#How To Increase Your Height Rapidly

[cherryblooom]

2XL — OP81 [ part 1 ]

Summary: You are a young artist who gained a lot of popularity at the ripped age of 14 due to your talent and unusual style. Your body is considered "voluminous" so, in public, you only use 2XL clothing, to protect yourself from people on the internet and feel more comfortable while performing. You have managed to keep your personal life outside the spotlight but when Oscar finally made it to the glamorous lifestyle of motorsports, everything changed.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader

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Fic warning: best friends to lovers, slut shaming, weird people on the internet, people commenting about a minor's body, sexism, rape comments, rape "jokes", reader battles with her self-esteem, self-image, and self-love, Oscar is obsessed with his girlfriend and her body (not in a creepy way) and is not afraid of showing it, Oscar is not afraid of defending reader and dragging people though the mud.

Faceclaim: Billie Eilish

Note: Oscar is a year older than the reader. SMAU mixed with narrative. Reader doesn't have that much access to social media right now as they are mostly controlled by their management.

You were in shock, appalled, shaking in your boots. No, that wasn't enough to describe the excitement you felt when you saw the success your debut song was having. It had gone viral on the Soundcloud platform, and your followers were increasing rapidly, it honestly felt like a dream.

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ynusername Thank you so much for all the support and love you guys have shown to my debut song and EP. I am still in shock and shaking. I can't wait to see what comes next 🩵

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fanusername you deserve all the love, the songs are beautiful

→ ynusername Thank you so much for the support, it is a dream come true 🩵

oscarpiastri beautiful and talented, you deserve it! ��︎🩵

ynusername has liked your comment

username this girl is going to be a fucking star

ynusername has liked your comment

username245 ocean eyes makes me cry so much 😭

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oscarpiastri I can't even begin to express how proud I am of you. You are such a talented artist and seeing how you are achieving all of your dreams makes me so excited. And…happy birthday! I don't care how famous you get, i’ll always remember how you almost die because you couldn't stop eating grapes.

Please don't forget me when you are famous, I can't live without your pancakes and you always REFUSE to share the recipe 😔

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ynusername and i’ll NEVER give you my pancakes recipe ☺️🙂‍↔️

→ oscarpiastri boooh, u are just mean and for what😣

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ynusername This pookie just won his first championship in motorsports and I'm still scared to cross the street alone, wtf. Anyways, CONGRATULATIONS!! I don't need to read your horoscope to know that you have a great and bright future ahead of you ❤️@ oscarpiastri

P.S. I understand that winning a championship is a bit of a big deal, but I'm not going to give you my pancake recipe. I don't care how pretty your eyes are 🙄

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fan1 wait, are they a couple?

→ fanuser3 No, as far we know, they have only been best friends since kids

randomuser oscar had an amazing season, I can't wait to see him in f1

fanuser2 Is Yn that tiny or is Oscar a giant? 😭

→ fan1 I know, their height difference is so cute 😔

→ fan3 both answers are correct 😂 but she's 5’1 so I would say that is not that hard to tower over her

Oscarpiastri if you give me the recipe, I will teach you how to cross the street without dying 😃

→ ynusername no❤️

→ oscarpiastri oh COME ON

→ oscarpiastri then, can you come and prepare me some? I pledge not to peek

→ ynusername that I can do

Oscar turned off the screen of his phone when he saw that you had returned from the bathroom, since he had taken advantage of those minutes that you were away from the table to respond to that disgusting comment on Twitter. There were times when he hated social networks, and because he was not a fan and did not find the logic in arguing with a stranger on Twitter, he could not avoid the anger that began to feel when he saw that comment from someone who claimed to be his fan. It wasn't the first time, and unfortunately it wouldn't be the last, that your fashion style was the center of conversation, and not in a good way.

“So, are we done here then? Nobody wants to order anything else?” asked his team leader. All the team members shook their heads and after the bill was paid, everyone started to get into the cars that were already waiting outside to take them to the bar they had reserved for the rest of the night. It wasn’t just that they had won the championship but now Oscar was officially of age, so it was also a reason to celebrate (although he wasn’t old enough to drink alcohol yet, but it seems that detail wasn’t that important to his team).

“Let’s go to McDonald’s for our monthly greasy burger” Oscar told you as you walked out of the restaurant. Your arms were intertwined, and your head was resting on his chest as the two of you slowly made your way to the exit. You couldn’t help but feel a warm flush running through your body. You felt so comfortable and safe.

''Even though I wouldn't want to break our tradition, you should go with your team to celebrate. I'm sure they made you a cake or something like that.'' Since you were both 12 years old, on the last Friday of every month you would go somewhere to eat sweets, junk food or things that you couldn't eat on a daily basis and, for both of you, it was almost a sacred day where you could be yourself, spend time together and just eat, talk or relax.

"Maybe you're right but honestly I'd rather spend time with you."

''I'd love to accompany you but I'm not 18 yet''

''Ohh right, you're still a little girl, I almost forgot. My bad''

''Shut up!'' Oscar just laughed and you let him guide you to his car. ''So, you're not going to the bar?''

''I told you; I prefer to be with you.'' You were both already inside the car and after buckling his seatbelt, Oscar leaned over you to put your seatbelt on for you, but you didn't realize how close you were from each other until he was practically right in front of you. Time felt like it had stopped, or at least it was going slower, since you felt like you had been in that same position for minutes. Oscar for his part couldn't help but run his gaze over your full, kissable and pink lips. For Oscar, you had always been a beauty that didn't need makeup, and if you had put on any, it would only be to make your already natural beauty shine. A few inches were all that separated your lips from his and Oscar smiled cheekily as he watched you hold your breath, maybe waiting, but waiting for what exactly? Oscar pursed his mouth into a satisfied smile.

Oscar finished fastening your seatbelt and sat back down to his seat as if nothing had happened, but he smiled mischievously when he watched you wipe the palms of your hands on your pants and felt you release the breath you were holding.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with that belt, but sometimes it gets stuck. I should check it out later,” Oscar said, and you nodded you head accepting his explanation. It was a lie. The belt was perfect, he just wanted an excuse to do what he did and yes, he didn’t regret anything. He got the answer he was looking for...that he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

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dailyop81 One of the photos that are already coming out of Oscar's team celebrating the championship title, but he doesn't appear in any of them. Could it be that he didn't attend his own party?

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dailyynupdates yn and oscar hanging out today. According to the person who took the photos, the two were seen leaving a food store with a couple of bags (with snacks and what it looked like some junk food). They stopped at the park for a few seconds and then oscar started chasing yn while they both laughed. It should be noted that today is Oscar's celebration party, and he apparently decided to celebrate with yn.

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oscarpiastri such a lovely night with a pretty girl 🩵

tagged @ ynusername

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yn_global23 the height difference between them, I can't-

→ ynhater1 she looks like a fucking midget besides him, how is that cute? lol

→ ynhater1 and btw, the only reason she's famous is because she is with Oscar, if not, she would have flopped so hard 🤣

→ yn_global23 you are aware that yn was already famous before your little vroom vroom guy won any silly tittle, right?

Oscarpiastri liked your comment ❤️

fanuser5 Oh, the way I would give my left kidney to see them together! Like TOGETHER 🙂‍↕️

Oscarpiastri liked your comment

→ ynfan2 ong, me too!! I don't know a lot about Oscar but yn seems so comfortable and happy whenever they are together

→ ynuser2 omggg, Oscar liked your comment 😭

→ fanuser5 WHAT? I can't see it.

→ ynfanuser4 I think he removed the like but, we all saw it. @oscarpiastri explain 🫠

Oscarpiastri liked your comment ❤️

→ ynfanuser4 ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Radio check: I'm finishing up the next part of Enchanted, but this came to my mind, and I couldn't get it out of my head so here we are. If you'd like me to tag you, let me know. Like and Reblog if you like it!

[waterfallofspace]

Allergic To Concepts

Is anyone else still into the M/agnus Archives? Maybe, maybe not, but I have had this fic sitting in my google docs for months, and I just finally managed to get myself to finish up the last bit, so here is part one of a possible two part fic, if I can ever manage to get myself to write the next part!

So, if anyone wants, please enjoy a little Allergic to concepts Jon. aka, Jon is so allergic to dogs that just the idea of them gets him a bit worked up~

I'll never be over this podcast, and I might start sharing small (tiny) drabbles of these guys if anyone would be interested <3 or even just to start coaxing myself back into writing~

Characters: Jon, Martin, Tim, and Sasha Word Count: 2.7k

“-so to conclude, we absolutely, most certainly, cannot do that,” Martin finishes, hands woven into his hair. Seems to happen more often nowadays; getting a job you’re not exactly qualified for tends to bring on a touch of added stress. What brings even more stress, however, are the faces staring back at him, twin smiles painted across worryingly calm canvases. Seems once a poet, always a poet, even in your own thoughts. 

Tim chuckles, mischief running through his eyes. “How do you even know that? You been stalking our new boss?” 

“W-well no, it’s just that…” Martin starts, beginning to study the floor as his rambling starts to take over. “Well there may have been an… incident, of- of sorts, with a uh… well it was, I was trying to open this door, but see I was holding files, and there was this dog, and they kinda just- well I was trying to stop it but it got in and- so I went to Jon’s office and he was just kinda… and then I-” 

“So what?” Tim interrupts, mercifully saving Martin from his own tongue. “Why should his issues stop us from havin’ a good time?” With a snap of his fingers, Tim casts Sasha a devious wink. The colour seems to drain from Martin’s face as he holds up a shaking finger, aiming somewhere behind Tim’s shoulders. 

“Ah, speak of the devil,” Sasha mutters, her smile never wavering. 

Spinning on his heel, Tim turns to greet the newest arrival to the hallway. “Fancy seeing you here, boss! Burning the midday oil?” 

Jon pauses, papers nearly spilling from his crowded arms as he fumbles with some keys. “That’s not an expression. And what are you all doing cramped in the hall? Don’t any of you have work to do?” 

Martin nearly keels over as Jon’s glare settles against him, seemingly deeming him responsible for this lapse in progress. As if! In fact, he’d been the one begging them to get back to work. Honestly, Jon should appreciate the fact that he talked them out of-

“Actually, we’re thinking of heading off for the day,” Tim cuts in, leaving Martin’s mouth nearly hanging open. Had they not just gone over why this was a horrible idea? As if to answer his unspoken question, Sasha joins in with support for Tim’s cause. Martin’s pretty sure there’s actually a gap between his lips. 

Jon, having opened the office by this point, merely stops and stares. Seconds pass, though it feels more like minutes. There appears to be some sort of staring match between the three of them. 

Finally Jon breaks the silence with a short… well, it’s hard to call it a laugh, more like a huff. His posture tightens as he attempts to pull himself to his full height, casting Tim a wary glance. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Quite serious in fact! See, me and Sasha have been thinking,” Tim pauses, gesturing to the aforementioned with a sickly sweet smile. Merely performance charm, which given the eye-roll she shoots back, Sasha’s well aware of. “All of us here need a chance to bond.” 

“Bond, you say,” Jon’s monotone voice offers no insight to how he’s taking this suggestion. As Martin’s mouth begins to dry, his hands start working their way back into his hair. 

“Indeed!” Tim continues, seemingly oblivious to Martin’s rapidly increasing heart rate. “We’ve all been stuck here together, figured we should become more of a team, you know? A team-building exercise you could call it. Something to get us more on the same page.” 

“And what is this ‘team-building exercise’ you have in mind?” 

Well, his heart may have been racing before, but it’s not anymore. In fact, he’s almost entirely convinced it’s just stopped completely. Jon’s eyes meet his own, and Martin drops his gaze fast enough to leave him dizzy. 

This time Sasha speaks up, her coy tone doing nothing to alleviate the heart attack symptoms Martin’s now convinced he’s feeling. “An animal rescue cafe. They rescue dogs and cats, the ones that need rehoming, and bring them there so you can get to know them before you adopt. One opened just down the street from here, and me and Tim have been looking into going. We figured, might as well drag you and Martin along with us.” 

Jon’s glare narrows further, a single hand coming up to rest between his eyes. The movement is completed by pushing up his glasses with a sigh. “And how exactly does drinking tea in a room full of animals qualify as team building?” 

“You can tell a lot about a person from the way they treat animals,” Tim offers. “Not to mention the fact that there’s a whole study about how psychopaths are more likely to hate cats, which is mostly due to the fact cats have willful behaviour.” 

Martin can almost taste his heartbeat at this point, a fact he’s finding quite alarming. Still rummaging through papers, Jon steps into his office. Much to Martin’s chagrin, they all seem to be following him. 

“Are you suggesting someone working in this office is a psychopath, Tim?” Jon continues, huffing out another sigh as he notices the entourage entering his office. Jon’s glare lands on Martin once more, something he’s almost gotten used to at this point. 

Laughter begins to flow from Tim, Sasha joining in with a mild chuckle. “Of course not, but hey, this job’s all about researching things that probably aren’t true. Better safe than sorry, right?” 

Seemingly the only one noticing Jon’s growing apprehension, or maybe just the only one that cares, Martin can’t peel his eyes off their boss. Unaware of the scrutiny, though perhaps expecting it nonetheless, Jon pushes up his glasses again. Martin doesn’t miss the way he lets a single finger brush against his nose during this action. Nor do his eyes skip over the light scrunch forming at the bridge of said nose. 

Oblivious as always, Tim’s still going on about the cafe. Something about which animals are available, what tea they serve, scones, and more useless information. Sasha’s typing something in her phone, apparently fact checking his current ramblings. Still, all of that fades into the background as Martin’s attention is drawn to Jon once more. 

At first, he can’t figure out why he’s watching. Jon didn’t speak, and from his posture he hasn’t made any significant gestures. There doesn’t seem to be anything specifically that should have caught his eye, and yet-  

And then it happens again. Jon’s brows tighten, his eyes begin to flutter shut, and his lips part just enough for his tongue to peek out between them. There’s a beat of silence, then a single breathy inhale, barely noticeable above Tim’s monologuing. 

“ihh-” 

Just as quickly as it began, Jon crushes it back once more, a hand roughing swiping against his nose. There’s a quiet feeling of– perverse excitement as Martin watches him. Why? No earthly idea. It’s not as if there’s anything specifically… exciting about the action. There’s no physical stimulation beginning, to phrase it politely. 

Still, there’s something… almost electrifying, about bearing witness to a moment so personal and private. As if the only person in the room is Jon, and he’s opened the door for Martin to join him in his world. Which, as you think about it, just becomes more and more– creepy as hell! Damn it! 

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Martin manages to peel his gaze away from Jon. Zoning back into Tim’s rambling, he just barely catches the tail end of a rant about different toppings on cinnamon buns. His silence was entirely unnoticed. Understandably, given only Tim had said anything in minutes. 

“Personally, I’m a fan of the regular cream cheese icing,” Martin offers, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Tim as another soft sniffle sounds behind him. The others don’t notice it, Sasha rolling her eyes as a light begins to dawn in Tim’s. 

“Well, interesting you say that Martin, they actually have those at the cafe down the street! Isn’t that such a wonderful coincidence?” Tim swirls his body towards Martin, casting a playful glance back at Jon as he continues. “Wouldn’t you like to stop by and get yourself one of those delicious buns?” 

Martin feels his face begin to pale again, and barely manages a meek, “W-well… I don’t need to… get one right now… but if you want-” 

Thankfully he’s saved from himself as a gasp sounds out from the desk. Everyone in the room turns, Martin included, just in time to see Jon duck into his wrist with a tight, “ih’nGXt–uih!” 

“Bless you!” Sasha calls, Tim and Martin echoing the sentiment. A flush begins to spread over Jon’s cheeks, but it’s brushed off as he waves a hand, continuing to scribble on some papers. Casting a glance over to Tim, Martin sighs as the mischief floods the other man's face. He’s very clearly not letting this go. 

“Was that actually a sneeze?” Tim laughs, mimicking the sound as Sasha suppresses a giggle. 

Jon keeps his head down, pen still moving across the paper in disjointed movements. “It was in fact a sneeze, yes. Happens to everyone from time to time, no need to make a big deal out of it. Now, I believe you were going to a cat and do- hiHh! rescue cafe?” 

The hitch manages to escape from Jon’s tight grip, his posture shuddering slightly with the force of continuing the sentence. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Martin that just the word dog seems to leave him breathless. 

“A dog cafe, yeah! You’re coming too, right boss? Come see all the adorable little puppies?” Tim offers, gesturing towards the door. Apparently it didn’t go unnoticed by him either. 

An audible gasp sounds out, and all eyes turn back to the rapidly hitching boss. Jon manages to stifle the first one almost silently, only a rush of breath escaping at the end. 

“Bless you, boss.” 

Jon waves a hand, wiping away the water beginning to flood his eyes. “Was just sihh… sighing, Tim.” He finishes the statement with another stifle, this time his whole body jerks along with the rough exhale.  

“Really? Because that sounded like another sneeze,” Tim taunts, poking a finger towards Jon’s face. “And given the way your nose is twitching, you seem far from done.” 

Jon seems to consider debating, but another frantic hitch decides it for him. Giving up the ruse, he ducks into his shoulder with another, “eh’tNGxt–uh! ih’NTchhuh!”  

“Bless yo-” 

“eH’DGZSHhh –uu!”  The volume makes everyone jump, seeming to surprise even Jon. 

“Oh- mby apologies, I seeb to be… hiehh–” Jon trails off, one hand frantically searching for a tissue, nose visibly trembling behind the other. In a move of uncharacteristic pity, Tim pushes the box within reach. Jon mumbles out a thank you, before swinging his chair around for a touch of privacy. 

The silence is almost deafening, cut up only by the rustling of fabric as Jon attempts to subdue the onslaught. “eh’nGNt –oo!” And fails miserably. 

“Do- maybe do you want… well possibly we should, actually I think you might- I mean he might want–” Desperately trying to find a way to fill the space, Martin rambles on, gaze bouncing between all three of his coworkers.

“Martin,” Jon cuts him off, “just say it.” 

The annoyance Martin’s come to expect seems unaffected by the breathy quality of Jon’s words. Unless you notice the flushed nature of his ears, which… is kinda hard to miss when his nose is starting to match. 

“S-sorry! I just figured you may want a touch of uh… privacy..? You seem… itchy,” Martin offers, already beginning to back out of the room. 

Jon glares, lining up a retort before pausing as the first syllable comes out muffled with congestion. A sharp sniff and quick rub later, he continues in an easier tone. “I’m quite alright. No need for such concerns.” 

“I mean- If… if you’re sure…” 

Tim interrupts this time, draping an arm across Martin’s back. “You heard the boss, he’s fine. Now, onto that cafe?” 

Before Martin can get a word out, Jon stands from his chair, dropping the tissues in the wastebasket next to his desk. Sasha chuckles out her approval, sticking her phone into a pocket and beginning to exit the office. Tim follows suit, leaving Martin standing alone with Jon. 

There’s a beat of silence, Martin watching, horrified, as his body refuses to move an inch, silently waiting for Jon’s approval. 

“Well?” 

It’s not exactly an invitation, but it’s more than enough to send Martin scrambling for the door, muttering more sheepish apologies under his breath. If Jon heard them, he gave no indication, busy rustling through a desk drawer. A few more muffled stifles make their way through the noise, no indication given they were heard either. 

As Martin makes it into the hallway, he catches Tim waving from the door. He’s propping it open with one foot as Sasha waits outside, once again on her phone. Martin waves back his acknowledgement, before gesturing towards the kitchen. Tim simply shrugs, calling something about ‘not waiting around’, before joining Sasha in the crisp autumn air. 

Making his way back to the kitchen, Martin pauses at Jon’s door. He’s not eavesdropping, just… listening in, to see if Jon’s alright. It’s his boss after all, and he’s an assistant! He’s supposed to… assist! Perfectly natural thing to do, isn’t it? 

A harsh double pulls him from his spiralling, Jon’s voice coming through audibly in the groan that follows. Alright, enough listening in, this is starting to feel more creepy than curious. 

With what little confidence he can muster, Martin works his way through his plan. The mugs are where they always are, but the water in the kettle was a bit more cold than a proper cup of tea would allow. Flipping the switch, Martin began heating it, and hurried out of the kitchen to his desk. He picks out a fairly bland tea, Jon seems the bland type… right? 

