up, suddenly paranoid she was standing on a grave. 

“Honestly?” Jeongguk cocked his head, expression turning wry again. 

“God help me. Yes, honestly.”

“You’re kinda here as bait. Since you’re witchy and all these dead guys weren’t really okay with that,” Jeongguk admitted, Y/N’s jaw hanging loose. 

“Oh, spectacular. Did you bring some rope to tie me to a stake and light a match? Maybe you’ll attract the apparition of Cotton Mather!” Y/N growled, pretending to paw through the elk hybrid’s equipment bag for a yard of rope. 

“Jeongguk, this is a new low, even for you,” Namjoon interjected, placing a heavy palm on Y/N’s shoulder– protective alpha wolf tendencies. “I’ll stay with you, Y/N. You can do the audio with me.”

“But…” Jeongguk hummed, Namjoon’s fluffy gray ears twitching in agitation. “If she’s alone, she’ll probably get better results herself. Just sayin’.”

“Unfortunately, he’s right. Whatever. I’ll walk around for a bit and just feel things out, okay? And you are so using your money from the last investigation to buy me a basket of fries at the bar after,” Y/N was able to cut Namjoon off before a spat occurred, hoping her carefully constructed “messy” going out updo wasn’t a pigeon’s nest by then. 

Muttering, she swiped a recording device from Jeongguk’s bag, marching off in no particular direction to avoid Jeongguk’s smug grin– and Namjoon’s raised hackles. The chunky heels of the boots she was wearing were sinking into the mud and grass as she walked, making sure to stick to the main paths winding through the cemetery. 

It was somewhat of a challenge to not be creeped out, Y/N definitely picking up on spiritual energy and the thinning of the veil during Samhain, so entities could more easily communicate with the living. Additionally, the lack of her physically intimidating wolf hybrid posing as a bodyguard glued to her side had her flinching at the slightest of sounds. 

The graveyard was large enough that she couldn’t hear Jeongguk or Namjoon asking their usual investigation questions, which wasn’t comforting, either. Swallowing, Y/N switched her recorder on, slowly passing by a tomb with a weeping stone angel affixed to the top. There was a bench beneath an oak tree, looking over the cemetery, where Y/N decided to pause and take a crack at an interview. With Namjoon’s jacket wrapped around her snugly, she relaxed a tad when she could smell his scent. 

As always, she started with breaking the ice– not by giving out her name, of course– listening to the static coming through the device sitting in her lap. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to interpret any of the audio until she and Namjoon hooked it up to his production program, so really Y/N was having a one-sided conversation in a field full of the unseen dead. All the while, she kept one eye on her watch, finally switching off the recorder after 40 minutes of repetitive questioning. Though the sherpa-lined denim jacket she was loaned kept her top half warm, her nearly bare legs were chilly and she was ready to drag Jeongguk to the van by one of his Bambi ears. 

Oddly enough, beams cutting through fog from two other flashlights were nowhere to be found once Y/N stood from the old bench. Chewing her lip, anxiety began to tighten her chest as she debated whether or not to call out either of their names. On one hand, Jeongguk would be pissed if she interrupted a recording of his, and on the other, Namjoon’s fury would be cold and quiet if he found out she didn’t call for him when she was scared. Neither outcome seemed desirable, and put her in a tight spot. Typical. 

Deciding to just meet her two hybrids at the front gates, close to the van and the well-lit street, Y/N picked up the pace and retraced her steps as best she could. Acutely more aware of her surroundings without knowing exactly where her companions were, Y/N was at least grateful she was up-to-date on all of her spiritual protection, so were the missing hybrids. Even still, there was that eerie sensation of being followed nagging at her. 

Though every instinct in her was begging to break out into a full sprint, when she heard wet gravel squelching behind her Y/N immediately paused; like a rabbit frozen in the face of a predator. Holding her breath, her mind automatically began to loop protective phrases, the only thing audible being the blood rushing in her ears. Was there a rustling in the nearly-bare trees, or were there whispers coming from behind her? Balling up her fists, Y/N geared up to make a purposeful beeline to the gate– which was almost in sight– however, she only made it about two steps before a yelp from her pierced the quiet night sky. 

Wiry, cold fingertips from behind dove into the base of her updo, nimbly grasping the hair stick holding everything together just to yank it free. Two things shocked Y/N the most: first, the weight of her hair falling around her, and the ping of the hair stick clattering to the gravel. All things happening in a matter of nanoseconds, Y/N’s brain processed so slowly that she was defenseless. 

As soon as she yelped and her body began to flinch, two strong arms wrapped tightly around her middle, a large body crooking over hers. Utter horror crashed down over her head, and she was positive she was screaming bloody murder as the grip on her waist got stronger. 

“Boo,” a pair of warm– not ghostly– lips grazed the shell of her ear, and Y/N choked on air, a breeze rolling by bringing a familiar scent along with it. “Gotcha right before you ate shit on the grass, too.”

Jeongguk’s presence wasn’t instantly recognizable because his leather and musk scent was lacking the usual tobacco edge, since he wasn’t smoking as much. The fear that took over was promptly replaced by astonishment and fury, and Y/N began to fight her way out of Jeongguk’s embrace, his deep chuckle in her ear. In retaliation, she scraped her nails over the tattoos clasped over her sides, his forearms actually overlapping on themselves due to squeezing her so hard, making him laugh louder. 

“Let GO, Jeongguk! You scared the piss out of me! Let go!” Y/N’s struggles were futile against the hybrid’s brute strength, so she pretended to go limp so he’d let her go. With a snarl, she realized he was probably giggling at her heart thundering in her chest. “What the fuck? I thought you were a rapist!”

“Do you really think anything could happen to you while we’re here? Please,” Jeongguk scoffed, the sharp point of his nose nudging her earlobe playfully. “Again. Weren’t you the one who encouraged scary pranks this time of year, kiddo?”

“Ugh. Get off,” Y/N groaned, her cheeks flaming. All of her boys had a magical ability to talk her out of being annoyed with them, and they all knew it. “You owe me two drinks now, the basket of Cajun fries, and I get to smush your face whenever I want, no complaints.”

“Sure…” Jeongguk eased himself off of Y/N slowly, ignoring the red scrapes marring the back of his hands. “I’ll add it to the list of your requests, your highness.”

“Fuckin’ little shit,” Y/N grit her teeth, finding it unfairly devastating how insanely hot he looked, cocky and satisfied, his dark eyes somehow still sparkling at night. “We’re going. I wouldn’t blame Namjoon if he left you here, you know.”

“Thinking about it,” a new voice joined the conversation, though it was low to the ground. Casting a look towards her feet, Y/N watched her wolf hybrid bend and gingerly pluck her forgotten hair pick from the gravel. “I take back my earlier statement. This is the new low, Jeongguk.”

Y/N was about to violently nod in agreement as Namjoon stood, towering over her, but something made her eyes narrow as she glanced up at him. Jeongguk, now an onlooker, tried to school his expression when Y/N gave Namjoon a deliberate once-over, the girl even stepping away to get a full view. The elk hybrid had to bite on his fist in order to be successful. 

“Hold it. You said you weren’t in on this!”

“I’m not!” Namjoon’s eyes went wide, Y/N snatching her hair stick from him suspiciously. Blinking rapidly, the wolf hybrid pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, awkwardly shifting the gear bag higher up onto his thick shoulder. 

“Joon. Your left ear is droopy, and your tail is stiff. Besides, you keep fiddling with your glasses and your voice is all high like when you’re nervous in public. You knew he was gonna pop out on me like that,” Y/N listed off, ticking each point on a finger pad. To distract her, Namjoon made a quiet, pitiful canine whine, offering the hair stick to her as a peace offering– but Y/N wasn’t easily bought. “Joonie. You’re sweating.”

“S… so?” Namjoon spluttered, forcing himself to look into Y/N’s eyes. Sucking in his cheeks, Namjoon made a last-ditch effort to seem innocent before releasing a ragged sigh. “Aw, come on, sta–”

“March your butt to the driver’s seat before I peel out of here myself,” Y/N cut Namjoon off with (an admittedly adorable) huff, stomping in the direction of the van and not wanting to hear Namjoon’s term of endearment for her while she was still ticked. 

Jeongguk, at that point, couldn’t help but snicker wickedly, brushing past Namjoon in triumph. That, and the sight of Y/N storming away, being nearly eaten alive by Namjoon’s coat, was quite the sight. 

“Do… Do you still want to go to the bar?” Namjoon asked delicately, once he stumbled into his seat in the van, the equipment bag stuffed hastily behind him. The grunt coming from the booth told Y/N Namjoon might have aimed it too close to Jeongguk’s shin. 

“Yes,” Y/N replied haughtily, still feeling the heavy grip Jeongguk had on her. He had been bulking up for the winter… “You guys are mean. I meant to prank each other, not me.”

“That sounds a little unfair, no? Can’t take the heat or something?” 

“You guys are pulling fast ones over me constantly, 12 months a year. Can’t take the heat? Please. I’m a champ,” Y/N accused, sticking her tongue out at Jeongguk in the back seat. He just smirked knowingly, which had Y/N’s mind going in the direction his probably was, eliciting a sharp cough from her throat. “Fine. I guess I should be a good sport, I’m the one who started this.” 

With that, Y/N began to get a little too warm, so she began to unbutton Namjoon’s jacket to strip it from her. Her ears perked up instantly when Namjoon began to growl softly, sending a spark of excitement through her. The mood developing was starkly different than the one that had just dissipated, one wired and charged, and there was no doubt the two hybrids felt it with a certain heightened intensity.

“Keep it on. It’ll be cold at the bar,” Namjoon requested, the gruff authority making her spine straighten out instinctively. However, petulance won. 

“No, there will be a ton of people in there. I don’t want to be hot,” Y/N refused, deciding to ignore the two of them filling the van with their intensity by flicking through her phone. Namjoon didn’t like his protective (possessive?) requests to be denied, and Jeongguk didn’t like to be ignored. Y/N, truthfully, was still aggravated; neither of them apologized for plotting to terrify her. 

The bar was only around the block, so she didn’t ice them out for too long. In the five minutes it took for Namjoon to find a parking spot, she could tell he was feeling remorseful due to the sad thumping of his tail against the car door when he hastily opened it for her, his ears sideways. From that position, she was nearly eye-level with him, and he was brave enough to drink in her expression. 

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

“Make it up to me?”

Namjoon perked up just a degree, looking down at her through his eyelashes. Millions of possibilities flooded through the wolf hybrid’s mind, but conscious of the fact that he was blocking half of a sidewalk, he made a decision. With an arm around her waist, Namjoon helped her out of the van, and before she was too stable on her feet, he pressed his lips to the center of her forehead gently. Y/N hummed lightly, too pleasantly surprised to be embarrassed several pairs of eyes were on her. 

“‘M sorry we scared you,” Namjoon murmured, his chin resting on the crown of her head, body awkwardly bent. Giggling, she ruffled his starlight hair, Jeongguk interrupting by sliding the side door open. “Let’s go in. I’ll buy you the first drink.”

“Hey, that’s supposed to be me,” Jeongguk spun on the heel of his combat boot, already at the bar’s entrance. The sound of rock music and jovial conversation pulsed from behind the door. “Yeah. Sorry, kiddo.”

“Okay, okay, I forgive you. Hey, let Namjoon go in first. His height parts crowds, we’ll get to the bar faster,” Y/N yanked Jeongguk back by his belt loop, Namjoon shouldering by with reddened ear tips and his dimples creating deep craters in his cheeks. 

“After yo–”

Y/N stopped holding the door open when Jeongguk placed a hand on the wall beside her face, reached up to boop her nose, and then leaned in to whisper: 

“I’m only sorry I didn’t film your reaction.”

“Oh, you motherfucker!”

Please do not repost or translate my work. Thank you!

[mint-yooxgi]

Kinktober Day 29 - Demon!Seungcheol + Knife & Asphyxiation

@chaoticrapavini Said: Gurllllllll you know I don't be asking on here often so if I do this wrong don't attack meeee! Kinktober is upon us, and Demon Scoups with some knife play, maybe him being choked, and a lil blood never hurt anyone. Go wildddd🤭 pwetty please 🥰 A/n: So, this one turned out way more angsty than I ever intended, but I kinda like it. Ngl, I think it's really interesting, so I hope you like it! Might not be the smuttiest prompt, but I think the plot makes up for it lmaoo Warnings/Genre/Rating: 18+ MDNI - Smut, Mature, Established Relationship, Possession, Monster Features, Blood Word Count: 1,990 Kinktober 2024 Mini Masterlist

Dark clouds line the sky, a dull grey mist permeating the air. The cool dampness of the rain settles onto your skin, sinking deep into your bones and causing you to shiver. Around you, the cemetery is empty, the crunching of leaves and dead grass beneath your feet offering you company as you walk through the graves.

A loud caw is heard behind you, followed by the familiar sound of wings fluttering. A breeze drifts by, and you watch as an unkindness of ravens fly over your head. As they begin to circle overhead, a smirk pulls at the corner of your lips.

Still, you continue on as if it were nothing. 

The ravens follow your path deeper into the cemetery. They act almost like your own personal guardians as you finally reach the section that you’ve been looking for.

The large doors creak as you push them open, the faint light of the sun hidden behind those ever obstructing clouds filtering in. Dust floats through the air as you step inside, a stone alter resting in the centre of the room. Walking around to the opposite side of the slab, you let out a low breath.

The sound of fluttering wings echoes from behind you, an ominous presence suddenly at your back.

A moment of silence.

“I’m surprised you came.” You keep your voice low, a tone of indifference filling the tomb.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” His deep reply nearly has a shiver caressing your spine.

You round on him, a firm look resting on your features. No matter how happy you are to see him, you cannot ignore the ache in your heart. “It’s been several months, Cheol.”

He winces, body tense. “I know.”

Shame courses through his veins, averting his gaze to the side. His large wings seem to droop behind him, the dark purple, almost black feathers glinting in the faint light that cascades through the open doors.

He hardly looks any different from the last time you saw him. Same shaggy black hair framing his sharp features. Dark brown eyes which still seem to hold the stars inside of them despite how dull they appear. Even his clothes - black jeans, a t-shirt, and his signature leather jacket - still fit him perfectly. Enough so that you can just make out the muscle hidden beneath.

“I missed you.” The words are but a whisper on his lips, yet they fill the empty space with the intensity of a siren going off.

Your eyes fall shut, swallowing your building emotions. “You shouldn’t have.”

“But I did.” He counters. “Not a day went by without you on my mind.”

You purse your lips. “A lot has changed since we last saw each other, Cheol.”

“Do you no longer feel the same?”

You cannot deny the way that the hint of panic in his voice makes your heart squeeze painfully inside of your chest.

“No, it’s not-“

“Tell me what I can do.” His words come out a bit frantic, footsteps echoing against the stone walls as he rushes over to your side. “Tell me what I can do to make it better. To fix things between us. I can’t lose you again.”

“Don’t-“ Your breath hitches in your throat, tears pricking at your eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” His brow furrows, attempting to get you to even look at him once more. “Why not?”

“Because it’ll only make things harder.”

“Make what harder?” He takes another step forward, hand settling on your shoulder gently to try and coax you to turn towards him.

“This.”

In the blink of an eye, you have him pinned to the alter by his throat. Your fingers squeeze against the sides of his neck, the tip of a dagger suddenly pressing against his chest. You can feel the furious beating of his heart as he looks up at you with wide eyes, lips parted in shock. The worst part is that he doesn’t even attempt to fight back.

You can feel his throat bob beneath your hand as he swallows thickly, his eyebrows drooping in sadness. The fact that there seems to be a clear notion of acceptance and understanding held within his gaze only makes your hands begin to tremble.

A single tear spills down your cheek, soon dripping onto his skin.

“Do it.” 

His words catch you completely off guard, fingers tightening subconsciously around his neck.

You bite your lip.

“If I am to die by anyone’s hand, it is a blessing to be felled by your own.”

