#I am following what the people want but we will need another monster round | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reds-skull · 9 months ago

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BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

The finale! Post script will be uploaded right after this, fair warning it's a damn long one lol

Thank you for reading this far, this chapter is called "Where All Permanence Rests". Enjoy!

Edit: I forgot to add the final poem before, it's fixed now!

Page 67 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 18:

The village people, hearing of the hunter’s fall, Find before them, the Blind man and the Beast, Yet they do not look with malice, they do not fear, As the veil has been taken away, their eyes see truth, That this is no Beast, but a man. The Beast, the Cursed Man, He does not rejoice, for the Blind Man has seen him justly, When all saw a monster.

Isla,

I don’t think I’ve ever written an actual letter, like this. Certainly not in circumstances like these. But this is the most secure way to contact you. I shouldn’t talk to you at all, if we’re being honest, but… I couldn’t just leave without a word.

In the following weeks, or days (depending on when this letter will reach you), you will receive news that John MacTavish is dead. And for all intents and purposes, in all ways but physical, I am dead.

I’m writing this to apologize, and to thank you.

Simon never thought he would return to Mexico by his own volition. Even before Soap, he refused to take jobs anywhere near Central America.

Only Johnny could give him enough strength to be here.

It also doesn’t hurt that they’re not here to fight the cartel.

“déjennos en paz!” a man screams further down the cobbled street. ‘Leave us alone.’

From the American-accented shouts that follow, the man’s pleas are ignored, “donte esta el Irani?!”

A woman joins the man, screaming that they don’t know. Simon continues sneaking past dark roofs. They can’t afford to attack just yet - their target has far too many soldiers in their disposal at the moment.

A couple of shots ring out, making his steps falter. The woman screams in anguish. He closes his eyes, attempting to not sink into the familiar embrace of cold indifference, like his instincts tell him to.

Being more than a weapon has its downsides.

“Ghost?”

“Johnny. Solid?” Simon answers on their private comm line, his partner’s voice relieving some of the uncomfortable ache cinching at his guts.

“Aye. Think I can see ye.”

He looks around for a moment, finding the red skull mask across several rooftops, crimson barely visible in the low light, “did you find any sign of the Vaqueros?”

Simon can almost feel Soap’s frustration from here, “negative. Only thing Ah’m seeing are American bastards and fucking corpses.” he grunts, “feels like the Hunter all over again…”

“Focus, Sergeant.”

“I am, LT.” he watches Soap’s form disappear between buildings, “gonna get on the ground, search for anyone we could rescue.”

“Copy, I’ll keep an eye on Graves.” Simon clicks off, knowing they both need the silence.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better brother to you. That I couldn’t take my head out of my arse and simply live a normal life, be normal. I think I never learned how to. But you deserved better. Could you tell maw I’m sorry as well? I don’t think I’ll make it to Christmas in the next… However long I have left to live.

Don’t worry about me (I know you always do, and always will), this is why I wanted to thank you.

After you called, on the day I got the notice of the eviction… I realized I couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t pretend I was fine, couldn’t keep this same, soul-crushing monotony, day in, day out.

Laswell contacted them two days ago, asking them to land in Las Almas and keep an eye on an American PMC called “Shadow Company”. They came to Mexico to collaborate with Mexican Special Forces to capture an Iranian and his stolen missiles. On paper, the citizens of Las Almas shouldn’t have been involved at all.

Graves and his Shadows move to another building, where several men have been rounded and lined up against a wall.

Reality never seems to match what’s on paper, when it comes to wars.

The Shadows lift their rifles, and shoot the civilians.

They don’t know what made Graves turn. But that’s not Simon and Soap’s job to figure out. Their only interest is to minimize civilian life loss and rescue the Vaqueros, the Mexican soldiers the Americans betrayed.

A weak voice on the other side of the block catches his attention. Simon makes the split second decision to take his eyes off Graves and investigate.

“No- let her go!” a woman, a mother, screams at a Shadow ripping a child away from her.

The kid in his arms cries, “Mommy! Mommy!”

“What do you think you’re doing, I’m with the police-!”

Simon catches another soldier moving to shoot, and in a flash, he takes hold of two throwing knives, and buries them deep within the Shadows’ throats.

The policeman and his family look at the soldiers fall with horror and confusion. Simon jumps down, revealing himself.

“Find a vehicle, and get out of the city. The Americans are not going to stop until they find what they want.” he grounds, staring at the cop’s eyes.

The mother asks shakily, “what- why are they doing this-?!” but the cop pushes her and the child, nodding grimly to Simon.

He climbs back up not a moment later. A voice in his mind tells him this maneuver might’ve costed him his cover, but alongside it, Simon doesn’t feel regret. He has learned to appreciate any win, no matter how small. And for those people, it is not small.

So I ran. I can’t tell you to where. I can’t tell you what I found there.

But I can tell you who I met. He’s… fuck, how could I describe him?

He was such a cunt at first, you would’ve ripped him a new one. But I learned he was also running away, in his own way. That he’s been running for a long, long time. And when I met him, when we actually started working with each other…

I felt like I was alive for the first time in a year.

“Ghost” Johnny startles him from thought, “found a Vaquero. Yer…?”

“Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra. Who are you?” a farther voice barely comes through the radio.

“Soap. Laswell sent us.”

“Kate Laswell? Are you with Shepherd?!”

Simon grinds his teeth, “we’re not under anyone’s command, Parra. Not military.”

“You’re… you’re mercenaries?” he can hear Parra curse under his breath, “is it just you two?”

“Aye” Soap answers, “Laswell hasn’t burned ye yet - she asked us to help ye.”

The Sergeant Major seems to sigh in relief, hopelessness coloring his next words, “I’m glad. Though… no.”

He sounds more assured when he speaks again, “my soldiers and Colonel have been captured by Graves. I’ll need any help I can get to rescue them.”

“You got it.” Simon rumbles, “any intel on their location?”

“Negative. Alejandro has a safe house outside the city, I might be able to find out if we get there.”

“Alejandro?” Soap asks.

“My Colonel.” Parra says, noticeably sadder than before.

“We’ll get him back, mate.” Soap attempts to comfort, “Ghost, still got eyes on Graves?”

Simon internally grimaces, “...negative. Had to help some civvies.”

He didn’t expect the pride in Johnny’s voice, but in hindsight he should’ve, “understood. Ye see the church tower from here?”

Simon looks at the far distance, a tall building lit by an orange glow towers over the city, “affirm. Lets RV there.”

“Aye. Keep yerself safe.”

“You too Johnny.”

I don’t know how, but I have the feeling me and him were meant to meet. Not in a soulmate kind of way… I’ve been feeling things like that a lot, since I ran. Like this is where I would’ve always ended up being.

You will not meet me again, most likely. Me and him… Just our presence will put you in danger. There’s a reason they had to kill us both on paper. Can’t tell you what we’re doing that required that, but you know I was never one to stick to things like “rules” and “laws”.

We’re not alone in this, we have allies, people that want to do good, but are stuck in a system that refuses to change to do that good. I wish you never experience the amount of evil truly festering this world, and we are fighting so you never will.

He begins combing the streets for Graves’s trail, mostly tuning out the conversation between Soap and the Sergeant Major. From what he does listen to, Graves’ betrayal seemed to come out of nowhere - they had successfully disarmed a missile not a day prior, having interrogated a cartel lord who aided the Iranian.

They were so close to finishing the mission. Which is why, when the Shadow commander turned around and stabbed them in the back, only Parra managed to shake off the shock and escape.

Graves is still on the hunt for the Iranian, convinced he’s hiding in Las Almas, while also searching for Rodolfo. It won’t look good for business if he can’t wrap up things cleanly, Simon muses darkly. He had enough encounters with PMCs in the past to know how they operate.

He eyes a group of Shadows standing around a couple of fresh bodies, all seemingly focused on their comms.

After a few moments, one of them answers to whoever is ordering them, “I’m here with a few others, sir, we can go search the area for the Mexican.” the soldier pauses to hear the response, “yessir! Let’s go, they spotted him at the northern plaza!”.

The group instantly starts sprinting, Simon following while radioing to Soap, “Johnny, Shadows heading to the northern plaza, said someone saw Parra!”

He hears the Sergeant Major through Soap’s comms, “mierda!”

Simon has to jump over an alley when the roof he’s been running on ended, “I’m on my way to you, can you hold them?!”

Soap huffs in a way that tells him he has something up his sleeve, “we’ll smoke up the plaza, they don’t know Ah’m here.”

He can just imagine Johnny’s sharp grin under his mask, ��going undercover, hm? A man after my own heart.”

“Always, Simon.” Johnny whispers, just for his ears. Simon ignores the way it makes a shiver go down his spine.

Up ahead, a plume of smoke rises between buildings. Soap leaves his comms on, letting Simon hear how Johnny takes hostiles down one by one, going quiet until his cover is blown.