Another few sneezes sound out from the boss’s office, and Martin almost starts to feel guilty for still being in the office. It’s obvious Jon assumes he’s alone, if not from the sneezes themselves, from the groans that come after them. Ever the stickler for a Professional Appearance, he’d never allow himself to be seen or heard in such a state willingly. 

The kettle sounding pulls Martin from his thoughts once more, and he pours the water over the tea bag. Moving carefully, as not to spill, he makes his way back to Jon’s office, knocking softly on the door. 

“Yes?” The reply is sharp, a frantic sounding shuffling occurring as Martin begins to slide open the door. 

“Hey, yeah sorry I just- you sounded like… I just thought that maybe you’d want… you might need some…” 

“Spit it out, Martin,” Jon sighs, giving his nose a subtle swipe. Unfortunately for him, this seems to have been the wrong choice. His nose twitches, eyes beginning to unfocus, and Martin finds himself pausing for the interruption. At least, until Jon gestures at him to continue. 

“Well, I just ma-” 

“ih’tNGT–uu!” 

“Bless you. I just made you some tea, it seemed you cou-” 

“hHUh’dNT–uh!” There’s a pause, Jon’s breath catching dramatically, before he swivels around in the chair and aims a harsh, “eH’dZSHH– eih’DSCHhhh–oo!” at the fistful of tissues he managed to grab. 

It wasn’t exactly quiet, and Martin finds himself flinching against the noise, but holds it together as he places the mug on Jon’s desk, hurrying through the rest of his sentence. 

“Seemed you could use some tea, bless you again by the way, anyways I’m gonna head off with Sasha and Tim, I’ll see you there I guess! Or, well- not just me, we’ll all see you there, as a group, if you choose to come that is! Which of course you don’t have to, though we’d lik-” 

“Martdin,” Jon, mercifully, cuts him off, congestion seeping through his words. With a deep sigh, he finishes his sentence. “Thagnk you. You mbay go ndow.” 

Taking the out, Martin gives one last nervous smile, sliding out into the hallway. Another desperate sneeze leaves him wincing, Jon’s vocal groan sounding out yet again. The poor guy sounds miserable, and Martin almost considers going back in and telling him not to come. If he’s this bad from just the thought… well… 

But he’s embarrassed himself enough for the day, and, albeit hesitantly, Martin heads off to meet Tim and Sasha at the cafe.

[jonbene]

Thank you for the outpouring of responses and support on my first few stories. It’s been great to see and very encouraging. I’ll try to write as much as the inspiration strikes to keep you all…entertained :) Here’s my next one:

His father saw an ad guaranteed to make your kids “man up” almost overnight. It was at a wilderness camp teaching kids about foresting, wildlife, and logging. His dad jumped at the chance and dropped him off. To be honest, his son was actually excited. He loved the idea of getting dressed up in costume, spending the summer among the trees.

It’s true, within the first day they put the kids straight into lessons and trainings all about the forest and how to work. His son adjusted quite quickly and grew a liking to it. They fed him a ton of steak and carbs as he sweat, chopping down trees and hiking. It was 12 hours of work all in the first day and all the kids were exhausted by the end of it. As they got into bed, they noticed that they had changed a bit. Their clothes felt different, but still fit. They were all kind of awkward in their bodies as they grew in height subtly.

The ad didn’t lie when they said they would man up almost overnight. They all woke up at what seemed like 18 years old. Most of them had full beards by morning!

They weren’t scared though. They felt confident, excited, and strong. Testosterone coarsened through their new bodies, giving them all the symptoms. And with every new, exciting symptom, there were the adverse ones. They became more aggressive and moody. Their appetites and libido increased. They experienced headaches, acne, and their voices cracked.

Since the camp somehow changed their bodies rapidly, all their symptoms appeared and progressed and heightened rapidly. As they worked on the land feeling more comfortable in their bodies allowing their shirts to open up, letting the wind brush against their skin, their skin began to change. Their skin became tougher, thicker. Their bodies began to bulk, sprouting more and more body hair.

This was when the boys started to become alarmed. They hadn’t even been there a week, and so much had changed for them. They looked like boys in a football college now. They struggled with all the rapid, mental, and physical changes and wished they’d stop. They never wanted it to be like this; they just thought they’d be playing in a summer camp!

But the changes did anything but slow, no matter how hard they pleaded with their bosses and teachers. The deed was done and there was no reversing it. Their bosses didn’t like their protest, so it was time to escalate. They all started screaming as their bodies burned. One by one they started bursting out of their clothes. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! As one limb after another bulked and sprouted and bounded up, out, and away from them. Veins bulging out of their skin. They begged, “plllleeAAASSEE! nnnoOoOOOoOOO!” as their voices dropped even more into a huge, thunderous man’s voice. Their fate was sealed. They were men now, especially as their muscles one by one bulged up and swelled. Their bodies getting more and more dense hair. No amount of clothes could cover up their virility.

They must be silenced. There was no way the company could afford negative reviews. A wash came over their minds as the transformation slowed. As fast as it came, it ended. “Ohhhhh,” they moaned softly as their hair fell out of their heads very quickly, leaving them with none left on top and plenty everywhere else. Must be the excess testosterone. They all stood there naked coming to in a trance gently exploring their new bodies with their hands. It seemed normal to them now how hairy they’d become. It didn’t feel like just days ago their dads were dropping them off as kids. It felt normal to them how large, firm, and massive their bodies became.

It felt normal to them now that they were fully grown men. Men that enjoyed the outdoors. Men that were very capable and handy around the house and yard. Men that worked hard for their money and knew how to enjoy life as well.

Months later, they were just grown men like everyone else in society. The big secret was that they were just kids months ago and were now men in their 40s. But nobody talked about it, so the process continued happening for generations of boys looking to be accepted by their fathers.

[yuesya]

As a sorcerer, Shiki is no stranger to dealing with unexpected situations on her assignments. It’s easy for missions to go awry, and a sorcerer must be able to adapt to the rapidly-changing circumstances –or die, usually.

Being stranded in a different world is still stretching things, though.

Shiki is not in the habit of lying to herself. Especially not when the truth is clear to see. Perhaps there are places in China where wild mint grows tall enough to cover a young child’s height, but she’s fairly certain that slimes and burrowing dragon-creatures are not part of the local wildlife in any place on Earth. And that’s not even mentioning the strange elemental flowers that tunnel easily through the earth to launch aggressive surprise attacks…

But the young man traveling with them is clearly used to dealing with such creatures. Xiao dispatches anything that attacks them with ease, unwaveringly calm and brutally efficient. Shiki thinks that he might be the most skillful spear-user that she’s ever seen –not that there are very many sorcerers who wield spears, most preferring swords as Shiki does. But there’s still something about the way with which the young man wields his weapon that hints at a preternatural grace, even by a sorcerer’s standards.

… Even compared with Satoru-niichan’s movements, which is a little alarming to consider. But it does explain how he’d killed Patch-face with minimal injury to himself.

Shiki readjusts her grip on Muta-san, taking a moment to reinforce her body with cursed energy to restore her flagging strength. Physical power is not her strong suit, and Muta-san is heavy, especially with the increased mass from his… transformation, courtesy of the late Patch-face. She’d actually ended up cutting off another portion of his monstrous body in order to make it easier to carry him around with her, but now she’s wondering if she should’ve cut off a larger portion of his dismembered torso…

Shiki had been careful to avoid severing any of Muta-san’s lines, and her cursed technique lapse would prevent him from dying on her. Shoko-san should be able to put him back together and keep him alive, right?

… Although, it’s not as if Shiki can call Shoko-san for assistance right now, what with the current issue of being in another world and all.

She supposes that it’s fortunate she encountered Xiao, who both speaks Japanese –somehow, inexplicably, although the accent is a little strange– and is amenable to lending his assistance, even despite the entire mess with the Special Grade cursed spirits.

He’d fallen silent for a moment after Shiki explained her situation.

“… It would be remiss of me to ignore your situation, considering the circumstances,” he’d finally said. “I do not have the solution to your problem, but… perhaps the other adepti would. I will guide you to Jueyun Karst. Consider it repayment for protecting the people of Liyue, when it was not your responsibility to do so.”

“I am a sorcerer. It’s a sorcerer’s duty to fight curses and protect humans.”

A lesson, a mantra that’s been drilled into her since childhood. The response is reflexive, almost.

Xiao had nodded silently, with a faint flicker of something in sharp golden eyes that made it clear he also understood, then turned and beckoned her to follow.

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: (Duo POV) After a hunt gone wrong Dean falls sick. Now on his death bed Sam and Y/N do whatever it takes to save him from the void that is death, even if that means running into trouble.

Warnings: Cannon violence, Ansgt, hospitals, talk about dying and death, illness, heart issues, talk of past deaths, grief, Dean may be OOC or at least his inner thoughts but let me know, Historical and religious talk of the Celts and Christianity if anything is incorrect/ inaccurate pls tell me so I may fix it, cursing

A/N: Thank you so much for 100 followers, never thought this series would get so much love!

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn , @crazyunsexycool

Word Count: 15,139

Faith

(Master list, Prev. Ch, Next Ch)

I hate hospitals.

I hate hospitals, especially when it is someone you care about on the medical bed.

I hate hospitals, especially when you can’t be in the room with the person; when you have to sit in the waiting room with nothing but pure anxiety coursing through your veins, and everyone around you is in the same position.

At least Sam is with him, that must make both of them feel better. But it doesn't make me feel as better as it should, my leg bounces rapidly no distraction working for me. I tried reading and listening to music on my stupid iPod, but neither worked- not when my mind was going a hundred miles a minute on all the worst possibilities.

It wasn't meant to be a difficult hunt, going after a rawhead. Yet it all went wrong far too quickly, Dean yelled for Sam and I to get the children out of the basement while he stayed behind fighting the thing. It would be a single shot with a taser, easy to mess up on, truthfully, which is why I had given mine up for him to have as an extra one before I carried a young boy out. It was all wrong. So so wrong. He shot the thing but they both happened to be standing in a small puddle of water, and water conducts stupid electricity and he got hurt too.

Sam had found him. We called for an ambulance and rushed him to the hospital, he was unconscious the whole time.

Sam had to talk to the receptionist for insurance and then the cops explaining what happened and then a doctor. But they wanted to talk privately and he wanted to see Dean alone first. Which only increased my anxiety, Sam wouldn’t have done that unless something was horribly wrong. Something was horribly wrong. I felt like I was going to vomit or shake myself out of existence, maybe the latter would be better. Everyone around me wasn't much better, looking the same shade of nervousness. Some were crying, pacing, or on the phone talking rapidly. Hospitals were a horribly depressing place.

I’m unsure how much time passes, minutes, hours, an eternity? Sam walks towards me, tears in his eyes some clearly having spilled over by the redness of his cheeks. No. No. No.

I stand up walking to him almost without noticing as if it was all just natural, tears fill my own eyes and I can feel my hands shaking. No. No. He wouldn't be crying if–

“Sam?” I said weakly, my voice wobbling horribly. I swallow down a knot in my throat, this couldn't be happening. No.

He drops his head down, his hair covering his face and likely more tears that spilled over. “Sam,” I say again my voice breaking. I couldn't lose someone else, couldn't lose anyone else. He finally lifts his head, barely being able to hold eye contact. He seems to wobble and all at once he falls into me, I hold him, his head dropping awkwardly into my neck, from the height difference, broken sobs leaving his mouth. He hugs me tightly, grasping desperately to the back of my shirt. Something is horribly wrong. I blink back my tears, I had to be strong for Sammy. This was his brother, I might have lost both my parents but I couldn't imagine how it would feel to lose my brother.

My neck grows damp but I ignore it. I hold the back of his head, holding him, no comforting words forming in my mind. “Sam” I breathe. I felt like I was going insane. He pulls himself away, keeping me in arm's distance. His face is red and blotchy from crying, and his hair is a mess. “Please” I begged one last time, my voice quivering.

He sniffles hard, but I do not expect him to be strong, “He has a month, at best” his voice is coarse and shaky but the words feel like they came out in slow motion. Everything freezes, turning into a buzz of white noise. I can feel tears spill down my cheeks but I can’t move. I can’t. No. He can’t be dying. No. No. He wasn’t allowed to. The world seemed to shatter, no, maybe that was my heart. I can feel it beating in my ears, everything else fading away. His mouth moves, he is saying something else but I cannot hear him over the sterile noise of the world crumbling. I don't understand. My throat is so tight I feel like I might just break right there. My knees feel weak and the floor seems closer than before.

Sam pulls me into him, holding me tightly once again, his hands cradling my head as a choked sob leaves my lips. Tears pour down my eyes, he promised. All those months ago he promised he wouldn’t leave me, it was a stupid and fruitless promise but I believed it.

He couldn’t die. He can’t, he can’t die. No one else. Not again.

All too soon Sam pulls back, his arms being the only thing that seems to be holding me up. I can barely make out his features behind my own teary eyes. “He wanted me to come get you, ‘wouldn’t talk without you there” he croaks. A whole new sob breaks through my lips, I wasn't strong enough for this. I went through this twice, I could not take another. Tear after tear passes down my face, my cheeks stiff with it. I shake my head, this can’t be happening again, but even so, I let him pull me down the halls to his room trying my best to blink away my never-ending tears. But it was useless, not when it felt like I was being torn in two.

I stopped at the threshold of the doorway, he looked so weak, he was so pale and he had dark circles under his eyes that were not there hours before. An IV sticks out of his arm along with various machines around him, including an EKG. New tears fall over the rim of my eyes and I have to force my hand to clasp my mouth to hide another sob. Sam enters the room, his face hard and rid of any of the emotions he showed just moments ago. How could he do that?

Dean’s eyes are focused on the TV, but even from where I was partially hiding I could see his green eyes had grown dull, “Have you ever actually watched daytime TV? It's terrible” he jokes but he sounded weak too, his voice rid of its usual playful tone and familiar gruffness. Sam shakes his head and sighs, his ability to not break down in front of his brother was impressive to the point of it being scary, “I talked to your doctor.” But Dean continues to ignore anything that wasn’t that stupid TV playing commercials, “That fabric softener teddy bear. Oh, I'm gonna hunt that little bitch down” he responds instead. I want to laugh and ask him what the cute laundry bear ever did to him but I could not find it within me to be humorous, “Dean” I plead weakly my voice betraying me with its cracking. That gets his attention.

His eyes snapped up to where I stood, leaning against the doorframe to prevent myself from crumbling to the floor. His face immediately fills with worry, his eyes softening which is ironic considering who’s in the hospital bed. Without looking away from me he turned off the TV, I could tell he was thinking and worrying over something as he stared at me but I could not look at him without new tears falling. “Yeah. All right, well, ‘looks like you're gonna leave town without me” he finally says, my eyes snap back to him but he has already turned his attention to his brother. “What the hell are you talking about?” I step into the room, my sadness mixing too closely with frustration over his stupid declaration. “We are not gonna leave you here” Sam adds in sternly. “Hey, you better take care of that car” he points at Sam, any hint of a joke void from his voice, “Or, I swear, I'll haunt your ass.”

My eyebrows scrunched together, “what's wrong with you?” I accuse, “How are you just accepting this? You are young and have so much life ahead of you” For each word that passed my lips tears followed, my resolve too thin to exist. “You’re meant to grow old, and…and yell at kids to get off your lawn as you work on Baby and maybe other cars with a pet at your side and a lovely home. You’re meant to annoy your brother and me with stupid calls and the same old rock music.” I swallow roughly, ignoring the subtle shock on his face, “It’ll be beautiful and wonderful and we will all be there to watch it happen because you have to live.” My chest heaves, and I’m surprised I have any more tears to give. Life was too cruel before to allow me the opportunity to beg someone to stay as if that feat alone was enough to keep someone alive.

Silence envelopes the room, his eyes are wide and his lips are slightly agape. I don’t believe in God, but I would get on my knees right now and beg and plead and do anything he ever wanted if it meant Dean living. He sighs after what feels like forever, “Look, what can I say, it's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story.” I don’t understand how he could just dwindle his life down to bad luck and a wrong straw. Tears well in my eyes and I have the urge to smack some sense into him. “Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options” Sam insists, his voice breaking slightly. “What options?” Dean asks, “Yeah, burial or cremation?” he pauses for a moment his “joke” not landing, “And I know it's not easy. But I'm gonna die. And you can't stop it.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. How many people will I have to lose until it's enough to feed the glutenous wrath of death? First, it was my mother growing sick and dying, neither my brother nor I was allowed to see her in such a state not even to say goodbye. Then my Dad, who grew reckless in the wake of his only love's death, the coldness about him we had heard about only in stories returning to consume him completely until he drove himself into the ground. I always thought I was most like my mother, but now in the wake of this maybe I am my father's daughter.

I wipe away my tears roughly before clenching my hands, needing my nails to dig into my palms to ground me. “Let me try and heal you,” I say as firmly as my voice will allow. I've never done such a thing on a serious scale, it never got to the point where I felt desperate enough to toe the line of my own morals. But this, for him I would and I would not stay awake at night contemplating my selfishness.

Dean’s POV

Her face was red from crying, and her e/c eyes were filled with deep sadness. She looked shattered, and even so, she was beautiful.

I know I wasn’t being fair to her or Sam. But I always knew I’d die on a hunt, I long accepted it so her big glossy eyes would do nothing to change that fact. Even if it broke her, both of them, which I knew I was already doing. But I also know that sugar-coated truths would only hurt them more, I wasn’t going to allow them to get hopeful not when it would ruin them.

“Please?” she pleads quietly. My resolve breaks, my heart lurches as if it was trying to get closer to her and I didn’t think it had anything to do with the heart attack.

This was for the better, if they saw nothing would work early on they’d hopefully accept my death quicker. Plus I knew she’d stay up every night wondering what more she could have done for me, she’d obsess over it until it broke her all over again. I give her a sharp nod not trusting my voice, her eyes seem to light up a little, and that enough was all the excuse I needed.

She steps closer to my bed, careful not to trip over the wires connecting to me. She got close enough where I could smell her perfume, something sweet and flowery, and undeniably her, I felt warmer just from her closeness. She swallows roughly, “It works better if I can touch you…without the barrier of clothes.” Under any other circumstance I would most likely be flustered by her shy request, I mean this is what I’ve always wanted– to have her. But time was not on my side and I’d never get a chance to tell her, whenever it was I planned on doing so– to do so now with only a week to live would be too cruel. If she didn't like me back I’d die at least knowing and maybe I’d die with a broken heart or whatever crap people complain about. But if she did like me, which Sam insists she does, then a week wouldn't be long enough.

I lift the scratchy hospital shirt, hoping neither saw how much energy the simple action took. She looked nervous as she stared at my bare chest but I could see the hard look of determination in her eyes, she needed this. Carefully she places her hands on the center of my chest, her hands freezing as I suspected they would be but I don't cower from her gentle touch I lean into it further. I bask in it, small sparks igniting where she touched and it had nothing to do with her abilities. She looks up at me, watching my face for any warnings as her own e/c eyes turn to purple and pure warmth extends from her palm seeping into my skin. Maybe I should have been scared, but she was looking at me so gently and she's so beautiful that she must be an angel, and I'm only half the man she deserves.

I suck in a deep breath, clarity hitting me like an arrow, the grogginess and pain I felt melting into a puddle and being replaced with her. It felt like she was cradling my heart, caressing it gently like she would my face, her kindness and love seeping into the vessel, and truthfully I don't ever want it back. She could have my heart. She could have every part of me, and I'd never ask for it back. It's hers. I'm hers. My mouth fell agape, her hair fell onto her face, and I could feel it in my bones. I could feel the tension leave my shoulders and it was like everything I'd been carrying was lifted away. I don't care if she was healing me or not, I want her hands on me, I want to feel her. Just her. She was the sun and I was a fool begging to be closer, even if it burned, even if it was impossible.

Her hands begin to shake violently, but she pushes on, she holds on to me. Her fingers look like they want to curl and dig into my skin and it's clear she's fighting against the instinct, she doesn't want to hurt me not that I would mind any marks she printed into my skin. She lets her head hang, closing her eyes, “Oh fuck” she whines quietly and I have to desperately keep my mind clean. ‘Not the time to have those thoughts or acknowledge how hot that was. I lift a hand pushing her hair out of her face and behind her ear, keeping my hand there to hold her. Again I have to force away any ideas of what noises I could get her to make in a similar position. She looks up at me from her lashes as she bites down on her bottom lip hard, and I wonder how much longer I can keep my mind clean.