A broken sob escapes your throat, and you push yourself off of him. The dagger in your hand clatters to the floor as you press yourself against the wall. Slowly, you shake your head, sliding to the ground as more tears spill from your eyes.

“I can’t-“ You hiccup. “I can’t do this.”

Not even a second goes by until Seungcheol appears crouched in front of you. Gently, carefully, he reaches out for you, cupping your cheek in his hand.

Lifting your tearful gaze, you meet his own.

“Please-” You choke on your words, hands still trembling as you hold them in front of yourself. “Don’t make me do this.”

Immediately, Seungcheol wraps you in his arms, his wings coming to surround you both. The deep purple feathers offer their protection, shrouding you in his touch and letting you know that he’s right there. That he will always be right there.

“Shhh,” Gentle hands caress your back, tucking your head beneath his chin. “I’m right here. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I’m right here.”

Another sob escapes your lips, and you find yourself clinging onto him for dear life.

“They want me to bleed you-“ Your hands tighten over the leather of his jacket. “They want me to bleed you, and present them with your blood.”

Seungcheol inhales sharply, his arms pulling you in closer as his wings tighten around the both of you. He knows how difficult your choices have been lately, your life having taken a drastic turn since meeting him. You both knew the dangers of being together, but love had blinded the both of you since the beginning. Now, faced with the cold, hard truth of the matter, Seungcheol regrets ever leaving you on your own.

He should have stayed. There is no doubt in his mind. Maybe then they wouldn’t have dared to sink their grimy claws into you like this. He thought things would be okay. All the little check-ins he made to you, ensuring your safety… he never realized just how bad things had gotten.

There is no one to blame but himself.

Taking a deep breath in, Seungcheol steels his resolve. He knows what has to be done, and he will gladly spend the rest of eternity atoning for his sins. Especially when they involve you.

“What are you doing?”

Your voice manages to pull Seungcheol out of his thoughts, his hand now holding your previously discarded dagger. The way your gaze keeps darting from the cold steel, to his face and back, with fear in your eyes, has him smiling at you assuringly.

“Relax, Angel. I told you I would never hurt you, and I fully intend to always keep my word.” His tone is soft, soothing over you as he comes to kneel before you. A blink, and he’s flipped the dagger in his hand, offering you the handle once more. “They’re expecting you to deliver my blood, are they not?”

“Well, yes, but-“

“I will gladly bleed for you, My Love.”

The sincerity you see shining within his dark gaze has your lips clamping shut. Hesitantly, you reach for that dagger, searching his eyes for any sign of deceit. Knowing him, though, and how he has always been with you, you know that Seungcheol is telling nothing but the undeniable truth.

Everything he is always, and will always, belong to you.

“You don’t have to do this.” Lightly, you shake your head at him.

He simply smiles at you in response. “I want to.”

“But what if I don’t want you to.” You swallow your emotions, hand tightening over the pommel of the dagger.

Carefully, he reaches out to place his hand on top of yours over the handle. A soft expression rests on his features, eyes kind and reassuring.

“Trust me.”

Taking a slow breath in to steady your nerves, you nod your head.

In an instant, Seungcheol forces your hand forward and plunges that dagger deep into his chest. A flurry of wings and feathers surround you, ravens suddenly filling the space of the empty tomb. Their screeches reverberate against the stone, a rush of black filling your vision and forcing you to look away. All you can feel for the moment is the slow drip of warm blood coating your hand.

Your fingers tighten on that pommel, an indescribable ache erupting within your heart. Your lips fall open in a pained cry, but no sound escapes you. Tears cascade down your cheeks, and you try desperately to remove that dagger from his chest. However, with the commotion around you, and your overwhelming emotions, it makes it hard to see, let alone think.

Then, as if the world around you has stopped, the tomb goes eerily quiet.

You haven’t even realized you had closed your eyes until you’re blinking them open. There is no more warmth oozing onto your hand, grip suddenly feeling empty as you tremble like a leaf upon the ground. Once your vision clears, you nearly choke on another sob.

There, leaning against the alter with his arms crossed casually against his chest, rest Seungcheol. Vials of blood line the top of the stone beside him, your dagger resting lightly to their right. Not a single spot of red can bee seen on the blade, nor on his shirt as he smiles at you softly, his wings fluttering lightly behind him.

Not a single feather litters the ground, nor is there sight or sound of any remaining ravens.

Your lips part, a shaky exhale escaping you, “How…?”

“A lot has changed since we last saw each other, My Love.”

The way he repeats your own words to you from earlier has a gasp escaping your throat. Without wasting another second, you scramble to your feet, practically flinging yourself into his awaiting arms.

“Don’t ever do something as reckless as that again!” You scold him, breath stuttering as you hug him tightly. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“Nah,” He chuckles lightheartedly, hand soothing over your spine, “You can’t get rid of me that easily. What do you think I’ve spent all of this time away from you doing?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know? You- you overgrown chicken!” You smack his chest a few times for good measure.

Small ‘ow’s escape him with each hit, chuckling fondly as he wraps his wings around you once more. The corner of his lips quirk upwards as you bury yourself into his embrace, fingers curling into the material of his shirt and clinging to him for dear life.

“I’m sorry I made you worry.” He says softly, placing a tender kiss to the top of your head. “I promise I’m here for good this time. I’m not going anywhere, and if I do, you are most certainly coming with me.”

“Damn straight.” You sniffle, bringing a hand up to wipe at your eyes. A firm poke is given to his chest. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I know,” A low hum escapes him as he quickly flips your positions. Gently, he lifts you onto the stone alter, settling himself between your thighs. His hands smooth over your sides, a dark gleam shining within his eyes as he slowly sinks to his knees before you. “For now, why don’t you let me make it all up to you.”

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS:

💀 HADES: God of the Dead and Riches 💎

author's note: I had a sudden idea about writing some headcanons Camp Halfblood demigods being claimed and what it's like for each respective god and cabin, followed by a small blurb afterwards. Thank you for reading and please like and reblog! The order is not in order of the cabin numbers. [PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS MASTERLIST]

You’re not claimed in a way like the others. Instead you come across a pale faced boy with black hair, dark bags under his eyes, and a leather jacket. The ensemble he wore screamed something to you and he introduced himself to you as Nico, child of Hades. And you’re one of his half-siblings. 

Whether you’re like him, a child of Hades displaced out of time before the Oath was made after WW2, or a child born after the oath was rescinded, Nico has been finding any Hades’ demigods he could find. If you didn’t know better, you would think it was his life mission.

When you arrive at Camp, whether Camp Half Blood or Camp Jupiter, people already know who your godly parent or blood is when Nico is with you, but the claim over your head is just icing on the cake. It is the sign of the cusp of fall and winter together, the silence that presides over it. 

People give you a wide berth of respect, awe and fear. Not surprising given how powerful Hades is. 

Regardless, Nico sticks by your side and helps guide you. He teaches you how to handle the dead and the more peskier ghosts, but ultimately, he doesn’t let you feel alone. You tell your story to him and he tells his.  

You’re also introduced to Hazel who seems the complete opposite of Nico but you realise that while children of Hades both stick together but are very independent. Solitary but not isolated. 

While it may be bothersome and sometimes unsettling seeing ghosts and spirits, there are perks; you can reanimate and see dead and loved animals. You always tell the doggos they are good boys. That or the hellhounds. 

“Hello Darkness, my old friend”- ‘The Sound of Silence’ by Simon and Gafunkel.

Regardless if you’re Greek or Roman, when people diss and don’t believe that the planetary Pluto is not a planet, you will get bad and they will know to never diss Pluto. 

Dried flowers, fungi, antiques, faded memories, abandoned buildings. Once filled with life and encompassed with what could be death. Many do not appreciate them but they open themselves to you, and you and your siblings remember them. You carry old, past clothes on your backs, you gently touch the dried petals of flowers with their faint smell still cling to you. You see the hands that touched the antiques, touches of human life. You see the abandoned buildings and know that they were built and housed life in them with their shelter. 

While you may be part of Death’s domain, you greatly cherish life; the people in your life and that help shape you. When you love someone, you love them to a beyond that transcends death. 

You know about shadow traveling as Nico helped you go through it. At the minimum, you can fold yourself into the shadows and be unseen like Hades, but at the most, you can travel to any place where shadows preside over. You find its easier to travel to places wherever Hades’ domain presides over; you can travel more easily to places of death (i.e. cemetery, battlezones, altars) and riches (i.e. mines, the world trade centre, places of great bounty, banks). A rare power of a child of Hades may call things forth from the shadows, whether its things you place into the shadows or using the shadows to your will. You can grab an objects’ shadow to your advantage or use your hands to create shadow shapes to ‘life’. It is rumoured that once, a child of Hades that possessed that skill was able to freeze a person with their shadow pinned by them, and was able to kill them by simply cutting off a person’s shadow. 

Like Hades, you may seem aloof and stern in matters, but on the other hand, this can be seen as fair and honourable. 

When the children of Hades gather in one place, you all give off an Addams' family vibe. The aesthetics, the attitude toward things. Hades is Gomez and Persephone is Morticia, you can guess where it goes from there.

You looked at Nico, who introduced himself as your half-brother. You tried to find the similarities you two shared and while it isn’t entirely physical, there is an air around him that draws you in. A solace if you will.  It’s been more than 70 years since your original time and now here you are, in the 21st century. You thought you had died and now you were here, breathing.  You could feel the anticipation turning into dread when you would eventually realize the math of your birth era and now.

It was a stark change from your time, yet in some sort of attempt to grasp your sanity, you started to find similarities, things that seemed to be the same from your time and this time. It calmed you down but also at the same time, you were a bit overwhelmed where your half brother had taken you. 

McDonalds, he said. You looked at the meal he had bought and inspected it. It was different yet strangely good? The soda-pop however, was entirely bizarre but still delicious (sickeningly sweet you thought).

You both ate your meal as Nico gave you a rundown of the situation. The existential weight of being children of Hades and Pluto was, especially after the creation of the Big Three Oath after the world war, and how it was absolved not too long ago in this time by a son of Poseidon. Then came the eventual appearances of deceased children of Hades and Pluto, which you found out were either killed in the wars, or were deliberately hunted down by Zeus and Poseidon; much like Nico and his sister Bianca. 

Nico tried to give you a rundown of what times are like now and their delicate situation, but even then, Nico wasn’t too knowledgeable given everything. 

Silence fell between the two of you, as you tried to process literally everything. You tried to speak but the knot in your stomach and the weight in your throat was getting heavier. It was becoming awkward and you looked at Nico, realising he too was out of his depth. You found some amusement that he really must be your brother if the two of you were both socially inept. 

You saw Nico open the two red box with the golden arches, before he took out the two toys. You looked at them, wondering really how the meals costed. Toys weren’t very cheap back in the day, and while you had a feeling manufacturing must’ve improved, to have a toy come with a meal must be costly…but you were sure of how much Nico paid as you watched him to get a handle on today’s currency. 

“So uh….which of the kids meals toys do you want?” he stammered. 

You stared at him with wider eyes as you saw him slowly shift in his seat in awkwardness. Everything came to a head as the hilarity of the situation dawned upon you. You started laughing as Nico looked at you like you had grown a second head. 

“I’ll take this one” you chuckled, taking the toy before wiping away the tears, “Thank you Nico.”

“I mean…I eat here pretty frequently-”

“I mean finding us” you said,  as Nico blinked at you owlishly. You placed a hand on top of his in a reassuring gesture. “You went through a lot and you’re just as young as us, yet here you are, finding the rest of us who may be wandering limbo and offering us toys.”

“Well…it’s not fair” he tried to play off. 

“None of it is fair,” you noted, “But this is.”

Nico stared at you before nodding. “We have to go to Camp to get you settled in,” he started. 

You hummed as you helped clean up, “Perhaps yeah…then where next?”

“What?” 

You smirked at Nico, “If you want to go alone, you can but if you’re going to find the rest of us, count me in.” 

“Are you sure? There’s a lot to digest.”

“Probably, but we’re demigods, I doubt things are going to be normal for a long time.”

[quiet-onset]

fever pitch

pairing: michael berzatto x reader

wc: 12.1k+, somebody sedate me

summary: an assortment of your time with michael berzatto

warnings: no use of yn, smut, so minors dni!!!, unprotected sex, sex under the influence, by ext. dubcon since reader is unaware at the time, oral (f receiving), drug use and addiction (character and reader), canonical character death/suicide mention, pregnancy mention (sorry not sorry), please do not read if any of this is triggering for you!!

a/n: beta’d by @brattylyricist bc she has no other choice than to put up with my bs!! also bc the content matter here is triggering and i have personal experience seeing the damage that addiction can do to someone you love, I’m including national hotline phone numbers here. please don’t be afraid to seek help if you need it: national suicide prevention hotline: dial/text 988, substance abuse and mental health services administration: 1-800-662-HELP. again, please do not read this if any of the warnings are triggering for you!!!

The day went by in a blur. You got up, showered, did your hair and makeup. You ate the little breakfast you could stomach. You put on an acceptable black dress and matching high heels.

You drove to the church — tried to sit in the back, but Sugar pulled you to the front pew, right next to her. You stood behind the lectern and said kind, loving words. You drove to the cemetery and watched as his casket was lowered into the cold. And you went to the repass, doing your best to stay out of Donna’s way, knowing how she gets when she’s both sad and under pressure. 

But you hadn’t cried.

You sat on the stairs with your wine glass filled with water as everyone mingled, exchanging condolences about your dearly departed. You let your heart ache as you downed the glass, stories of him being told by this person and that.

But you still hadn’t cried.

Donna burst out of the kitchen, her hair a bit disheveled and eyes red from crying. “Have you seen Carmy?”

You couldn’t help but let out a sigh. It must have been the seventh time she had asked. “No, Donna, I have not seen Carmy.”

“What a fuckin’ help you are.” She snapped, pulling a box of cigarettes from her apron. With her other hand, she snatched your empty wine glass and turned on her heel. “I do all this work, and I can’t even go outside to smoke.”

You followed close behind, huffing as you stood. “I thought Sugar was with you.”

“Sugar is with her.” The middle child interrupted. She gave you a weak, empathetic smile when you entered the kitchen behind Donna. A wine glass of her own in hand as she sat on the kitchen counter, she sipped on red wine. “But Sugar can’t cook.”

“Not like Carmy, you can’t. Get your ass off my fuckin’ counter, shoo!” Donna swatted at her daughter’s thigh until she hopped off the counter, snatching her half full wine glass as well. She downed the wine in a couple seconds, and you and Sugar shot each other a look. It was passing, but you both understood the meaning — Donna needed a break.

“She doesn’t have to cook, Donna. Just watch everything. Keep an eye on it, y’know?” You tried to intervene but she was having none of it.

“I don’t need an eye. I need hands! I need someone who can cook!” Donna threw the glasses into the sink, and you flinched when they shattered against the metal. “Fuck!”

“I’ll do it, Donna.” From the shakiness in her hands, you know she’s so close to losing it. To taking everything in the kitchen and throwing it on the ground, at the wall, at whoever she deemed worthy of having something thrown at them. “I know I’m not Carmy, but I’m better than Sug.”

“Hey!” Sugar sounded defensive, but you and Donna barely paid her any mind.

“You can’t fuckin’ cook, Sugar, get over it.” Her mother snapped. “I’d normally have Mikey do it, but he—”

“Ma.” You gently placed your hands on Donna’s shoulders, and a bit of the tension fell from them. You hadn’t called her that in a long time — it no longer felt right — but doing so made her recall happier times. You looked her in the eye, reassured her. “You go outside and smoke. I’ll take over for a few minutes, okay?”

Her eye twitched ever so slightly, and she was still shaking, but you could tell it grounded her a bit. “If everything else goes to shit, make sure the fish is good, alright?”

“Save the fish. Got it.”

Donna nodded, pulling a cigarette out of the box. Then she finally walked toward the exit of  the kitchen, twirling it in her hand. Just before she left, she glanced at you again, her voice shaky. “You.. you would’ve been good for him. If he’d let you.”