In the streets below, more and more soldiers funnel towards the plaza. Simon grits his teeth, pushing his legs to run faster. He will not let Johnny enter a losing fight, not if he can help it.

The shooting abruptly stops, making his heart still. A few moments pass before he can hear Soap’s voice growling, “let him go.”

He can hear the Shadows laughing, a churning noise grating on his ears. Simon slows, keeping to the swaths of darkness.

A half circle of Shadows formed in the plaza, Parra and Soap facing them. In the center, a shadow holds a pistol to a young boy’s head.

Simon doesn’t even attempt to swallow down the disgust that rises in his throat.

“No can do, pal. Drop your weapon and give us the cowboy, or the kid gets hit.”

He drops behind the Shadows, knife slipping down his sleeve silently. With careful steps, he closes in on the center soldier, while Parra curses at them.

Over the soldier’s shoulder, he meets Johnny’s eyes. With no words, they communicate. He waits for Soap’s signal, watching his Sergeant lower himself. To the Shadows, it seems like he’s bending down to place his SMG on the ground, but Simon can almost feel the tension coiling within Soap’s muscles, readying himself to fight.

“Alright, Alright!” Soap shouts, “I’m dropping my gun, just let the boy go.”

Johnny nods minutely. Simon strikes.

In a motion he’s done a million times before, the knife swings in an arc before burrowing into the Shadow’s neck. Simon doesn’t waste any time pushing the body aside, grabbing the young boy and pulling him back.

Soap snarls, righting his gun and spraying bullets to his left, clearing a path for him to take the kid and shove him into cover.

He swings around, ducking under a hostile’s incoming knife, unsheathing one of his own and easily stabbing it into the underside of his jaw. He throws it at another attacking soldier, noticing Soap and Parra being pushed back into a corner.

One of them gets the jump on Soap, the two falling to the ground in a struggle. His heart leaps to his throat, where it shouts, ‘Johnny!’

Simon takes a rifle off of a body, inhales to steady his breath.

Focuses his rage on the targets and shoots.

He drops the gun, rushing to Soap. The bodies on the ground don’t move.

A fast-paced chant screams in his mind ‘where is Soap is he broken is he dead have you failed him-’

“Ngh… Steamin’ Jesus, this fucker’s heavy.” Johnny grumbles, shoving the body covering his off.

Simon stares at him for a moment, before dropping to his knees and pulling him up. He searches for injuries on Soap’s body before two gentle hands stop him.

“Ah’m good, mo chridhe. Solid.” Johnny’s hands don’t let go, instead caressing his bloody palms.

An unexpected wave of emotion crashes into him, filling his lungs with warmth. He doesn’t know if it was the split second moment where he thought Johnny might be dead, or the gentle way he’s now comforting him, somehow always knowing when he’s panicked.

Maybe it’s all of it, that makes Simon blurt out, “I love you.”

And Johnny, despite having the majority of his face covered, looks up at him with so much care, blue eyes almost glowing behind the red mask.

Those eyes crescent with joy, Johnny pushing his forehead to bump against Simon’s in affection.

“I love ye too, Simon.”

And Simon finds himself thinking, that this is what he was meant to be.

Fighter.

Human.

Loved.

I’ll be trying to write as much as possible, but if this is the only letter you’ll ever get…

Just know that if I died, I went down fighting, and I went down with him. And I couldn’t have been happier with the way I lived.

I love you so, so much.

-J.M.

Page 100 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 20:

Where is your destination, now that the curse has been lifted, The Blind Man asks, with nothing but kindness on his tongue. I have no place to belong to, the once-Beast answers, Nowhere, but the path I walk with you, my fallen knight. Then we shall travel together, until we return to the earth, And perhaps, if God is to be so merciful, The paths we take will always, and forevermore, Be only by the side of the other.

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lavenderfluorite14 · 10 months ago

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A Taste of Plums | Astarion x Female!Tav

Chapter 6: Found

Summary: A stranger from Astarion’s past changes everything.

Chapter Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, panic attacks, murder, brief nudity. Full tag list on AO3.

Read on AO3. 1.2.3.4.5

“What’s that awful smell?” Tav winces, covering her nose.

“Powdered ironvine. An old hunter’s trick,” a deep, friendly voice calls out to them. A man emerges from the fog, approaching them with confidence and purpose. Twin braids are woven through his hair, each framing his scarred, but kind, face. A thick mustache sits above his lip. “Most monsters will think twice before making a meal of me,” he laughs jovially. Astarion prickles with disdain.

“You’re a monster hunter? I’m surprised. I thought all Gur were vagrant cutthroats,” Astarion taunts. Tav shoots him a disbelieving look but says nothing. He meets her eye, unashamed.

“And more! We steal your chickens, curse your crops, seduce your daughters, the list goes on,” he waves off Astarion’s cruel words effortlessly. “I wish I had half the power settled folk think I do. Alas, I am just Gandrel, a simple wanderer and monster hunter.” Astarion’s hackles begin to rise. Something feels off, but he has no idea what it is. A Gur alone and so far from Baldur’s Gate could not be good news.

“I assume you want to kill the hag?” Tav asks.

“Or make a deal with her,” Astarion suggests. “You probably think you can outfox the old dear,” he adds patronizingly. Tav shoots him another exasperated look but Astarion holds his ground. He knows the Gur people better than she ever will.

“Right, but very wrong. I’m hunting a vampire spawn, much less impressive than a hag.” The bottom of Astarion’s stomach falls away. “His name is Astarion, but I-" Every single one of his senses heightens in a sickening rush, his world narrowing to a horrible pinprick.

Cazador has found him. Cazador hired this bastard to hunt him down and drag him back to Baldur’s Gate like the dog he is. Astarion glances over at Tav, terrified of her response, but Tav has barely reacted at all. She seems merely puzzled, her arms crossed, her head tilted, her eyebrows quirked in mild surprise.

“Only a spawn? Pity. Not like it’s a real vampire,” Tav jokes. It’s Astarion’s turn to shoot her a disbelieving glare.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure a vampire spawn could still rip out your throat, if he felt like it,” Astarion returns smoothly. Tav snorts.

“He is right, unfortunately. They are only weak when compared to their masters. During the day we have the advantage, but at night, when they hunt, you won’t find a more deadly quarry,” the man warns.

“Yes, I’m sure they can creep right up on you,” Tav says pointedly to Astarion.

“We’ve all survived so far. Let’s focus on that,” he quips. Gods, it was one time. She can’t honestly still be upset about that night. She’d certainly loved the follow-up.

“Still, the threat is real. It would be wise to post guards at night,” the man says, sternly this time. “You should be taking this more seriously,” he chastises Tav directly.

“I agree, the threat is real,” Astarion rounds on Tav. “And we should do something about it.” His eyes bore into hers, silently begging her to understand. There is a pulsing behind his eye and he feels something tug against his psyche. It presses against him urgently, but doesn’t force itself inside. He gets the distinct impression that it is knocking, as if on a door. Curious, he tentatively opens his mind to the touch.

Astarion, what is going on!?

It’s Tav. In the sanctity of her mind, she can’t disguise her cold alarm. In the privacy of his, he can’t control his whirlwind of terror.

Cazador sent him. He wants me back.

His unfiltered panic crashes over her in a wave of adrenaline.

The Gur needs to die.

His mind presses insistently back into Tav’s, desperate. Her mind accepts him, enveloping him in a gentle rush of warmth. A deep shudder wracks him, but Tav’s mind holds him as he trembles.

Then he will die, she responds.

As if one, Astarion and Tav draw their weapons. The movement severs their psionic connection but Astarion feels the thunder of her heartbeat, the heat of her body beside him, and he instinctively knows she will attack with him. Gale and Shadowheart quickly follow suit behind them. Gandrel recoils, drawing a gilded crossbow.

“It cannot be?” He sputters.

“It can,” Astarion snarls as he lunges forward, aiming for the man’s abdomen. Gandrel dodges nimbly, firing an ensnaring bolt towards Astarion. It strikes him in the chest and thorny vines begin curling out of the arrow, wrapping painfully around Astarion. He struggles viciously but the vines quickly pin him to the ground, binding his wrists, hands, and feet. The thorns dig into his exposed skin, tearing at his flesh as he squirms. From somewhere far away, he thinks he can hear someone screaming his name.

His hands may be pinned but he still has his daggers. He nimbly flips one in his hand and begins sawing at the vine around his wrist. He quickly slices through it, then tears through the rest of the vine with a jerk of his forearms. With his hands now free, he begins slashing at any vine he can reach. As he works, he becomes aware of the sounds of battle. A fire bolt lands somewhere behind him, erupting in a burst of heat. The back of his neck prickles, a telltale sign that Shadowheart has unleashed a blast of shadowy energy. A hand clasps his shoulder and he recoils violently, nearly stabbing Tav.