Suddenly deep crimson drips down her upper lip, and she begins to shake more. “Wait, wait Y/N” I breathe, looking from her over to Sam with concern. He pulls her off of me, she looks drained and paler than I know I am. She wipes at her nose, the blood has seemingly stopped, but she still shakes and wobbles. Sam pushes her down onto a nearby seat and I pull down my shirt, “How do you feel?” he asks me. “Peachy” I respond, smirking. He rolls his eyes, “I’m being serious. Did it work?”

“I feel better, not as weak” I answer truthfully. She nodded her head, her voice quieter than moments before, “Call for a nurse we should see if anything physically changed.”

“What about you? What was all that?” I ask. She shrugs, “‘Never really done it on a scale like this before, but it takes a lot out of you.”

Your POV

The doctor finally comes back, sifting through the papers on his clipboard, he looks shocked and confused which I hope is for the better because being lightheaded and on the verge of passing out would be worth it. “‘Looks like there has been some improvement, which would explain why you feel better,” he says, the room growing quiet with hope, “The difference is slight but well enough to know it wasn't a fluke” he looks up, “But I’d say it wasn't enough to change the outcome, I’m sorry.” Somehow the second time was worse. Hope was worse. “Thank you, Doctor” Sam replies sadly, and with a nod, the doctor leaves but does not take our sorrow with him.

“I can keep trying. Eventually, it will add up, and the more I do it the longer I’d be able to go” I offer, desperation clear on my tongue that it's almost embarrassing. “We can keep trying that but we should look at other options too” Sam adds. I nod my head vigorously in agreement. “You shouldn't get your hopes up, I’ve already accepted I’m gonna die you should too” Dean responds instead.

“Not happenin’” Sam retorts.

After we used up all our visiting hours we headed to the library, skipping out on eating to research for hours on both supernatural and not– just anything related to heart conditions and healing. I didn't ask why Sam didn't stay with his brother, he was family so he didn't have to follow visitation hours but I also figured he would rather spend his time trying to find a solution. Currently, Sam went the more “normal” route, pulling and printing articles on heart surgeries and other doctor stuff while calling several people. At the same time, I delved into the dark that is the unnatural.

Sam left a while ago, heading back to the motel with all his articles. I insisted on staying behind to “look for more,” in reality, I was going to make a call. The library closed in less than an hour and I already researched several Gods associated with healing, the side of my hand had turned dark with the ink stains. Though it was unsuccessful it was helpful for two reasons; one I at least looked, meaning it was one more thing I could check off, and two it pushed me to make a call I wasn't sure I was ready for.

What I needed was to be home, to look through many books on mythology and witchcraft, there I would find something but that was halfway across the country and each day that passed would be a day wasted. And teleporting books here wouldn't be helpful when there were so many of them and I wasn't sure where I would even begin.

I stare at my phone on the table, this shouldn't be a big deal. I call her all the time, well not as of late which I already got yelled at for. No, none of that mattered. She could lecture me a hundred times or resent me for months. I needed to help Dean. I swiftly pick up my phone, scrolling down to her contact, I don't hesitate to hit “call”, I’ve already hesitated too many times today.

The phone rings three times before she picks up, “Adeline” I start my voice already cracking with emotion. I can almost hear her jump to her feet, “Y/N?! What happened? Where are you? Are you safe? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I did not think I had any more tears left but was proven wrong when another tear slipped down my cheek, “Dean he’s…” I couldn’t say it, couldn't make it more real than it already was. I swallow roughly, trying to cram down my emotions for the time being, I’ve cried enough today, “Dean he’s dying, and I don't know–” a strangled sob leaves my lips and I have to force myself together resting my head on my hand for support, “I don't know what to do” I finished weakly. I hear her suck in a deep breath and it only makes me feel worse, “I-I want help…I need help,” I add, “I tried healing him, the doctor said the effect was minor but I’m gonna keep doing it, even if it takes a lot out of me.”

She exhales, “I’m really sorry Y/N”. I shake my head even though I know she can't see me. I ignored her comment, there was nothing to be sorry for because he was going to be alright, “Do you have any ideas? Maybe I’m doing something wrong or could be doing it better?”

She goes quiet again and it is hard to hold on to hope, “please,” I say quietly hoping she can hear me. She clears her throat, her voice cold and serious, “I’d try some herbal tea, one with healing properties any one of it will help or at least make him more comfortable.” I hum picking up my pen again, writing ‘herbal tea’ on my arm, I didn’t want to risk forgetting.

She sighs again, but it isn’t disappointed or even exhausted, “Don’t…don’t get your hopes up.” I shake my head vigorously again, “I’m not listening to this. I called for help cause you’re the only person I can think of who would know even a wisp of this. I’m desperate for help, not a lecture.” I know I was being cruel, ‘could hear it. She wasn’t trying to hurt me. “No, Y/N please listen. This isn’t an easy task, honestly, I’d like to say it’s impossible but I don’t want you to hang up on me. This doesn't come without great sacrifice.”

“And what if I’m okay with that?” I snap back, “I’m willing to sacrifice.”

“This is different,” she spits a hint of anger on her tongue, “I don’t mean just going against everything you believe in or against your mother's words. I mean making deals with demons, where you could lose your soul or your life or what makes you whole or maybe even worse.” I go quiet. I know she’s right, she always is. But I know my answer, I know what I’m willing to do, “I said I’m willing to make sacrifices.”

“Are you?” she counters. And without hesitation, I answer, “I love him.” I could tell she was getting frustrated with me, for not listening to her warning or taking her seriously even though I was. Of course, I know this is dark and messy territory, but that did not concern me. I can hear her swallow, her voice turning hard again, “What you would need to do would be more than love him.”

“Would it?” I counter.

“Yes,” she replies sternly, “And I won’t help you with that.” It was hard to be mad at her, she was just watching out for me trying to protect me. That was her job after all. But I wanted so desperately for him to be okay, he had to be. “Whether you help me or not, I will do everything in my power to fix this. He won't die.”

“I know you will. That’s what scares me.”

My eyebrows furrow, “I don’t understand.”

“I hope you never will,” she huffs out a breath, “I don’t want you to regret anything.” I couldn't vocalize it, did not even know how to make her understand what I felt–that even if I lost him now if I never saw him again. If I sat on his grave weeping for the man I loved with new flowers in my hand each day and each year. If I never got to hold his hand again. If I never got to see him smile again– that cocky smile. Even if I never got to tell him that I loved him…even then, I would never regret knowing him. Never regret the first time we met and never, never regret loving him. But I don’t say that, instead settling for, “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

She turns serious once more, determined even, “You won’t. I’m on my way to your place now, I’ll go through your books, and I’ll call you back the second I find something.” She may not agree with my decisions all the time, and might even be upset that we don’t talk as much anymore but at the end of the day we’re best friends–more than that really, “Thank you, Adeline.”

“Of course, now don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” she laughs lightly, “I love you, talk to you later.” I smile for the first time in hours, “I love you too, be safe.”

I let myself into the motel room. Sam doesn’t look up from his place on the bed, papers surround him, some in the garbage which I assume were ones that won't work out. I make my way to the small table in the corner of the room, avoiding looking at where Dean slept the night before. I take out my spellbook, my small journal, and my laptop. My eyes were killing me, most likely from crying so much before.

The next few days would follow a similar pattern, Sam would fall asleep but never for very long before getting coffee and a quick bite to eat before continuing his search. And I spent the nights awake, sleep could not find me at the edge of the void. At some point crumbled pieces of paper surrounded me and I felt like a college student again, I didn't want to do anything but look for an answer. Adeline called once that first night, but it didn't wind up leading anywhere.

The second morning I prepared tea for Dean, arriving at the hospital with the steaming cup and food that wasn't from the hospital. He looked happy to see me and complained about how bored he was there. He looked horrible, and it hurt my chest to see him like that so I just nodded to what he said. He drank the tea with nearly no complaint but instead curiosity, I explained I had boiled Sun water, before making homemade ginger tea adding cinnamon sticks, chamomile, and honey for taste. He asked me to explain to him why I chose each one, though I wasn't sure he truly cared and just wanted to hear me speak since he was relentless with his questions. I healed him again and laid with him when he asked. Then the rest of the while we talked as I did research.

Somehow being there, and watching him worsen was worse than not being there at all. I think I understand now why we weren't allowed to be there when my mom died. I would have rathered someone just stabbed me in the heart over and over then see his eyes grow duller. I healed him again before I was kicked out.

I felt hopeless. I wasn't going to give up but I felt hopeless. It was like I wasn't myself but watching myself go through the motions.

The second night wasn't much better. I slept for a couple of hours only to wake up crying. I didn't try to sleep after that. I prayed to God that night. I hadn't done that in years. I hadn't begged him for mercy since my mother died. I think I was on my knees for hours, the harsh carpet digging into my skin, but that didn’t matter. I barely felt it after a while. I apologized for not praying in years, for only praying when it benefited me which I knew was selfish. I asked for help, and begged for it. I needed him to help Dean. I said I’d do anything he wanted if he did that, even if it meant becoming a nun. I felt incredibly embarrassed begging like that, I didn't even believe in God yet there I was my hands pressed together and the carpet beneath my knees. I cried again that night, for everyone I've lost and how far I would go to save another.

Adeline was wrong, I decided. Sacrifice didn't come with the solution, it came with the search for the answer. Like I said, I didn't feel like myself. I knew I was losing myself each hour that passed and I knew it would only get worse if he did die.

On the third morning, I did the same thing I did the morning before. But after healing him for the first time that morning, I broke in front of him. “I don't want you to go,” I told him, sobbing. He just held me against him even though I knew it hurt him, but he just stroked my head anyway mumbling “I know, I know” into my hair. I could hear his voice breaking with each letter; somehow, that was worse than seeing him act as if he didn't care. Then very quietly he whispered, “I don't know how to comfort someone when I know I’m the source of their pain.”

They did more tests on him. He wasn't getting better, at least not fast enough. It seemed my healing was just halting its progress momentarily, in a sense slowing it down before it continued. I needed to stay on him longer but I wasn’t sure how and ‘could barely make it past 20 minutes before I began to shake so badly and feel so faint like my chest was being pulled open with the sharp nails of cold hands.

I went back to the motel dragging my feet. It had been three days and we had nothing to show for it but failed attempts which I suppose is better than no attempts though it didn’t much feel that way. When I got there I returned to my corner at the table, moving away my mess of “work” with a swipe of my arm. I crumble into the wooden chair, laying my forehead on the edge of the table, I didn’t know what to do. I’d keep looking no matter what, that would not change. I would search through every book on every myth, god, folklore, anything. I’d do whatever it took, I just hoped time would not beat us to the finish line.

With a huff, I pulled my latest book from the library closer to me, a book on Greek Gods. I pick up where I left off in the thick book on the God of healing and medicine Asclepius. I read the passage about him, and it seemed promising, “He was considered a symbol of medical knowledge, skill, and wisdom. Known for his ability to heal the sick and revive the dead, Asclepius played an essential role in Greek religious and medical traditions…He was known for his exceptional skill in diagnosing diseases and treating wounds. His abilities were so profound that he could even bring the dead back to life, a talent that eventually led to his downfall…The Asclepieia, healing temples dedicated to the god, were spread throughout Greece and were renowned centers of medical practice. Pilgrims would travel great distances to seek healing, engaging in purification rituals, sacrifices, and dream incubation, where they would sleep in the temple and receive divine guidance through dreams.”

The rest of the chapter contains no more info on the healing aspect but just more of his legacy and whatnot. I close the book sharply, pulling open my laptop to do more research on him. Maybe a temple still existed, and considering Pilgrims there might even be one in America somewhere. Just as I type the temple name into Google a knock sounds from the door.

For a moment I think Sam forgot his keys, but when I turned to where he always was he was there. He looks at me confused and I shrug my shoulders, “Maybe it’s room service?” He answers by going to the door and opening it curiously. I watch from my seat, tilting my chair back to get a better look. But it is not room service, or someone knocking at the wrong door, it’s Dean. I almost fall backward, my chair slams forward back on all four legs I shoot up from my seat.

He leans on the doorframe, holding his side. He still has dark circles under his eyes and just looks sickly which is only accentuated by the black zip-up he wore, which was odd for him he never really wore sweaters. “What the hell are you doing here?” Sam exclaims his voice a mix of surprise and confusion. Dean limps his way just a little bit further into the room, leaning on a dresser next to the door, “I checked myself out,” he responds placing all his weight on the thing. I didn't even know a sick patient could check themselves out like that. “What, are you crazy?” Sam exclaims.

Dean shrugs, “Well, I’m not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren’t even hot.” He turns his head to wink at me and gives me that devilish smile. My jaw dropped, baffled wasn't even the word to explain it. This had to be the most Dean Winchester thing Dean could have ever done, I could not fathom it. I wanted to call him an idiot but I was too shocked to give any response. Sam huffs a laugh as he shuts the door, “You know, this whole I-laugh-in-the-face-of-danger-thing? It’s crap. I can see right through it, we both can.”

Dean moves himself further into the room leaning on anything he could, “Yeah, whatever, dude. Have either of you even slept? You look worse than me.” Sam helps him to the bed, sitting him down, “We’ve been scouring the Internet for the last three days.”

I sit back in my chair, scooting it so I can face them both, “I don't know how either of our laptops survived this. Late at night, I think I can hear it cry.”

Dean purses his lips, “Lack of sleep has made you crazy.” It was my turn to huff a laugh, and for that fraction of a second everything felt normal. But that moment of normalcy breaks as Sam adds, “I’ve also called every contact in Dad’s journal.” I was brought right back to the present, back to the reason we were doing all of this to begin with. “For what?” Dean asks.

“For a way to help you,” Sam explains, “One of Dad’s friends, Joshua, he called me back. Told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist.”

“Wait, why didn't you tell me sooner?” I ask.

“He called back when you were with Dean,” he answers, “I was going to tell you when you came back but didn't get the chance before he decided to break out.” I hum an ‘oh’ in response. “You’re not gonna let me die in peace, are you?” Dean chimes in, hunched over.

“I’m not gonna let you die, period. We’re going” Sam says, end of discussion.

The Impala bumps along the gravel road, I was beyond happy we finally arrived. The sky was cloudy and grey with a thin layer of mist clinging to everything, it reflected the past couple of days and the ride quite perfectly. Dean rested in the back seat the entire time, his face scrunched in discomfort, we stopped a couple of times so I could jump back there and heal him for a short while.

The car comes to a full stop among others in a large green field, a large white circus tent stealing the show. A sign nearby reads The Church of Roy LeGrange. Faith Healer. Witness The Miracle. I was skeptical, but like Sam said our options were low. I wasn’t religious and certainly hated when things like this existed, giving people false hope and feeding them lies, when they could be looking at real options and getting real help but I guess I was being a hypocrite considering how I spent my time kneeling to a God I didn't believe in. Many people walked towards it, all sick, some with canes, walkers, breathing devices, etc. I get out of the car slowly, eyeing the scene carefully. We’re all just desperate people, hoping a tent in the middle of nowhere will save our loved ones.

Sam gets out of the car, rounding the vehicle to help his brother get out of the car. Dean grimaces as he tries to lift himself, “I got ya” Sam tells him trying to grab him but Dean shoves him away, “I got it” he spits. He fixes himself, pissed off, but uses the car to hold himself up leaning on it, “Man, you are a lying bastard. ‘Thought you said we were going to see a doctor.”

“I believe I said a specialist” Sam corrects. I squint my eyes at him, “You’re not slick. But…” I say stretching out the word, “We should try, at the very least.”

“And this guy is supposed to be the real deal” Sam adds, nodding. Dean scuffs, rolling his eyes, “I can’t believe you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a tent.”

An old woman walks by holding a big black umbrella, “Reverend LeGrange is a great man” she declares. “Yeah, that’s nice” Dean sarcastically remarks. I hold back on batting his arm as I would normally, “Be nice” I mumble instead.

We walk away from the old lady and the car heading toward the tent, walking past an angry man who is struggling against an officers hold, “I have a right to protest. This man is a fraud. And he’s milking all these people of their hard-earned money.” I suck in a sharp breath, mumbling an “Amen, brother” underneath my breath. But the Sheriff seems to ignore the man's declaration, holding him back while trying to lead him away, “Sir, this is a place of worship. Let’s go. Move it.” The man huffs, walking away with the Sheriff. “I take it he’s not part of the flock” Dean remarks.

Sam purses his lips, half shrugging, “When people see something they can’t explain, there’s controversy.”

Dean stops short, getting our attention and making us stop too, “I mean, come on, Sam, a faith healer? And what about you Y/N you don’t believe in this crap.”

I hold up my hands in surrender, “You're right. I don’t. And I think making a whole religion out of it that smells more like a cult than anything, it’s ridiculous. But there’s a good chance this is legit,” I drop my hands back at my side, “He’s probably using magic like I was doing with you, it's just that he's, hopefully, more successful.” He pressed his lips together tightly, I got him there. “See, maybe it’s time to have a little faith, Dean,” Sam adds.

“You know what I’ve got faith in?” Dean exclaims, “Reality. And this won’t work. I mean do you really think this guy is a dude-witch.”

I purse my lips, “I’m pretty sure the term would be a wizard, but, uh, I don't know. I’d have to see it in action to know for certain along with anything around him while he works, rituals and stuff.” I pause for a moment, thinking it over, “I do hope he’s real and not an elaborate con artist, and I hope he’s better than me at the whole healing thing.” I was being blatantly honest. I hoped it would encourage Dean to not fight this version of help, and I truly did wish this guy could help. “And if you know evil’s out there, how can you not believe good’s out there, too?” Sam chimes in, a hint of annoyance on his tongue. A muscle in Dean’s jaw twitches, “Because I’ve seen what evil does to good people.”

Dean’s POV

I snapped in a moment of weakness and said too much. “Dean” she sighs, placing a gentle hand on my upper arm, stepping closer to me almost subconsciously. I didn’t want a lecture full of sappy nonsense and corny poetry. She must have known that because she smiled sadly, her lip curving up on one side, my eyes following the movement, “Good does exist, it has to,” she says simply ever the optimist. She tilts her head slightly, looking up at me through her curled eyelashes, her hand still on my arm, my knees feel weak. “I'm sure you can think of at least one good person. Of course, the terms good and evil are subjective…” she cuts her cute rambling off, “but you get what I mean.”

I guess she was right. Sammy’s a good person sometimes a total asshole but I guess that came with the territory of being brothers. And Y/N’s the definition of being a good person, she’s always been kind even to people who didn't deserve it, including me. I remember a couple of times I was cruel to her when we were kids, always about her being a witch, yet for some reason she accepted my apology and even wanted to keep being friends. For a long time, I didn’t understand her, ‘how she could be sweet and smile at a world filled with darkness. Sometimes I think I still don't get her. “Please just give it a try,” she pleads, “And if it doesn't work or turns out to be a con you can make fun of us the whole way back.”

I studied her again, she looked drained and I knew she hadn't been sleeping all because of me. “Fine” I huff. She bites back a smile and suddenly complying with this stupid faith healer was worth it.

“And who knows, maybe God works in mysterious ways” an unfamiliar voice butts in. I didn't care to look who it was, solely focused on the girl who still had her hand on me; a smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes, one I hadn't seen in three days. “Maybe he does” I respond, half heartily, I look up briefly catching the eyes of an attractive blonde holding a black umbrella. I averted my eyes back to my girl, but she was already looking away at the woman who interrupted us, her hand slipped down my arm.

“Uh, hi. I’m Y/N” she introduces herself, holding out the hand that was touching me only moments ago. She accepts her hand, “Layla. And these two?” Layla says looking past her. “Sam,” he introduces himself before motioning to me, “Dean.” I give her a tightlipped smile in response.

She smiles at me, “So, if you’re not a believer, then why are you here?” She was attractive, you’d have to be blind not to see it but my interest is elsewhere. I can't fool myself into thinking that'll work out. Hell, I'm probably gonna end up dead. And yeah, it's harsh, but I can't shake the feeling that I'd rather spend what time I've got with Y/N, not waste it chasing after other girls just to fill the gap she left without even knowing it. I’m self-aware enough to know that. “Well, apparently my brother here believes enough for the both of us” I muse. An older woman with blondish-gray hair walks over, putting an arm around the girl, “Come on, Layla. It’s about to start.” Both women smile at us before walking away.