When Donna left, there were tears in your eyes. Sugar watched to see if you’d need comfort, especially after one of those tears fell from your eye. But you were quick to wipe it away, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You turned to Sugar, gesturing toward the sink filled with broken glass. “Could you…?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She was quick to do so, grabbing a paper bag to put shards in. You both worked in a comfortable silence. The only sound was the clinking of glass against each other. Sugar battled over whether she wanted to speak, but she figured if she needed kind words, then you definitely did. “Ma’s right, y’know. Michael lo—”

“Sug. Please.”

“Okay.”

There was a pause as you stirred a pot of stew, then you sighed. “I know he did. As much as he could anyway.”

—

Michael met you on a sober streak. He’d been clean for three weeks, the longest stint thus far. When Richie found out about his addiction, he dragged Michael to Narcotics Anonymous. You’re gonna die cooking at the restaurant or doing something cool, not fuckin’ OD, Richie had sneered in the car.

He sat in a chair, his arms crossed over his chest, grumbling like a child. Despite being sober for three weeks, he maintained that he didn’t need to come to these meetings. To Michael, this was just proof that he could quit whenever he wanted to. Regardless, Richie drove him to every meeting and planned to do so until he seemed ready to go on his own.

The host of the meeting, Brayden, greeted Michael with a kind smile, but he responded with a grunt. For three weeks, Michael sat silently in that circle and said absolutely nothing. He wondered what it took to get the man to speak, but of course, he’d never pressure anyone to share before they were ready.

Then you walked in. You seemed a bit more put together than others in the room, but still a bit shy. An oversized sweater wrapped around your frame, and you pulled it even closer, eyes glancing around the room. You nodded a greeting to Brayden before sitting in the circle across from Michael. When you noticed him glancing your way, you offered a friendly smile, and he returned it.

He knew then that he’d return to his weekly NA meetings.

The session started shortly after, but Michael was only half listening. He was mostly glancing back and forth from whoever was speaking to you. He liked the way you gave your full attention to every person who spoke, even when they said things you didn’t agree with — he could tell when you didn’t, a little crease would form for the briefest moment between your brows. But it always disappeared, and your attentive expression returned. 

“Alright, would anyone else like to speak? Someone new maybe?” Brayden asked, quickly glancing at Michael.

He’d never admit it, but his heart was pounding at the idea of airing out his dirty laundry to a group of strangers. He took a deep, nervous breath, but then another voice spoke up.

“I’ll go.” You said, watching the relief wash over Michael’s face. You cleared your throat, pulling your sweater closer as you introduced yourself. “I was in a car accident two years ago. It, uh, it killed my son… That plus divorce plus prescribed oxy apparently equals addiction.”

The slightly playful lilt in your tone made Michael chuckle quietly, though you both knew nothing was funny. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, your heart skipped a beat. Still, you continued, “I’ve been sober for two months, but my son’s birthday is coming up in a few months, so I, uh, needed a meeting. But yeah, that’s my story.”

After the meeting, you stood by the snack table, nursing a cup of coffee. Michael approached cautiously as he poured his own coffee. “Can I ask what his name was?”

You looked up from your paper cup into warm brown eyes. “Sorry?”

“Your son?”

“Oh.” You paused, and your heart sank at the reminder that your baby was gone. “His name was Benson.”

He snorted into his coffee cup, trying to hide his quiet laugh by clearing his throat. You noticed the light in his eyes, and it inexplicably made a smile pull at your lips too. “Sorry.” He said. “Benson’s a great name.”

“It’s a dorky name. Dorky first name, anyways. It’s what his father wanted.” You confirmed with a chuckle. “But it was my son’s name. So I liked it.”

“Course.” He smiled at you kindly. He was charming, and you liked it. “I’m Michael, by the way.”

You gave him your name and shook his hand. You went against your better judgment and invited him to your place. You both spent all night wrapped in your sheets, in each other’s embrace. He left for work the next morning but not before getting your phone number. 

You texted Michael and arranged to meet up again that night. Then, you called your sponsor. 

That was the beginning of the end.

—

“Cousin, your girlfriend’s here!”

“Not his girlfriend, Richie.”

“Not yet.”

“Send her back!” Michael’s voice floated in from the back of the kitchen.

You sidestepped Richie and walked through the kitchen, saying your hellos to everyone. “Where’s he at?” You asked.

“The office.” Tina answered, lightly nudging you in his direction. “He’s not having the best day.”

You nodded your understanding and proceeded to the small office where Michael was leaning back in his chair, hand over his face as he spoke into his cell phone. “No, I just don’t understand why we keep talking about the same shit.”

You leaned against the doorframe, giving him a small smile. He gave you the tiniest acknowledgment, a small wave, before spinning around in the chair to face the wall. You scoffed jokingly, closing the door behind you, “Well, fuck me, I guess.”

“Carmy, you’re a big shot in some fancy, five-star, European restaurant, what the fuck do you wanna be here for?” He asked exasperatedly. There’s a short pause, mumbling from the other side of the phone before Mikey throws a hand in the air. “Five star, three star, who gives a shit? Look, Carmen, you’re doing big things, good things. Stay in Europe. I gotta go.”

When Michael hung up, a long, tired sigh racked his body. “This would be a perfect time for—”

“One month.” You interrupted. You knew all too well where his mind was headed. He was spiraling into that dark, secluded state of mind you’d found him in just a few weeks after you met. He’d relapsed after a particularly hard day at the restaurant, something about finances and paying back a loan that he refused to tell you more about. But you’d helped him then. Picked him up, dusted him off, and called his sponsor — Started him back on the path of sobriety again. If you could help it, he’d never reach that lonely place again. 

“One month.” He repeated to himself. Then, he spun around. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You walked over to him, standing between his spread legs. He immediately rested his forehead on your belly, groaning when you carded a hand through his hair. Your other hand rubbed circles into his back, the tense muscles a sharp contrast to his soft black locks. “I take it that was your brother?”

He grunted affirmatively. “Keeps askin’ to work here.”

“At The Beef?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, isn’t he a professional chef? Why don’t you let him?”

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re supposed to be on my side.” He grumbled, pulling you down to sit on his thigh. 

“I am on your side.” You chuckled. You took your thumb and rubbed gently at the spot between his eyes until the frustrated crease disappeared. “‘M just saying, he’s a trained chef, this is a restaurant. I don’t get what’s not adding up for you, baby.”

Michael sighed, looking up at you. He brushed a stray hair from your face and smiled up at you. You smiled back encouragingly, patiently waiting until he found the right words. “Carm doesn’t know.” He admitted.

“Carm doesn’t know…?”

“About the painkillers. And I don’t know if I’m ready to tell him.” His brow furrowed once more, making you frown. “I mean, he’s got three Michelin stars. The kid’s a fuckin’ genius in the kitchen — he doesn’t need to be around all this shit, all my shit.”

You let his words sink in, deep in thought as you stroked his hair. Your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you thought about all the stories Mikey and Richie told you about the youngest Berzatto. How he could be quiet and unassuming, but, with a little encouragement, always came out of his shell around family and friends. Maybe, for Carmen, it wasn’t about the restaurant.

“Maybe he just wants to see you.” You said pensively. “I mean it’s been how long since he’s been home?”

A scoff passed Michael’s lips. “A long fuckin’ time.”

“Maybe the restaurant is a pretense. I mean, he would come work at The Beef and stuff, but maybe he just wants to see you again. Hang out with his big brother like he used to.”

His thumb stroked your thigh as he looked at you, silently admired the way you seem to come in and make all his problems melt away with a single thought, a word, a smile. “What about the whole bein’ an addict part?” He asked.

“You don’t have to tell him right away.” You suggested. “Baby steps.”

“You are too fuckin’ good to me, y’know that?” He grinned back at you. When you rolled your eyes playfully, he pinched your side, making you jolt and laugh. 

You pulled his arm around your waist, settling your hands at the nape of his neck. “So, you’re letting your brother work at the restaurant?”

“How ‘bout we just start with a visit, hm? I’ll tell him to come home for a week or somethin’, stay at mine.” He compromised. “Baby steps.”

“Oh, I’m so proud of you.” You cooed playfully, pinching his stubbly cheeks. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He swatted your hands away, leaning forward to press wet kisses to the column of your neck. He smirked as you suddenly ceased your pinching, bracing your hands on his shoulders. “You should let me return the favor, sweetheart.”

“Not in your office!” You gasped when he bit down on the juncture between your neck and shoulder before soothing it with his tongue. 

“Why not?” He chuckled, lifting you onto his desk. He probably should have been a little more worried about his records and papers getting folded under the swell of your ass, but all he could focus on was the small strip of fabric covering the part of you he wanted to devour. “Wouldn’t you prefer I be addicted to my girl than painkillers?”

“That’s not, ah,” You jolted above him, the sensation of his thumb pressing into your sensitive clit knocking you back to your elbows, “That’s not funny, Mikey.”

“What’s Brayden say?” He muttered, pulling your panties to the side. His fingers expertly tugs your lips apart, and he pressed a soft teasing kiss to your hood-covered button. “Humor’s my coping mechanic.”

“M-mechanism.” The correction came out in a soft moan. Just then, his words hit you — his girl. He’d never said that before. All the times you’d kissed, made out, had sex, he’d never called you his girl. You liked the way it sounded, the way it rolled off his tongue effortlessly. “Your girl?”

“Yeah.” He pulled away, his hands finding your calves as he looked at you. His brown irises held the tiniest bit of vulnerability in them, an emotion reserved for you and you only. “I mean, if you wanna be. Do you?”

You smiled and encircled his wrists, tenderly stroking his skin with your thumbs. It was a simple touch, but it made the hairs on his arm stand at attention. Strange how you always managed to do that. “Of course I do.”

“Good.” He exhaled. His large hands slid up your inner thighs, pausing at your core. With a gentle touch, he tugged your folds apart, watching the way your entrance fluttered. His mouth dropped open, and he let his saliva drip down onto your pussy, rubbing it into your clit with the pad of his thumb. “Now, get comfy, sweetheart, ‘cause I missed this pretty little pussy.”

—

“Where is it? Where is it? Where the fuck is it?”

You’d torn your apartment apart. Old storage boxes that gathered dust were now open and emptied. Your clothes were thrown all over the place. You managed to push the couch and check the floor, but you found nothing but crumbs and linty hair ties. 

Tears started to blur your vision, and your chest felt heavy, like the entire world sat directly on your lungs. Your breath was just as shaky as your hands that tugged at the roots of your hair. You ran to your mess of a kitchen and scrambled for your phone, typing the familiar number from memory.

Your ex-husband answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Where’s Eli?” You heard him call your name, but his confusion was the last thing on your mind. “Benson’s stuffed cow, Eli. Where is it? I can’t find it.”

He sighed, his voice lower and more scratchy than you remembered. He must’ve been crying, too, you thought. “How am I supposed to know?”

“You helped me move out. Did you take it? I swear to god—”

“I didn’t take the damn cow.” He snapped. “Do you think I’m that selfish that I would keep it from you?”

“I didn’t call to rehash our marriage, alright? I need Eli, okay? I need him.”

The line went silent. You both knew you weren’t talking about the stuffed animal anymore. He let out a deep breath. “Have you tried therapy?”

“I don’t need to pay a bunch of money to have someone tell me I need to get over the death of our child.” You hissed, scrunching your nose at the suggestion. 

“Have you been to his grave?”

You wiped your tears away, thinking about the cold, unfeeling stone that solidified your son’s death. You hadn’t seen it since the funeral. You took a shaky breath, “Do you have Eli or not?”

“I don’t.”

He tried to speak once more, but you already hung up. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe without this one piece of your son. Tears dropped onto your phone screen as you scrolled and scrolled through your contacts, finding the name you were looking for. The line rang three times before a deep voice greeted you. “What’s up?”

“I need to see you. Where can we meet?”

Hours later, Michael was walking toward his apartment building with Carmy. He’d been purposefully avoiding bringing up The Beef, and luckily Carmy didn’t push. Instead, his little brother decided to bring up the little stuffed animal that Michael had pushed into his jacket pocket. “So,” Carmy started quietly, “You startin’ a collection with that thing or…?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Michael laughed. He pulled the stuffed cow out of his pocket. “It’s my girl’s. Remember I told you about her son?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes she likes to talk to me about him. She brought this over to my place a few weeks ago to show me. Apparently, the kid was obsessed with cows.”

“No shit. Look at you, bein’ vulnerable.” Carmy chuckled in amazement, admiring his brother’s new relationship.

“Yeah, whatever. The, uh, anniversary of his death is coming up, and she’ll probably be wanting this, so you can meet her while you’re here if she’s feeling up to it. Sound good?”

“‘F course.”

When Michael unlocked the front door, he was met with chaos. The front door banged into the coat closet door, somehow left open with coats strewn across the floor. The rug in his living room was flipped over, and the couch was now far from the wall. Michael was only brought back to reality by the stunned woah that passed through Carmy’s lips.

Somehow, Michael knew. He wasn’t a mind reader, but he remembered that feeling. A feeling that bubbled in the pit of his stomach, traveling throughout his body until it pounded at his head. It was dread, hopelessness, not knowing how he’d find the strength to take another breath. He knew, and he needed to help you.

“Di-Did someone break into your house or something?” Carmy asked, closing the door behind him.

“Just stay here for a second, little brother, okay?” Michael’s voice was dismissive, preoccupied, as he followed the trail of despair into the kitchen.

And there you sat. Red eyes, swollen from crying. Head lulling from side to side and your heart almost numb enough to keep the darkness from creeping in and making a home, uninvited,  in the hole of your chest. Your arms circled around your knees that you’d drawn up to your chest, hugging them close. Maybe, if you squeezed hard enough, you could stop grieving and move on.

Michael approached slowly, like you were a wounded animal. “Baby?”

“I couldn’t stop myself.”

“We don’t have to—”

“Please don’t hate me.”

He crouched down in front of you, steadied your head with a firm hand on your cheek. His warm, calloused skin helped to ground the thoughts in your fuzzy head. He looked you in the eyes, bold and sincere, just as you had when he relapsed. “I could never hate you. Never, you hear me?”

You paused for a moment before trying to explain. “I couldn’t find Eli, and I just- I started going fucking crazy—”

“Eli?” He asked, pulling the stuffed cow from his pocket. “Sweetheart, I have Eli. You left him the time you came over a couple weeks ago, and I was gonna take him back to yours.”

Michael thought the knowledge would console you, warm your heart enough to give him just the tiniest hint of a smile. But you just threw your head back frustratedly, the impact against the wall causing a dull pain to crash through the back of your skull. “Fuck.”

“Baby, why—”

“I’m so stupid.”

“You’re no—”

Tears gathered once more. “If I had just called you… I’m an idiot.”

“Hey,” He regained your attention, this time with both hands holding your face steady. “You’re not stupid. You’re not an idiot. You just made a mistake, ‘s all.”

“I fucking relapsed, Michael.”

“I’ve relapsed, and look at me, huh? Picture of a healthy, law-abiding citizen.”

“Michael.”

“You’ll start over. Just like I did. Here, give me your phone.” You dug around in your pocket and pulled out your phone, handing it to him. He turned the screen toward you so you could watch as he scrolled through your contacts until he found your dealer’s name. Then, with zero hesitation, he blocked the number. “See? Good as new, yeah?”

If tears could show your appreciation, you’d have cried an ocean’s worth. But the most you could do was throw your heavy arms around his shoulders and press a chaste kiss to the base of his neck. To you, nothing you could ever do or say would be enough, but to Mikey? If he could take your burdens and make them his own, carry the weight of your world on his back, he’d do it without a second thought. Your appreciation wasn’t needed — only your love. And he knew he had that.

“Uh, Mikey?” Carmen’s voice called from the living room. “What the fuck is this?”

Michael reluctantly untangled himself from you for a moment, signaling for you to stay quiet. But you knew what was in there — you’d left the needle on his coffee table. Immediately, you could hear Mikey try to calm his brother down. “Carmen, it’s not what you think.”