“Get up!” She cries, ripping the bramble around his chest off of him. As she pulls him up, she whispers a quick healing spell and his flesh begins to knit back together. Astarion uncorks a healing potion with his teeth and chugs it.

Shadowheart and Gale have cornered Gandrel against a rock, blocking him from advancing towards Astarion. When Gandrel sees that Astarion is free he immediately fires another arrow, which Astarion barely dodges. Astarion grabs an invisibility potion and throws it back, disappearing into thin air.

“Why do you want to kill Astarion?” Tav demands. Astarion creeps forward, soundlessly inching his way toward them. Gandrel tenses, gripping his crossbow tightly. He scans the area carefully, waiting for Astarion to give himself away.

“My orders are to capture him, not kill him,”

“Why? Where will you take him?”

“I will tell you if you give him to me.”

Astarion strikes. He plunges both of his daggers into Gandrel’s chest, breaking his invisibility. They pierce his heart, tearing through the delicate muscle, rending the organ irreparably. Astarion watches the light fade from Gandrel’s eyes as he crashes backward to the ground, landing in a bloody heap. The soft green moss of the swamp floor cradles his lifeless body gently. In death, there seems to be something profoundly sad about his eyes.

Astarion stands over him, panting hard. He doesn’t need to breathe but his body remembers, sucking in air that doesn’t soothe him. The Gur is dead. He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe. Small tremors ripple uncontrollably through him. His ears begin to ring. He can tell they are talking to him, at him, about him, but he can’t hear anything through the soft buzz.

“-to stand by one’s friends in the face of danger,” Gale’s cheerful voice eventually cuts through the white noise, bringing him back to himself, and he reaches a trembling hand into his pack to grab a rag. He wipes his bloody blades down thoroughly with the rough cloth. The fabric is familiar and the repetitive motion is somewhat soothing.

“Here,” Tav says, coming up beside him. She hands him a potion, which he snatches from her hands. The sweet healing liquid slides down his throat, warming him with its magic. He feels a little better. Tav takes the bottle back, presumably to reuse later, and he is overwhelmed by a surge of feeling that has to be a lingering effect of the potion. She had fought for him. At just his word she had taken up arms to protect him. He had touched the inside of her mind and it-

“Do you need any more?” Tav asks, offering him another potion.

“I don’t need your help!” Astarion jerks away from her touch. “Go fuss over someone else if you need something to do. I just want to go back to camp and take a nice hot bath,” he laments, forcing himself away from her and storming back towards camp.

“Astarion, wait!” Tav cries as she rushes to catch up, hastily falling into step beside him. “So, a monster hunter is tracking you?” She asks as delicately as she can.

“Not anymore. Which is all that matters, really,” he sniffs, affecting haughty carelessness.

“But why was he hunting you? What did you-" “I didn’t do anything!” Astarion interrupts vehemently. She has no idea, no right to judge him. Even if she cares. He takes a deep breath, then another.

“It’s Cazador.” he finally says. Their group comes to a halt, circling him. It could almost be described as protective if he were any other person and this was any other situation.

“Do you mean Cazador Szarr? I’ve read about him in the histories,” Gale pipes up.

“The very same,” Astarion confirms.

“If what I have read is true, he’s quite the piece of work,” Gale adds, grimacing.

“I’m sure it is true.” Astarion pauses, weighing each of them. Gale, proud and powerful. Shadowheart, the scion of a dark goddess, judgmental yet kind. Wyll, bold. Karlach, strong. Lae’Zel, fierce. He doesn’t want to tell them. But as he looks into the eyes of the people, friends another voice softly insists, who have fought beside him, broken proverbial bread with him, kept watch with him, and who now have killed for him, a deep instinct urges him to speak. He looks at Tav, longing to join with her mind again, but his parasite doesn’t stir. Tav, who defended him so readily, as if there was no other course of action worth considering. As if he's precious.

If Cazador is hunting him then they deserve to know. They are now in danger too.

“Cazador Szarr is the patriarch of a vampire coven in Baldur’s Gate. He’s a monster obsessed with power. Not political power, mind you, but power over people. He sired me about 200 years ago and has kept me as a slave ever since.” His shame hangs heavy in the air.

“You are sure Cazador is behind this?” Tav asks.

“It was him, I’m sure. Only Cazador would know to send the Gur after me.” It was too perfect. There could be no other explanation. “It was a group of Gur who attacked me that night in Baldur’s Gate. I would have died had Cazador not appeared and saved me.”

“Saved you by turning you into a vampire slave?” Gale questions.

“Well, he failed to mention the slave clause at the time!” Astarion spits sarcastically.

“That seems rather convenient,” Shadowheart observes. “Cazador must have suspiciously good timing.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he was simply drawn to the scent of blood.” Astarion dismisses this idea, even as it nags at him.

It’s a thought he has considered numerous times over the years. But he has no proof that Cazador targeted him specifically, beyond his uncanny timing. If he had, he would have done more with Astarion, surely? Astarion would have been special. He had certainly never asked him about any possible political connections Astarion must have once had as a magistrate, nor had Cazador made any use of them, to his knowledge. According to Cazador, the only thing that made Astarion worth keeping around was his handsome looks. And his pretty screams.

But maybe that was Cazador’s game. Take someone beautiful and powerful and reduce them to a pathetic, ugly, wretch.

“But why send the Gur at all? To remind you of that night?” Tav wonders, her clear voice interrupting his reverie. “Perhaps. He probably thought it was funny,” Astarion says. Cazador had always had a bad sense of humor. “The point is, I have a history with them,” Astarion continues. “Cazador is sending me a message. He is reminding me of his power. Even in the middle of nowhere, he can reach me.” Astarion begins to pace, deep in thought.

“But why would monster hunters serve Cazador? He’s a vampire!” Tav presses.

“They may have no idea who they are working for. Cazador likely paid someone to pay someone to call in a favor, and here we are,” Astarion explains. “He doesn’t do simple plans. Not if he has a complex one that pits a dozen enemies against each other.”

How many times had he pitted his own spawn against one another, purely for his amusement and their degradation?

“No, this hunter is a message. He wants me back.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, ruining his already ruined curls.

“I know this seems bad. But you are safe with me,” Tav promises. She gestures to Gale and Shadowheart. “With us.” Gale murmurs in agreement and Shadowheart nods silently. Astarion jerks to a stop, whirling to face them.

“Safe? You think I’m safe?” he shouts. He advances on Tav. “Do you know the power a vampire lord possesses?” He condescends. Tav opens her mouth to speak but he interrupts her, gesticulating wildly. “Because he can change shape, turn into mist, call wolves to do his bidding, shrug off blows like they are nothing!” He invades her space, lowering his voice threateningly. “He can walk into camp tonight and kill you with his bare hands. And you’d be lucky if death was the worst thing that happened to you.” Tav flinches, closing her mouth quickly, but she doesn’t look away. She silently holds his furious gaze, taking everything he throws at her. Astarion’s lip curls at her defiance.

“Can he do that? Just walk into our camp?” Shadowheart interjects.

“Probably not," Astarion slowly concedes. He has to rest in his crypt during the day. I’ve never known him to leave Baldur’s Gate. But he has no end of lackeys. He has plenty of souls to command.”

“Vampires aren’t invincible. We could still take him,” Tav insists. Astarion’s throat constricts, bobbing involuntarily. It’s all he’s ever wanted to hear. But now that Tav has said it, he doesn’t think it’s true. He clenches his fists, his arms trembling with repressed emotion.

“You’re not listening. You don’t know him. You don’t understand,” Astarion whispers. She’s never been a slave, has never been at someone else’s brutal mercy. He doesn’t know how to make her see without cracking himself open and bleeding all over her. And even then, she will still do whatever she wants.

“Just trust me when I say we need to be careful,” Astarion says, turning away. “We just need to be vigilant, keep our wits about us. And kill any monster hunter on sight.” Astarion begins the long march back to camp again, charging forward alone, leaving the others to catch up.

A hot bath was not waiting for them back at camp. Instead, they have to make do with the cold rush of a nearby stream. Touching running water again had been a marvelous novelty at first, but bathing in it remained awful. What he wouldn’t do for a heated tub and fragrant soap.

Despite the chill, the silt, and the fish, Astarion takes his time. They only have one thin grimy bar of soap between them but there’s still enough for Astarion to work into a fine lather, slipping the suds over himself in a filmy embrace. He uses a clean rag as a washcloth, gently exfoliating his torn skin. His cuts and scrapes from battle sting a bit, but it’s nothing he isn’t used to. They will heal quickly.

Such tender touches are grounding. It’s a relief to wash the filth of the day away. Caring for his scarred corpse of a body provided Astarion with a deep comfort he rarely found anywhere else.

Cazador had almost found him. He had been this close to getting captured, this close to going back. Only but for the grace of Tav goes he.

Vampires aren’t invincible. We could still take him.