“Well, you heard the woman,” Y/N starts, “We should get you inside.” Sam nods leading the way.

Your POV

The tent is packed, full of people trying to find seats, it smells of hope and despair if that’s possible. “Yeah, peace, love, and trust all over,” Dean remarks, nodding over to a camera in the corner. Did churches have cameras? “I guess it makes sense,” I try to reason, “‘probably get more people like that dude outside protesting, maybe even getting violent.”

Dean slips away sitting down on one of the foldable chairs. “Hey no,” I point at him, “You are not gonna be all brooding and hide in the back.” His shoulders slump, “Let’s sit here.”

“No” I answer simply, eyebrows scrunched. He opens his mouth in a retort but his brother steps in, putting an arm around him and practically dragging him from the seat and towards the front, “Oh, come, on, Sam” Dean growls. Mistaking his anger for pain Sam halts in his movements, “You alright?”

“This is ridiculous” Dean bites, slapping his brother’s hands away, “I’m good, dude, get off of me.” I roll my eyes at their behavior, even in public, and even with one of them being severely sick they could still act childish and make a scene. I look around the closer rows, looking for seats, “Look at that” I smile turning back to the boys, “seats” I point to three empty seats not only close to the front but right behind Layla, the girl from before. She seemed nice, maybe a little strange in randomly joining the conversation but it wasn’t a big deal. “Perfect” Sam agrees, lightly shoving his brother in that direction. “Yeah, perfect” Dean remarks, sarcasm clear in his voice.

“Take the aisle,” Sam tells his brother before moving into the row of seats, I move in after him taking the seat between them. Dean grumbles something, his face having ‘irritable’ all over it, but he sits quietly, arms crossed.

An old man with white hair and sunglasses steps onto the stage with the help of an older woman with brown hair tied back. He must be the famous Roy LeGrange, “Each morning, my wife, Sue Ann, reads me the news. Never seems good, does it?” he says with a classic southern accent, the crowd muttering agreements, “Seems like there's always someone committing some immoral, unspeakable act.”

“He could say that aga–'' I began to mumble. “Huh” I hum to myself, my eyes catching on a particular religious item, why would there be a Celtic cross? I mean the cross represented the blending of the Celts and Christians but there are many separations between the two from believing in multiple gods to human sacrifice–

“But, I say to you, God is watching,” he preaches, and if I wasn't so focused on that wooden cross I might have rolled my eyes forgetting my manners, especially when the crowd responded with “Yes he is.” It sounded very cultish, the hair on my arms standing up. Maybe it wasn’t that weird for there to be a Celtic cross, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling. I racked my brain for information on it, and I just couldn’t see it used in Christian churches anymore. Though of course, I could be wrong, it's not like I go to church every day or even once a week. But again it felt a little too weird to just brush off–

“God rewards the good, and He punishes the corrupt” Roy continued getting loud cheering and more murmuring. I look at the people around me strangely, I forget how powerful religion is…

Speaking of which, that damn Celtic cross again. Alright, think. The Celtic cross represents life and death, creating dynamic tension, the vertical arm represents the life aspect while the horizontal arm signifies death, the circle acting as a portal to transformation. In simpler terms, the cross and circle represent opposing forces; life and death, yet they harmonize with the Celtic cross, emphasizing unity and balance, they coexist. But what does that mean here? Okay, well he’s supposedly healing people which would be the life aspect and the death could represent the healing cheating death? No, that sounded like a stretch. Maybe this was all a stretch and the cross meant nothing. I’m just overreacting because I'm scared of what will become of this if this man was a con or whatever else. Yeah, that makes more sense—

“It is the Lord who does the healing here, friends. The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people's hearts,” Roy proclaimed.

“Yeah,” Dean whispers just loud enough for Sam and me to hear, “and into their wallets.” But it wasn’t quiet enough, “You think so, young man?” Oh, that was weird. The crowd falls dead silent, “Sorry” Dean apologizes. “No, no. Don’t be.” Roy shakes his head, “Just watch what you say around a blind man, we’ve got real sharp ears.” The crowd laughs but an unpleasant feeling worms itself into my stomach. It was innocent enough but something felt off and I don't think it has anything to do with Dean being scrutinized. “What’s your name, son?” Roy asks. He clears his throat, sitting straighter in his seat, “Dean.”

“Dean” Roy repeats nodding to himself, “I want…I want you to come up here with me.” My eyes widened, maybe God finally listened. “No, it’s okay” he shakes his head. “What are you doing?!” Sam whisper-yells, but his brother ignores him.

“You’ve come here to be healed, haven’t cha?” Roy inquires.

“Well, yeah, but, uh…maybe you should just pick someone else” Dean attempts to reason. And I hate the way he doesn't believe he is worthy of saving. The crowd claps loudly, “Oh, no. I didn’t pick you, Dean, the Lord did.” Had we been here for any other reason I might have been more disturbed by that proclamation, but this was a chance. The crowd roars in excitement, voices mixed in encouragement. Dean looks overwhelmed, I place a hand on his knee gaining his attention quickly, “Dean, this is good, go” I whisper to him even though I was unsure of this whole thing and that odd cross. He studies me for half a moment, something I couldn't recognize passing over his features before he reluctantly raises, my hand slipping from his leg.

The woman from before helps Dean to the stage, situating him next to the healer, “You ready?” he asks Dean. “Look, no disrespect, but, uh, I’m not exactly a believer,” Dean says, looking between the crowd and the old man. But Roy just smiles, “You will be, son. You will be,” he turns to the crowd arms raised, “Pray with me, friends.” Again, almost like a cult, the crowd joins hands as Roy moves his hands to place on Dean; one on his shoulder and the other to the side of his head. I hold my breath, I want this to work so badly, I hadn't even begun to think of a plan B if this didn't.

Suddenly Dean’s eyes glaze over, it was never like that when I healed him, and then he seems to wobble sinking to his knees. I gasped, I didn't think it would be so intense or that my heart would beat so fast. A deep chill runs up my spine seeping into my bones, my skin prickles with goosebumps, the Celtic cross comes into view again and I suddenly feel sick, a horrible feeling tangling itself in between my stomach. I don't know where to look the cross or Dean, my eyes flipping between the two rapidly all until Dean's eyes roll back and he crumbles down onto the stage floor. Sam manages to jump over me, using his long legs to his advantage he gets to the stage in seconds grabbing the front of Dean's hoodie. I catch up quickly, glad we were close to the stage, I kneel in front of Dean his head lulling back. The loud noise of the crowd cheering becomes nothing but background noise, as I check his pulse my fingers against the side of his neck the steady but fast beating of his heart thumping below my touch.

With a sudden gasp his eyes shoot open, eyes wide and mouth agape.

I tap my foot impatiently on the clean floors of the hospital, thankful that right after testing I was allowed to be in the room. Dean looked better, he moved normally and his color was back, but we all agreed we should check officially. Now we were waiting and although the room sparked with anxiety, the dark looming cloud had cleared up a lot, and once we knew for sure it would most likely be gone. I just wished the doctor would come quicker. “So, you really feel okay?” Sam asks for the hundredth time since Dean woke from being healed yesterday. Dean stares at him blankly, “I feel fine, Sam” he grumbles.

Finally, the Doctor walks in, reading from the charts on his clipboard, “Well, according to all your tests there's nothing wrong with your heart. No sign there ever was. Not that a man your age should be having heart trouble, but, still strange things happen.” The cloud fades away, and I don’t hold back my beaming smile. “What do you mean, strange?” Dean asks, his face serious rather than elated. “Well, just yesterday, a young guy like you, twenty-seven, athletic. Out of nowhere, heart attack,” the doctor shares. Dean nods, giving the man a handshake, “Thanks, Doc.” The man leaves, closing the door behind him. “That’s odd,” Dean points out, referring to what the doctor said.

“Maybe it's a coincidence,” Sam shrugs, “People's hearts give out all the time, man.” I looked at him taken aback, what was he talking about, “Dude, what world are you living in?” He gives me a pointed look, annoyed with not only my response but also my not agreeing with him, “Do we really have to look this one in the mouth? Why can't we just be thankful that the guy saved your life, Dean, and move on?”

“Because I can't shake this feeling, that's why” Dean bites back. I sigh, wishing we could just avoid this all, “Me neither.” Dean gives me a strange look, “You neither?”

“Yeah,” I nod, “I just, I don’t know, when we sat down I recognized something which automatically made me suspicious. Then you know the whole thing was happening and, well, maybe it was just nerves but it got really cold and I felt sort of sick. Which really doesn't make sense, but I just had this weird feeling, I don’t know.”

“I felt cold too,” Dean answers, face scrunched, “When I was healed, I just...I felt wrong, ‘cold. And for a second...I saw someone. This, uh, this old man. And I'm telling you, it was a spirit.” Maybe it wasn’t nerves and I wasn’t crazy. Sam huffs, clearly trying to ignore the red flags here, “But if there was something there, Dean, I think I would've seen it, too. I mean, I've been seeing an awful lot of things lately.”

“Alright, but he literally saw something and I felt something.” I reason, “You can’t deny two people saying something’s up, and whatever it was there’s probably a reason why you couldn’t see it.”

“You’re just gonna need a little faith on this one, Sam” Dean muses, using his own words against him. Sam sighs, finally giving in, “Yeah, alright. So, what do you wanna do?”

Dean steps into the leader role again, as if nothing had happened, “I want you to go check out the heart attack guy. Y/N, we’re gonna visit the reverend.”

I sit next to Dean on the nice leather couch, Roy sitting across from us. He and his wife had been very understanding and didn’t question our want to speak to him about yesterday, I figure he got this a lot. “I feel great,” Dean answers the reverend, “Just trying to, you know, make sense of what happened.”

“A miracle is what happened,” Sue Ann, Roy’s wife and the woman from before answered, “Well, miracles come so often around Roy.” I gave her a half-hearted smile and nod, maybe it was just me but that response came off a little weird. I was getting a bad vibe from her, “So, um, when did these miracles start?” I ask Roy. Any desire to possibly learn from him had been subdued, caution taking its place. “Woke up one morning, stone blind. Doctors figured out I had cancer. Told me I had maybe a month. So, uh, we prayed for a miracle. I was weak, but I told Sue Ann, 'You just keep right on praying.'” He smiled sweetly at his wife before continuing, “I went into a coma. Doctors said I wouldn't wake up, but I did. And the cancer was gone.” He takes off his black sunglasses, his eyes pure white, “If it wasn't for these eyes, no one would believe I'd ever had it.” He puts the glasses back on, it was a touching story and his eyes added a horrifying touch but it just left more questions.

He seemed genuine, and I don’t think he would lie about being in a coma. When you’re sick like that, and experience something like that, you don’t create lies about your experience, not when it was traumatic like that. And staying on that belief, there was no way he suddenly just stopped having cancer and was able to heal people. He couldn’t have been responsible for whatever caused his initial health change. Which would then mean someone else was involved. “So then, you could just…heal people?” I ask.

“I discovered it afterward, yes,” he nods, "God's blessed me in many ways.” It didn’t add up. I couldn’t get it to add up in my head. Besides the whole no more sickness ideal, how could he just suddenly heal someone? I mean, how do you even discover you can? Was it an accident? Did the hypothetical person who might have caused him to get better tell him too? Or, tell him to try? Whereas for me I knew it was something I was capable of in general as a witch, but I also had many spell books, history books, journals, and everything to learn from. And if my mother had lived longer she would have been able to teach me it too.

“And his flock just swelled overnight,” Sue Ann added, her eyes full of endearment, “And this is just the beginning.” I study her for a moment, balancing on the thin line of suspicion and paranoia. There was nothing inherently wrong about her or what she said, and maybe it was my mind making up the fact that her last words were just a little aggressive.

“Can I ask you one last question?” Dean asks, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. “Of course you can,” Roy responded sincerely. He really does seem like a nice guy, genuine, and it could be my inherent lack of sleep that’s making me connect dots that might not even be there. “Why? Why me? Out of all the sick people, why save me?” My heart broke. Of course he didn’t feel adequate, especially when he tried convincing us for the last four days he wasn't worth saving, that we should give up and let him die. I place a careful hand on his knee, I don’t want to scare him away or clam up again, he never was very open. “Well, like I said before, the Lord guides me,” Roy answers, “I looked into your heart, and you just stood out from all the rest.”

Dean wets his lips, my eyes flickering up to the movement, he leans forward slightly, “What did you see in my heart?” I move my gaze away catching on Sue Ann’s innocent movement of picking up her glass of water, but as she leans over her necklace escapes from its place beneath her shirt. A small wooden Celtic Cross held by a thin silver chain, she catches my eyes, covering the cross with her hand and giving me an innocent smile. She assumes I would think it's just any ol’ cross, she does run religious ceremonies so such a simple totem shouldn’t mean anything else. Maybe there were dots to connect after all, and it was on full display ready to be fastened. I focused my attention back on the conversation, I left my bag in the car so I’d have to wait, and in the meanwhile, I did not wish for her to get suspicious of me either.

Roy smiles softly, “A young man with an important purpose. A job to do. And it isn't finished.” I feel Dean tense beneath my hand, his face full of shock. Whether Roy did see something or not, it might have been the thing Dean needed to hear regardless.

I wanted to run back to the car and look through my spell book and journal, but Sue Ann was seeing us out and if I had easily become suspicious of her then it was possible she would grow suspicious of what I knew too. I could almost feel her gaze burning into the back of my head, but I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on Dean's warm hand on the small of my back leading me down the short wooden stairs of their porch. But I had not expected to see Layla and the woman she was with before, I think her mother. “Dean, Y/N, hey,” she greets. “Hey,” Dean responds just as we reach ground level, his hand pressing further into my back before curling around my waist, his hand lying on my side before he pushes me closer against him. I don’t know why he was being so touchy, not that I was exactly complaining. I welcomed it and the warmth it brought.

“How ‘you feeling?” She asks him, tilting her head slightly, her face beaming in sincerity. “I feel good. Cured, I guess. What are you doing here?” he responds.

“You know, my mom, she wanted to talk to the reverend.” Layla nods toward the door prompting Sue Ann to step fully onto the porch rather than standing halfway between the screen door. “Layla?” she asks, probably not having seen her from where she stood. “Yes, I'm here again,” Layla answers softly.

“Well, I'm sorry, but Roy is resting. He won't be seeing anyone else right now.” Sue Ann informed, nodding sympathetically. Every word she said just made me want to turn around and head to the car, I was itching for it. I wondered if Dean could feel it from where he was touching me or just sensed it, giving me a questioning look with a raised eyebrow. But I couldn’t exactly say anything right now so I ignored his look.

“Sue Ann, please,” Layla’s mom pleads, “This is our sixth time, he's got to see us.”

“Roy is well aware of Layla's situation,” Sue Ann declares harshly, “And he very much wants to help just as soon as the Lord allows. Have faith, Mrs. Rourke.” And with that, she goes back inside. I might not know exactly what’s going on but her continuous frustrated comments regarding the healing and her perhaps overly religious nature were enough to make me antsy. We should really go to the car, call Sam to see what he found, or even just head to the hotel. Layla’s mom turns sharply to Dean, glaring at him she spits, “Why are you still even here? You got what you wanted.”

“Mom. Stop” Layla insists, looking at us nervously.

“No, Layla, this is too much” her mom fumed, “We've been to every single service. If Roy would stop choosing these strangers over you. Strangers who don't even believe. I just can't pray any harder.” I do feel bad for her, but it's not like we had control over any of this so she shouldn't be mad at us let alone Dean who was quite literally on his deathbed and might not have made it to the end of the week. I open my mouth to say exactly that, but Dean cuts me off before I get a chance, “Layla, what’s wrong?” he asks.

She looks everywhere but him, “I have this thing…”

“It's a brain tumor,” her mother cuts in bluntly, “It's inoperable. In six months, the doctors say…” Layla cuts her mom off putting a hand on her shoulder. Maybe it was good Dean didn’t let me say what I wanted to, it would’ve been too cruel to do that to someone who was going to lose her daughter. It seemed like we were surrounded by death, more now than ever and I hadn’t thought that could be possible. I didn’t like death, or sickness though I suppose who does. “I'm sorry” Dean says, and I just nod in agreement not trusting my own voice. “It's okay” Layla responds softly. Her mother shakes her head slowly, “No. It isn't,” her sharp gaze is back on Dean, “Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?” Then she storms away, Layla hesitantly following. I know that woman was just upset and projecting her anger but it was not fair. Grief isn’t fair.

I look at Dean, his jaw clenched tightly, a slight furrow of his brow, his eyes a little far away in thought. I recognized that look. “Don’t listen to her” I declare, slipping from his hold to look at him straight on, “Death is not kind and it is not just, but you deserve to live. You deserve to live just as much as Layla or anyone else does. I know that look and I know you're thinking poorly of yourself, which I hate that you do so ‘cause you’re amazing and brave and kind and you care so much for others regardless of your gruff attitude.” His eyes are wide and written with shock but I continue, “So don’t think for one second that you don’t deserve to live.” I didn’t realize my chest was heaving, or that a lump had formed in my throat. I’ve watched too many people die, I’ve been down the rabbit hole of grief. I knew it well, it became a second skin. And I've watched someone run themselves into the ground because they didn’t feel like they deserved to live, or at least not when the love of their life was dead. I watched the evolution of that grief while dealing with my own and my brother’s. Death was not kind.

His jaw was slack with surprise and I know I said too much, I gave him a sharp awkward nod before turning around and heading for the car. I have something to look into.

Dean throws his keys on the bed the second we enter, the soft jingle of the metal ringing through the quiet room. I unzipped my sweatshirt, making my way towards Sam who sat at the small table to the side of the room. I take a seat next to him, putting my sweater behind me, “So what’d you find?” He seems hesitant to answer, his adam's apple bobbing, “Um, I’m sorry Dean” he says weakly looking up at his brother.

Dean takes his jacket off putting it on top of mine, his face written in confusion, “Sorry about what?” he asks, leaning on the back of my chair, his knuckles just barely brushing my back. Sam huffs out a breath, “Marshall Hall died at 4:17.” My eyes widened, I shouldn’t be surprised it was just another dot to be connected to whatever was going on with the damn cross. “The exact time I was healed” Dean adds solemnly, voicing what we were all thinking.

“Yeah. So, I put together a list of everyone Roy's healed, six people over the past year, and I cross-checked them with the local obits,” Sam explains, “Every time someone was healed, someone else died. And each time, the victim died of the same symptom LeGrange was healing at the time.”

“Oh frick” I mumble, apparently nothing is allowed to be easy for us. And I wasn’t exactly expecting that to be what we’re dealing with. “Someone's healed of cancer, someone else dies of cancer?” Dean asks for confirmation, even though it’s clear that’s what’s going on. “Somehow. LeGrange…” Sam sighs, “he's trading a life for another.”

Dean stands up straight backing away from the table, from Sam, “Wait, wait, wait. So, Marshall Hall died to save me?” Sam shakes his head, “Dean, the guy probably would've died anyway. And someone else would've been healed.”

“You never should've brought me here.” Dean declares, running a hand down his face.

“Dean, I was just trying to save your life.” Sam reasons.

“But, Sam, some guy is dead now because of me.”

“I didn't know,” Sam answers quietly.

I stand up abruptly, “Hey, there’s nothing we can do about that now. What’s done is done.” This all got very complicated very quickly, maybe Adeline was right you can’t save someone from death without making difficult decisions and sacrifices. “But what we can do is stop this from happening again, before it gets worse” I add and I know I don’t sound so convincing. You don’t get to choose who lives and who dies, and we had crossed that line whether intentionally or not, just wanting to save Dean from death was already putting a foot past that line. “That’s the thing I don't understand, how is Roy doing it? How's he trading a life for a life?” Sam questions. “Oh, he’s not doing it,” Dean answers, “Something else is doing it for him.”

“Do you mean the thing with Sue Ann?” I ask with a tilt of my head, maybe he had picked up on it too. “What?” his face contorts in confusion, “No? What are you talking about?”

“Oh” I say, now I'm confused, “Wait. What are you talking about?”