“You sure? ‘Cause that looks like a fuckin’ needle. Jesus Christ, are you—”

“I’m not high, Carm, just listen for a second.”

“Listen to what?” His voice got louder, more angry. “Michael, are you fuckin’ serious? You know this family has… issues and this is what you do? Fucking shit!”

“Hey, relax, alright? You’re making a big deal out of nothin’.”

“Nothing? If you’re getting high, it is a big deal. A huge fuckin’ deal.” Carm pushed his brother on the chest, hoping it’ll knock some sense into him. And Michael, he just curled his fists, restraining himself. The last thing he wanted was to lose control on his own brother. Carmen took a step toward, pointing one accusatory finger.

But before he could get a word out, a small voice, your voice, stopped him. “It’s not his.”

Icy blue eyes met yours as he took in your disheveled frame. You stood in the entrance of the living room, leaning against the threshold to hold yourself up. The high was starting to wear off a little, but you still felt the lingering effects. You tried to give him a smile, but a weary sigh passed through your lips. “Hi Carmen. I’m sorry, this isn’t how I wanted to meet you.”

Carmen looked back and forth from you to Michael. His eyes narrowed as his breath started to even out, confusion replacing anger. “You’re the girlfriend, yeah?” He finally asked, confirming your name.

You nodded, gauging his reaction as he let it all sink in. “I had been sober for a while, so I asked your brother not to say anything. But today was- today was hard.”

“Right,” The younger brother nodded, finally taking a step back and pushing his hands deep into his pockets. “Uh, sorry for your loss, by the way.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“So, Michael isn’t… he’s not using…?” He knew the words, knew the question he wanted to ask. But he was so afraid, so terrified of what the answer might be.

You knew the answer. It would have been less than savory, admitting that Michael was also an addict and had relapsed more than once since you met. The truth was potentially earth-shattering for Carmen and Michael alike. You glanced over at Michael, at how he hid the fear from his eyes. Still, you see it. In the way his hand flexed at his side, and how he refused to look in your direction. It’s almost like he knew what was coming if you told the truth, that he might have lost his brother for good. 

That fear broke your heart. So, you lied. Took your blame and a little on the side. “No. No, just me.”

You excused yourself back to the kitchen to hide your tears. You hugged Eli close, burying the stuffed animal under your nose.

It smelled like Michael.

—

That fucking fork. 

Fuck forks. Fuck Christmas dinner. Fuck all seven fishes. Fuck Pete’s eighth fish. And, above all, fuck Michael.

Chaos ensued after Michael gave in to his self-destructive tendencies. He all but flipped the table over in an effort to fight. Fak was making sure Sugar and Pete got out unscathed. Carmy practically begged his mother to stay out of it, and she only relented when her eldest son started making taunting braying noises — she retreated to the kitchen with a cigarette and the bottle of merlot in hand.

You gave up trying to help Michael calm down when he wretched himself from your grip, nearly knocking you into a wall in the process. Richie rushed over to help steady you, and Carmy, over all the chaos, called your name, “Yo, are you alright?”

“Peachy.” You called back sarcastically, rubbing your sore arm.

Carmen then turned his attention to his brother. “Michael, shut the fuck up for two seconds, for fuck’s sake! If you don’t calm down, you’re gonna hurt someone!”

“Kinda the point, little brother.” Michael’s eye twitched as he glared at Lee. He tried once more to push past Jimmy to no avail.

“Yeah? Was hurting your girl part of the point, smartass?”

Michael turned to you, the anger in his eyes slowly overtaken with concern. He hadn’t meant to push you; he didn’t even know you were one of the people trying to hold him back. But that didn’t take back his actions. Your gaze went cold as you pulled away from Richie, pushing Michael hard on the chest. “I’m not his fucking girl anymore.”

Then, you hightailed it out of the house. Everyone went silent as you peeled out of the driveway, rubber squealing against pavement.

Richie watched Michael carefully, noticing how his brow furrowed and his chest heaved. He took a step toward him and dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Mikey,” Richie warned, “Don’t do anything stupid.” Michael pulled away and stomped his way up the stairs, leaving Richie to call after his best friend from the dining room. 

Over Richie’s voice, Carmen could hear his mother sobbing in the kitchen followed by the soft glug of wine as she turned the bottle up. And immediately, he followed after his older brother. Richie tried to stop him, “Cousin, he just needs a minute.”

“Yeah, just a minute?” Carmen replied dismissively. “Fuck off, cousin, he’s not a baby.”

He pushed open every door looking for Mikey. Finally, he came upon one door that wouldn’t budge, locked from the inside. Carmy pounded on the bathroom door. “Yo, what the fuck was that?”

“Go away, Carmen.” Mikey paced the bathroom floor, hands pulling at the roots of his hair. He wished he had an answer for his brother, but he came up short. Maybe it was pride, or ego, or his innate tendency to self-destruct, he couldn’t choose. So he just paced the floor, avoiding the sight of his own reflection.

“Mikey, you need to go downstairs and fix this shit, alright?” Carmy continued. “Ma’s drinking herself stupid, Sug’s a mess, your girl just fuckin’ left, c’mon man.”

“Hey, you think I don’t know that?” The older brother hissed.

He braced himself on the sink, finally looking up into the mirror. He looked disheveled, angry. His hair was messy from pulling at it, and the whites of his eyes had a red tint to them. One prominent vein pulsed in his forehead, and suddenly, the need set in. 

His head is fuzzy, brain pounding at his skull. So many thoughts, too many, clouding his head. He lifted his hand to push away a few strands of his hair, limp with sweat, and he realized that his hand was shaking. Even as he closed his fingers into a fist, it trembled like an earthquake. He blinked hard, eyes scrambling as he tried to think of a quick solution, a way to gather himself before he faced his little brother again.

Carmy was quiet as he started to think maybe he should have listened to Richie. “Mikey?”

No answer.

“Mikey, look, I’m sorry—”

The door flung open, and Carmy studied him. His hair was pushed back. His eyes were red, but Carmy assumed Mikey must’ve been crying. Everything seemed right, but there was something he couldn’t place. Something about his big brother that was very wrong. “Nothing to be sorry for, Carm.” Michael told him, one big hand on his shoulder. “I gotta go.”

When Michael started booking it downstairs, Carmy was quick on his trail. “Wait, go? Go where?”

Michael responded with a call of your name, “Gotta make sure she’s good.”

Carmy ran a hand through his golden brown locks as he followed his older brother out the front door. Their sister noticed the argument and followed them out the door, “Whoa, hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Sug, go back inside.” Michael stopped for the briefest moment to turn around and place a kiss on his sister’s forehead.

“He’s leavin’.” Carmy sighed frustratedly.

“He’s leaving?” Sugar turned to Michael. “You’re leaving?”

“Fuckin’ snitch.” Michael mumbled under his breath. He squeezed Sug’s arm with a tight smile, “I’m just goin’ to find my girl, okay? I’ll be back, I promise.”

“How are you even going to find her?” Carm scoffed.

“You know her password, right?” Sug asked her eldest brother. “I wouldn’t normally say this, but you could track her phone. Here, give me yours.”

“What about Ma?” Carmy threw his arms up in defeat. Michael was the one who started all that mess, and now that it was time to pick up the pieces, where did he go? Chasing you. Like always, Carm thought to himself. “You’re the only one who can get through to her when she’s all…” He waved his hands around as if the devastating words he was looking for would magically appear.

“Well, you’re home, ain’t you? She missed you — just sit with her till I get back, alright? I gotta go.”

And just as quickly Mikey was off too, running toward the closest train station.

If there were ever a time for oxy, that would’ve been it. But instead, you drove and drove and drove until the tank was damn near empty. You pulled into a parking lot and called your sponsor. She talked you down, persuading you to delete your dealer’s contact information in your phone. When the long conversation was over, you were still angry, furious even, but you’d at least lost interest in relapsing.

Knock knock knock.

You jumped in the driver’s seat when calloused knuckles tapped on the car window. Michael wasted no time in starting an argument. “What the hell were you thinkin’, leavin’ like that?” He yelled, voice only slightly muffled by the barrier.

“How did you even find me?”

“Sugar showed me how to track your phone.”

“You tracked my phone?”

“Open the fuckin’ door.”

You pushed the door open and got out of the car, deciding your best course of action would be to walk away from him. “Leave me alone, Michael.”

“Where are you goin’?” He was quick to follow you as you walked down the street, just a few strides behind.

“Leave me alone.”

“What’s the plan here, huh?” He asked. “You just gonna keep walkin’ till your feet fall off?”

“No, just till I’m away from you, Michael.” You retorted coldly.

“Hey, stop calling me that.”

“That’s your name!”

“Not to you! To you it’s Mikey, or baby, or my love, not fuckin’ Michael!”

“Fuck you, Michael!” You caught him off guard when you spun around, poking your index finger into his chest. “You couldn’t just let it be. You had to ruin Christmas for the whole fucking family!”

“Why do you care so much, huh?”

“Why do I— Jesus, do you even hear yourself? You do nothing but ruin shit for yourself for no goddamn reason! No one forced you to throw that fork!”

Michael scoffed and ran his hand over his lips, his warm breath evaporating into the cold air as he raised his voice again. “So we’re gonna pretend that’s why you’re upset? Because of the fork?”

“I’m upset because you ruined any chance at having a good Christmas with our family!”

“They’re not our fuckin’ family.” He laughed, though no traces of humor could be found in his eyes. “They’re mine! Okay? I’m the fuckin’ Berzatto, not you.”

Your eyes widened at his words. You parted your lips to retort, but he just kept going, slicing your heart in two with expert precision.

“You wanna act like the- the chaos bothers you, but you thrive on that shit — You’re just in a shitty mood because you miss your own family, and now that you can’t replace them with mine, you want some fuckin’ oxy to ease the pain, ain’t that right?”

Smack!

You’d never hit Michael before, never wanted to. Like any couple, you had your share of fights and passive aggressive comments. One thing you two never did, though, was weaponize your addictions against each other. It was an unsaid invisible line that had never been crossed until now. Michael Berzatto, the man you loved more than life itself, had never been so mean. At least not to you. 

It happened faster than you expected, your small hand reaching up and slapping across his stubbly cheek. He just stood there, eyes dark and slightly angry, but you weren’t afraid. You were furious, hot tears filling your eyes. “Fuck you.”

You slapped him again. And again. Then, you beat on his chest with your fists. Michael started trying to swat your hands away, but when that proved ineffective, he caught your wrists in his hands, yanking you into a nearby alley, away from the night’s few prying eyes. 

“Stop, stop.” He grunted when you landed another smack to his head, finally pinning you up against the nearby brick wall by your wrists. “Stop.”

“I hate you.” You spat.

“No, you don’t.”

You continued to fight against his grip, but he was strong and steady, keeping you in place as you continued to tell him how much you despise him. He knew he was wrong, but he refused to say it. After all the shit that went down that night with his family, with you, he felt like he was going crazy. It was like he was abandoned in the middle of the ocean in a boat with a tiny hole. And even though the hole was small, it was so methodically cut that water was pouring in like a faucet, and the boat was sinking. So he grabbed onto the only lifeline he was certain would be there: you.

You, with the most beautiful eyes that were now filled with angry tears. You, the hero of all his dreams and the victim in all his nightmares. You, whose heart was so broken, so crumbled when he met you, yet still managed to love him with all your being.

He loved you. 

It all hit him at once, and he gently pressed his lips to yours. You turned your head away from him, rasping out your hatred once more. “I hate you.”

“You don’t.” His voice was deep and rough, but the tone was soft. Was he even talking to you?

“Yes, I fucking do.”

His lips trailed across your jawline, wet kisses placed on his path. “No, you don’t.”

You hated how easily he was able to do this to you, like pushing a button. You were supposed to be angry with him. You were angry with him. But your body didn’t care about the argument. Your body slowly gave up the fight against his grip, wanting the heat that his touch produced, your emotions be damned. A few tears fell from your eyes just as a soft moan slipped past your lips, an instinctive response to the way Michael’s body pressed yours against the wall, his growing length pressed into your hip. 

He slipped a leg between yours, pushing his denim-covered thigh into your pussy. You could feel a wave of arousal soaking your panties. “You’re mean, Michael.”

“I know, baby. I know.” He admitted quietly.

He used his grip on your wrists to gently pull your hands to your breasts. He pressed your hands in before covering them with his own, helping you knead the sensitive flesh. Even beneath your layers, you could feel his touch, and it made you whimper. His deft thumb ran over your hardening nipples, and a soft groan tumbled from his lips. “Just let me make you feel good.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you noted his acknowledgement. And his lack of apology.

He kept up his movements, moving your hands to squeeze your breasts, pressing his thigh into your weeping pussy. Somewhere along the way, your hips began to rock back and forth on him. His brown eyes never left yours, even as you cried. It was strange, how your heart hurt so badly that tears fell freely down your face, but your body was pushed closer and closer to the edge.

Still, you gasped for breath as the pleasure began to creep out of your core. “Mi- Mikey,” You moaned. “Please!”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby. Let it all out.”

And it all came out at once, sobs pushing past your lips as euphoria crashed over your body in waves. You clenched around nothing, head tipping back to hit the brick wall. But you never felt the cold brick — one of Michael’s hands left your breast to cup the back of your head, the protective gesture juxtaposing the unending push of his thigh into your pussy to help ride out your orgasm.

Even as your orgasm faded away, your hips continued to buck against him. Your hands found a new home on his broad chest, trailing down, down, down until you felt the leather of his brown  belt. You wasted no time in unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans, sliding the zipper down so you could easily reach into his briefs and pull his cock out. He moaned at your firm grasp, hips bucking into your touch.

Everything moved much quicker now, more desperate than before. You stroked his cock, spreading his precum along the shaft. His forehead pressed against yours as he stared at the way your smaller hand worked him over, twisting over the head on every downward stroke. “Fuck, that’s good.” He groaned.

“Help me.” You whined needily as you thrust your hips against his thigh once more, hoping he’d get the message.

He nodded quickly, kneeling down in front of you. His big hands slide up your thighs under your jean skirt, flipping the rough fabric up over your belly. Your legs were covered by sheer black stockings, a layer of protection from the cold winter chill. But neither of you could bear to wait, to take them off properly. He tore a large hole in the crotch and pushed your panties to the side, muttering curses at how your arousal shone in the moonlight. 

“Perfect fuckin’ cunt, sweetheart.” He pushed his index finger through your swollen lips, collecting your juices before slipping into your twitching hole. “Can you take two for me?”

He didn’t bother to wait for an answer. He pushed his middle finger in on the second thrust, curving them to press on that spongy spot on your upper wall that you can never reach yourself. You cried out his name, and your back arched off the wall. His fingers were bigger than yours, thicker too, but they still didn’t fill you the way that you needed.

You whimpered when he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking firm and hard. “Want your cock, Mikey. Want- oh shit!”

Your orgasm was hard and unexpected, pulling you under before you could even tell him to fuck you. Your legs buckled, and you buried your hands in his thick, black hair to ground yourself. A muffled moan came from between your legs when you tugged on the roots, trying to pull him off your sensitive clit.

He finally relented, pulling away from you and pushing his fingers, soaked in you, into his mouth. He licked them clean without hesitation, only stopping when you tugged on his wrist. You pulled him in by his shirt, kissing him. It was deep and passionate, proving what you both knew to be true.

You didn’t hate him. Maybe you wanted to, but you didn’t. Or maybe couldn’t is the better word.

He cupped your face with both his large hands, wiping away any remnants of tears from your earlier sobs. His tongue licked into your mouth as you moaned, tasting the sweet tang of your juices in his saliva. You reached down to stroke his cock again, and he crowded you closer to the wall. “Want you inside.” You whispered.

“I know, baby.”

His open jeans impeded his efforts to get closer to you, buttons, zipper, and belt now in the way. His hands hurried to push the waistband of his open jeans down and out, ignoring how the frosty air raised goosebumps on his skin. His belt buckle jingled loudly, and something clattered to the pavement, but you could only focus on getting him inside you. His hands returned to your face, making you keep your gaze on his.