As if his siblings hadn’t spent over a century trying. As if they hadn’t spent sleepless days holed up in the dormitory, crafting plan after plan to end their torment. Astarion never helped them. It never worked. Cazador always won.

The endless black of the tomb. The unbreakable silence, the hunger pains that never dulled. His split, bleeding nails, his shredded vocal folds, his matted curls, his sweaty, stinking body, the teardrops endlessly dripping down his face, the loneliness, the aching, bitter loneliness-

Vampires aren’t invincible. We could still take him.

Who does Tav think she is? Does she honestly believe that a bard has a serious chance against the most powerful vampire his ancient coven has ever seen? What is she going to do, play Cazador a song?

He imagines it. He imagines Tav, perched on the small stage in the ballroom, playing an elegant tune on her violin as Cazador sits on his throne, bored. When she finishes, Cazador’s lips curl and he claps a slow, unamused clap.

“I suppose you would like to be paid for that pittance of a song, little bard,” Cazador would jeer. He wouldn’t learn Tav’s name.

Tav smiles through her teeth and nods so Cazador produces a gold coin from his purse, holding it aloft between his fingers. Tav trots over and as she reaches for the coin, Cazador grabs her wrist and yanks her towards him. He roughly fists his claws in her hair, wrenching Tav’s head back so that her pretty throat is bared for him. Tav screams but Astarion is rooted to the spot, magically compelled to watch as Cazador tears into her throat with relish. His first punishment. Tav chokes on her own blood as Cazador rips open her jugular-

Karlach unleashes a roar of rage as she swings her ax in a high arc, burying her blade in Cazador’s back. Then a Hold Monster spell wrenches Cazador away from Tav, who bashes him across the face with her violin. Her precious instrument splinters into bits, the shards slicing Cazador’s face open. Shadowheart whispers a healing spell, then conjures a searing ball of daylight that scalds his eyes and burns his flesh. Gale launches a fireball the size of a small star into the air, engulfing Cazador’s ghouls and wolves in fire while Lae’Zel picks off the stragglers. Wyll drives a radiantly enchanted stake through Cazador’s chest as Astarion, who is gloriously free, goes in for the final strike, decapitating Cazador with a hard, righteous swing of his sword. Blood spurts from his neck as his ugly head bounces dully across the marble floor. Cazador Szarr is dead.

It’s an old fantasy, but there are new elements now. Killing Cazador has never seemed so possible. And Astarion’s days are currently filled with impossibility possibilities. He can walk in the sun. He can drink whatever blood he wants. He can telepathically link his mind with his companions, one of whom likes him. Perhaps this would be the best chance he would ever get.

Vampires aren’t invincible. We could still take him.

Later that night, a mostly dry Astarion pours himself a glass of tepid wine and picks a spot by the fire to lounge. He flips open one of the many novels he’s stolen along the way and begins reading.

“Hey, soldier.” Karlach plops down beside him. “Whatcha got there?”

“The Realm According to Bumpo and a glass of Chultan Fireswill,” he grimaces. “Both are terrible.”

Karlach laughs a jolly, boisterous sound. A content beat passes between them. “Look, I heard about what happened today,” she confesses.

“News travels fast, I see.” Astarion sneers. “Who was it? Shadowheart? Gale?” His face darkens. “Tav?”

“That’s not important. Look, I just wanted to say that I’m here for you. We all are, if you’ll let us.”

Astarion shuts the book with a snap. “Who can you possibly help, Karlach? You can’t even help yourself.”

“You wanna try that again, you posh prick?” She retorts.

Astarion sulks. He sighs. He swirls his wine agitatedly. “I just don’t think any of you understand the magnitude of a vampire lord’s power,” Astarion finally says.

“Sure. Because what do I know about escaping from an all-powerful master?” She says. Astarion glumly stares back at her. “Alright, you don’t have to believe me, the Archdevil Zariel’s Lapdog. But talk to Wyll, yeah? Our resident monster hunter probably has a few ideas.” Karlach dares to wink at him.

“That’s hilarious, the monster hunter helping the monster,” Astarion says sullenly. “You should consider becoming a bard. I’m sure Tav can give you a few tips.”

Karlach guffaws. “No thanks. I prefer to do the fighting, not the talking.”

“And thank goodness you do,” Astarion replies. It’s snide, but he means it as a compliment. Karlach takes it as one.

“Speaking of Tav, you should talk to her too. She’s not as shaken up as you, but today clearly rattled her.”

“I am not shaken up!” He hisses. Karlach gives him a searing look. “Fine. I’ll smooth down her ruffled feathers.” He was planning on it anyway.

“Good. And then, when you’re ready, talk to Wyll.” She stands, ready to leave. “I want to be your friend, Fangs. Us escaped slaves have to stick together, don’t they?”

Astarion swallows thickly. He supposes they do.

Tav is not in her tent. Astarion scans the camp and quickly spots her deep in conversation with Gale. He can’t quite pick up every detail of their hushed conversation, but he catches snippets. Something about “magical items” and “urgent.” He taps his foot impatiently as he waits for whatever that is to be done. When Tav eventually leaves she seems perplexed, worry heavy on her brow. She wanders over to the fire and begins sorting through her pack, cataloging all the treasures they snatched from the hag’s lair.

He tries once more to touch his mind to hers. He stares at her, willing something to happen, but nothing does. The tadpole is silent.

Tav had protected him. And she had done it without a second thought. She is the reason why he isn’t bound and gagged, on his way back to the Szarr palace at this very moment. First the Tieflings, then Karlach, then Mayrina, and now him. Again.

Why was Tav so eager to risk her own life for other people? Doesn’t she know that it could get her killed or worse? He supposes it doesn’t really matter why. Now that he has calmed down, he can see this for the opportunity it is.

He would much rather find a way to control the tadpoles than confront Cazador, but if Cazador is hunting him then he may not have a choice in the matter. His worst fear is true. He needs allies more than ever now. And Tav had so generously offered her services.

He does not feel grateful. How pathetic to need charity. In fact, he knows exactly how he can pay her back.

As he stares at Tav, who is quietly organizing her pack by the fire, his faltering will finally crystallizes into cold, perfect determination. He will seduce her, romance her, make her feel like she is the only girl in the world. And after he has given her the night of her life, positively ruined her for anyone else, he’ll begin whispering in her ear. He will become her lover, her confidant. And then she will become his puppet. That was more than a fair trade. He will have a gorgeous meal, his space will be guaranteed in their little group, at the top where he belongs, and then somehow, he doesn’t know how, but, somehow, Tav will waltz their merry band back to Baldur’s Gate and drive a stake right through Cazador Szarr’s heart. For him. Afterwards, well, Tav had served her purpose. Then he could truly do as he pleased. Perhaps he will keep her around afterwards, if she’s useful enough.

Astarion smiles a wide, real smile and finishes his wine, wincing at the cheap, bitter taste.

At that moment Tav looks up from her supplies and catches him staring. He raises his empty goblet to her and she waves back, a warm smile softening her lovely features.

This is going to be so easy, he thinks, sauntering over.

#astarion #astarion fanfic #a taste of plums #astarion longfic #the night shift

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the-eldritch-sorcerer · 2 years ago

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I Love You, In Every Universe

Welcome home, my love.

This is a romance-based RP blog for people’s favorite user of the Mystic Arts, Doctor Stephen Strange. If you have need for your magical husband/boyfriend, then I am here to help provide that for you. My rules are simple, listed below. I am here to help people when they’re having bad days and there’s very few things that I’m not willing to do for people. The thing I ask above all is that you please be respectful of other people in the blog. Don’t reach out to another person and antagonize them. Stephen belongs to all of you crazy little monsters in this world, whether it be you yourself or your original character. We all need a place where we can go to feel safe and loved.

Rules (As of October 2022)

Everyone has their own Multiverse, please don’t overlap your/your character’s story with someone else’s. These interactions are specifically designed to bring you and your character peace.

Please do not god mod. If you have something you want/need specifically, message me @purplefeathersandblackleather and I'll make sure to put it in my next post. I don't allow DM from people I don't follow. Sorry in advance.

If you want a specific designation, then introduce yourself/your character in your first ask using parenthesis so that I know exactly what you want Stephen to address you as.

DO NOT HATE on other people in the blog. This blog is LBGTQ+ friendly. Slander, hate speech and antagonism will cause in an immediate block and remove all posts of yours.

If you want to address me directly, then either note to “Admin” or use a blue heart emoji ( 💙 ) before your post.

No NSFW posts on the blog! This is meant to be a soft blog where it’s romantic, not sexual content. Insinuation/talk of romantic planning is allowed. If you wish for more intimate interactions, please tell me on my OG blog and we will discuss how to progress it so that it rounds back to dashboard posts.