“What are both of you talking about?!” Sam exclaims looking between us. Dean sighs, pinching the space between his brows, “The old man I saw on stage” he explains, “I didn’t want to believe it, but deep down I knew.” He pauses and I begin to wonder if it’s for dramatic affect. I motion my hand for him to continue and he does, “There’s only one thing that can give and take life like that. We’re dealing with a Reaper.”

“Pardon?” I say, my mouth agape. “Yeah,” Sam agrees, face just as shocked as I am, “You really think it's THE Grim Reaper? Like, angel of death, collect your soul, the whole deal?”

“No no no, not THE reaper, A reaper.” Dean clarifies, taking the seat I once occupied, “There's reaper law in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names, it's possible that there's more than one of them.” My mouth still hangs open, it can never be something normal with us, ever. “But you said you saw a dude in a suit,” Sam voiced.

“What, you think he shoulda been working the whole black robe thing?” Dean countered, “You said it yourself that the clock stopped right? Reapers stop time. And you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why I could see it and you guys couldn't.”

“Oh my god,” I say, the realization finally hitting me, “That’s where it comes in!” Both boys stare at me confused, “Where what comes in?” Sam asks.

“Okay, remember I said I recognized something and thought it was a little strange,” I paused waiting for them to nod before continuing, “It was a Celtic Cross, which was all I could focus on the entire time ‘cause like what is it doing there. And then I started thinking of what it symbolizes, here’s the interesting part” I point out, “So basically, the Celtic cross represents life and death, creating dynamic tension. The cross and circle represent opposing forces; life and death, yet they harmonize with the cross, emphasizing unity and balance, they coexist. Which now makes total sense with the whole Reaper thing.”

“Sorry sweetheart, I’m not following here” Dean admits. I huff a laugh, “Right. Let me get to the point. So, as far as I know someone has to control the Reaper to, you know, dictate who lives and dies and to do that you need a spell. And I’ve seen it before…” I head over to my bag that I had just plopped down right next to the door when we walked in, I pull out my spell book holding it up, “This book has been in my family for generations. Now as you know my mother and her family didn’t see eye to eye, so when it eventually became my mothers and she ran away she changed a lot of stuff in here, crossing things out etc.” I open the book, flicking through the pages, “Basically there’s some pretty dark stuff in here, straight up black magic, some stuff even ancient,” finally I find the page, “Aha!” I turn the book around pointing at the page, “As you can see by the frowny face in the corner my mother did not appreciate this spell. Anyways, this is a binding spell for a Reaper where you create a black alter with bones and human blood etc, you get the point. You can then control it with a Celtic Cross, and before I saw Sue Ann with the necklace.”

“So you think Sue Ann is using dark magic to control a Reaper and kill people to save people because you saw a necklace?” Sam asks. I close the book, “Yeah, and it makes sense she was desperate when her husband was sick. I don’t know how I didn’t think of this sooner.” I knew this page existed, I've seen it in passing multiple times, especially some time since Dean was in the hospital. I guess I did listen to Adeline’s warning because even though I was ready to go far to save him I had kept away from pages like this. “Yeah but Roy's alive, so why is she still using the spell?” Dean points out. I shrug, “Money? She’s psycho? I don’t know, maybe there’s a connection with the victims.”

“How would we break it?” Sam voices.

“We gotta get that cross from her, the one around her neck” I answer, “And let me just add, that Reaper is gonna be pissed, I mean the second it gains back its control…” I don’t need to say it out loud for them to get what I mean.

The Impala bounces down the badly graveled and potholed road, passing a sign that says Service Today. Hopefully we will be just in time. Dean brings the car to a stop and wordlessly we exit, “How do we get Sue Ann alone?” Sam asks. I nervously tap the side of my legs as we approach the tent, some guy handing out leaflets stops us, “Roy LeGrange is a fraud. He's no healer.” Dean accepts the paper, “Amen brother” he nods. “You keep up the good work” Sam points at the man and he looks taken aback, he probably didn’t get many if any people that agreed. “Thank you,” he says, surprised.

Focusing back on the task at hand I open my mouth about to say something about not knowing where she goes when she does the spell when I spot her near the side of the tent, “I see her” I say already moving in that direction, “Find her spell book and keep Roy distracted too in case this does not work.” I don’t wait to hear a response before I’m running off to catch up with the woman playing God, “Sue Ann!” I call as I approach. She turns, her eyes wide, the necklace peeking out from her blouse, “Hi Y/N, what are you doing back here?” she asks sweetly.

“Oh well you guys are doing such amazing stuff here, wanted to say thank you one last time before we had to head off” I answered hoping my lie was believable. “Don’t thank us, you just thank the Lord” She says pointing to the night sky. I nod, I had to keep her talking long enough to figure out how to get the necklace off, “I have to admit I always had a hard time believing in the man upstairs, but you and Roy really turned me around.”

“Oh I’m glad, it’s never too late to welcome Him into your heart,” she smiles, “Now if you’ll excuse me I must get going, the sermon is starting.” Uh oh, do I just rip it off of her? No, she’s already turning around, “One last thing!” I call out getting her attention again. This time when she turns around she looks annoyed, “Uh, um…”come on Y/N come up with a lie or something, “I saw your necklace earlier today, I think you caught me staring,” I laugh, “I was just…I was wondering where you got it from I’ve never seen something like that before.” She clasps her necklace, “It’s just an old thing, I don’t remember where I got it from.”

“Could I maybe take a closer look at it? Maybe I can find a replica, you know, for my new found belief.” I was practically begging her to just let this be easy, maybe I should ask Dean to give me a lesson on finessing cause this is not working. She clasps it tighter, “I’m sorry, maybe later I really have to help with the sermon now.”

“Right, right sorry” she begins to turn around again but I call out again, “I know you said to thank the Lord and I have and will, it’s just” that gets her attention, “I feel like you and Roy are also responsible and like I said I came to thank you again…I know it’s maybe unprofessional or what not, but, could I just give you a hug? You’ve really done so much for us.” God I was bad at this. Her face softens a fraction, hey maybe I wasn’t bad at this, “Of course.” She holds out her arms and I move closer to allow myself to be embraced, I wrap my arms near her neck hoping she couldn’t feel the tension in my body. “Thank you” I say softly, all the while sneaking my hand to the clasp of her necklace.

She pulls away abruptly, once more grasping her necklace, “What is wrong with you!” she exclaims. I back up, hands up in defense, “After everything we’ve done to help you, healing your boy” she glares at me with wide eyes, “I never expected this from you Y/N.” I stare at her blankly, do I jump her? “You get out of here, before I call over those officers. Looks like your boy is already in trouble too. Disappointing, both of you.”

I look over my shoulder, Dean’s being pushed away by two cops and there’s a large crowd surrounding the tent including Roy. Maybe they evacuated. I turn back to Sue Ann but she’s already pushing past me, heading to the crowd. Oh no. Layla walks up to him next and she seems to be upset with him. How much did I miss? I rush towards Dean, Layla walking away, “What did you do?” I whisper yell. “You said to distract Roy!” he argues.

“I didn’t mean to get in trouble with the police!”

“‘Don’t matter, did you get it?” Dean asks with a quirked eyebrow. “No,” I grumble, “She caught me in my attempt and started lecturing me, I was thinking of just jumping her before she pointed out your run in with the police.”

“You were gonna jump the woman?!” He exclaims.

“I didn’t know what to do!!” I hissed, “And it’s not like I did it!” I let out a frustrated sigh, crossing my arms across my chest, “We need a new plan, where’s Sammy?”

“‘Think he’s waiting by the car, ‘hope he’s got somethin’ Roy’s gonna do a private healing session with Layla tonight.”

“Great,” I mumble, “I really should have jumped her.”

I sit criss cross applesauce on the hard motel bed. For a hunt that I knew so much about I had royally blown it. She was right there. The necklace right there. “Please tell me you found something helpful in their home” I pleaded.

“I found the spell book, written by a priest who went dark side,” Sam answers, holding up the small book, “And she isn’t just killing random people. She’s forcing the Reaper to kill people she finds immoral, from some teacher who was openly gay to a woman who advocated for abortion rights.” The room fell quiet for a moment, there were more layers to this than we thought. “May God save us from half the people who think they're doing God's work” Dean muses.

“No seriously that’s messed up,” I add, shaking my head. “Yeah,” Sam nods, “I think you should hold onto this book Y/N.” He hands it over and I hold it cautiously in my hand, “How nice.” I’ll probably spend the next couple of days reading it over before ultimately sending it home, I did not need a spell book on dark magic with me, didn't even need to own it but rather me than get in the wrong hands.

“We should head back soon” Dean says, “Layla could be there any minute”

The Impala rolls over the graveled road for the second and hopefully final time today, this time with total darkness cloaking us no lights on. We roll to a stop, “That's Layla's car. She's already here,” Sam points out.

Dean nods slowly, “Yeah.” He was upset, “Dean…” Sam began. But Dean ignores him, looking out the window instead, “You know if Roy woulda picked Layla instead of me she'd be here right now. And if she's not healed tonight she's gonna die in a coupla’ months.” I should’ve known my dramatic speech from before wouldn’t magically resolve him of his guilt, no one has that power. “What's happening to her is horrible,” Sam reasons, “But what are you gonna do? Let somebody else die to save her? You said it yourself Dean, you can't play God.”

Dean goes quiet for a beat before getting out of the car, Sam and I following. We approach the tent, peeking inside to see Roy speaking to a small group of people including Layla and her mom, “Gather round, please everyone, gather round. Come in closer, come on up.”

“Where's Sue Ann?” Dean whispers. I tried to crane my neck to look around the tent, maybe she was off to the side somewhere… “House,” Sam answers simply.

We creep up to the small house, weary of making too much noise we couldn’t afford to get caught, “You guys go find Sue Ann, I'll catch up,” Dean orders. I look at him confused, “Wait, what are you gonna—“ But Dean’s already backing away from us yelling, “Hey!” to two figures in the distance. “You gonna put that fear of God in me?” he yells out, of course he would be taunting the police. The officers drop what looks to be coffee cups before running after him, Dean taking off at full speed. Only he would do something so stupid. “Uh, anyways” I begin, “If she’s doing it at her house she’s probably by the altar, and considering the size and necessities of the thing and the fact her husband doesn't know it would have to be in an attic or basement.”

“I’ll offer you one better” Sam nods off to the side of the building, “a cellar.” He was right, that would be better. And on top of that definite light emerges from the metal doors. Sam leads the way opening up the heavy doors and propping it open as he makes his way down first. I follow suit immediately being hit with the sight that is the altar, a small table adorned with candle operas filled by tall burning candles, parts of dead animals, bones and blood sprawled out meticulously across the red table cloth. And right in the middle was a black and white surveillance photo of Dean before he was healed, the photo smeared in blood.

“I gave him life and I can take it back too” A familiar voice suddenly says. Sue Ann. I turn around hastily being met with cold eyes, behind me I hear a large crash and I don’t have to look to know Sam had flipped over the table. Her eyes flip to the scene and I use the initial shock to rush her, but she was already close to the stairs so it did not take her long to sweep up them slamming the cellar doors behind her. Something clicks and shifts, she must have locked us in here. Sam joins me at my side, pushing and fighting against the barred doors. “Can't you see? The Lord chose me to reward the just and punish the wicked,” she reasons, “And Dean is wicked and he deserves to die just as Layla deserves to live. It is God's will.”

Oh, so that twisted psycho thinks that’s how it is. Well she messed with the wrong witch. “You're gonna wanna back up” I tell Sam. I press my palms to the cold metal of the doors, I’m pissed now. No one gets to use magic, let alone dark magic, on either of my boys. The doors begin to rattle harshly, almost as if there’s an earthquake, “Goodbye Sam, Y/N” she says. I put more force on the door, my entire being focused on it until it burst open bits of chipped paint and screws flying away, a satisfying break of the wood she used to block us ringing in my ears as broken bits of the wood come crashing back down.

Sue Ann stands but a couple feet away, her eyes wide as she watches me exit the cellar with shock and fear. She backs up further and I follow after her like a predator trapping its prey. “I-I read about things like you” she says weakly, her voice shaking. She keeps backing up, “You’re a—You’re a—“ her back hits the wall of a nearby trailer house. “Witch” I finished for her, yanking off that necklace once and for all.

I throw it off to the side, far away, and back up from her. My job was done and the Reaper would come knocking for its own revenge. “My God, what have you done?,” she heaves, pressing a hand to where her necklace used to be. “He’s not your God” Sam says cooly. Her head snaps to something in the distance, her face falls growing pale she must be seeing the Reaper. Then all at once she takes off running, not making it very far before she falls to her knees, her body convulsing once, twice, before falling to the ground. “I think we have just aided in her murder” I muse.

“Yeah…” Sam nods, “We should probably…” This time I nod, not saying anything as we walk away from the crime heading back in the direction of the Impala. We intercept Dean on the way, meeting at the car. I give him a small thumbs up to say we did it this time and he nods solemnly. “You okay?” Sam asks him.

“Hell of a week” he answers.

I glanced up from my phone for the fifth time in the last minute. I was trying to text Adeline to update her on everything but kept getting distracted by Dean's blank face as he stared off at nothing while sitting in bed. I made eye contact with Sam, giving him a sad smile, we were thinking the same thing. He turns to his brother, watching him for a moment before speaking, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Dean replies gruffly. Sam looks back at me again and I give him an encouraging nod, “What is it?��� he asks again this time more gently.

“We did the right thing here didn't we?” Dean asks, finally breaking. It was difficult to answer him, on one hand we stopped someone from playing God and killing people who they found immoral in which none of the victims were bad people, it wasn’t like they were criminals but to her they were still wicked (god forbid someone has a different opinion than you). But on the other hand it was saving people, except to pay one life for another wasn’t exactly gracious work. Yet, we were doing the same thing, trying to play God and cheat death. I had even admitted to being willing to make great scarface’s to do so, in that aspect I wasn’t so different from Sue Ann in the very beginning.

“Of course we did,” Sam answers, and he really does sound sure. Dean sighs, hanging his head, “It doesn't feel like it.” Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and the parallel from only earlier in the week is not lost on me, “I got it” Sam volunteers getting up from his seat to open the door, “Hey Layla. Come on in.”

Huh.

“Hey” she waves awkwardly. Dean quickly rises from his place on the bed, “How did you know we were here?”

“Sam...called. He said you...wanted to say goodbye?”

Dean glances at Sam and I join in on the glaring, he really needs to start telling me things sooner. But he just smiles sheepishly, “I'm gonna...grab a soda.”

I stand abruptly from my chair, Dean should have his time with Layla. Maybe he won’t feel as guilty, “I’m gonna join you” I declare, “A soda sounds great!” I follow Sam out the door, closing it behind me.

[georgiebrits]

Sacrifice - Kim Sunoo

You are sitting on a cozy couch in your small apartment. The room is dimly lit, casting shadows on the grimy walls, and his sour smell emanates from the unmade sheets. Sunoo, your boyfriend, lays beside you with a satisfied expression on his face, blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil. You can't help but feel guilty about all of Sunoo's sacrifices, quitting his job and moving away from family to be with you.’

Sunoo turns to face you, his expression turning from content to concerned. "Hey, what's wrong? You seem upset," he says, reaching out to touch your arm gently.

Sunoo listens attentively as you express your concerns about the music industry and Korea. "I understand that it's hard for you to see me give up my music career and move away from my family, but being with you means more to me than any job or material possession. You make me truly happy, and I don't regret choosing you over anything else," he says, his voice sincere.

“You could’ve had everything you ever wanted without me.”

Sunoo sits up, looking at you with a pained expression. "No, I couldn't have. You are everything I've ever wanted in my life, and I will always choose you over anything else. Money, success, none of that means anything without the people you love. You mean everything to me," he says, taking your hand in his.

“You mean everything to me, but I took away your future.”

Sunoo shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You didn't take away my future, you are my future. We will create a life together that is full of love and happiness, and that's all that matters to me. Don't worry about what could have been, let's focus on what we have now," he says, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Sunoo leans in and captures your lips in a passionate kiss, his hands exploring your body as he pulls you closer to him. "I want to feel you, to show you how much I want to be with you," he whispers against your lips before trailing kisses down your neck, his hands still exploring every inch of your body.

You close your eyes and let out a soft moan, feeling overwhelmed by Sunoo's love and passion. All of your worries and guilt fade away as you give yourself completely to him, moving with him in perfect harmony as you express your love for each other. Sunoo's touch brings you to the heights of ecstasy, his love for you evident in every caress and kiss.

As the morning light streams in through the window, Sunoo looks at you with a hungry gaze, desire evident in his eyes. Without a word, he rolls on top of you, his body pressing down against yours as he kisses you fiercely. You can feel the hard length of his arousal pressing against your thigh, and you moan softly in response, craving his touch once again.

Sunoo breaks the kiss and looks at you with a smirk. "We don't have much time before I have to leave for work," he says, his voice husky with desire. "But I want to make every second count." He leans down to kiss you again, his hands eagerly exploring your body. You can feel the heat building between you, the connection between you and Sunoo growing stronger with every passing moment.

You gasp as Sunoo enters you, filling you completely with his hardness. The sensation of being connected to him once again is overwhelming, and you can feel yourself tightening around him as he thrusts into you with increasing urgency. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper as you moan his name, lost in the pleasure of the moment. Sunoo's eyes are locked on yours, a look of intense love and passion burning in them as he moves inside you, pushing you to the brink of ecstasy once again.

You dig your nails into Sunoo's biceps as he thrusts into you, feeling your orgasm building rapidly. The urgency of his movements only serves to increase the pleasure, and you know that you're close. Just as you're about to tip over the edge, Sunoo's alarm goes off, the sound harsh and jarring in the stillness of the room. "I have to leave in five minutes," he says, the urgency in his voice matching the feeling of his movements. You whimper in frustration, wanting nothing more than to stay wrapped up in his arms forever. But you know that he has to go, that reality is calling him back to the world outside.

Sunoo's movements become even more urgent as the alarm continues to blare, and you feel yourself reaching the peak of pleasure. With a loud cry, you come undone around him, your body writhing with ecstasy. But before you can even catch your breath, he's already dressing and kissing you quickly. "I love you," he says, his voice filled with longing. "I'll see you tonight." And with that, he's gone, leaving you alone and sitting on his couch, still feeling the echoes of his touch on your skin.

You can't help but feel a twinge of guilt as Sunoo leaves for work, knowing that he's given up so much for you. But as you bask in the afterglow of your lovemaking, you feel that guilt melting away, replaced by a sense of deep love and connection to him. You realize that as long as you have each other, nothing else in the world really matters, and that thought brings a smile to your face. You resolve to make the most of your time together, to cherish every moment, and show him the same depths of love and devotion that he's shown to you.

[arafilez]

☆ ⼂ LOVE, TAILORED ﹗two

ꔫㅤㅤ ❜[ fashion designer khj x ceo fem!reader ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤfluff, crack, e2l 𓏧 for the company assets you have to work with solo designer kim hongjoong. even if it meant him annoying you at every step. ㅤ warnings flirting ㅤ﹢ㅤ3k wc ꔫㅤㅤ ❜part one . two . three

“Did he just call you, darling?” you jump at the voice behind you as soon as you leave the room.

You slowly turn around, praying and hoping it is not one of your employees but you are met with a tall man wearing round glasses. His hair is brown-black with blue shades at the ends and honestly, it suits him well.

Your eyes form an obvious question mark as he grins lightly offering his hand and says, “Hi, I am Song Mingi, Joongie’s assistant and friend.”

“Joongie?” you question him as he slightly racks his head not understanding why you are so lost, before realising his own mistake.

“Oh I meant Mr. Kim,” he clarifies as you nod your head rapidly and shake his hand. He offers a light smile before asking again, “The ‘darling’ matter?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, your Mr. Kim has a habit of flirting as you already know probably,” you reply with an easy-going smile. Mingi looks like a soft person with all that height which you find very endearing.

“I guess so,” he replies quietly before bowing as you bow back and he takes his leave inside the room where Hongjoong is.

You bit your lips trying to resist a smile as you walk back slowly towards your own office.

Mingi narrows his eyes and enters the room to assist Hongjoong keeping a mental note to ask when he has ever flirted with anyone that deeply. He forgets. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ————

“What’s got you giggling so much like a teenager?” Seonghwa groans as you roll your eyes. If he wasn’t your friend from college you would never have his nagging ass around. Okay, maybe his organising and cleaning abilities are like yours too. Overly frantic!