You pushed his cock through your pussy lips, let your arousal messily coat his shaft until it was all over your inner thighs. Both your panting was the only thing you could hear over the wet sounds of his length sliding between your swollen lips. You whined when the head of his dick bumped against your clit. 

“Guide me in, sweetheart.” He told you, eyes locked on yours. “Take what you want.”

His head, already weeping with precum, nudged at your entrance, and you canted your hips up until the first few inches sunk inside. You lifted your leg around his hip in an attempt to take more of him, but it wasn’t enough on your own. Finally, he pressed forward, fully sheathing his cock within your soft walls. All the while, Michael held your face between his hands, gazing deep into your eyes as you whimpered. “There you are.” He groaned softly. “My girl.”

Your heart twisted at his words. How could he even say that? After saying the most vile things to you, what made him believe that you’d still be his? He nudged his hips forward a bit, and the tip just barely kissed your cervix, shooting a strange blend of pain and pleasure up your spine. You shook your head, hands grasping at his arms to steady yourself. “No, I… I- fuck, Mikey, I hate you so much.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” You moaned pathetically, still seething, angry enough to lie through your teeth just to give him a glimpse of the pain he caused you. Your nails dug into the thick fabric of his coat as he began to move, thrusting in and out of your cunt. The alley practically echoed with squelching sounds, and anyone walking by would know what was going on in those shadows. But neither of you could bring yourselves to care, lips falling apart as your sensitive walls clamped down on his length.

“You don’t fuckin’ say that to me.” He repeated with a grunt, leaving the tiniest pat on your cheek to regain the attention of your eyes rolling in pleasure. “You love me. Know you do. ‘S — shit, you’re so tight — ‘s the only thing I’m goddamn sure of, you hear me?”

One hand left your cheek to wrap around your thigh, pulling your leg higher around his hip. He thrusted again with renewed strength before looking down to where you both connected. The sight made the pit of his stomach flip deliciously: the slightly tanned base of his cock coated with a creamy white ring, little strands of your wetness dangling between you both when he dared to pull his hips away. “Fuckin’ takin’ my dick so well, baby.” He bit his lip, his voice sounding almost entranced. “Squeezin’ like you don’t want me to leave.”

“Good thing I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He continued, groaning when your hands slid up his back and into his hair. You pulled hard, and his thrusts faltered ever so slightly. His other hand left your cheek to brace himself against the wall, and his head fell into the crook of your neck, puffs of his hot breath warming your skin.

“You can’t keep doing this shit, M-Mikey. Can’t take your shit out on me.” You mewled as he adjusted his grip on you, pushing you closer to the wall. He left you no space to squirm when his hips started to move faster, his cock bullying its way in and out of your soft, puffy folds to nudge against the spongy spot on your upper wall. You cried out as that unique sensation shot pleasure to every nerve ending in your body, “Fuck, right there!”

“I got you, sweetheart, that’s it.” He responded in kind, adjusting his stance just right so he could drag the notch of his cockhead along your G-spot with every thrust. “Right there, yeah?”

“Oh my god, don’t stop. You’re gonna make me come!”

Michael lifted his head from your neck, meeting your eyes again. They were dark, glazed over, as he slowed his hips, still moving but not enough to finish you off. You felt his cock twitch inside you, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until he flooded your insides with his release, but he wanted to hear you say it: he wanted you to take back your words. “Say you don’t mean it.”

Your pussy fluttered around him in tandem with the whine spilling past your lips. “Mikey—”

“You don’t hate me. You love me. Say it.” He punctuated each sentence with a nudge against your G-spot, soft and tempting.

“N-no, you,” You heaved out a shuddering breath when his fingertips met your swollen clit, rubbing in tight, slow, torturous circles. “You’re being unfair. You- oh my god, yes - you can’t be n-nasty to me and—” 

“Just say it for me, baby.” He mumbled against your lips. He was practically begging you to take it back, but, of course, Michael Berzatto would never stoop to such lengths. So, he kept rubbing your clit and nudging your G-spot, punching the breath out of you with his thick cock. “Promise I’ll make you come. I’ll make it so fuckin’ good for you. Just need to hear it.”

And, of course, as you always did, you gave in. “I didn’t mean it.” You admitted breathlessly. “I love you.”

The tension visibly rolled off his shoulders as his head dropped to your breasts, pounding your cunt as you moaned beneath him. “Fuck, I love you, too, baby. Love you so fuckin’ much, it hurts.” He groaned into your skin.

“Mikey, ‘m close!” You gasped, the assault on your cunt and clit too much to bear. 

“Wanna feel you squeeze my cock, sweetheart.” He huffed, nails digging into your thighs, your stockings providing no refuge from the dull pain. “Show me how much you love me, c’mon.”

And then, white-hot, earth-shattering pleasure. You nearly blacked out as you clenched around him, stars burning into supernovas behind your eyelids. Your fluttering walls begged him to stay buried deep inside you. Back arched against the wall, your breasts pushed closer to his face, and he didn’t bother lifting up, resting his cheek on the soft fabric that covered your warm flesh as he fell over the edge with you. He groaned out your name as he shot thick spurts of his warm, sticky come inside you. He knew he’d never come so much in his life, only lifting his head when he heard louder squelching noises from where you both connected. 

As he thrusted, slow and deep, the white creamy juices that once only circled the base of his cock dribbled out of your pussy, around the sides of his length. A bit slid down your thigh, and his eyes rolled back, reveling in how his balls pulsed with pleasure at the sight.

His whole body relaxed as you both rode out the waves of pleasure. As you came down from your orgasm, your head lolled to the side. Your eyes fluttered closed as you cherished his weight on top of you. When your eyes opened, your vision was still a tad blurry, but you blinked through the fog. 

There was something bright on the ground. It was small, cylindrical, and… red? No — it was orange.

“What’s that?”

Michael hummed in response, his speech a bit slurred. “What’s what?”

He lifted his head from your breasts, following your gaze. And he froze, eyes stuck on the tiny bottle of painkillers he’d swiped from his mother’s medicine cabinet after you left. It must have fallen from his pocket when he opened his jeans.

“Are you high right now?”

Michael almost cringed at your whisper. It was different from all your yelling and slapping and arguing before. You were just mad then, and he knew that he could win you over like he had a million times before. This time, it was sad. Cold. Disappointed. 

He wasn’t sure if he could come back from that.

You wriggled beneath him until you could push him away, watching him stumble a bit. He was no longer standing tall, a bit slouched, and he swayed aimlessly from side to side. With the way he was fucking you, his blood was pumping, so they must just now be kicking in at full force. You knew — you were certain of the answer, but you wanted to hear it from him.

“Michael. Are you high?”

He had just enough of his wits left to take a step toward you with remorse in his voice, “Baby, I—”

You held up a hand, taking a step away from him. “I… I’ll call Richie. You can stay with him tonight. Or your mother, I don’t….” He called your name again as you fixed your panties and pulled your skirt back down over your ass. “I can’t do this with you right now, Michael.”

You waited for a moment. For what, you weren’t sure. An apology? An explanation? An unremorseful tirade? Part of you would have even been okay with a fight.

But he just leaned against the brick wall, unable to support himself on his own any longer. He clumsily tucked his softening length back into his pants and mumbled his short reply, a correction. “‘S Mikey.”

Snow began to fall in time with your tears. You drew your coat closer, and turned your back to him. “I’m going home.”

—

“Besides work, how’ve you been feeling?”

“I don’t know, just extremely tired all the time. But what else is new, y’know?”

“And how’s your love life?”

“This is your way of asking if I’m still sleeping with Michael.”

“Well, are you?”

You let out a scoff as you adjusted your position on the couch. Your therapist, Deborah, watched you with knowing eyes as you sat against the arm of the couch, offhandedly pulling a throw pillow into your lap. Your index finger wrapped endlessly around the fringe as you carefully mulled over your words. “Well, I haven’t relapsed in almost a year and a half.”

“That’s good.” She smiled. “Also not what I asked.”

“Okay, I’m still seeing him. Or, sleeping with him.”

“So, it’s not a relationship?”

“No.”

“Do you want it to be?”

You paused. You thought about the possibilities of what could have been — of what once had been. Dates, family dinners, shared apartment. Maybe you’d have gotten married and had kids. You’d have brought them up to be better, to break the cycle of whatever crazy shit made you both the way you were. But you also had to accept who he was. 

You replied, “No.” It was a lie, and Deborah knew that, but you played it off anyway.

She leaned forward, setting her notepad down and resting her elbows on her knees. “Is he still using?”

You nodded reluctantly, “He says he’s not. And he hasn't been high around me since the, uh, Christmas dinner thing last year. But I’ve seen it… pill bottles lying around. Prescriptions that aren’t his.”

You trail off, once again running through what might have been. Would Michael still be sober if you stayed with him? Were you the only thing keeping him from losing his mind? Were you to blame? Your finger slowed around the fringe, heart aching in your chest. 

Deborah gave you a cautionary look, like she could read your mind. “Stop it.”

You sighed, “But what if—”

“Michael is a grown man. His sobriety is his responsibility, and his alone. Just like yours.” She repeated the same words that she did almost every session, reminding you that you were not at fault. “I know it hurts, and it’s okay to let it, but you cannot blame yourself for his decisions.”

“I just- I miss him. How he used to be. But if this is all I can get…” You feel pathetic for even admitting it, but it was the truth.

Deborah watched you carefully, knowing that there wasn’t much she could do but advise you. You were going to see Michael whether it was a good idea or not. So she figured you should know what you’re really getting into. She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Do you know what codependency is?”

Your brow furrowed, “No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“It’s when two people depend on each other in an unhealthy way. Usually, one person learns to placate the other, keep them calm, while the other person continues unhealthy behaviors because they know their partner will be there to help them when it gets too bad.”

“Okay, I see where you’re going here. It’s not healthy for me—”

“It’s not healthy for either of you.” She clarified. “I know you love Michael. And I’m sure he loves you as much as he can. But I think the best way for you to help him and yourself — if that’s what you want to do — is to stop enabling him.”

Stop enabling him. 

That’s all you could think about for the rest of the session. Those three words terrified you. How would he react if you put your foot down, if you said this needed to stop? What if he never spoke to you again? You loved him, the man that put your heart back together when it was in a million shattered pieces. You were lost, unsure of how to handle the situation.

Twenty minutes later, when you left your therapist’s office, your phone dinged with a text. It was Michael, as usual;

u busy tonight? wanna see u. 

And of course, you gave in. But not without thinking up a plan. You took a deep breath and typed out your reply:

meet me in the parking lot off fourth street at 7:30. wanna take u somewhere.

And you tried to hold out, you really did. But no sooner than you arrived, Michael’s lips were on your neck, sucking and licking, making it hard to think. Before you could even remember Deborah’s warning, you were in the backseat of his car, fogging up the windows as you bounced up and down on his cock. “‘M gonna come!” You warned him.

“Go on, sweetheart.” He encouraged with a groan, strong hands plastered flat against your sweaty back. “Tight cunt’s gonna pull the come right outta me.”

“Fuck, ‘m coming, Mikey!” You whimpered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. His hands gripped your hips, grinding you down on his cock to ride out your orgasm. Your clit bumped deliciously against his pubic bone, and your walls clamped down even tighter, throwing Michael headfirst into his own orgasm.

“Holy- oh my god, don’t fuckin’ stop, baby.” He moaned, throwing his head back. His hips pushed up of their own accord, his thick cock twitching inside you as he shot his come as deep as he could go. He brought one hand down on your ass as you thrusted weakly against him. “That’s it, sweetheart, get every drop.”

You rested your weight on him, your sweaty forehead against the leather headrest. You both took a silent moment to catch your breath, regroup after the explosive sex you always seem to have. Turns out, even with all your disagreements, the attraction never stopped. His hands rubbed up and down your back, almost lulling you to sleep until he pressed his fingertips a little harder, and a moan passed through your lips, eyes shooting open. Michael chuckled deeply and kneaded at that spot, “What was that?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” You admitted, tension rolling away as he worked at the knot. “My back has been killing me lately.”

“Work?”

“Maybe, but ‘m not sure. Just hurts sometimes.”

“Lucky for you, you got your own personal masseuse.”

You snorted, “My hero.”

His hand smacked against your backside playfully, making you jolt on his lap with a giggle. He laughed along with you, “Watch that tone, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, laughter dying down as your eyes haphazardly scanned the ledge of the back window. And next to an empty cup, you saw a piece of paper. A prescription made for Natalie Berzatto.

And it hit you like a train. You couldn’t keep doing this. It wasn’t fair to either of you. You couldn’t keep taking the best parts of him and ignoring the fact that he needed help. And he couldn’t expect you to be around at his beck and call forever. The time for playing pretend was over — you needed to take a real step for the both of you. 

You swung your leg over his lap and sat next to him, scanning the car floor for your panties. “Get dressed. I still have somewhere to take you.”

“You kidnappin’ me, baby?”

“It’s only kidnapping if you don’t go willingly.”

Minutes later, you were walking into a nearby building. The entire walk, he asked and asked where you were taking him, but you never answered, merely saying it was a surprise. When he walked in, and his eyes fell on the folded chairs set in a circle, his smile dropped. Without another word, he turned around and walked out.

“Michael, wait!” You were close behind, following him back outside into the hot, sticky summer night. “Just listen to me, okay?”

“So- so you think ‘cause you’re sober now you can do whatever the fuck you want, is that it?” He asked, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“I’m just trying to help—”

“I told you I wasn’t fuckin’ using anymore!” He yelled at you.

“And I know that you are!” You snapped back. “I’ve seen the empty pill bottles, Michael. All the prescriptions that are never in your own fucking name. I’m not stupid!”

“Stupid enough to keep comin’ back!” He spat at you. “W-what changed, huh? Is it the therapist? ‘Cause before her, you were happy to just fuck me and leave, pills be damned.”

“Oh, fuck that, Michael.” You laughed humorlessly, pushing at his chest. “You are not doing that anymore, being a dick to me because you can’t accept the truth.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And what would the truth be, sweetheart? Fuckin’ enlighten me.”

“That you’re gonna fucking destroy yourself if you don’t get help!” You shouted. Tears were filling your eyes at the thought, and you realized you weren’t even angry. You were desperate — desperate for him to do something, anything to help himself. “You- you push everyone that loves you away! Me, Richie, Carm—”

“You leave Carmen outta this.” He grumbled, looking away to avoid seeing the tears that fell down your face.

“Everyone that cares, everyone that tries to help, you just treat them like complete and utter shit because you don’t know how to ask for help! But you don’t have to fucking ask, Mikey — we’re offering! You just have to take it and do something before it’s too late!”

Michael was quiet, eerily so. There was a time when you would’ve been able to read him like a book, to say exactly what he needed to hear. But you couldn’t anymore. And that scared you.

You stepped forward with a sniffle, placing your hands on his biceps. You rubbed up and down in a way that you hoped was comforting. “Just one meeting. That’s all I’m asking.”

When he finally looked back at you, his chest tightened at the sight. Your beautiful eyes, filled with tears and a shimmer of hope that he might agree. And part of him wanted to. Some inkling deep down inside of him wanted to wipe your tears, take your hand, and march into that meeting determined to stay sober for the rest of his life. If only to settle down and make a life with you, one that he could be proud of.

But, as always, something stopped him. A small doubt creeping in, telling him he couldn’t do it. That he wasn’t capable of normality, that it wasn’t in his blood. He was drowning in sorrow and pity, and he was willing to accept that darkness — welcomed it, even. But what kind of man would he be if he dragged you under with him? He cupped your face in his hands, shaking his head. Your hands slid up his forearms and stopped on his wrists with a desperate iron grip. His voice was barely a whisper, “I’m not going to that meeting, baby.”

“Mikey, please.” You begged. “I love you.”

“You can’t fix me.” He hoped you heard what he meant to say: I love you, too.

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and responded in kind. It was gentle, melancholic, but it was his way of saying goodbye. His way of expressing the love that he could never quite show you in the way you deserved. But the love was there nonetheless, tearing at his heart until his chest was hollow, nothing left but the memory of you.