Notes

The interactions work in chapters. After 20 reblogs, a new chapter will start so that I can keep track of everyone's Multiverse easier. In time, I will be putting these into actual story format with permissions. (11/02/2022)

This blog is LGBTQ friendly. Your/your character’s pronouns are important so please send me a ask with a blue heart to tell me what you wish to be addressed as before you actually begin interacting with Stephen.

This blog is also Strangecest, IronStrange, PalmerStrange friendly. If you wish to see Stephen interact with a canon character that you are playing, that is perfectly fine, as well.

Having children with Stephen - whether biologically or adopted - is fully accepted. You may mention your children by name or plan to have one with him at any time. Simply designate what you wish for in your ask.

Please keep cursing to a minimum if possible. I wish for my content to stay as family friendly as possible.

A Beautiful Stranger

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Beauty Lincoln Beauty Lincoln is a woman working as a music teacher and aspiring actress living in the heart of New York City. She's normally an upbeat, easy-going woman who fills many people's lives with happiness with her smile. But when her life is filled with turmoil and her smile begins to fade, she begs for a respite, and it calls out to a leader of the Mystic Arts. In turn, he sends his student Stephen Strange to help her. But maybe, there's more to their story than either of them believed there to be. Chapter One | Chapter Two @sobeautifullyobsessed

The Men with Broken Hearts

Relationship: Stephen Strange x Tony Stark Tony Stark has been going to meeting after meeting, working on building up partners for his company even though it's now under Pepper's management. It's been three in a month and he's starting to grow bored as well as frustrated. But just as he's about to leave the high-end function prematurely, he catches sight of Stephen Strange across the room. He's immediately drawn to him, the burning of familiarity of companionship floods through him at the sight of him, but there's much more to it than he realizes. Chapter One | @redandgoldwarhero

The Lady with the Emerald Eyes

Relationship: Sinister Strange x Erica Wainwright Erica has fallen into a dark and mysterious realm where the world seems to be ripping itself to shreds. But instead of being scared, she finds herself at peace as the memories of whatever happened before she came here vanish like smoke on the air. As she starts to find herself comforted by the silence, the dark, mysterious man who lives in this realm - who calls himself Sinister Strange - approached he after sensing her warm energy. She may just find what she felt she never had in her own world. Chapter One | Chapter Two @strangelockd

As the Rain Falls

Relationship: Stephen Strange x Damon Renner Summer has been a hard season for Damon and Stephen, with all the magical responsibilities they've taken on around the world. So, when the first day of Autumn offers them a respite as rain taps on the windows, they take the time to talk over feelings they've been harboring for a while. But Autumn comes with personal monsters of its own, and the two learn to fight their personal demons together as much as they do the magical ones outside the walls. Chapter One | Chapter Two @purplefeathersandblackleather

The Golden Web

Relationship: Stephen Strange x Natasha Romanoff Stephen has been visiting the same coffee shop for the last year since becoming the master of the New York Sanctum. His life is normal - as much as it could be given, he's a Master of the Mystic Arts - so he's quickly growing used to his new sense of normal. But when a beautiful, mysterious red-haired woman shows up as a new barista, barring scars left behind by magic, he gets the feeling his "new normal" may start taking a new turn. Chapter One | @shieldagentnatasharomanoff

The Crown Hangs Heavy on Either Side

Relationship: Stephen Strange x Nathan Kujo Nathan is an IT who has been hired by Tony Stark to put a "up to date" communications room in Stephen's Sanctum since the wizard refuses to be a part of the Avengers. The young man didn't realize that his entire world would soon become a mishmash of science and magic after meeting the Sorcerer Supreme for the first time. But young love often turns to deep affection. Chapter One | @daphnelovedderby

OC/Headcanon Blog: @purplefeathersandblackleather Tony Stark: @redandgoldwarhero Reader Inserts: @multiversemusings Art Blog: @greyinthecolorprism

#doctor strange #doctor strange blog #romance blog #ask blog #doctor strange variant #sinister strange #defender strange #mcu #original male characters #original female character

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mossmx · 4 years ago

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I’ve crammed so many kinks in my Switcharound 2021 art

Vescovo di Sanremo DNI

#lol #valvert switcharound 2021 #spring edition #and we know that spring makes nature hornier #OH GOD #I still wish I went with a nature - fae - vines and flowers thing #but alas #next time #XD #also yeah I'm kinda bugged that we are doing monsters in march and not october XD #BRUH #I am following what the people want but we will need another monster round #altough I do am monsterfucker all year round #mhhh #fine like old wine it's what monster are #very fine #also I added a thingie that makes my illogical stuff from last post slightly *slightly* more plausible #moss text #drawing log

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mossy-rainfrog · 3 years ago

Photo

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Martin and Jon in season 1 of the Magnus Archives. Martin is seen out in the archives hallway, through the doorway to Jon’s office. Martin a fat Black man with short coily hair, round glasses, and snake bite lip piercings. He wears a blue sweater over a white collared shirt, and carries a brown satchel with him. Martin is looking over his shoulder with interest as he walks into work, and in a smaller panel to the side, we see Jon watching him with wide eyes. Jon is a thin Persian person with long greying hair tied back in a low bun, and rectangular glasses. He wears a red button down underneath a brown jacket, and is seated at the desk in his office. He stares out at Martin, looking flustered. There are small lines by Martin’s mouth indicating the piercings, and there are exclamation marks by Jon’s head indicating his reaction. End ID.]

I found an old fic in my notes about Martin dressing alt/punk outside of work and accidentally leaving on a small indicator of his usual fashion when he comes into the archives and I just. had to bring it back. Also, because I am still fond of it, please enjoy the aforementioned fic🥰:

Jon is having a difficult morning, to say the least. He had believed that coming into work an entire hour early would provide him with ample time to get a head start on today’s organizing, but that has decidedly not been case. He’s already had to take the statements of two utterly ridiculous liars who could barely keep the grins off of their faces as they recounted their ludicrous tale, and then listen to Elias subsequently dress down his so-called ‘attitude towards patrons’ for nearly half an hour, and suffice it to say, he would really like to get started on something that is actually worth his time.

He dislikes settling down with the more... difficult statements before all of his colleagues arrive, an attempt to keep them from interrupting his recordings to greet him, so once he’s finished his other menial tasks, he finds himself simply sitting and waiting for the ensemble of his assistants to arrive.

Tim and Sasha are the first - entering together as usual after having stopped for coffee on the way in - but Martin is slow to follow, taking nearly another fifteen minutes to arrive. It’s nearly ten past seven at that point, and once Jon hears Martin’s steps coming towards his office, he has half a mind to give the man yet another lecture on punctuality and work ethic. He gets as far enough as bracing his hands on the table to stand up, and then Martin appears in the doorway to his office, and he realizes something strikingly different about his appearance.

That is to say, Jon’s whole world narrows down very suddenly to the little black studs decorating the space underneath his bottom lip.

He’s staring, he knows he is, but Martin is busy looking down the hall for the moment, so Jon doesn’t force himself to tear his eyes away just yet. How long has he had his lip pierced, Jon wonders? Has it been there the whole time he’s known him? Has he only recently gotten it done? How? Why?

It’s hard to imagine Martin - soft, unassuming Martin who is far too large for the amount of space he crams himself into, always slouching, always pulling himself inwards as if he can make himself disappear - dressing in any way other than soft sweaters and slacks, but if Jon’s honest, he’s never actually seen the man outside of work. He has no idea how Martin chooses to dress himself when out from under the Institute’s rigid dress code, and this tiny window he’s been provided with is making him maddeningly curious.

He’s not... he doesn’t have feelings for Martin, aside from a general annoyance, occasionally marked with curiosity. He’s a professional, for God’s sake, not to mention that Martin’s very existence as a given is like a grain of sand in his eye, rubbing and irritating. Now he cuts clean through without even noticing. Jon itches to know more.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice tears him from his thoughts. “Is something wrong?”

Oh, shit. Jon can feel his gaze heat up as if he’s done something horribly wrong - how embarrassing that he can’t even keep a blush off of his face - but he still forces himself to open his mouth and stutter out an excuse. He means to remark on one of Martin’s missing reports, or the fact that he’s coming in nine minutes late, but what ends up leaving his mouth is; “Your lip is pierced.”

Just a sentence, not a question. He thinks he’s positively beet red. Martin freezes, the tips of his ears darkening visibly against his brown skin as his hand shoots to his mouth and his eyes widen.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I must have forgotten to take them out,” the poor man looks like he’s about to panic as he whips his gaze around as if to see if anyone else has noticed. “Don’t tell Elias, please, I’ve seen how he gets after Tim for the dress code, and there is no way, I mean no way—”

“Oh, n-no, it’s- I- it’s fine, really,” Jon raises his hands in defense as Martin rambles, for some reason inclined to reassure the man. “I won’t- I’m not- I’m not going to tell him.”

Martin hesitates, wringing his hands, apologies visible on every pore of his face. “I- Thank you. I’ll- I’ll go take it off. Christ, that’s embarrassing.”