“Did you know Kim has a sexy but cutie assistant?” you ask him as he narrows your eyes at you.

“No, I didn’t, is this because of him?” he asks pointing at your smiley face.

“Maybe,” you sang lightly, pushing yourself back into the chair as Seonghwa let out another sigh.

Your happiness is short-lived as your office door swings open and Hongjoong walks in with some sheets of paper in his hand. You abruptly pull your giggling self up and sit straight, staring at him with daggers in your eyes.

“Have you ever heard of, oh I don’t know, knocking?” you scream the last part of the sentence. Nonchalantly removing his beret, he put it down on your table before thrusting his sheets towards you.

“Zip it, princess, you weren’t doing anything highly confidential,” he replies.

“How do you know that?” you retort, your mind fogging with clouds of anger at the pet name. Princess, darling, what’s next sweetheart? You are getting extremely impatient at this man now.

Seonghwa pops a biscuit in his mouth which he had stolen from the tea that was served to you and watches the increasing banter amusingly unfold between the two of you.

“I know because your room blinder is up, princess,” he replies smirking as a horrifying look crosses your face. Your blinders are up, that means-

“Yes, I saw you kicking your feet in the air and giggling like a teenage girl around her crush,” he deadpans as you groan, slumping your head back down on the table.

Luckily for you, Hongjoong doesn’t further probe into the topic, except throwing an amused smile your way. He clears his throat lightly and says, “Those papers contain the designs I have made, ask your models if they are comfortable with wearing them.”

You look up, scrunching your eyebrows at him as he gives you a non-plus look on his face. You look down at the papers with his words replaying in your mind. No designer has ever cared for what the models want, let alone asking them after making designs.

“Wait, you made these in a week?” you quiz looking at the eleven sheets of paper as he shrugs but you continue, “And I think you counted wrong, there are ten models, four male and six female.” Your eyes stick to a design inside that was an upgraded version of the gown you had gawked at on the first day he came. The colour also is changed to lilac from baby blue.

“Oh, my mistake,” he says swiftly and you nod, looking at the other designs. The way he had made the bold designs look strikingly different and the softer designs look oddly extraordinary using elements from various places made you speechless.

“You’re talented as hell,” you whisper out accidentally and then hope and pray he didn’t catch that or else the teasing for the next one and a half months will be endless.

“What was that again?” he asks playfully as you scoff biting back the smile and trying to hit your face.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ————

Photoshoot days make you extremely nervous. What if a model falls sick? What if a light breaks down? What if even one camera starts to malfunction? And the worst fear of all, what if the outfit design gets ruined?

It makes you more nervous than models and you have absolutely no idea why. Seonghwa had once said it was because you knew how once when the company under your dad almost went bankrupt because a minister’s daughter threatened to sue the company for molestation accusations. Even though the truth was that she was the one flirting around, the fear on your dad’s face that day showed you how the world works.

You tap your feet impatiently waiting for the shoot to start and soon you feel another presence beside you. Seonghwa was talking with the photographers in front and Hongjoong was out there fixing and checking the model’s outfit for the last time. You looked beside you and saw the handsome man, Song Mingi standing.

“Oh hello,” you greet bowing and he bows back and your mind flashes back to the first meeting with Hongjoong where he had thrown all formalities out the window.

“Are you okay? Your hands are shaking badly and you are fidgeting,” Mingi says his deep voice messing up your brain.

“Yeah,” you breathe out throwing a smile his way and looking in his eyes. Beautiful hair, brown eyes, tall, deep voice, respectful, and observant nature- could he be any more perfect? How did a devil like Hongjoong end up having an angel for his personal assistant?

The love song playing in your head suddenly made a screeching record sound as Hongjoong’s annoying tone cut through the air, “Mingi can you please check the models whilst I keep notes from here beside the director and our very beautiful CEO- nim?”

You take in a sharp breath as you see Mingi leaving and before you could even open your mouth he whispers, “Damn, if you stare at him with those heart eyes, his girlfriend will kill you.”

“He has a girlfriend?” you say it louder than you expect, looking at him in shock and unfortunately for you, a few of the sound and light officials look at you with questioning eyes.

You give them a small smile gaining back your cool before looking at a smirking Hongjoong saying, “You are not very subtle, are you?”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” you grit out and turned to look at the photoshoot that started already.

“Make me,” Hongjoong teases as you glare at him with fire in your eyes. Shouldn’t he be paying attention to the models? Or does he trust Mingi that much, yes, of course, everyone should trust that beautiful boy, and no, he has a girlfriend, you have to stop thinking about him.

“Look at that, I am so handsome that you can’t keep your eyes off me,” Hongjoong grins as you gasp. How dare he?

“In your dreams, Kim,”

“I dream about a lot of things.”

“Oh god.”

“You say that in my dreams too.”

You whip your head at him watching his lopsided smile and scoff. “Seriously?” you ask with disbelief evident in your face. Your ears felt like burning at the outrageous comment he just made. Like it has been a month only.

“Control your hormones, Kim, you ain’t a teen,” you reply as he cocks his eyebrows at you.

Slowly he leans in as you widen your eyes and try to go back but the camera stand leg hits your shoe. He looks into your eyes once before whispering, “Trust me, I am controlling myself a lot.”

He moves away, eyes fixing on the monitoring screen as you look into the distance. Your breath still feels erratic, his words repeating in your brain like some kind of spell. In all that whispering you believe he had glanced at your lips for just a fraction of a second, but surely you were tripping.

Not in this universe did Kim Hongjoong look at your lips.

And you definitely did not like that jerk of a human.

You did not.

Even if he makes you feel breathless.

You did not. Maybe it’s a thing that will pass. He just looked good today. Maybe.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ————

After the shooting day, your schedules with Hongjoong had increased. The pictures have been released and blown up instantly. Various private and public interviews, press conferences, and media highlights kept the two of you busy. Most of the conferences had you two in the centre, speaking from both sides of the story.

Seonghwa made you write the words you will say under his surveillance because according to him you were “too stubborn” and “will say shit indirectly about Hongjoong” in your speech if he did not keep it under check.

You would not go that far you assured him, but he just would not trust you. Such a mom.

The same speech you repeated over and over again, changing the way of saying it in every interview. The words you had written weren’t a lie at all. You did find him talented and his designs out of the box but that fed his ego way too much.

He would ask you a question in every interview for example, “Oh you found that thing I used different, I see” or a “Well, of course, you liked it” and indulge in what the interviews called ‘playful banter’ as you would give him murderous look and he would just smile.

The week had ended quickly and you knew how the next few weeks you had to be busy again for the upcoming show and ramp-walk in Paris. You huff out a short breath as you silently clean up your office desk. Today's interview took an increasingly long time, and you just want to go home and dip yourself in a hot bath.

You zip up the chain of your handbag and redo the lipstick a bit before checking the mirror and applying some foundation under your eyes. You never know where cameras are and you certainly don’t want to be caught in any other state other than the “always fresh” or else articles are just a picture away.

Suddenly you hear a slight knock and think it is the security before letting out a forced but cheerful, “Come in.”

You turn around as your eyes meet the person you didn’t know could knock. “Did you learn how to knock? Also, I am tired, why are you here now?” you groan as looks at you with one eyebrow raised.

“Chill, I just wanted to drop by, I finished the paperwork and saw your light was on,” he replies as you shake your head.

“Always keeping a lookout for me or what?” you joke and he doesn’t answer choosing to smile instead and look sideways.

"I did think you would get me a binder for designing the clothes too?" Hongjoong asks and cheekily smiles before adding, "Darling." You roll your eyes at him, a stark contrast coming to your usual composed and calm behaviour as a CEO, not giving him the satisfaction of an answer.

You turn around in your heels ready to leave when he calls out, "Close the drawer on your left, darling."

Oh for fu- heaven's sake!

"Don't call me that," you nearly snarl at him and an innocent-looking smile etch his face as he comes closer to you and you stare back wishing your eyes could bore holes in his body.

He is simply insufferable.

"But you like it, when I call you that," his tone hints at light mocking as he continues, "Loosens up your uptight behaviour." You gasp at him feeling a bit offended and whisper out, "I hate you."

"Do you now?" he presses his lips together, loving how you are riling up. He has always loved to rile you up, balancing his comments well so that they don't become offensive but do tease you and he has been having an excellent time doing it.

He has a pretty face, your mind registers and your eyes lock with him, silently agreeing with your mind. He does have it, with his long lashes, two-toned hair falling on his forehead and soft lip- What is wrong with you?

You visibly shake out of your trance when you realise how close you and Hongjoong have come while talking.

Hongjoong's breath traces on your face and the room falls quiet with silent anticipation and even though your eye might be playing tricks but you did notice him steal a quick glance at your lips before looking up at your eyes again. Your breath feels slow and your eyes roam over his face and the moment feels like forever and somewhere in the back of your mind you wish it does.

The trance is broken as Hongjoong's phone rings and he jerks muttering a silent curse before moving away and picking it up while you widen your eyes and scurry out of the room.

What the hell just happened?

You pick up your bag and he turns around, walking out the door while you lock your office door since Seonghwa left early. You both had a quiet elevator ride, his familiar deodorant filling up the closed space. Neither of you talk nor would look at each other.

You feel thankful about it because god knows what you have spewed if you did. Walking outside you fish out your phone to book a cab while he takes out his keys.

“Woah, how did Miss Organised forget her car keys?” he giggles as you look at him glaring playfully. Of course, he is back to normal.

“I didn’t forget it, I gave it to my cousin earlier who wanted to impress a girl,” you breathe out as you remember his pleading face and promise to bring you as his plus one to a football match he is invited to.

Not that you can’t buy your own tickets, but going for free is always a different kind of fun.

“That is so old-school,” Hongjoong scoffs as you let out a laugh.

“Maybe, but he is eighteen, so I let him be,” you grin and then look back at your phone to see several car symbols roaming around the location.

“Well, I will drop you off,” Hongjoong voices out before he can stop himself and he is himself surprised when your head whips towards him.

“What if you kill me and dump me somewhere? I can’t trust you,” you gasp dramatically and he rolls his eyes.

“Please, if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it the day you hogged up half my pudding in the changing room,” he reasons.

“I was hungry and it was not half,” you whine as he stares at you.

“It was half, and no, do not say the piece between quarter and half, ‘cause it was half,” he shut you up raising his fingers and putting them on your parted lips.

He stares at your figure which is only slightly shorter than him as you stare back before he coughs and pulls his hands back and you look away licking your lips.

“Do you want the lift or not?” he asks again after a few seconds as you decide there is no harm in accepting help from him anyway. So you nod your head to a yes and you both head towards his car.

The car ride is mostly silent, a soft Lany song playing from the radio as you look out at the city lights lighting up the way. You felt them glittering the highway as Hongjoong followed the route you had explained earlier.

You look back at Hongjoong driving, the wind hitting his parted hair and the white part shining lightly under the streetlights. Okay, maybe he did make that work well. You see he has changed, probably in his office, you figured, and was just wearing a simple hoodie over the same jeans.

“Can’t take your eyes off me?” Hongjoong teases you without even glancing and you narrow your eyes at him before looking away as he giggles lightly.

“Do you ever stop talking?” you retort and he steals a quick glance at you before eyeing the road again.

“Do you ever stop being uptight?” he asks.

“Yes, sometimes I just want to leave all these and drive away anywhere my mind takes me to,” you sigh looking away and seeing the blinking traffic lights.

“I thought you didn’t like being spontaneous,” he adds on, though his tone had become increasingly softer compared to the earlier teasing and you look down at your hands.

“It’s not that easy, you know?” you reply as he hums lowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

After some moments of quiet pondering you look at him. You felt your brain function abnormally as you couldn’t help but find him ethereal as the orange streetlights lightened up his face. Maybe it was just the sleep deprivation that made your heart beat faster and let your eyes linger long on his side profile and his eyes that were trained on the road ahead.

Suddenly you say, “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤidea credit to @iwishiwasrichasfuck. banner made by @/DathanHamen in wattpad. loving it rn lolol .ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ taglist ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤ@haneagerr @tunaasan @stellarlune-love @jeonghanfr @soocore @chaotic-floral @loveateezㅤmain mlistㅤ atz listㅤ navi

© arafilez on tumblr. please don't copy and repost my work as your own.

[jokeringcutio]

A Gift for his Gift - Albert Shaw / The Grabber x Reader Insert [ WARNINGS ]

Minors, Do not read. There are more warnings and tags to this that you'll find below.

Summary:

“I think I’m gonna keep you,” he had said. And he seemed to keep that promise.

Note: This part can be seen as a (dark and explicit) continuation of The Gift, in which the reader explains how she ended up in the Grabber's basement... to him.

Pairing:  Albert Shaw | The Grabber (The Black Phone)/ Fem. Reader

Fandom: The Black Phone (2022)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Kidnapping, Dark Story, Smut.

Additional Tags: Reader Insert, Age Difference, Older Man/Younger Woman, Height Differences, Extremely Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, Female Identifying reader, Angst, Dark Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, Dark

Series: Part 2 of The Window  

Written for @willshipanything-blog (Not even sure you'll like it when it goes dark and twisted like this but, lol, I promise I'll try and write a sweeter continuation as well for you ;) )

Read [ on AO3 here ]  Or read below on Tumblr: 

He was going to keep you. The stranger whose house you had barged into had made his promise and kept to it. Waking up to the basement room had you back into a panic, but when your heart calmed down again, and the pain between your legs brought you down to earth, you remembered.

Oh, you remembered how you got here and how things got this far.

A quick glance at the dirt in the corner of the room to see if he had brought a plate, only to realize he was standing there, quietly staring at you. A white polo shirt with thin red stripes vertically and bigger ones horizontally at the hems was covering his chest. It had only a few creases but looked clean. He was wearing brown pants and old man slippers. So ordinary, it made you wince.

Ever since the time he caught you, he’d never shown his true face again. Always there was that damned mask. Sometimes fully, sometimes just half of it. The emotions on it changed as well.

You knew who was behind it though. You’d seen him. You knew the color of his hair and the depths of his pale eyes. You could draw the wrinkles on his head, the crinkles at his eyes whenever he smiled. You knew how his mouth looked, how his lips felt against your skin.

You could measure the size of his hands with two or yours. You knew all the hairs, everywhere, that he had on his body, knew of the shape of his hips or the firmness of his thighs. The way his hipbones pressed against you as his pelvis was pressed to your core, you remembered.

You’d learned the hard way about the shape of his stomach, the lack of hair on his chest, the firmness of his hand when he wielded his belt.

That horrid belt.

How he loved to tie you down to the bed with it, ever since that very first day when he had trapped you in his house. You remembered how tight the belt had felt when he had first used it on you; how the edges cut into your skin whenever you tried to move. He had his big black dog watch you so you couldn’t get away while he moved the rugs. Unfair, it sounded in your mind. How heavy those rugs had been to you, but how easily he carried them away, two at a time. It was not fair, you thought. Nothing about this was.

You had hated how you could not do anything but watch as the man who had tied you to the dingy bed made his way up the stairs, rugs disappearing with him. Your arms were still restricted to the bed, the dog still snarling and growling and sometimes snapping at your feet. You had watched the rugs being carried away until they had all gone, and with them, your chance to escape via the window.

Oh yes, you knew each and every bit of him. From his laughter to his growling as he pounded deep into you, as deep as he could go. You knew the sound of his rapidly increased breathing as he neared his peak, and the feel of the stickiness of his cum as it dripped from your core.

You knew it all, and it was unfair that he had left you guessing at his name. Nothing other than sir, mister or monster. But he was just a man. He had you rasp daddy to him during those moments of heated passion, when he would pin you down to the bed and have his way despite you crying he was in too deep. He urged it out of you, punished you if you didn’t say it.

He loved that you were smaller than him. Younger too. He alluded to your size, to your age, to everything about you that he deemed so different from himself. He often placed you on a pedestal, compared you to goddesses and the virgin Mary.

You were none of that, not any longer. He had made sure of it.

Looking up at him as he stood several feet away, back resting against the grey paint-chipped wall, you hoped he did not see the distaste for him in your eyes. He hated it whenever he caught sight of it, hated that after weeks in his underground prison, you still chose not to love him back. Not fully.

You had to force the memories away. They were all that had been built during the time that he had kept you here. He was your world. He was all you knew now.

And there he was, staring at you like he had done for many of the nights since you arrived. A mask covering his face as if you didn’t know what you would find beneath it. But you would recognize him anywhere. Among crowds. Among any star in the universe.

Your captor. Your keeper.

You rolled over, wincing at the ghostly feel of him still inside of you. He knew how to bruise. You did not know whether he’d done it on purpose and took delight in it, though.

Then your eyes slid to the dried blood and cum stains on the mattress. Your very first time, down here, with him. How dirty you felt knowing what he had done. To know what he had done to you.

He moved. A step forward from the dirt-streaked wall. His polo shirt so ordinary. Like any other man, except he was not.

“Still thinking that they might find you?” he asked, his head tilted, curiously. His mask fittingly neutral today.

“My friends,” you started, but your voice came out dry, barely audible to his ears. My friends will come to find me, you wanted to say. Just… anything to show you had not given up the fight. You’d be out of here, one way or another. But your throat felt swollen and you had to cough. No words came forth. You felt little. Small and isolated.

“Your friends?” he urged you, and you hated it. How curious he sounded, how caring, when you knew he was not.

When had he ever listened to you? Ever since you got here, things had always been done to his terms. He invaded your privacy whenever he fancied, came down to look at you long and hard, even during the nights. He often refused to engage in conversation with you, stating that he just wanted to be with you or liked the look of you.

It made you wonder what was going on in that mind of his.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat down next to you. A scent of musky mildew, eggs and something that was all uniquely testosterone invaded you.

His strong hand was upon you, turning you by the shoulder till you faced him. Your lips trembled and you did not dare to look him in the eyes, knowing what you would find there. Raw lust. Possessiveness. A primal need.

“Oh, little dove,” the words came out like a whisper. As if he cared about you.

His free hand drifted to the hem of the shirt you were wearing. His shirt. Your own clothes had long since been discarded and taken away from you. Now you were dressed in his leftovers. Another mark of his ownership of you.

His shirts were a few sizes too big for you and looked more like a dress. He found it easier that way. They gave him easy access to your body whenever he wanted to cope a feel. Like now, you thought, when you felt his calloused hand deftly slide underneath the shirt. His rough fingertips gently tipped against your skin, touch ever so lightly, tracing a pattern upwards, until you felt his strong fingers curl around your breast. His hold was instantly firm, thumb twitching past your nipple, massaging your breast and kneading it in his hot hand.

A gasp escaped you, unbidden, but you could not hold it back. You felt his touch shoot sparks down your body, all the way to your core, betraying your mind. Slick started to form between your legs, your pussy throbbing with each and every pinch his fingers made.

You hated how your body betrayed you. It had only taken a few weeks, but now, whenever he touched your breasts or kissed your neck, slick would form down below, lubricating your passage for his awaiting cock like an invite. That bulbous monster riddled in veins, that was too thick and too large for your body to handle. Yet he made you take all of him, and your body adjusted to his size. Every. Damn. Time. 

Fit him like a glove, he'd said. You imagined it being a glove a few sizes off.

You knew he craved you hot and slick and ready. Pussy pulsing and throbbing. You thought that despite your feelings for him, he had trained you well. As if your body adjusted naturally; an instinct to survive that had kicked in. The first time your walls had been dry and it had been awful. Awful, what with the size of him and all. And he had given you no respite, thrusting and grunting and coming deep inside – with only his pre-cum and spit to guide the way.

He usually wasted no time before he penetrated you deep, you knew by now. He'd shown his true colors during the many visits he made. He came downstairs to the basement only to watch or touch or come deep inside. There was nothing else. Just that.

Like now, when he lifted the hem of your shirt to reveal your dripping cunt. How he nudged your legs apart – it only took a soft nudge of his elbow and you spread them. Your own hand instantly snaked between your legs to help him, knowing he liked it this way, your fingers spreading your glistening lips.An invite in. A glistening core. Tight walls pulsing with need.

He positioned the head of his cock between your glistening moist lips, then, without delay, pushed the tip of his throbbing shaft inside. You threw your head back in a gasp, fingers clawing at the stain-streaked mattress below. You felt him, all of him. His ridges, his veins, his pulsing hardness as he thrust deep inside and stroked your vaginal walls. Hot skin deep within you.