When he pulled away, he had to pry your hands off him and take a step back. He gave you a sad smile, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Enjoy your meeting, sweetheart.”

He turned around and walked away. A few tears escaped his eyes when he heard a heart-wrenching sob pass through your lips. He wiped them away quickly and tried to walk faster. 

He was gone the next month.

—

“We’re closed!”

“Maybe you should lock the door then.”

You were still in your black dress and heels when you arrived at The Beef. No one knew where Carmy was, but you’d had an idea in the back of your head. You weren’t sure if you were right, but it only made sense that he’d be at his brother’s restaurant. 

Well, at the restaurant his brother left him. 

When Carmy emerged from the back, he stared, his eyes red from crying. “How’d you know I was here?”

You shrugged, “This is usually where I’d find him too.”

“Yo, please, please don’t come in here with that sentimental bullshit, alright?” He said, his tone sharp and mean. “If I wanted to hear about how great he was, I would’ve gone to the funeral.”

“You should’ve been there anyway. He was your brother.” 

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, Carmen, I didn’t come here to pick a fight.”

He turned on his heel, stomping back to the kitchen, and you followed close behind. “What did you come for then?”

“We’re going to a meeting.”

Carmy kneeled on the floor, next to a bucket of soapy water and a wet rag. He picked it up and wrung it out with a grunt. “What are you talking about?”

“Would you prefer NA or AA?”

He was scrubbing at the same dirty spot that he had for the last hour and a half, but your question made him pause. He looked up at you in disbelief, letting out a scoff. “Excuse me?”

“There are two NA groups I know of, but only one AA, and it starts soon so—”

“Y’know, you’re the addict here, not me.”

“Which is exactly how I know you need to go to a meeting.”

He was seething, an angry red steadily creeping from his neck to his face, one prominent vein bulging in his forehead as he shouted at you. “Goddamnit, I don’t need to go to a fuckin’ Al-Anon meeting! I’m just grieving, alright?!”

“Carm—”

“No, fuck that. The whole reason I didn’t go to the funeral is so I wouldn’t be around that bullshit! You know how Ma gets, and without Mikey here to fix it…”

“Michael was never gonna fix your mother.”

“Right, ‘cause he was too busy trying to fix you.” Carmen let out a harsh chuckle. “‘I’ll call you back, my girl needs me. Hold on, my girl is on the other line.’ Instead of fixing his restaurant, or-or helping his mother, he was making sure you were on the right track. Making sure you don’t relapse.”

Your heart stopped. Your blood burned. You wanted to let loose on him then and there. Yell and shout and cry about how Michael could barely fix himself, let alone you. You wanted to tell Carmen that it was you who desperately tried to fix Michael, make him sober, turn him into the man you knew he could be. Or at least, the one you believed he could be. The man Carm thought he was.

It baffled you how the entire family managed to hide the fact that Michael was an addict from Carmy. But it was a group effort, a last ditch effort to give him the big brother he’d always wanted, the one he remembered from his childhood. He was truly blind to Michael’s true nature, but you knew it was partially because Carmy had his own thing going on. You could see it behind his eyes — it was the same look Michael got before he did something self-destructive. 

Instead of yelling or screaming like you wanted to, tears filled your eyes. You knew from experience the Berzatto men could be mean, especially under pressure, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Unlike earlier in the day, you couldn’t hold them back. Tears fell freely down your cheeks. 

But unlike when his older brother spat unkind words your way, Carmy didn’t try to distract you from it or talk his way out of it. No, his face dropped when he realized the severity of his words. He watched as your knees buckled beneath you, moving across the floor to catch you once an ugly sob wretched its way past your lips. He held you as your body shook with the emotions that you’d been ignoring all day. One of his hands rested on the back of your head, stroking your hair with his thumb. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, okay?”

You don’t know how long you cried. You just sobbed and sobbed until there was nothing left, until you felt completely and utterly empty. Luckily, Carmy helped you sit on the floor. He sat next to you, both your backs against the dishwasher. It creaked loudly under your combined weight, and you sat up. “Sorry,” You croaked out. “Should I not lean on that?”

Carmy chuckled quietly and drew his knees up, resting his forearms atop them. “Piece of shit doesn’t work, don’t worry about it.”

The tiniest smile tugged at your lips as you leaned back and wiped away your tears. “Good. For me, I mean. Sucks for business though.”

His smile faded away as he watched you wipe your tears. His stomach turned uncomfortably at the fact that he’d been so mean, that he’d made you cry. He knew, of course, that he wasn’t the only reason you broke down, but he didn’t like that he piled on. He called your name softly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“Carm, it’s ok—”

“It’s not.” He shook his head, blue eyes piercing into yours. “You were right. Michael couldn’t fix Ma’s problems. And you didn’t need him to fix yours. He was lucky to have you.”

A sigh passed through your lips, and for the first time in a long time, tension rolled off your shoulders. “He loved you, Carmen.”

He fought back a sad smile, “He loved you, too.”

You paused, tears of grief filling your eyes before you remembered what you came for. You took a deep breath and wiped at your cheeks. “I need to show you something.”

His brow furrowed, turning a bit to face you, resting one leg on the ground. “What?”

You grabbed your phone from your pocket and pulled off the case. You lifted the strip of film from your rubber case, handing it to him. “This is why I need to go to an NA meeting tonight. Figured you could go with me.”

A hand over his mouth and tears in his eyes, Carmy let out a single quiet sob as he stared at the two black and white ultrasounds. “Is it…?”

You nodded, “They are.”

“They?”

“Turns out, you can’t forget to take birth control for even one day. I thought taking two the next day might help, but here we are.” Chuckling quietly, you wiped away the tears that were threatening to fall once more. “I’m not… I’m not asking you to replace Mikey or be their dad or anything. It would… y’know, just be nice not to do this by my—”

“Woah, hey,” He stopped you with a shake of his head, not even wanting you to think like that. “You’re family, period. Have been since Michael brought you home. And always will be. Alright?”

Finally, a sliver of hope. You smiled, “Yeah.”

“Good.” He handed the photos back to you gently, as if one wrong move would ruin them. Then, he stood on his feet, wiping a hand over his face and taking a deep breath. He offered his hand. “Now, come on. I’m taking you to your meeting.”

[funniestpersonalivefr]

couldn't leave you

wesker lives after the events of resident evil five but returns to find you mourning his death. mentions of character death and the grief that comes with that. not proofread, credit to image owner.

it felt like a scene from a movie. the day was cloudy and grey, providing the perfect atmosphere as you watched the empty coffin lower into the ground. tears fell from your eyes from behind the black veil you wore. your husband was dead.

the dirt was placed over the coffin, it was empty but it still brought pain to your heart. they hadn't even succeeded in finding a body to bring you closure. you didn't want to believe it but after the days passing turned into weeks and then into months the possibility of his death seemed more and more likely.

it was impossible for your mind to believe that albert wesker, the god of a man he was, could've died. his mortality never seemed to be a real factor in his life, you could've sworn he'd live forever.

the tombstone stated back at you, almost taunting you as you continued to read it over and over again.

in memory of albert wesker, a loving husband.

it felt official, he was gone. you couldn't help the tears that slipped from your face as you walked away from the grave as you went back to your car. almost as if the world around you knew how solemn of an occasion this was, the dark clouds began to let rain fall. it felt as though the sky was crying with you.

as you sat in the car, collecting yourself and wiping what tears remained in your eyes. you looked around briefly, you could've sworn you saw him. you blinked and he was gone.

your brain has to be playing tricks on you.

little do you know your husband was standing in the cemetery as you drove away. he approached the grave with a sigh. part of him couldn't help but wonder if it would be better to let himself die. he'd free you from the constant worry and the target that had been placed on your back when you married him but deep down no matter how selfish it may seem, he couldn't leave you.

you had found yourself back in the house you once shared with the love of your life, specifically you were curled up in his study. the study was truly his, his smell still lingered from the countless hours he spent slaving away at his research.

"oh albert, i wish you were here," you mumble into the couch that sat in his study. you had spent the nights following the news of his supposed death sleeping in this very room.

you were already drifting off to sleep, the exhaustion from crying finally taking its toll on your body. the front door unlocked and your ears barely picked up on it but your body was sent into full alert.

did whoever killed wesker decide to get you next?

you searched his office looking for anything you could use to defend yourself, settling on the fire poker. you tried to think of all the self defense tips your late husband had given you but all you could do is cower in a hiding spot by the door, hoping to maybe get the upper hand.

heavy footsteps approach and you raise the fire poker, bracing yourself to attack the intruder. the door opens and you swing, eyes closed as you wait for the impact.

"it's good to see you too, dear," a familiar voice speaks out.

your eyes open wide and you stare at the man in front of you. it was your husband, it was albert wesker. he had blocked your makeshift weapon with ease and it quickly slipped from your hands.

"albert? i thought you were..." you say, getting choked up as emotions overwhelm you. the blonde man pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you tight as you begin to sob into his chest.

"shhh, i know," is all he can say as he jaw clenches shut. he's fighting his own tears at this point and he refuses to let that side of him slip, not now at least. you pull back, cupping his face as you cry. a smile crosses your face as you stare at him.

"it's you, it's really you," your tone is filled with disbelief and you can't help but pull him into a kiss. the kiss is desperate as you try to cement in your mind that this is real.

he kisses you back before pulling away, taking in your disheveled state. the two of you spend the next few hours in each other's arms in moments filled with love after he explains all he can about what happened.

his body is marked with horrendous burns that have torn away at his skin, albert won't let you see them. they're covered under numerous layers of bandages and he'd hate to hurt you anymore. albert's head rests on your chest as you comb through his blonde hair. you pretend not to notice when tears start to slip from his red fiery eyes.

his body is mangled and burnt and he's afraid. albert wesker is afraid of you leaving him, his body isn't the work of art it was before yet here he is in your arms.

you hum to him softly as you comb through his hair, you'll never understand how he managed to survive but you continue to thank any higher power for bringing him back to you. his breathing slows and albert wesker manages to fall asleep in your arms.

[ausetkmt]

A rusted fence surrounds a tombstones at the Lincoln Memorial Cemetery in Portsmouth, VA. Many Black Americans excluded from white-owned cemeteries built their own burial spaces, and their descendants are working to preserve the grounds.AP Photo/Steve Helber

The remains of 328 likely graves have been found from "relocated" Black cemeteries in Florida.

The graves were meant to be moved in the 1950s but were instead simply paved over.

The city of Clearwater is reckoning with its history of racism, CBS News reported.

The remains of 328 likely graves have been found paved over after bodies in supposedly "relocated" Black cemeteries in Florida were never actually moved, prompting the city of Clearwater to reckon with its history of racism and segregation.

Graves from two cemeteries were meant to be relocated in the 1950s to make way for the construction of a swimming pool and department store but were paved over instead, CBS reported. Ultimately, a school and office building were built atop some of the graves.

It wasn't until the 1980s that the cover-up began to be revealed. In 1984, O'Neal Larkin, now 82, watched as a construction crew dug through one of the "relocated" Black cemeteries — though any exhumation of the graves would not occur for nearly 40 more years.

"I remember the parking lot where the engineers — traffic engineer was cutting the lines through," O'Neal Larkin told 60 Minutes correspondent Scott Pelley, "and they cut through two coffins. That was my first knowledge of seeing it because I walked out there, and I seen it myself."

In 2019, reporting by the Tampa Bay Times about the history of paving over Black graveyards resulted in the city of Clearwater exhuming the two desecrated sites in town.

With help from an engineering services company called Cardno, CBS reported, the North Greenwood Cemetery and St Matthews Cemetery were identified using ground penetrating radar and mapped, and some of the graves were exhumed. Of the 550 graves listed in the cemetery records, 328 likely graves — many under the parking lot of an office building — were identified. Additional remains are likely underneath the office itself and beneath a school building where human remains were found.

"All of the information and the data that we collected does indicate that there are additional burials likely below the footprint of that school building," Erin McKendry, an archaeologist for Cardno, told 60 Minutes.

Representatives for the City of Clearwater and Cardno did not immediately respond to Insider's request for comment about the project.

Though forgotten grave sites such as those in Clearwater are found across racial and socio-economic divides, experts have identified that cemetery desecration appears to occur more frequently and systematically in the sacred resting places of minority residents. Other such graves have been found of indigenous students who died at government-run boarding schools in the US and Canada.

"There are abandoned cemeteries across the board," anthropologist Antoinette Jackson, who leads the African American Burial Ground Project at the University of South Florida, told CBS. "There are cemeteries that are not only African American cemeteries or Black cemeteries that have been in some way desecrated, but the issue is more acute with Black cemeteries because of issues like slavery, segregation in which this particular community were legally and intentionally considered lesser than or marginalized by law."

The City of Clearwater remains undecided in how to navigate the exhumation of the bodies beneath the office, parking lot, and school building, though several residents have told CBS and the Tampa Bay Times they prefer to see the cemetery restored and memorialized.

"It is still a cemetery — period," Barbara Sorey-Love, a Clearwater resident who has no family buried in the desecrated graves but has friends who do, told the Tampa Bay Times. "That road should be closed. All the cemetery land should be treated like a memorial site."

Read the original article on Insider

[toulousewayne]

🌿🍃Toxic Lover: Pt: II

Nightwing X male!reader with a former team who had become Poison Ivy like meta-human.

Summary:Your a former Titan teammate, you and Dick have unresolved feelings and you become infected with the same toxins and chemicals that turned Poison Ivy into a meta-human.

————-

“They Can Bury Us Deep, But We Always Grow.”

Batman sat perched on the rooftops of Gotham. It was a rainy night, much preferred these nights. Most of the crime was kept to the shadows it made it easier for him.

“Batman,we’ve got a problem,”Oracle’s voice filled his coms. “Fill me in.” He jumped off the building and glided north of his location.

——

A man walks outside of the Stacked Deck Bar, and takes a puff from his cigarette. He walks into the alleyway and takes a swig of his flask.

He rounds the corner to see a shadow figure standing before him.

“It’s the freakin’ bat,” he takes out his pistol but it’s knocked out of his grips my a WingDing. The next thing he knows he’s thrown against a nearby dumpster.

“You murderer.” Nightwing snarled at the man before his feet. He kicked him in the stomach, then picked him up and flung him to the other side of the alley.

“L-look I’m sorry about you friend—it’s wasn’t personal.” He’s met with a powerful shock to the gut.

“AHHH-pplease.”

“That’s enough, honey,”A thin cloud of pink and gold mist surrounded the two men, Y/n emerged be held by tree branches pink petals. “It’s good to see you,Nolan wasn’t it. however, the last time we meet you killed me along with your friends.” Y/n grinned. He sported a new pale green skin tone now, his normal (E/C) eyes were a deep emerald. Leaves and vines woven together to map pants and some wrapped around his forearms and torso.

He lowered himself and walked over to Nightwing placing a hand on his emblem. “You know I should really thing you, you allowed me to be a better version of myself,”

“You’re welcome-“Nightwing kicked him in the gut again.

Y/n crossed his arms across his chest. “Though I could have done without the new color. No matter it’s time you answer my questions.” He waved his hand and Nightwing backed away from the goon. Y/n crouched down and blow from his palm, more of the same pink dust engulfed him squared in the face and almost immediately his grimace morphed into a blank stare.

“Now what I want to know two things. What is the name of the scientist that gave you the order to kill me, and last where is Poison Ivy?”

———

The Batmobile came to a screeching haunt behind several police cruisers. He leaped out and walked past the small crowd held back by officers.

A officer lifted a yellow tape and he entered the crime scene. Gordon stood a foot away from two white sheets, Spoiler and Red Robin stood at the bodies scanning them before joining Batman and the Commissioner.

“They two of the best people on the force,” Gordon puffed after taking a drag from his Pipe.

“Any leads?” Batman turned to the two heroes. Red Robin hand him a zip lock bag with several deep green leaves.