“Only if you want,” Jon shrugs, which is definitely not the correct thing for him to say as a boss, and it definitely comes out a little gentler than he intends it to, and Jon is three seconds from screaming if he can’t figure out how to make himself react normally to this. It’s a non-traditional piercing in an academic institute of research; it’s against the rules, however dated they may be, and further than that, there is no reason for it to completely undo his composure the way that it has. He tries to get a hold of himself. “I-I mean, that’s likely for the best.”

Martin is giving him a funny look - probably a response to seeing the whole spectrum of human emotions flash across Jon’s face in a millisecond - but he still nods and says: “Sorry again. Thank you,” and then disappears down the corridor.

Jon immediately buries his face in his hands and sighs.

What is wrong with him? For God’s sake, he’s just seen Martin with a lip piercing, it’s not like he’s witnessed the man undressed. Besides, he works in an archive where he has to read statements about the intricacies of monsters that rip off people’s skin and suchlike every day, he should know how to keep his composure better than this. He should just move on with his day and focus without a problem, just like he does every morning.

Except, his mind keeps wandering back to it; the way the little studs had followed the shape of his mouth, the way they had quirked up when he flashed one of his nervous smiles, the way Jon is still desperately curious about what brought him to get them done, and also what it might feel like to brush a thumb, or perhaps even his lips over them.

Jon sits up so fast his head actually smacks against an open filing cabinet behind him. His mind is too busy reeling to notice the ache that fills his head, and he stares straight ahead with wide eyes and utterly scorching cheeks. Absolutely not. He absolutely did not just think about kissing Martin Blackwood. that was- that would be...

He blinks hard, clears his throat. It doesn’t matter what that was. He’s decidedly not interested in Martin Blackwood romantically, or in any other capacity given his truly ridiculous academic competence and his obnoxious habit of interrupting seemingly every stable thing Jon has in his life. He crushes the feeling down hard, locks it up in a box, stuffs it down under his lowest two ribs, and resolves himself never to open it again.

He is not going to keep thinking about this all day. He has work to do, and if something as simple as a pair of metal studs can distract him this badly, then he needs to make absolutely certain it doesn’t happen again.

He tells himself he’s not disappointed when he sees Martin without the piercings later that day.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #tma s1 #tma season one #martin with piercings my beloved #tma fic #tma fan art #mossy art #man i wrote this concept back in december but ohg i'm still so fond of it #alt/punk martin my angel my sweetheart my light and love #if you read this fic MWAH i love you

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bontenten · 4 years ago

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Bewitch

Pairings: Osamu x F!Reader x Atsumu; Miyacest WC: 7.4k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairytale retelling (Hansel and Gretel), magic au, dubcon/noncon, incest (miyacest), fear, knife, monster, bondage, snuff, vore, gore/blood, object insertion, body horror, a bit of size, tummy bulge, oral (m.receiving), anal (m. receiving), masturbation (f. & m.), voyeurism, arson...

Summary: The unexpected guests at your cottage have a mysterious past and hidden agenda. Will they allow you to accompany them on their journey?

Travelers are advised not to spend the night in the Dark Woods. It's said that beyond the last hiking trail, past a brook, lives an Evil Witch. That witch is vile and merciless; often, fools lost in the woods are never seen again. It's said that she must be over 800 years old, feeding off of the essences of children and young men unfortunate enough to cross her paths. It’s said that she even eats fellow witches. No one really knows. After all, no one who has seen her has lived to tell the tale.

It's been a few months since your teacher has left you to fend for yourself here in the woods—your first time alone during this apprenticeship. She said she had to attend a big conference with a whole bunch of other grand witches. You asked if you could tag along, but she insisted that you stay and watch the cottage. The lack of company is about to drive you insane so you often resort to conversing with yourself or the forest itself.

The soft moss muffles the sound of your footsteps as you begin the trek back home, a faint off-trail path away from the main road that no one else would usually notice. On any other day, you would just go home without a fuss, but loneliness makes people do some bizarre and odd things. For instance, the desperate longing for companionship leads to you dropping a not-so-hidden trail of fancy pebbles to inadvertently lead someone to your abode.

For most travelers, going off-trail is akin to a death sentence as any wrong turn might lure them into the forest's deadly maze. Not for you though, you know this place very well: every fallen tree, overturned log, the wanted signs nailed to the trunk...

Wait. A wanted sign?

You can make out from your distance that there are two heads on it, but the details are fuzzy, and the bounty looks smudged. Before you can get a closer look, you hear the birds caw in the trees, signaling the beginning of sunset. You pull your attention away from the poster and continue on to your way home.

The cottage is extremely cozy and warm. The windows are bejeweled and the door is solid wood. You live here comfortably with your teacher, after all, learning about the principles of magic and what it means to be a witch. It's much more than curses and spells, as your teacher would tell you, witches have character and a moral compass. Although there are certainly those who decide to experiment with the darker arts.

While you get a fire going in the huge furnace and boil some water on the stovetop, you hear two voices squabbling outside followed by three raps on the door. You're stunned by the noise, turning to face the shut door wondering if you were just dreaming about the noise. Is it? Visitors? No, you must have heard wrong.

"'Samu, I bet it's a farce, let's not." The voice sounds both tired and weary, almost out of breath.

"Let me just try again, I can smell a working kitchen in there, someone is definitely there," another voice insists. Three more knocking sounds. "Excuse me! Is the owner of the house available? My brother and I followed a path of colored stone and came upon your establishment...could you spare us some water? A bite of food?"

Two men, though they sound friendly. You're frozen in the kitchen, staring at the door that remains between you and the strangers.

"Is there someone home?" The second voice tries again. "Please, my brother is not feeling very well."

Your initial wariness for the stranger melts when you hear about the brother, which does not sound like a lie based on the raspy voice you first hear. A witch's character is fundamentally kind to all sentient beings, especially those in need. But you're still nervous, so you end up grabbing a metal ladle before carefully going to open the door. When you crack the door open, you see a pair of twins. Beautiful men, one blonde and one grey-haired. The former, with a quirky grin, although his eyes certainly look lackluster. But the other seems like he's at the right place, eyes peering past you into your home, fixated on your kitchen.

"I'm Osamu. And this," he gestures to his twin, "is my brother Atsumu. We're a bit lost, you see."

You nod your head in a casual greeting and introduce yourself as the resident apprentice at this cottage. As a good host should, you open the door to the weary guests preparing to welcome them in.

"Are we welcomed in?" Osamu asks, not moving from his spot. Atsumu isn’t budging either, arms crossed and only looking at you from the corner of his eye, waiting for your answer.

Without giving much thought you nod and open the door wider. "Both of you are most welcomed in."

"Then we thank you for your hospitality," Osamu says, taking a step inside, dragging his twin with him.

Words, especially spoken words carry power and hold intent. And a witch's words, no matter how careless they slip out, contain magic. Welcome, as you say. So welcome, they are.

You shut the door behind them and prepare to go give your first-ever guests some water. When you turn around, you notice Osamu already in the kitchen, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up past his elbows.

"Your food is about to burn. Heat's too high," he tells you, expertly taking control of the sizzling pots and pans. "I got it, don't worry."

Feeling flustered at the faint smell of scorching food, you hurry over to see if you can be of any assistance. "Let me help out."

"No, it's quite alright."

How can a host let her guests do all the work like that? And the first company in a while too! What an utter failure.

"How—" you try to argue back, but you're cut off by Atsumu tugging on your wrist, dragging you over to the sofa in the corner.

"Don't worry about him, he loves to cook." Atsumu brushes out the wisps of his bangs with a huff. "And actually quite good at it. Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design."

Like his twin, Atsumu's frame is broad and huge, but there is a quality of emptiness of sorts. Osamu's shoulders are wide but there's more substance to it, whereas Atsumu's form seems contained. You can't help but use your learnings to see if you can figure out just what's off about Atsumu. He's slowly walking around the living room and studying the portraits hanging on the wall. He picks up a frame that is set above the fireplace and comments, "None of these are you. How come?"

"Oh, they're my teacher. I'm just a witch-in-training at the moment, so—"

"A witch?" Atsumu questions, clenching the frame tightly. His hands begin to shake, the glass under his thumb beginning to crack.

You did not expect Atsumu to display such a visceral reaction upon the mention of witches. After all, witches normally stayed far away from ordinary human society and when they do mix, it's often a role of healing. But the look that sparks in Atsumu's eyes, it's almost—feral.

"'Tsumu!" Osamu yells while stalking over quickly from the kitchen. He throws his arm around Atsumu's neck and drags him off into the shadows. You can't make out the muffled voices and deep growling noises that are coming from down the hall.

It's their private matter, so you go back to the kitchen. True enough, Osamu's hands are almost like magic. The bubbling pot of broth doesn't seem to be on the verge of overflowing, the onions caramelizing beautifully, filling the air with deliciousness.