He started a firm and modest pace. Deep strokes that made your walls quiver and pulse. Dirty, you thought, while your hands clawed at his shoulders to give you some leverage. This man, who showed you no mercy in his thrusts. Who dived even deeper, hitting your core, making your pussy itch while battering your cervix painfully. This man who grunted dirty little nothings in your ear, gasped and puffed and bit his lip for you to hear. So very close upon you, his sweat covered skin rubbing against yours.

And still, that damned mask would not come off.

Wet, sopping sounds filled the room. The heavy scent of sweat and sex coated you like a thick blanket, suffocating, unable to break away from. The scent filled your lungs as he thrust even deeper, his strokes irregular now as he reached the point of no return. How he loved slicking you up and then filling you up with his seed. How he loved to paint your womb with his semen. He retreated with a loud squelch, his cock popping free from your abused core. How many times had he been within you today? Two? Three? You’d lost count, and you could not quite say. Sometimes, the days seemed like nights here.

You looked at him through your lashes, lying on your back while his hand pushed your tummy down, pinning you to the mattress. Your knees fallen to each side, showing your treasure to him. You could see the fascination in his eyes despite the stupid mask he wore.

His grey-blue eyes were upon you, watching, intently, as the white dribble slowly started to trickle out between your legs, only to push it all back inside of your pussy with one thick thumb, his index finger then joining in as he stuffed you full – and yes, there it was. His finger was all in, all the way up to the knuckle while you heard him whisper for you to be his good girl and take it all in.

A gift for his gift. Why not let him give you something in return, when you came to him so willingly?

You bit your lip and turned your head to the side. You did not want to see this, did not want to see the fascination in those eyes and imagine how he was biting his lip behind that mask in pure fascination. You did not want to feel him push all of the juices back inside, but did you have a choice? How could you not feel his fingers teasing your itching core? Ignore how your sore vaginal walls fluttered around his fingers as he pushed back his sperm and your cum?

Did you have a choice not to? Was there a place to spit it out when he had abused your mouth? To hide his cum after he was done? You tried it, so many times, to just sit on that dirty cracked toilet and push it all out. You’d used your fingers, clawed at your own cunt, tensed all of your muscles, just to get the last traces of him out of you. But like him, his semen was thick, it stuck. It would only escape you hours after he had been done. And if he had abused your mouth, the taste of his cum would remain on your lips and down your throat till the next time he came down to have you taste him. You'd gladly have his eggs and soda, if he hadn't started to cover them in his sperm to ensure you'd never get rid of the taste of him. It'd be nutritious for you, he had said.

He was ingrained in your being, in so many ways.

His fingers diving deep inside of your cunt broke you out of your thoughts and your eyes flew open wide. Another gasp. Your body clenched. “So wet,” you heard him chuckle in your ear, his voice breathy and dangerously low, his breath ghosting past your ear. “So willing.”

You pressed your lips into a tight line and waited for him to remove his hand, but he did not. His fingers remained there, nestled deep within you.

“Thank you,” it were those huskily whispered words that made you close your eyes tightly and turn your head away. He thanked you for wanting to do this with him? But you had not-

He caught your chin with his fingers, aware of how you tried to block him out. But he’d have none of that. He turned your head back to his, forcefully with his fingers on your chin. As if to make a point, he moved his head closer to yours, forcing your lips tightly against his mask.

You knew he was regretting his choice of mask now, that he would have wanted this to be his real lips on your skin. But he had chosen for this, to be masked, and he would stick to it. He always would.

Soft humming in your ear. He was delighted by what he had done. Another wet squelching sound and his fingers were gone. You felt like you could breathe again.

The sound of a zipper and the rustling of clothes. You could hear him fasten his belt.

It took a moment, but you managed to catch your breath and bring it back under control. Your chest moving less rapidly, you turned to face him. You felt the mattress dip again and watched as he lay down next to you, head propped upon his hand as he lay sideways, elbow supporting his weight. He hummed an unknown tune near your ear. The mask muffled the sound somewhat.

“They said this place was abandoned,” you slowly said, while you watched how he seemed to tense up. He was resting on his elbow, mask towards you. His wispy grey hair fell around it like it was part of the attire. You wondered if he was unshaven underneath. If there was a grayish stubble like there had been a few days ago.

“My friends,” you said, swallowing while you gathered your courage. You’d never told him this. You’d never explained how you got to be in his home.

“They said this place was abandoned and dared each other to check it out. I was on my way home when I came across so I…” the words died on your lips when you saw tense again, spine straight. There was a glint in his eyes, one you could not place, and it frightened you. You tugged the shirt you were wearing down, as if it could cover the whole of you and create a barrier between you and your predator.

The man stopped humming and you thought he looked to be lost in thought. Had you said too much?

You saw him sit up fully now. He held his mask, as if the object was about to wobble off.

“Abandoned?” you heard him say, voice muffled from the mouthless mask he wore today. His fingers twitched, and a low laugh escaped his throat. He wanted to change masks, you thought as you studied him. This face did not fit his emotions anymore.

“Oh no,” another dry heaved chuckle, “No, dearie.” It was odd to see this creature, this abomination of a man, propped up on the bed next to you, probably smirking behind his mask. His pale eyes were upon you. “This place is lived in.”

You merely looked at him as if to say, yeah, I figured that now, but then the man started laughing again. His right arm fell to his side, then slid around his own belly. Your eyes traveled there, noticing how the white shirt he was wearing had ridden up, revealing parts of his naked stomach. How often you had felt that part of him pressed against your own. Naked. Sweating.

“Good God, I am lucky.”

You watched as his laughter died down and you imagined how, behind the mask, his tongue came to peek from between his lips, tipping one of his canines as if in thought. You could see his eyes, drifting away from your form and sliding across the room.

The words that came out of him next sounded unbidden; like they were a thought fleeting away from him. “The house, the unlived in house? They must have meant the one across the street.”

You stiffened. Wait. Did that mean…?

But as he said it, his voice faltered. Another realization, you thought. But what?

His whole attitude seemed to change all of a sudden and within a flash, he had scooted to the edge of the bed. With a clap of his hands on his thighs, the man rose. You watched his hand fall to his side, his rings glinting in the faint light that came from the window high above you.

His voice was low, dangerous almost. “You hang in here, dearie. I’ve just been remembered there’s something that needs to be done.”

And with that said he left, leaving behind the realization that your friends, if they had been looking for you would have been visiting the house opposite of the one you were trapped in. And wasn’t that a horrible thought?

[magickman1234]

Your Feedee Boyfriend’s Secret Plot

You’ve been with your boyfriend on and off in college as friends with benefits. Life let you both know you liked fat people but the feedism part came together after this. You were desperate to fatten him and he was a natural glutton. You got back in contact with him after his time in grad school gave him time again. You’ve been a chunky curvy girl and he loved that but at some point while excited after a party you started feeding him. The sex was transcendent and you two got him from a burly fat boy to a hog of a man. You put on some weight and accidentally got like visibly fatter, like not just extra curvy or thick but fat. You noticed he looked at you different with a glint in his eyes you’d never seen. He ate well so you thought it was that.

It crept up on you slow and kind. Your insecurities as the 30 spread turned into the late thirties extra spread. You developed a lower back issue and he got you a comfortable chair while you cooked for you. He insisted on letting you sit while he grabs your favorites at the couples night buffet you take him to. You notice the booths there seemed to be shrinking. You asked and your kindly admits he’s so big he had to scoot the table towards you. He does it with a distracting jiggle of his gut and your on fire between your thighs too much to notice how big they feel is not your imagination. When you notice space in the car making out or in the theatres or your couch he whispers an evil truth: “Look what you did to me.” You don’t realize what’s happening because at first your metabolism kept up like when you were in your twenties. That dreamy stuffed gut delirium sex finished with you rubbing your own bloated tummy that by morning is down to a chunky curvy girl scale. At this later time you can’t but your body’s last moments of metabolism abandons you after gifting you that 10 pound increase you get while keeping up with a fat boy in your 20s. You state at 10-15 mitre then boom that shoots toward 20-30. Your belly starts to not shrink back. Your middle starts to insist on staying just stuck out more and more.

Right when you realize it on his birthday after eating your favorite cookies as you cook more that he’s eaten now. He’s fattening you up! His real birthday wish is to fatten you up. You blush as he catches you discovering this and swoops in with a pinch of fat off your hip that’s slipped loose from your well beyond tight pajamas.

“Oh it’s cute you truly thought those were for me…look at you so programmed I’ve turned you into your own feeder,” he grins. “But truly you’ve earned it, what’s good for the hog is good for the sow?”

He pokes you nose up and you snort like you’ve made him snort. Your body quivers for joy as you eat several of the chocolate almond mess you love! Omg wait he made this recipe for you early on! How long has he been planning this? Why are you so happpppyy!?! The deep need as a fat girl to just cut loose eat and eat get fatter no matter whatever devour sweets or any food hits her interest.

Truly your a switch with more dom but something about going full submissive for a weekend or two hits you hard. He’s got a cruel multitudes of your favorites plus his so he eats while you eat until your trying and loosing that battle to keep up with him. Your figure gives out rapidly on these retreats. The rest of the week back to being a feeder and him the feedee but you can’t help up eat too, more and more. It’s just normalized now.

It hits you your in free fall now an near equal with him now. Your noticing everyone look at you like they do him. In fact a slight difference in height and more of a rapid belly gainer as you got within fifty pounds of him you have the bigger belly more eyes are on you. Your boyfriend has muscle so no matter how he eats his legs are ripped and arms too with flabby upper limbs but you are so much fatter looking. You realize being the smaller fatty in a fat couple had unconsciously been your pride more than you realized. You realize you’ve both lost any pretense of dom or sub or feeder or feedee. You both just sit on the couch eating all night but you’re eating two desserts each night! Oh god when your dom you demand it now. He doesn’t have to tease you. Just sitting you feel your side of the couch sinks much lower and your cushion needs to be flipped to keep it from getting too uncomfortable. The lack of control you realize is not from him but from control of your appetite, gluttony, and greed. Your ravening and helpless to desire for food. Once you make it past him in weight you’ll realize it’s easier to be in charge when you out weigh him.

[tiredsurvivoronmain]

Hi!! I love your Lycan Chris art omg. LFMSLKJ was wondering how'd he become a Lycan in your mind? Or some Lycan!Chris headcanons in general?? Feel free to ignore just curious! Ty!

Thank you!! ;w; I haven't figured out how he became a Lycan yet; maybe sometime before the events of RE8 when he and his team were investigating the village Chris gets jumped by a Lycan and bitten however because he's been dealing with numerous BOWs for nearly 25 years his natural resistance for viruses and genetics has mutated, his body is capable of tanking the virus and is compatible with it. There may be a connection to Wesker and his enhanced immunity but I'm working on it.

When he doesn't fully turn he goes to look for Rebecca to consult her privately (to avoid the BSAA finding out). She takes blood samples to analyse and create a vaccine or a suppressor so he doesn't fully turn and lose himself to the virus.

But for now he has to deal with it on his own.

His height increases to 7ft and can move on all fours when going full 'beast' mode; he sort resembles a hybrid of a lycan and a Varcolac

He can't always control the transformation but he's still mostly in control of his thoughts, emotions and actions, but the urge to bite someone and pass on the virus is still there so he has to be fully aware of what he's doing at all times and not accidently bite someone.

The way he transforms acts the same way as a cat extending and retracting it's claws; his finger nails grow into claws and back to fingernails, fur grows rapidly all over his body (the neck in particular has thick fur like a wolf's) and sheds, excess enamel grows (making the teeth pointed) then breaks off, ears become pointed then rounded again, muscle mass increases and decreases etc.

Has high speed regeneration and can survive a headshot

Can run up to 25-30mph

His strength increases drastically; strong enough to throw a truck 30ft

When in beast mode his bite is strong enough to remove heads and tear off limbs

His sense of smell and hearing is enhanced which can make it difficult for him to concentrate (overstimulated by sounds and scents)

Stroking the fur on his neck has a calming effect on him (should someone think to do that)

Becase his body size increases he will usually take his clothes off to avoid ruining them. He'll try to keep his underwear on if he can but sometimes he'll have to resort to going nude. Thankfully the fur gets thicker around his crotch so his bits are mostly obscured.

[markerofthemidnight]

Fun little thing I wrote in 20 minutes

It’s for an idea for a crossover AU I have swirling about in my head (nothing to do with Oneiric Observation). Wasn’t planning on sharing this, but… hey, what the hell. I like this, and I think you guys will too.

Basically, it’s the Lankmann Foundation intentionally trying to induce Veldigun metamorphosis on some poor soul, and then taking notes as the transformation ensues.

Metamorphosis Experiment: Patient 2-13

Day 1-5 - Patient is initially injected with Veldichor. Irritated, but for days on end shows considerable lack of physical corruption.

Day 6 - Physical corruption finally takes place. Patient’s skin becomes significantly darker with stripes, and rapidly begins losing weight.

Day 7 - Patient begins coughing up blood, presumably due to their old teeth falling out and being replaced by fangs. Hair begins growing at a faster rate.

Day 8 - Eyes bulge out of sockets, enlarging and become discoloured, growing darker around the sclera. Subject grows claws and becomes more aggressive. From this point forward, it is considered unsafe for staff to enter the room with it.

Day 9 - Subject resorts to chewing at its own arm to sustain itself, its skin rapidly healing after the fact. Spends the remainder of its time either resting, or pacing around its cell whilst muttering to itself: it has also scratched at its clothes.

Day 10 - Subject’s height begins rapidly increasing as it lays catatonic, with its eyes still open. Frequent snapping and popping sounds are heard from it as its bones fall apart and merge with its skin. Clothes are torn to shreds at this point, yet at an undetermined point in the process it seems to have lost any need for them.

Day 11 - Hair strands begin fusing with both subject’s flesh and one another, closely resembling tentacles once the process is over. Whether these are prehensile is yet to be determined. Subject now measures at 198cm.

Day 12 - Subject wakes up, making screeching sounds comparative to that of a large cat. Spikes are now visible on its back, its skin now being a dark bluish-grey.

Day 13 - Metamorphosis is presumably complete. Subject is offered crayons and paper to test how cognisant it is: it drew a childlike picture of what we can infer are its house, parents and older brother, and then began writing “MUM” and “DAD” on the walls.

Results: Success

(Mental Capacity: Undetermined)

So, if you want to make your day feel a whole lot worse: promise me you’ll think of what that last part implies about our dear Patient 2-13.

[startappzblog]

Using gyroscope-based hand gestures to improve user experience

All content producers are trying to innovate new hooks that grab human attention. The most recent trend is short-form videos (Reels, stories, and Youtube shorts), which are used heavily in almost all social and content apps because of the substantial impact of user interaction.

And this refers to allowing new policies that will enable individuals to post freely on the internet and utilize the available platforms.

The Challenge

Enjoying short-form videos can mean lots of time spent on the internet, which is associated with exhaustion from browsing the internet and, thus, an increasing need for an aiding tool to help the users.

For instance, some people have pain in their thumbs, which lessens their ability to scroll over the screen of an internet-enabled device, which happens after spending a long time using the device. The reflection will explore an innovative tool available for users who use one hand to navigate short-form content.

I believe the gyroscope is a feature that can be a pleasing alternative that offers a new experience for the targeted users.

When does this happen?

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Users continuously consume a lot of time while using their mobile devices, specifically for entertainment purposes like watching reels, which causes hand pain, especially for the thumb joint, especially when using the thumb for scrolling up and down for more than one hour.

Navigate Intuitively

The gyroscope is a microdevice that consists of a disc mounted to spin rapidly around an axis (Armenise & Ciminelli, 2020).

The gyroscopes' sensitivity is incredible; it feels like it is activated by your brain, not by your hand!

So moving the hand at a slight angle that is barely noticeable will crawl to reveal more content.

Gyroscope In Mobile Devices

Utilizing a gyroscope to measure the accelerometers' velocity along the x, y, and z axes. It was used in many different techniques and fields, like navigation, wellness, gaming, and many more. Here are some examples:

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Gyroscope In Content Browsing

The gyroscope can deliver a seamless experience by tilting the mobile device up and down along the Y axis, which offers the ability to scroll between screen components that have a specific height for each post, regardless of the content type, for the sake of reducing the use of the thumb heavily.

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Content Size

Determining the size of posts is essential to assist hand movement and the gyroscope sensitivity to measure how much the user needs to tilt their hand up or down to jump back and forth between different contents.

The social content depends on the following sizes to represent short video content, whether the label is a reel or any other similar video type. Those types usually have the same time duration, which is less than one minute, and they share the transition experience and functionality.

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Targeted users

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The findings indicated that 70% of the respondents used Facebook and Instagram, 40% used TikTok, 20% used Snapchat, and 40% used Pinterest. Moreover, 90% enjoyed watching the short-form video (reels)

Furthermore, 40% of the respondents were annoyed by the experience of sliding up and down to reveal content on their favorite social media platform. 70% of participants enjoyed watching short-form videos for more than 2 hours, and the rest were between 1 and 2 hours.

40% feel hand pain from browsing on their mobile devices, which makes them switch the device between hands to continue. Most of the participants enjoy browsing early morning and directly before sleeping.

A significant number of the respondents (80%) stopped using their devices because they were busy. 100% of the respondents use one hand and spend their time on social media applications.

How it works

By linking the gyroscope sensor with the desired content, The gyroscope can respond to changes with a hand gesture. Any movements can be calculated and connected with a particular output on the application.

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Thus, the size of the short-form videos is defined, and the gyroscope can move from one video to another without the old-fashioned experience that depends on using the to scroll up/down.

Moreover, by shaking the device, we can refresh the current content and download the newest one, and this is by taking the user to the top of the screen again.

Reference: Nader Al-azzeh CCO at Startappz

[avvail-whumps]

‘guns for hire’ — open arms #16

previous · masterlist · next

content warnings: multiple whumpers, non-con touching (not sexual), manhandling, gun violence, gun threat, blood, intimate whumper, humiliation/degradation, manipulation, opening up past injuries (whipping)

Bran’s grip was bruising.

Leo could barely even wriggle the limb between his fingers without a sharp gasp of pain escaping his lips.

He was more focused on how tight his lungs felt, and the way his mind was latching onto exactly what he’d uttered earlier. Target practice? “I won’t put too many rounds in him”?

His eyes instinctively screwed shut when he was jerked outside the front door, the sunlight mercilessly attacking his retina. He could feel his socks padding along the grass, almost skidding to catch up with the man’s ridiculously long strides. His fingers dug into his wrist, but it didn’t seem to phase Bran at all.

He hopelessly tossed a frightened gaze over his shoulder, only to see the other man from the kitchen following far behind. His gaze snapped up to the windows on the top floor, but one harsh jerk from Bran had a painful gasp tearing from his lips, ripping his attention elsewhere. His eyes darted from one stranger’s face to another, and he could feel his chest bouncing up and down rapidly.

It matched the steady increase of his heartbeat.

“Why’d you bring him out with you?” One of the strangers frowned, and Leo risked a glance towards him. He was the only one with a neatly groomed beard, matching his dark hair and eyes. He was looking at him with this acidic distaste in his eyes, and Leo couldn’t help but shake his gaze away.

Bran huffed, tugging him over to one of the targets they’d set up. “It makes it more fun having a living target, don’t you think?”

Leo stiffly shook his head, trying to plant his heels into the dirt to deter his strength.

“Please,” he choked, his voice wobbling. “Don’t…”

Bran shot him a glare, one that had Leo’s hairs pricking on edge.

“Keep your mouth shut, or I’m going to skip the practice and make sure I put a bullet straight through your head, you got that?”

He felt a rough hand abruptly shove him backwards, his back connecting with the metal target behind him. Agony rippled through his back, and he couldn’t contain the painful cry that was ripped from his lips, instantly doubling over in a reflex to get away from the pressure. Bran grasped his jaw in a vice grip, and Leo’s head was knocked back against the target with a loud bang.

Pain ricocheted through his skull, and he was sure he saw black spots splinter along his vision for a moment. He grit his teeth and let out a soft whimper, his hands latching onto his wrist when his fingers dug uncomfortably between his cheeks.

“Keep still,” Bran murmured in a low, dangerous tone, his voice bordering on a terrifying growl. “If you don’t, I’ll nail you to this target to make sure you don’t squirm.”