“Posion Ivy, she’s been quiet.” Spoiler folded her arms.

Batman walked past them and removed the sheets to observe the bodies. It’s definitely something Ivy could have done but Batman isn’t so sure. He knows that’s she’s been MIA for months.

He rises his head and looks straight ahead. “Gotham Cemetery.” He mumbles. He stands up and walks towards it.

“Is he himself?” Gordon turns to the two who shrug.

—

Batman enters the cemetery and walks past the stone statues. He moves like a black phantom through out the grounds until he stops in front of what was supposed to be a fresh grave. Red Robin and Spoiler approach and stop themselves.

“What happened?” She questions. Vines and purple flowers grown from the grave and have consumed it. The casket is in the heart of the greenery and is split open. And no body inside.

Batman turned to the two, before worry took over his masked features. “Has anyone spoke to Nightwing tonight?”

“Not since the afternoon, he said he was patrolling the East End tonight.” Red Robin replied.

“You think Y/n did this?” Spoiler looked back at the grave and back to Batman who was practically running towards the entrance.

“Alfred I need to find Nightwing he’s not answering his com links.” The Batmobile came to a roaring stop at the cemetery gates and Batman hopped inside before racing down the street.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been able to locate him Sir. His tracker when down two hours ago.” He sighed.

Batman gripped the steering wheel.”Any last know location.”

“Allow me to check,”Alfred typed a few keys before giving him the last location,”Robinson Park Sir, the Botanical Gardens.” The Batmobile raced and roar onto Pioneer Bridge towards the other part of the city.

——

One man stumbles and falls down a few stairs and coughs. As he runs down a hallway into a warehouse.

“Please have Mercy!” He cries as he ducks behind a crate.

“Mercy,I’ll show you mercy.” A voice boomed in the dark room. The man cowered in fear before he flew back from his hiding spot and was carried up fifty feet in the air. He was wrapped in an oversized vine and was being constrained.

Y/n moved into his view ontop of an another vine and smirked. He had his arm resting on his knee and leaned forward towards the man’s face.

“So sad isn’t it. We take for granted the gifts Mother Nature can offer us,” he plucks a maroon flower from his vine that looks between a cross of a tulip and rose. He twirled the flower and looked back at the man. Before smirking.

“So tell me Wilson, where can I find the scientist?” Before the man could reply Y/n blow on the flower and black particles landed on his face. He started to cough and scream in pain.

“He’s meeting the Boss I don’t know who but he’s meeting him Chinatown. PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!” He screamed in terror before a massive coughing fit and his limbs go limp.

Y/n lowers himself down and allows the vines to drop the body with a loud crack. Nightwing stood a few feet from where the man landed. He stare at him for a while before Y/n came into his view.

“Where are we going?” Y/n placed a kiss to his cheek. Y/n took his leave with Dick in tow.

“To make one more stop.”

——

Batman crashed through the same skyline Nightwing had to find the place abandoned. He took a look around with a flashlight.

He came to a makeshift bed and found the same leaves Red Robin gave him.

He turned on his scanner and turned the leave over. “Alfred identify and breakdown these leaves basic components.”

“Right away Sir. These two leaves have the same trace amount of pheromones. The scanners indicate they are of a stronger concentration. The combination is similar to the lab where Nightwing and is team were a few nights ago.”

Batman turned and looked at the ground. He found a WingDing and a remnant of a sleep dart. The same Nightwing gauntlet. “Nightwing must of found Y/n and tried to stop him.”

Alfred hummed, “Do you think he killed Master Richard.”

Batman kneeled down a traced his finger to find them covered in a green dust. “Unlikely, what happened to him he still cares for Dick.” He stood up and grappled out of the greenhouse. He glides down to the street and gets back into the Batmobile.

“The attack on Y/n in the lab must of caused a biological shock and rewrite his DNA the same way it did Ivy. But what I can figure out is what’s motivate?” He began to drive before another call rang.

“It’s Ms Gordon I’ll patch her through.” Soon the ringing stopped and Barbara’s voice filled the car.

“Batman we found two bodies.”

“Where?”

“One at the Stacked Deck an hour ago Red Hood is on the scene with Bullock. And another at a warehouse at Dixon Docks,Batgirl is there with Robin now.”

“My word, Sir my analysis is completed. There is another drug mixed in that was scanned at the fire. It’s a drug called Tomgenalixe. It’s a substance used in modern day Hallucinogens and can be used to create mind altering effects.”

“Mind Control.” Batman and Oracle reply.

“So Y/n isn’t just killing people for fun, he’s been controlled too.” Oracle took a deep sigh.

Batman gripped the steering wheel.”We need to find them. Alfred can you track Y/n’s pheromones?”

Alfred typed at the Batcomputer. “Sir his tracking is leading to the Diamond District.”

Batman raced back towards the highway. “Oracle take the components of the drugs and chemicals and synthesize and antitoxin. Have someone bring it to me. Alfred, have Red Robin and Spoiler meet me at my location.”

“Working on it, I’ll have Red Hood and Batgirl pick up the antioxins as soon as it ready.” Oracle signed off.

“Sir, when you arrive what will you do?”

Batman didn’t answer as thunder crashed across the night sky.

“I’m going to save them.”

———-

“Where’s my cut?” The scientist hissed at the man in a chair turned away from him.

The man chuckled. “Your cut, you were supposed to bring me a new drug. You burned your research. I can’t get any of that funding back, and now Lex Luthor has questions about fire you caused.” The man stood before as Black Man rises from his seat and the scientist cowers.

“I’m—“ SMACK

“You little runt, you work for me and you’ll get paid when the fuck I say so.” He snarled. He grabbed a wad of cash from his pocket and threw it at him.

“Now get back and figure out the poison, you still have the plant woman in holding?”

“Yes, she’s secure downstairs.” He took the cash. But before he could leave he was kicked square in the jaw and crumbled to the floor.

Black Mask turns to see Nightwing giving his a death stare. “What brings you here?”

The doors burst open with three of his goons with green glowing eyes and Y/n strolling behind them.

“I’m here for a little payback.” Y/n smirked. He outstretched his arm and vines bursts from the floor and tied up Black Mask.

“You crazy bitch I’ll kill you.” Y/n yawned. “Boys take care of him,” he turned to the scientist. “I think you have someone who doesn’t belong to you, don’t worry I’ll kill you when this over just like I did you henchmen.”

“Boss!” The large man who had did most of the damage to Y/n emerged through another door. Nightwing sprang into action and brutal fought him. It didn’t take long before he hit the ground hard.

Y/n crossed the room and stood over the dazed man.

“Remember it’s nothing personal.” Y/n dropped seeds into his gapped open mouth and vines and flower rapidly grew from his mouth and stomach.

“That’s sick.” Black Mask gagged before getting punch by Nightwing.

Y/n nodded and then two armed guards took Black Mask away. The other waiting for them and Nightwing grabbed the Scientist.

“Let’s go.” He barked. Y/n and the other guard followed him. The arrived in a basement that was like a huge underground bunker.

They ventured until the came to a catwalk and bellow was a cell in center with Ivy unconscious.

“Well it seems you’ve severed your purpose.” Y/n turned to the man that uttered the order to kill him and before he could grab him a Batarang nearly took his hand off.

Batman leaped down and glared at the group.”That’s enough, you’ve taken to many lives tonight I won’t let you take more Y/n. This isn’t you.”

Y/n pursed his lips and brief a chuckle. “What do you know about Y/n?” Batman eyed down below and saw Ivy talking almost as a puppet.

“Ivy, you’ve been controlling him from the start.”

Ivy/Y/n chuckled. “I can’t take all the credit you seen when they turned Y/n into this new and improved version of himself. We form a connection, and the more his powers grew—“

“The greater your control became.” Batman finished. Ivy chuckled in her cell.

“He makes a fine successor, does need some weeding but no matter he’ll do fine to kill you.” Y/n caused two large vines to sprout beside Batman who leaped down and landed on his feet. He cartwheel out the way of a shock from Nightwing.

“I know you can hear me, don’t make me have to put down.” Nightwing smirked,”Come and try.” He lunged at Batman and the two attacked and blocked each others moves.

Red Robin and Spoiler crashed the room and took out the guard and Spoiler went after Y/n to jumped onto a moving vine.

“Y/n snap out of it you’re still in there.” She pleaded. Y/n formed another overgrown plant to seat her away like fly. He caused a giant Venus Flytrap to sprout and it held him in place.

“This will be your tomb.” He laughed wickedly.

——

Black Mask stood ontop of the building with rifles at his head.

“Jump.” One order. He moved his leg out to jump before he heard gunfire and the sounds of punches. He nervously turned to see Red Hood and Batgirl.

“I’m saved—“ he was lassoed by Batgirl who tied him to a pipe. Before following Red Hood into the building.

“Hell let me Go!”

—-

Nightwing kicked Batman in the chest sending him stumbling.

Red Robin back flipped out the way of a vine nearly crushing him.

“Give up.” Ivy hissed.

Red Hood and Batgirl arrived. Batgirl grabbed a vine and began to run up it to Y/n and Red Hood leaped down and fired a few rounds at Nightwing which distracted him long enough for Batman to land a punch.

He stagger and when to fight him some more giving Red Hood the chance to fire a dart the hit Nightwing in the neck. He growled before he slowly turned and fell into Batman’s arms going limp.

Batgirl managed to get a clear shot and injected Y/n with large dose. He felt tired fell onto the catwalk, Red Robin check on him before injecting an orange liquid into Y/n arm.

“This will break the connection to Ivy.”

Ivy screamed in pain like a part of her had been stabbed. “You’re going to Arkham.” Batman stood before her and she was about to shout before green mist filled her cell and she collapsed.

“Hey Oracle whip up something for her too.” Batgirl chimed in.

Batman grinned and turned to Nightwing and sighed.

———-

Y/n felt like everything that happened was a fever dream. Killing them men that assaulted him, rising from the dead like an uprooted carrot and his finale fight with the Batfamily.

He sat up with an instant migraine. He rubbed his temples from the bright lights and turned to the side to see a shadow.

“Where am I?” His voice was hoarse and scratchy.

“You’re in Arkham.” Batman sighed and came into the light of the cell.

Y/n took in his surroundings and it was in a cell in Arkham. He was also in hospital gown with a collar around his neck.

“So I’m in jail?” He raised a brow the Dark Knight. Batman took a stance at the foot of the bed.

“Not exactly, what do you remember?” His voice was full of concern and worry. Not the same voice typical of Batman.

Y/n rubbed his temples for a brief movement. “I remember the taxi driver…I vaguely remember two officers and then everything went black. Did I hurt them?”

“They’re dead. Poison Ivy took control over your mind after you transition into a meta-human.”

Y/n felt all the air suck of his lungs. “You’re here because I know you’ll be under careful observation,” he lifted his gaze to the ceiling and Y/n followed. Vents were overhead them.

“This cell is constantly being pumped with an antitoxin that helps with the more advanced powers. It won’t rid them completely but you’ll be in control.” He walked closer to the doors.

“You should be in for a few more days, once that finished I’ll come get you myself. Gordon has already dropped any charges and no one knows Y/n L/N was the new Poison Ivy.”

“Did I hurt him?”

“I don’t know what your—“

“Damnit yes you do. I know I didn’t just kill two people. I hope I can..live with that. But did I hurt him?” Tears formed in the young man’s eyes and streamed down his face.

“No.” Batman whispered.

“Oh.” He wiped his face. “Can I see him?”

“I can’t allow that, you didn’t hurt him but Ivy used your feelings for him to make into your mind-controlled bodyguard. You killed people Y/n…He’s still recovering in the cave. Y/n it may be best to give it time.” Batman exited the cell where Gordon was waiting and the two walked away into the Asylum.

Everything began to flash before Y/n and he flopped back on the uncomfortable cot. Before sleep took him back and he dozed off.

[bullet-prooflove]

Halloween Bingo Card 2024: Grave - Leroy Jethro Gibbs x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @marialimpogomes @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @saturnsdevilz @clarasmoon

Companion piece to:

The Ice Queen - Gibbs meets The Ice Queen for the first time.

Break The Ice - A act of decency helps Gibbs to break the ice.

You don’t see Gibbs at the cemetery but he sees you, standing over the grave of someone who must be you’re sister. Your hands are tucked into the pockets of your long black overcoat as you stare down at the flowers you’ve just laid against the gravestone.

Violets for a girl named Violet.  

He isn’t sure what the protocol is for this. Should he approach you? Walk away?  In the end it doesn’t matter because you turn around and see him standing there at the resting place of his own family, his stance mirroring yours.

“I didn’t want to intrude.” He says as you approach and you shrug your shoulders as you take up residence alongside him.

“We don’t have much to say to each other these days.” You say studying the memorials in front of you. “She can’t tell me who killed her.”

He’s heard the story, it’s whispered through the halls of NIS whenever you appear to ‘harass’ Special Agent Lombardi for news. Your sister was a sailor who was murdered barely twenty feet away from the military base where she served.  She’d been on a run during the early hours of the evening when she was attacked, the perpetrator had raped her and beaten her to death with a tire iron they had found at the scene.

“What about your wife and daughter?” You ask him, breaking though his thoughts. “Do they speak to you?”

You’re the first person who has ever asked about his family, everyone else just tiptoes around him, pretends it didn’t happen. It makes it worse somehow because it makes it seem like they didn’t exist, like they were never really there in the first place.

“No.” He says, his voice rough with emotion. “There’s just this silence…”

He thought it wouldn’t be so bad once he moved but there are nights when that quiet it’s so fucking stifling, it feels like he’s choking on it.

“I sleep with the radio on.” You confess, your eyes stinging. “Violet used to stay with me when she had shore leave…”

You trail off then and he knows what you’re trying to say. He still listens for Kelly’s footsteps down the hall, for Shannon’s voice in the kitchen. It’s like their souls were sucked right off this earth the moment their minivan crashed and there’s just this absence now, this void in the world.

“Hey…” You say, using the back of your hand to wipe underneath your eyes. “You wanna go somewhere no one knows us and get really fucking drunk?”

“Yea.” He says, clearing his throat and blinking away the tears that burn at his sockets. “Let’s get really fucking drunk.”

Love Gibbs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[mischiefmaker615]

You're So Dark (1 of 2)

Inspiration: Arctic Monkeys - "You're So Dark" Song

Requester: @kathren1sky-blog

Summary: Someone seems to have taken notice of you.. more than you expected..

Note: Happy Spooky Season! 

Rating: R

“your out of the dress code again.’’

You cast a glance over your shoulder at your supervisor who kept walking, knowing it was an endless battle where you would just keep showing up with your black makeup on. Right down to your choker that stayed comfortably tight around your neck, you told yourself they should be grateful you even bothered putting on the SHIELD uniform on today.

Halloween was upon you all, just at the end of this week and you thought there was nothing wrong with getting into the spirit things.. even if you were the only one celebrating. Then again.. you practically celebrated every day..

You took walks in cemeteries, isolated with your dark romance books and rocked the black ‘everything’ look no matter what occasion. What was wrong with you? You weren’t sure how to answer that when people asked, though they didn’t stay long for an answer. Not many people talked to you at work- anywhere.. they might assume you looked like you didn’t want to be bothered. Needless to say, that didn’t stop the eyes that would stare, one sharper than the others while you worked about in your environment- oblivious and innocent.

Loki often roamed around the tower in silence, sometimes reading outside his room on a good day. You thought his mysterious and quiet side was an invitation to find something in common, but whenever you would work up the guts to even think about approaching, he vanished. Yes, he was real. Yet seemed to not stay long whenever you were around.

Perhaps he thought you were weird, like the rest. His taste in company was rather picky. Hella picky. At least it didn’t mess with your usual ‘lone self’ routine. Quite recently you caught him at work, roaming around still and looking down his nose while some agents babbled on about a job we all knew he wasn’t going to accept. At least looking like he was trying bought him time here before Fury would realize he could care less about paying off his ‘community service.’

‘’trick or treat’’ one of your coworkers snickered past you, earning a glare while you did your best to be as polite in the work place as possible.