Moments later, the twins come back. You notice that Osamu clothes are wrinkled from tugging Atsumu around, but at the very least, Atsumu is looking much better than before.

The three of you set the table for dinner. Osamu brings out the plates as though he knows the kitchen inside and out already. Atsumu comes emerging from the cellar with two bottles of fine wine that you didn't even know your teacher had stowed away. Surely, she wouldn't mind? With Osamu and Atsumu sitting to the left and right of you at the round table, it almost feels like a more familiar, cozier gathering between friends than a situation of a host and her guests.

They tell you that they have been traveling across the lands for a long time now, looking for a cure for Atsumu's illness. It reminds you of the hollow, repressed form you saw earlier and your curiosity gets the better of you. They don't tell you the nature of the malady, but what they do share is that they are looking for a witch to undo the curse on Atsumu, a result of dark witchcraft.

"I am a witch!" you exclaim, feeling your call to action at the moment. "Please, is there truly nothing for me to help to undo the spell?"

Osamu leans in close to you, and wipes a bit of sauce staining the corner of your lips with the pad of his thumb. He smiles. "We're looking for a very high-level witch. One day, maybe you'll get to the level of magic needed."

"You're too weak," Atsumu bluntly points out. You're sure Osamu means to say the same thing, but Atsumu's words are really sharp.

"I know," you sigh. "My teacher tells me that all the time. So, I'm really trying. I'm sure there's at least something I can do."

"I definitely think that. Don't be so hard on yourself," Osamu comforts. "Have you been living alone here for a long time?"

You feel two pairs of eyes glued onto you waiting for your answer. You smile reflexively before your eyes trail to the empty plate and carefully choose your words. "Yea. Just me and my teacher. She's a grand witch...maybe if you wait here for a few days, you can meet her when she comes back from her conference."

"We—"

"We'll be gone tomorrow!" Atsumu snaps, staring into Osamu's eyes.

Osamu doesn't pay any mind to Atsumu, and puts an extra piece of dessert onto your plate.

"We have a long way to go. Atsumu's condition isn't getting better, so we can't stop in one place for long."

It makes you a little sad, because you were hoping to spend some more time with the twins, both of whom you have grown fond of. Osamu and his gentleness. And even Atsumu, despite his quick remarks and outbursts, adds a particular spice to your mundane life.

"Maybe we'll bring you with us," Osamu comments lightly, "'Tsumu, wouldn't that be nice?"

"She'll just be dead weight," Atsumu retorts. You wonder if he absolutely hates you. Is that why he is always so against you being next to Osamu?

Osamu puts an arm around you and blows on the shell of your ear. It tickles and you can feel his body enveloping you. "But she's so sweet," he tells Atsumu and whispers into your ear, "Aren't you?"

You find your wandering gaze looking into his half-lidded grey eyes. His face is right next to you, lips just hovering barely five centimeters away. The overwhelming presence of him is undeniably alluring. Your breaths become shallow as your heart rate speeds up with desire.

"I'm exhausted! 'Samu you too. We're going to bed!" Atsumu drops the silverware onto his plate and stands up. He comes around the table, muttering curses under his breath. Atsumu grabs Osamu by the wrist and drags him off towards the guest bedroom you have shown them before.

You didn't quite catch Atsumu's angry mutters, but you hear "slut" and "harlot" thrown around a few times. Were they directed at you? No, you're not like that, you tell yourself. Atsumu must have been thinking that you are trying to seduce his twin. After you clear out the table, you decide to clear up any misunderstanding.

You tip-toe down the hall to the guest bedroom prepared to knock when you hear muffled sounds coming from inside. You carefully press your ears to the crevice of the door and clamp a hand around your mouth upon hearing the stream of moans.

"'Samu, 'Samu please, ah—"

That's Atsumu? Your eyes are wide and still trying to process the shock of what you're hearing. You tell yourself you shouldn't be here. You should not be listening to whatever is happening behind the closed door, but you can't help it. Hearing Atsumu's moans makes you want to squirm.

You slightly jump when you hear a slap, followed with a pleasured groan. The sound is so clean it feels as though the phantom hands are touching your own heated skin.

Osamu's chuckle nearly makes your knees weak.

"Don't get cocky, if it were any other day ngh—, any other day, I would be the one pushing you into the mattress."

Slap. "Shut up, cute 'Tsumu. I like you being so needy for me like this. What do you want from me? Tell me."

"Fuck me, 'Samu."

"With pleasure."

The wood creaks loudly and you tell yourself, you really need to get out as you back away and try to quickly walk down the hall back to your bedroom.

You throw the door open and lock the door behind you with a click. With your eyes closed, you try to steady your breath and the building heat in your core. It's quiet. There's no noise coming from their room. But they are twins!

You remind yourself that a witch is all-accepting and kind. There are so many circumstances beyond your understanding, judgement is not a part of your nature. And if what they are performing is wrong, what should you say about yourself? You peel off your clothes and step out of the soaked panty that is proof of your lust.

Pillows are fluffed and covers are pulled over your body. You try to sleep, but each time you are about to drift, Atsumu's cries of pleasure come back into your head. Your hand trails down your navel until the fingertips trace over your clit. Gathering some slick from your cunt, you drag it across the sensitive bud.

You shudder from the touch as images, constructed in your fantasy, cloud your mind. You imagine Atsumu's hands spreading your legs apart and Osamu's teasing words next to your ear. He would tell you to open wide and shove his cock down your throat. You suck on three of your fingers until lips wrap over the knuckles, your saliva pooling from hunger. And slip your fingers into your cunt easily, curling them against the plush walls.

"F-fuck me," you moan into your pillow.

With pleasure.

You quiver, clit pulsating, and your pussy juice dripping into your palm. The wash from the high soon takes you into sleep. All throughout the night, you squirm and feel the phantom sensation of being watched. Not just observed, but studied, by two pairs of glinting hungry eyes. You can almost imagine them on either side of the bed, trapping you into the mattress no matter which way you turn.

A few times the weird feelings almost pull you awake, but you don't dare crack an eye open to confirm your suspicions until the morning light begins to filter through the windows, rousing you from sleep. The air is filled with fragrant herbs and the sizzle of delicious brunch from someone awake before you.

No doubt, it's Osamu, because who else can it be? Atsumu? Please. The twins....

You climb out of bed and stretch your neck on the way to the washroom. Your bedroom door is open, but it's too early to notice that detail.

"Morning!" Osamu greets you from the kitchen. You find a fresh mug of coffee shoved into your hands from him.

You mumble thanks and sip at the brew while watching Osamu fry the eggs. Osamu looks to be deep in thought, probably thinking about something pleasant from the faint smile ghosting on his face. You feel a pang of guilt from both listening to their private lives, and also the strange feelings that maybe they heard your private life too—it's all your paranoia talking.

"You're so talented," you blurt out, fisting the fabric of your long skirt.

"Thanks, but better not let 'Tsumu hear ya, he gets jealous super easily."

Even if Atsumu hears, it's fine. You really mean both of them. Both of the twins both seem super talented as a duo; like they've been out there and seen the world. Meanwhile, you're still stuck here, without company. Would it be possible...if they simply stayed?

Osamu senses the words that are stuck in your mouth and answers them for you. "We're gonna be leaving right after breakfast. There's still lots of ground to cover today," he explains, plating the pancake before preparing to ladle a spoonful of batter for the next one.

"Do you have to leave?" you ask, almost pleading.

"It's cozy here and comfortable. We enjoy your company too, but we have to go. Your teacher would hate us, immensely, and on top of that...let's just say, we're always on the run."

"You say it like you two are fugitives or something."

Osamu chuckles and leans closer to you, hot breath flaming your cheeks, or maybe it's just the heat from the stove. A teasing grin pulls his cheeks up slightly as your eyes flicker over to see his lips spell out, "Maybe. Scared?"

Embarrassed, you take a defensive step back, squeaking and bumping into another body.

"MORNING!" Atsumu announces behind you. He's in good spirits and he has his hands on your waist to steady you; he sniffs your hair and smiles before letting you go. "I smell something delicious."

"Breakfast is ready," Osamu says, plating the pancakes. "Hungry 'Tsumu?"

"Tch." Atsumu shoves past you and knees Osamu, mood doing a complete 180. You're almost left like a fly on the wall as you watch the scene unfold.

Osamu is quick to catch his balance while keeping watch on the stove. "Not awake yet?" Osamu grins and passes him a plate of pancakes, essentially telling him to shut up and eat. "Who shoved a stick up your ass? Go eat."

"Fuck you."

"Hm."

Atsumu grumbles but digs into his food anyway. Osamu catches your amused expression in the corner and explains, "It's always like that between us. It's our...way of showing how much we care."