He ripped away, and Leo felt his limbs lock into place, a cold rush of fear washing through him. Bran’s lip quirked up into a smirk, before he turned and went straight for the crate of guns. Beard’s narrowed eyes lingered on him for a moment, before he clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, and shrugged his shoulders lazily.

“Whatever.”

The one beside him, dissimilar in height to Beer, which Leo called him, had dirty blond hair cut to a short length. He was sipping at a can of beer himself, his eyes also filled with mischief. He was missing a finger on his left hand.

“Don’t go too far,” the fingerless mercenary called out, his expression catlike. “He might piss himself.”

Leo swallowed the dryness clinging to his throat, trying to shake off the horrible sense of dizziness that had consumed his thoughts. Each little sensation was driving him crazy; the clammy sweat on his brow, the deafening sound of his heart banging against his ribcage, the rush of adrenaline through his veins. His head was throbbing, and the pain that was still mercilessly tearing at his back made him want to curl up into a ball and scream.

Through watery eyes, he shifted his gaze to find Bran fiddling with a handgun.

His nose scrunched almost instantly, and he collapsed into quiet little sobs. The simple image of a gun, and it was reminding him about how he’d gotten in this situation in the first place. The impending sense of panic seizing his heart, how defenceless he felt at the end of that metal contraption.

Knowing one wrong move, and he’d have a bullet inside of him.

Leo froze like he did the first time. Bran was pointing the gun at him, and the metal target behind him, though taller and bigger, was burning into his skin the further he tried to press himself against it. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could disappear.

The jarring bang made him flinch violently, and he was sure he heard the thud of the bullet next to his head. His lungs stuttered to a complete stop, and Leo’s stomach rolled with dread as he felt more sobs spill from his lips.

“Not bad,” Bran hummed, tilting his head towards the other mercenary with a smirk. “I can see why Roy decided to keep him around.”

Leo sucked in a trembling breath, frantically shaking his head. “Please…”

The man’s smirk instantly dropped, his eyes going cold. “One more sound out of you, and the next one will be in your throat.”

As if to prove his point, the secretary heard another horrifying bang, and he could have sworn he felt the fire of the bullet almost biting above his shoulder. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, the momentary stinging pain distracting him from the whine that was bubbling in the back of his throat. His fingers fisted the bottom of the jacket, clinging onto it until his hands were shaking.

Leo was terrified. Roy, somewhat, had a method to his madness. All he had to do was be good, and he could avoid being hurt. But to what extent were they going to go to? Would he really shoot him, let him bleed out, and leave him until he was half dead before saving him? Would they all have no problem killing him? Would Roy let them?

He tasted blood on his tongue, as well as the salty taste of tears.

Another bang, and a twinge of pain erupted in the shell of his ear. A hiss of pain lingered on his tongue, and he had to force his arm from reaching up to cup the wounded area.

Finger let out a soft whistle, a chuckle hot on his tongue. “You made pretty boy bleed.”

Bran scoffed, though his eyes shone with amusement. “Ain’t even a graze. He’ll live, won’t you?”

Leo’s chest burned with humiliation, his breath stuttering with sobs as he hesitantly nodded his head. The big man scoffed, taking the gun in both hands once more, and keeping his hands steady. It was almost comical how small it looked when he held it, but Leo knew how much horrific damage it could do. He sniffled, anxiously gripping the jacket tighter.

“I wonder how many scratches I can put on him ‘til he can’t handle it no more,” he chuckled lowly, and Leo’s heart lurched into his throat at another jarring bang. It pierced through his ears, followed shortly by another, then another bang, bang, bang, around his head, leaving black circles in the target. Leo was almost hyperventilating, his vision blurring around the edges.

When Bran went to reload his gun, his next shot punched straight through Leo’s right side, and an agonising scream tore past his lips before he could hold it back. His knees buckled almost instantly, crashing onto the ground as his hands clutched desperately at the wound. His eyes swelled with fresh tears, trickling down his cheeks. He felt something grip his shoulders, and he instantly lashed out, the screams stripping away at his throat.

He struggled against the touches, shaking his head frantically. Pain was splitting along his back, and he was sure some of the wounds had reopened in the chaos of it all. He spluttered pathetically, catching a glimpse of Beer’s blurry face in front of him.

“He shot me,” Leo snivelled, crumbling into disorientated sobs. “He, He shot…it’s…”

He was still fighting the man’s grasp, his eyes frantically landing on a familiar figure. His vision cleared only for him, and Leo’s stomach sank with dread. Beer’s words didn’t register with him at all, a soft whimper crawling up his throat.

“Roy,” he called out, his voice breaking along the edges. He saw the mercenary turn around, though he looked considerably more calm than Leo did. “Roy.”

The mercenary stepped towards him, and Leo felt those familiar fingers run through his hair, crouching down to his height. He blinked through the blurriness in his vision, everything consuming him at once.

“What do you need, lion?” He smirked, thumb brushing against his cheekbone. “What do you need?”

His fingers trembled against his side, feeling it slick with fresh blood. He let out a soft whimper, letting his head fall forward and press against his shoulder.

“Please help me,” he cried, shifting forward so he was clutching onto him. “I don’t want to be here anymore, he…he…”

He felt a gentle tug on his shirt, and Roy assessed the damage with calm eyes.

“The bullet just scratched you, lion,” he gently whispered, gaze sliding up to the small nick in the shell of his ear. Something passed across his expression, gone before Leo could have even squinted to catch a glimpse. “There’s a lot of blood, but you’ll be okay. C’mere. There’s a good boy.”

Leo’s legs barely even cooperated, trembling like a leaf in the wind as they tried to take his weight. The throbbing in his back was the most consuming pain of them all, and he relied solely on Roy’s arms to guide him.

As he hobbled beside the mercenary, he could hear a ripple of sniggering and mocking laughter fading out from behind them as they went.

It left Leo feeling nothing but the crushing feeling of burning embarrassment.

tag list – @unorganisedalienrubbish @d-cs @rabidrabidme @sordayciega @burningkittypoet @whumpawink @mannerofwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @whatwasmyprevioususername @crilex29 @firefly017 @dutifullykrispyland @wibbly-wobbly-whump @there-will-always-be-blood @anonintrovert @justawhumpjunkie @whumptastic-world @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @whumpterful-beeeeee

[99liv3s]

Hi I would like to submit a idea for the clinic.

Name: piper

Eyes: greenish blue

Height: 6"0

She's a newly trans women from a highly experimental new program in Australia who just moved to the u.s to start a new life and learned she was implanted with a fertilized egg that could have possibly split I'll let you decide on that one.

Piper groaned as she labored on the bed, her large belly carrying low, and intense pressure on her hips. She tried to focus on breathing through the pressure and pain as she sat on the bed, her greenish blue eyes closed in a grimace as a contraction wracked her body. She knew she would be pushing soon, and she simultaneously dreaded and wished for this to happen.

About 7 months ago, back in Australia, she had signed up for a highly experimental program. As she had been planning to move to the US to start a new life for herself, she had needed funds, and this program promised a huge payout. She thought she would simply be a test subject for experimental new treatments. However, it was not long after she completed her move when she noticed she was pregnant. As a newly trans woman who had never had sex, she knew it had to have come from the experiment. Not knowing what exactly they were testing or using her body for, but willing to go along with it for the huge payout, she decided to continue with the pregnancy. Piper had noticed, based on what she had read and heard about pregnancy, that hers seemed to be vastly different. She had experienced virtually no morning sickness, no odd cravings, and very little baby movement. Perhaps, she had thought, they were testing ways to make pregnancy easier??

Eventually, she had started to experience what she could only describe as labor pains, which is what led Piper to the clinic. She had been given a basic examination, during which she panted and breathed rapidly, but the pain had been manageable. The doctor had then left to get an ultrasound machine, but had not returned, and that had been hours ago, during which Piper's labor had worsened. Piper moaned and cried out as the pressure mounted on her pelvis and pressed downward. "Owww," she gasped softly, feeling this pain.

The doors to her room opened, and the doctor finally returned, followed by a familiar face. It was one of the scientists back in Australia, who had been part of the experimental program Piper had signed up for. "Ah, Piper, it seems your time has come," she said. "I had to have a chat with your doctor, to explain everything." "So, inside of you is an egg, and very shortly, you will have to give birth to it!" "AN EGG??!!" Piper screamed out, both in astonishment and as a new painful contraction hit at that very moment. "Yes, we were curious in determining if a new species could be carried in a human womb!" The scientist explained. "We chose yours because of the many treatments you had previously undergone, which would increase the chances of the pregnancy taking hold." "And, as we can all see, it did!" "Ooowww," Piper trilled, "H...how am I... going to get it...out??" "The same way women have been getting offspring out of their bodies since the beginning of time," the scientist responded. "Here at the clinic, we've delivered eggs before," the doctor said. "We can help you, don't worry!" Piper stared at him, still in disbelief, then howled as the pain and pressure hit her again.

"You're fully dilated, and can push," the doctor told Piper a few hours later, speaking over her loud continuous moans, as she lay on the bed, her spread legs trembling in pain. The scientist had also stayed in the room with them this entire time, helping as much as she could. The pain and pressure had worsened to a degree that Piper never thought possible, and she just wanted it to be over. As she felt another contraction, she instinctively pushed, and it felt like her back and lower body was going to split open. Piper wailed in agony as she felt something heavy move down through her birth canal. "Oh my god, I can already see it," the scientist exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she smiled. "I FEEL IT, IT HURTS!!" Piper screamed out in response, before falling back into a constant moan, that increased in pitch as the egg moved again. Between her legs, her folds were forced open as a white-bluish shell became visible. "OOOOHHH AAAHHHH OOOOWWWW!!" Piper screamed as the egg started its emergence. It was more pain than she had ever felt in her life. She was conviced that the egg would rip her open, it was so big. "Push! PUSH!" the doctor ordered, and Piper pushed, not being able to do anything else. The large egg emerged more, and Piper howled. Her vagina stretched open wider and wider to accommodate the egg, which seemed to be the size of a bowling ball. "OOHHH GOD GET IT OUT OF MEEEEE!" Piper screamed out between moans. The scientist had taken a position between Piper's legs, apparently ready to catch the egg once it was born. "You're doing it," the doctor reassured Piper. "You're getting it out!" "I know it hurts, but you'll soon be done, it's almost out!"

An hour later, the screaming mother was struggling to get the widest part of the egg out, which seemed to be stuck. Piper was begging for any kind of relief at this point, thinking no amount of payment was worth this, and that she would no doubt die from this soon. The large egg hung out of her vagina like a large baby's head, taunting everyone in the room. As the doctor pressed on Piper's belly, the scientist gripped the egg with one hand and pulled, using her other hand to press against Piper's folds. Piper screamed out loudly in pain as the egg was seemingly forced out of the young mother. She tried to push as well, but the pain was too much, and all she could do was scream as the large egg was finally removed from her body. As she lay panting and sore, the scientist held up a large egg for her to see. It was white with blue spots all over it, and was so big, Piper was amazed it came out of her. "W...what's in... the... egg...." Piper asked weakly. The scientist smiled as Piper began to succumb to sleep. "Don't worry, soon you'll wake up to so much money, you'll never have to worry again!" The scientist responded. That was the last Piper ever saw of the giant egg she birthed. The next day, she returned home to find a huge amount of money wired into her account!

(Your character rolled a 14 = One large egg)

[ticklenight]

Cuddles

Soft moonlight filtered through the window, painting delicate silver strokes across the messy sheets. The low hum of the city outside was muffled in the walls of their small shared apartment, leaving only the gentle rhythm of breath and the warmth of tangled limbs between them. Hawks, with his tousled blond hair, lay nestled in Dabi's arms, his wings half-spread, draping lazily over the edge of the bed.

Dabi's arm curled around Hawks' waist, holding him possessively as if daring him to slip away. His dark hair fell in wild strands across his face, and those piercing turquoise eyes glimmered with a teasing spark. He leaned down, brushing his lips just above Hawks' ear, his voice a low, gravelly whisper.

"Still can't believe I ended up with someone so *short*," Dabi taunted, his lips curling into a smirk.

Hawks' nose scrunched, and he groaned dramatically. "Really? *Again* with the height jokes?" He tried to sound annoyed, but a smile tugged at his lips. He could feel Dabi's breath, hot and smug against his neck.

"Hey, I'm just stating facts." Dabi's hand slid under Hawks' shirt, fingers tracing lazy circles against his bare skin. "I mean, look at you—you're the perfect little spoon."

Hawks' face flushed, his wings shivering slightly at the touch. "Yeah? And what's wrong with being the little spoon?" he shot back, his voice soft but defiant. He snuggled back into Dabi's chest, trying to assert his point. "I get all the warmth *and* the comfort."

Dabi chuckled, a deep rumble that Hawks felt against his back. "Guess it suits you. Little bird. Little spoon." His fingers danced along Hawks’ side, grazing the sensitive spot near his ribs, earning a small squirm. "It’s adorable, really."

Hawks' cheeks turned a darker shade of red. "I swear, one day you'll regret making fun of me."

"Regret?" Dabi drawled, his grin widening. "Nah, watching you blush and stutter is half the fun."

A sly glint flickered in Hawks’ golden eyes. He was used to Dabi’s teasing, but tonight... tonight he wasn’t in the mood to let him win so easily. Hawks twisted slightly in Dabi’s hold, angling his body so that his fingertips grazed the hem of Dabi’s shirt.

"Y'know, being the 'little spoon' has its advantages," Hawks murmured, his voice dropping to a mischievous whisper. His fingers slipped under the fabric, just brushing against Dabi’s stomach.

Dabi tensed immediately. He tried to play it off with a scoff, but his body betrayed him, muscles clenching under the feather-light touch. "What are you doing?" he asked, suspicion lacing his voice.

Hawks’ grin grew. "Oh, nothing. Just appreciating how *tall* and *tough* you are." His fingertips danced across Dabi's toned abs, teasing, testing. "And how you have *absolutely* no weaknesses."

Dabi's jaw tightened. "Hawks..." he warned, but there was an unmistakable flicker of panic in his eyes.

Hawks' smile was pure mischief now. "You know, for someone who gives me so much grief about my height, you're awfully sensitive right... *here.*"

With a swift, practiced move, Hawks' fingers spidered across Dabi's belly, pressing lightly but rapidly, scribbling patterns along the sensitive flesh.

"Agh—!" Dabi's whole body jerked, a strangled laugh escaping before he could clamp his lips shut. His arms tightened around Hawks instinctively, but it was no use; Hawks had the advantage of positioning.

"Oh?" Hawks chirped, his eyes glinting with triumph. "What was that? Was that a *giggle*?" He increased the speed of his tickling, fingertips swirling along Dabi's stomach, finding the sweet spot just below his navel.

Dabi thrashed, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts as he tried to suppress the laughter bubbling up. "H-Hawks—quit it!" he growled, though his voice cracked, betraying the desperate urge to laugh.

"But why?" Hawks cooed, twisting in Dabi's arms just enough to gain better leverage. His wings fluttered in delight. "You love making fun of me, don't you? Maybe it's time you got a taste of your own medicine." His fingers danced faster, relentless and merciless.

"N-Nohoho! *Damn it—!*" Dabi's deep, husky laugh broke free, a sound so rare that Hawks' heart fluttered at the sheer joy of it. Dabi's head fell back, his dark hair splaying across the pillow as his body wriggled beneath Hawks' touch. He gritted his teeth, eyes squeezed shut, but the smile on his lips was unmistakable.

"Oh, you're so *done* for," Hawks teased, his own laughter bubbling up. His hands moved with precision, alternating between gentle squeezes and rapid flicks, exploiting every vulnerable inch of Dabi's belly.

Dabi's breath hitched, his laughter growing louder despite his best efforts. His fingers dug into Hawks' waist, trying to find leverage, but every time he moved, Hawks adjusted, his smaller frame giving him the perfect angle to stay out of reach.

"*Hawks!*" Dabi’s voice cracked, a mix of laughter and frustration. "I—I swehehear, if you don't—"

"Don't *what*?" Hawks grinned, his cheeks flushed with excitement. He leaned back slightly, his eyes glinting. "You're not exactly in a position to make threats, now are you?"

Dabi's cheeks burned crimson. The laughter wracked his body, each ticklish squeeze sending jolts of electric helplessness through him. His fingers clawed at the sheets, his legs kicking uselessly beneath the covers.

"Okay! OKAY! I g-give—!" Dabi gasped between wheezes, his body shivering under the onslaught.

Hawks paused, his fingers resting lightly against Dabi's twitching stomach. "Oh? Say that again?" he teased, tilting his head back to look at Dabi with faux innocence.

Dabi glared at him through half-lidded eyes, panting. "You heard me, you little—"

But Hawks’ fingers wiggled threateningly, and Dabi’s eyes widened in alarm. "*Fine!* I give up," he grumbled, his voice raspy. "You're evil."

Hawks let out a triumphant laugh, turning back around to nuzzle into Dabi’s chest. "See? Being the little spoon isn't so bad. Gives me the perfect angle to take down a big, tough guy like you."

Dabi's chest heaved as he caught his breath, his arms wrapping back around Hawks in a loose embrace. His fingers traced slow, lazy lines across Hawks' back, just below the base of his wings. He pressed a kiss to the top of Hawks' head, his lips curling into a grin.

"You realize this means war, right?" Dabi murmured, his voice soft but dangerous.

Hawks chuckled, his wings fluttering slightly. "Bring it on, *tall* guy."

Dabi's arms tightened, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The teasing faded into warmth, the kind that settled deep into their bones. Hawks let out a contented sigh, his body melting into Dabi's hold.

"You're ridiculous," Dabi whispered, his breath warm against Hawks' hair.

"And you love it," Hawks replied sleepily, his eyes fluttering shut.

Dabi's smile softened. His fingers traced circles along Hawks' spine, a quiet, affectionate gesture. "Yeah," he murmured. "I really do."

They lay there, limbs tangled, hearts beating in a shared rhythm, the city outside fading away until there was only them—feathers and flames, laughter and love, and the perfect fit of two souls who’d found their place together.

[erictmason]

“BOUND FOR FREEDOM, YEAR FIVE, DAY SIX: “Toast”

“Toast War”

Rotor wasn't sure what exactly Sonic and Sally were arguing about as they stomped into the kitchen; it happened so often he'd long since stopped caring about the particulars, and so long as it didn't interrupt his breakfast, that wasn't going to change now. He was much more invested in observing the toaster; he'd modified it to increase its efficiency, and he was very eager to see how well it worked.

Unfortunately, the two of them were in a particularly loud mood this morning, which made ignoring them in favor of his experiment a taller order than he would have liked.

"-and just because you can move fast doesn't mean you can do whatever you want?"

"Says you! I can jump higher, kick harder, and last longer than anybody else!"

"Not if you don't get your head in the game! All those skills won't matter if you don't actually apply them!" "Apply, Schmapply! You can't deny my skills!"

"Oh yeah? You want to put that notion to the test, hedgehog?"

It was, Rotor noted with some annoyance, a particularly asinine argument, from the sound of it, enough so that the walrus decided it would be best to finish his toaster test elsewhere. But just as he put his hands to the device to move it, a loud "DING!" caught everyone's attention.

Suddenly, a perfectly-crisped piece of toast popped out and flew up toward the ceiling. Rotor saw it. Then he saw Sonic and Sally look at each other. Then he saw the unspoken challenge sparking between their locked gazes. And then the two of them were running straight at him and the toaster, each taking a flying leap into the air with a shout of "MINE!!!"

A lot happened over the next five seconds. Sonic unsurprisingly took off first, but Sally's leap was more forceful, and the princess was quick to use that fact to put herself between Sonic and the Toast they had both targeted. He tried to throw his arms out to get around her, but she in turn pushed her foot into his face to propel herself further. Even as both rose into the air rapidly, Sally was on top, and she was able to snag the Toast right out of the air just as it reached the height of its flight.

And then they both tumbled to the ground on top of each other. "...told ya so..." Sally grumbled, still holding the Toast above her head.

Rotor walked lightly over to the crumpled pair and snagged the Toast out of Sally's hand. She gave a mild groan of annoyance but did not otherwise move to stop him as he took a big bite out of it.

"Y'know, I have to admit," he finally said, "as experiments go? I think this one wound up being one of the most fun I've ever tried."