‘’fuck off.’’ Failed.

Maybe it was better to not talk to anyone, they seemed to be all the same anyway and you enjoyed your secluded cubical where you didn’t seem to get bothered.. that is, until you turned the corner.

You stopped short to find Loki lounging in your roller chair, ankles crossed while a lazy arm roamed around your items you had on the desk- décor and trinkets you somehow got away with by your bosses whom looked the other way as long as you did a good job.

‘’to my understanding, you humans don’t tend to take an interest in the remains once flesh has been removed. Shall I locate the trash bin?” Loki asked innocently, his eyes not even looking up at you while he turned your raven skull in his hand curiously.

‘’no-!’’ you gasped, stopping yourself short once his teasing eyes flicked up at you, making you glare and try to lower your voice as you stepped more into your cube, having to stand since a certain someone was in your chair. ‘’it’s décor.. safe to keep.’’

‘’and your interested in things like this?” he asked, not a tone of judgement in his voice while his eyes seemed to study you, mainly below your neck as you crossed your arms, somehow the choker feeling a little bit tighter.

‘’well.. yes- why waste something that won’t deteriorate? Any fascination of- no- never mind.. can I help you?” you shake your head, trying to figure out why he was here and not babble like an idiot. He probably didn’t care about all this anyway and would think your weird just like all the rest if you kept talking.

‘’you could very much help me darling,’’ he smirked as he set the skull down and uncrossed his legs, manspreading while his fingers laced together in front of him. ‘’but I’m sure we have to keep things professional around here.’’

You blinked at him, trying to take in what was happening right now. Did he just.. suggest an innuendo? The man who seemed to vanish every time you were around and yet here he was, in your chair, messing with your stuff and suggesting something sexual? ‘’..I don’t underst-‘’

‘’of course you don’t, not by word from mouth darling. Yet I’m sure you would perfectly understand it if it was written down.’’ He smirked and stood up, his height making itself highly aware while you tilted your eyes up at him.

‘’I’m.. sorry-‘’

‘’you enjoy books darling, is that correct? I’ve come to offer you an opportunity to gaze upon a selection of mine that may poke your interest.’’ He said calmly, his eyes almost finding themselves distracted as your arms tightened in their fold against your chest, the material somehow getting itch the more he stared while you opened your mouth to make an attempt to guess what he was talking about.

‘’are you talking about.. bo-‘’

‘’books.’’

‘’books! Of course!’’ you laughed sheepishly, your social awkwardness dripping out as you rubbed the back of your neck. Of course he wasn’t talking about anything sexual- Loki was well known to be stuck behind a book,.. but.. ‘’how do you know I enjoy books?”

‘’the quiet Midgardians tend to find themselves partaking in activities that send them anywhere else but here. Due to the fact that we also share the same living arrangements at the Iron Idiot’s domain, I figured.. we might as well get along.’’

By gods.. was he reaching out to try to be friends? You? Him? your brow raised more, waiting as if for the punchline where he would then turn this into a joke, leave like the rest and allow you to inherit the title ‘weird’ all over again. The more you watched him, the longer a conversation about books felt weird- because of you.

‘’er- sure!’’ you said almost to excitedly while your eyes dropped to the ground, your hands meeting in front of you to play with your sleeves while you started over. ‘’-I get off at 5:00, I’ll meet you at 6:00?”

‘’I would guess you know where my chambers are?” he hummed.

‘’yes.’’ You cut yourself short, hoping it wasn’t weird you knew where it was considering it was a big tower but you shifted in your stance and looked up, just to find Loki had gotten closer, making your eternal insides jump.

‘’then I shall see you at 6:00, I do hope you find something that.. matches your interests..’’ his voice got lower, looking down his nose at you while the tip of your shoes practically touched his. ‘’Y/N.’’

‘’hm?- oh yes of course.. I’m sure I can find something..’’ you said quickly, hating the fact you thought your name had been a question rather than him finishing his current sentence. Geez why were you like this.. no wonder you kept to yourself. But the amused look in his eyes seemed to ease you out of the pain while you tilted your head more up at him.

‘’Y/N?” he hummed, his voice almost at a whisper, almost as if he were testing your name on his tongue.

‘’yes?-‘’

‘’might I get by?” he smirked, clearly amused at your eternal suffering in this moment as your eyes rounded and quickly moved to the side, your body sideways to let him slide while your cheeks reddened.

‘’of course.. sorry-‘’

You heard an exhale of a chuckle as he turned his body every so slightly to pass by you, his side still managing to rub against yours, almost lingering before he disappeared out of your cubical.

You were so grateful you judged the chair correctly while you plopped down into it without looking, your brain obviously racing at what had just happened right now.

‘’6:00..’’ you whispered, almost having small doubts whether it was a good idea or not before your eyes moved back to the computer screen.

~

Somehow walking past a cemetery seemed a lot more comforting than the walk down the halls towards Loki’s room. Were you being rude? He was reaching out- in his own sort of way- to try to make friends and here you were wanting to retreat in your dark and secluded territory of your bedroom. You loved books, it obviously gained his interest compared to what the others had to offer- which he seemed to already dismiss considering it was the other Avengers in the tower. The strange thing about it was.. you don’t remember bringing your books out of your room to really give Loki an opportunity to know you loved them.. how did he know?

No going back now, you lifted your eyes to find you stood right outside his door. After having taken a quick shower, the choker was back on your neck- ripped jeans with fishnets beneath them and a black, oversize sweater. There was no goal here, it was all purely comfort and an outfit most people didn’t try to understand while they looked down their nose and called you goth.

You.. supposed? You liked particular things, you’ve always considering yourself different, but you weren’t sure if there was quite a label out there for you. You were just.. you. And you seemed to have peeked the interest somehow from a particular god of mischief whose door opened just as you had raised a hand to knock.

‘’right on time darling, I quite admire that.’’ Loki purred, a sly smile on his lips as his eyes dipped below your neck to take you in, eventually coming back up to meet your eyes. ‘’do come in.’’

A small part of the brain in these situations will always nag you, telling you no or reconsider- second guess. Most people choose to ignore it, which meant a small part of you fit in with the others and chose to step in without hesitation.

No sooner did the door close was when you felt a slender hand make contact with mild harshness in your ass, causing you to yelp more in surprise and quicken a step forward before you spun around to face Loki.

His hands clasped behind his back, looking rather proud of himself while he smirked at your wide-eyed face.

‘’what the hell??”

‘’don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that darling, you don’t exactly hide your sexual wants.’’ He chuckled, his voice seductively low while he took a step forward.

You instinctually took a step back, your hands raised to hover by your chest, almost as if ready to strike out if needed while your tried to muster up rage that never came. ‘’what are you- you have no right to do something like that!”

‘’what do you wish for me to do darling? Apologize?” he asked with such innocence, he almost seemed to shrug while he spoke. ‘’I regret nothing, and I dare say you want me to do it again..’’ with another step forward, you took a step back, feeling the redness on your cheeks while a mild sting reminded you of the not-so-long-ago events.

‘’t-that’s not why I came here-‘’

‘’ah, so you wish to make another appointment so we could do such things?’’ he teased and waved a hand to indicate behind you, making you glance to what he was referring at before you felt him press to your side, an arm wrapping around your shoulder to guide you himself. ‘’the books I spoke of are right over here, I’m sure you’ll find quite the selection- some you most likely have already indulged in. your Midgardian literature has quite an interesting taste’’ he told you simply, acting as if everything were normal while your body tensed and for some reason, let him guide you to the library along the wall.

It was huge- from bottom to ceiling there were books! Of course someone his height probably didn’t need a ladder but you probably would struggle getting something from the top while your eyes lifted to scan them all. You felt him slowly step away, taking a stance behind you while your eyes tried to focus ahead, feeling his hand slide away from your side, taking his time until his finger tips eventually vanished as well.

‘’you have.. quite the collection..’’ you offered, hoping to begin the journey away from what had just happened while you practically felt his eyes on you from behind.

‘’I’m sure you recognize a few, go on, take a better look..’’ you felt his hand return to your lower back, your feet jumping to take the initiative to get closer rather than wait for him to push. Something was going on.. something not right..

He was always quite, kept to himself and observant.. any conversation you did seem to catch amongst souls were very short, dry and boring. He clearly had no interest in talking with anyone- but right now, it seemed like he was hinting.. wanting.. waiting..

His hand slowly removed itself again, taking its time until his finger tips ghosted under your sweater before moving to his side again. ‘okay okay- just pick a book, be polite and be gone’ your mind told you, making your eyes search and scan quickly until your eyes fell upon a familiar title.

Maid to Honor.

Your eyes squinted, feeling yourself lean a little bit more while your hand rose to ghost over the spins of the books. Your head tilted every so slightly to read sideways while your eyes moved to read more.

Tears of a Mermaid.

You blinked. No.. there was no way.. it was a coincidence.. just to be sure, your eyes skipped a few books and landed on another on a different shelf, only to widen at yet another familiar title.

Ghost.

‘’these.. these are..’’

‘’yours, my love.’’ Loki smiled, having joined your side with his hands clasped behind his back while he scanned the books as well. ‘’each, and every one. Of course.. I took the liberty to convert your shorter stories- the one shots, if you so call them? Into more individual books.’’ He waved his hand more up the shelf, having you raise your eyes in horror to find thinner books but still with the same titles what read ‘Doctor, Love Potion, Sex Pollen, Dark Angel.’

You quickly took a step away, eyes widen while Loki tilted his head, watching you over his shoulder while you shook your head and gazed at the bookcase. ‘’no- no these aren’t-‘’

‘’come now darling, you are a brilliant writer, do not shorten your rights for credit’’ Loki chuckled and turned more to face you, waving a hand behind him at the books that seemed to mock your eyes. ‘’I will not be selling these, if that is what worries you. I simply just prefer it’s raw form rather than.. digital. However, I do check now and again encase your.. naughty mind comes up with anything else..’’ he smirked and you shook your head.

‘’I don’t know what your talking ab-‘’

‘’Y/Username? Ring any bells darling? Clarification is useless to be anyway, I can sense your denial as easily as a lie.’’ Loki chuckled, sighing as his eyes then began to roam again, undressing you with his eyes practically where you hugged your arms.

‘’you’re so dark.. and you’re so mysterious..’’ he whispered, a sly smile spreading over his lips as his eyes flicked up at yours again. ‘’or perhaps to everyone else. I quite find your mind.. alluring..’’

You weren’t going to waste time trying to convince him that wasn’t you. It was a lie anyway.. NO ONE on this damn green earth knew of your secret hobby, our pass time, your escape onto the internet where you wrote.. wrote about anyone you found attractive, any scenario you imaged being in or perhaps trying out some day.. but you nearly wanted to die when you had forgotten about a few stories you let star the famous Loki Laufeyson.

‘’it w-was a long time ago-‘’

‘’how long darling? You act as if you haven’t touched these novels in ages. No matter, I can tell you exactly the last time I’ve starred in your little.. fantasies..’’ he smirked and turned his back to you, a single finger gliding amongst the spines while you backed yourself up while he wasn’t looking towards the door. ‘’ah- this one,’’ he smirked and pulled out a smaller book, slipping a single page while his eyes scanned. ‘’it would seem it is not updated, taking place with my little encounter with your city New York.’’ He read, seeming to chotted a few notes down where he was reading.

Your hand reached behind you, keeping your eyes on him while he was distracted while your hand tried the door handle. ‘fuck- locked..’

‘’fuck, indeed.’’ Loki chuckled, the snap of the book getting your attention and having your attention back on him as he raised his eyes over to you. ‘’a word you so often like to use, under more meanings than one..’’

‘’stay out of my head..’’ you glared and he chuckled, turning his back with no concern while he put the book back in its proper place. ‘’oh darling, I recently discovered you like me being in your head..’’

‘’and upon my discovery just now, if your last publishing was when I starred in New York, dare I say your writing attractions revolved when I was.. cruel..’’ he smirked, eyes lazily turning back to you with no rush at all.

‘’it’s just writing- it doesn’t mean anything in real life- half those stories were merely requests by other people’s inter-‘’

‘’not all of them.’’ He interrupted with a finger pointing towards the ceiling, somehow silencing you.

‘’I’m quite flattered by this.. little community. Yet I have a point I truly need to clarify which you stated just now.’’ He said carefully, his hands behind his back once again while he took dangerous steps towards you. ‘’you said writing doesn’t mean anything in real life, that is where you are wrong.’’

You gave him an odd look, mixed with a warning as he drew near, feeling yourself press up against the locked door with your heart racing. What did he want.. why did he care.. were you truly some sick little fuck that inserted people into stories just for fun times? Was it a consent thing?

‘’when I struck your tight little ass, I could practically smell the arousal that sparked from you- deny it as you may.. that gorgeous little collar of yours- in which I would love to switch out for one of mine, just indicated you relish in the pressure it brings and tells me you enjoy being choked..’’ he rose a hand at this, making you flinch a little with your head turning to the side as if he was going to do just that, only to find him resting is flat against the door beside your head.

‘’you wish for people to leave you alone in this world only because you relish in the sweet escape of a book.. as most of us do, even I find myself guilty of the same thing. However, one day you found out why read when you could create your own worlds? Make anything happen? Anything possible? You dream of things to form into reality, but because you cant, this.. fan fiction, is the closest you can ever get to it.. and by such, you intertwine your real life between the very lines you type on the screen..’’ he smirked, his voice dangerously low to a whisper while his other hand moved to caress your side, his thumb ghosting under your sweater while he studied your reactions. ‘’you find me attractive.. my attention has neglected you so you find yourself pulling me into your fantasies..’’

His soft whispers could almost be heard beside your ear, your eyes wide as denial began to fade away and the cold truth causing you to shiver. You turned your face back to look at him, the tip of your nose almost brushing up against his while his eyes slowly dipped to look at your lips.

‘’but the best part of all this darling.. is all you had to do.. was ask..’’ 

PART TWO

~DM a song for your own Musical Mischief one shot! 

~Fan Fiction books/one shots were Cameos of my work that you can find on my Masterlist :) thank you for your support! 

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden

[mars-and-the-theoi]

Low energy Devotional Acts for when you don’t have a lot of energy (or time, or money, etc.) pt. 8

💀Hades/Plouton💀

- listen to a devotional playlist for Him

- learn how to budget if able

- if you have a dog- spend some time with them

- if able volunteer at an animal shelter or volunteer to walk dogs

- if able learn about your ancestors

- learn about death magic and spirit work

- learn about death doulas

- learn about the Underworld or afterlives in general

- listen to ‘dark ambient’ soundscapes

- if able visit a cemetery

- learn about cemetery and graveyard etiquette

- learn about funerary practices throughout time and around the world

- wear black (can be as simple as a hair tie or socks to your whole outfit and even makeup!)

- listen to goth music

- carry some coins on you if able

- do Halloween or gothic themed coloring pages

- learn about the roles of hospice workers, funeral directors, morticians, etc.

- honor deceased loved ones (can be pets, friends, family members, etc. doesn’t matter)

- be kind to spirits and respect* them and the dead (*I know there are some folks who don’t deserve respect in death so obviously you don’t have to respect them this is just a more…in general kind of thing)

🌺Persephone🌺

- if able go on a walk (can be as simple as down the driveway and back up if that’s all you can manage)

- if unable to do that try to sit outside or open a window/door to let some fresh air in and open the blinds/curtains to let some sunlight in

- listen to nature soundscapes

- pick some flowers or get a bouquet for yourself or others

- learn about herbalism

- enjoy some pomegranates, pomegranate juice, or something with pomegranate in it

- listen to a devotional playlist for Her

- if able visit a cemetery

- learn, read, watch stuff about ghosts (yes even those weird ghost hunting shows that come on at like 2 am and make you feel like you’re experiencing a fever dream)

- learn about reincarnation

- be kind to Demeter

- if able donate to or volunteer at a battered women’s shelter and learn about their history and importance

- if able do some baking (especially bread)

- learn about the underworld or afterlives in general