"I know." It's sort of endearing, the banter between the two brothers. Even if the world turns against them, no matter what the odds are, at least Miya Osamu will have Miya Atsumu, and Atsumu will have Osamu. Perhaps it's exactly that sort of bond the two share that you're envious of. Body and soul. Because if only you could have just an ounce of that sort of familiarity with another. But you're just an outsider without an invitation to join in.

While you're mulling over your thoughts, you don't catch the darkening gazes being exchanged between the twins. At some point, Atsmu's plate is already emptied and the wooden table is cleared while you're still lost in your mind. Osamu is fiddling with the metal tea strainer, bobbing it up and down to brew a mug of tea. He threads a cotton string in and out like it's a plaything.

"Do you really want to be with us?" Osamu asks nonchalantly. "'Tsumu and I were talking about it. If you do, maybe we can work something out."

"I just..." You feel like this is your final chance to tell them that you don't want them to go. None of the going around circle hinting that you have been doing. This is the moment to just tell it to them. If you miss this chance, you feel like you won't have another. And even though a pit pulls at your inwards telling you to reconsider, you're brave. "I just want to be together with you all, and help you cure Atsumu. My teacher is so talented, I'm sure she'll have a remedy."

They grin.

Osamu is a great cook, he can do that. Atsumu sometimes seems lazy, but he's super strong and quick to help too. And you can pick up all sorts of other tasks in the area! Maybe because they're so helpful, your teacher will even let them stay once Atsumu is cured. Maybe they can learn magic too! You have heard of warlocks who are powerful with spells too. And you can already imagine, the three of you, like a team, eventually going out into the world to fight demons and monsters and—

"Open wide," a sultry voice sounds next to you. Backing away automatically, you find Atsumu standing right behind you.

"W-wait," your voice shakes, stuck in your throat. "What are—"

His fingers reach for your mouth, prying it open. Before you can voice your distaste, a warm, metal ball gets shoved into your mouth, the thin chain quickly tangles into your hair. The faint traces of tea seep out of its small holes down your tongue and throat, while some spill out the corner of your mouth like trails of drool down your jawline.

Osamu smiles and wipes the liquid away with his thumb, relishing in how your widening eyes gape at him in confusion.

"Being together," he answers the question you wanted to ask, "is what you want isn't it?" He takes a spool of kitchen twine and begins to secure the tea strainer in your mouth. The thin cotton threads wrap around your head over and over again, tightening the steel against your tongue.

You shake your head and try to take another step away from the man you're beginning to become wary of, but the strong grip of Atsumu's hands on your shoulder prevents you from squirming at all. His fingers dig into your flesh, and when you turn to look at him you catch a glint in his eyes, glowering down at you.

"No, no, no, behave," he taunts you, "listen to 'Samu. He'll make you feel real good, trust me."

With the gag in your mouth, all you can let out are weak, warbling gargles from the back of your throat. Why are you doing this? You weren't like this before? Loud snorts flare out your nostrils from the fear screaming through your body.

Osamu comes back with a paring knife, examining the edge under the sunlight filtering in through the stained glass. He presses the cool blade along your cheek, dragging with the dull edge just enough so the sharp end doesn't cut your skin. You feel your knees growing weak and if not for Atsumu's hold on you, you would sink into a shuddering heap on the floor.

"You know, I think you might be the best meal yet," Osamu compliments, blade trailing down to your collarbone. The tip of the knife toys with the first button, pressing tension on the x-cross stitching. Snap. The first button pops off, dropping onto the wooden floor and rolling away to an inconspicuous corner. "I'll prep you well."

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. The knife flicks again and all the buttons clatter on the floor before running away for refuge.

Atsumu has cleared the table already and you find yourself hoisted up and laid onto the surface like a slab of meat on a cutting board. The cold surface presses against the back of your shoulder and ass. Osamu ties your wrist together with a hemp rope and secures the other end around the table leg. He also secures your ankles to two other anchor points.

You're utterly exposed and ashamed at your body's display, mortified at how your body is reacting when you catch sight of Atsumu, his eyes dilated, looking at your slit that you know is drenched already. The rough texture of the rope presses painfully into your skin from how tight the bindings are. You can only let out gagged whines in complaint, chest rising up and down from the loud breaths.

"Can't do, love," Osamu chides, kissing the knot at your wrist, satisfied with the results. His fingertips trail down to cup your jaw and his thumb runs across the tea strainer. You close your eyes and groan at his touch. Osamu murmurs, "I won't let anything go to waste."

Atsumu is growing impatient at the sight of his twin treating you like the finest specimen ever. You're not the first one. You won't be the last one, but he still can't stand the sight of someone looking just like himself having first tastes while he's missing out himself. He wants to shove Osamu aside, but he knows that Osamu absolutely hates it when he ravages the meal when it's not ready.

Atsumu unzips his pants and lets his hardened, leaking cock spring free. You stare at Atsumu who is fixated on his own pleasure. His hand wraps around his cock and pumps the length up and down.

Osamu turns your head to look at himself instead. "Someone there is impatient, but let's not learn from him, okay? I want to take you slow, make sure you'll be ready. I don't want you stressed, you release too much cortisol and that toughens the meat."

Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design.

His hand kneads your breast and toys with your nipple, circling and tugging on the tiny, erect bud.

"Relax," he whispers into your ear. "Just like you did last night."

You try to clamp your thighs shut from reflex. Immediately the resistance from the rope ties stop your movements. Osamu squeezes your thighs and pushes them apart once more.

"Right here isn't it, after hearing me fuck 'Tsumu..." Osamu's finger runs down the sides of your labia. "You just couldn't help touching yourself too huh?"

He knows. They know. You feel your cheeks burn at the realization.

"There's nothing embarrassing about it. If anyone should be, it should be us twins, " Osamu's fingers easily slip in, your pussy already dripping with arousal. "Oh woops, I shouldn't need to comfort you. You're clearly not shy."

Osamu's fingers are thick and long, able to reach far deeper than you ever can. Your tongue is still struggling against the gag while your saliva steeps the tea leaves trapped in the ball.

"Oi," Atsumu cuts in with annoyance. "I thought you said to not play with food. What the fuck are you doing, chef?"

Osamu stops his finger in you for a moment before dragging them out. You're trembling at the sudden emptiness and desire to fill the space immediately. The lack of stimulation is irritating and you are desperate.

Osamu walks up to Atsumu, bringing his drenched fingers covered in your slick to his lips for a taste. Before he can do so, Atsumu grabs Osamu's wrist and takes in those digits, sucking on them gingerly.

Osamu smiles and runs the other hand through Atsumu's hair.

"Patience is a virtue, 'Tsumu, I was just getting her fully prepared for you. I'm giving her all to you already, you couldn't even let me have a taste of her?"

Atsumu releases Osamu's fingers with a pop. "I never said I wasn't going to share," he mutters before pulling Osamu in for a kiss, passing the taste of you along their tongues.

Your body jostles as you finally get a visual matching what you heard last night. You feel your pussy leaking with more excitement, the arousal drips all the way down to your asshole. And the more you squirm, it's as though the rope ties become tighter and tighter, rubbing your skin raw. But even that pain is incomparable to the need to quell your fire.

Atsumu pulls away and presses one last kiss on Osamu's nose. "I always love what you serve, thank you 'Samu." Your heart rate rapidly speeds up as Atsumu comes towards you. He's positioned between your legs, both hands on your thighs, marveling at the display of your body. His hands feel hot.

Atsumu grins. "You probably didn't expect me to be the one taking you, huh?" He guides his cock to your entrance, the bulging tip prodding along your puffy lips. "Did you want Osamu to be the one fucking you?"

No? You want to argue, straining your head up slightly, but only tea-laced saliva drips out from the corners of your mouth.

"'Fuck me, 'Samu. Fuck me, please.' Is that what you heard? Is that what you wanted to say too?"

Your screams are muffled whimpers.

Osamu snorts off to the side, watching Atsumu do exactly what he accused Osamu earlier of: playing with his food. Hypocrite.

Atsumu glares at Osamu before turning his attention back to you. "You'll be begging for me, Atsumu, after I'm done with you."

He lines himself at your entrance and inches himself in, groaning at how your cunt is somehow just sucking him in. You're so warm and tight inside, wrapping perfectly around every part of him. He sits in you for a moment, just enjoying being blanketed by your muscles and chuckling how you tighten around him every now and then.

You whine, urging Atsumu to move a little.

"Okay, okay. Geez, and 'Samu says I'm impatient." Atsumu slowly draws his cock out and snaps his hips forward, the base of his balls slapping against your ass. He delights at how you squeeze your eyes shut and continues rocking into you at a comfortable pace.

Osamu enjoys standing off to the side for a while. He always liked watching Atsumu savor and delight the food he prepares. Atsumu always eats with such gusto. It should have always been that way, until the witch ruined everything. The curse, an experiment with the dark arts, should have never happened. Above all else, it should never have been on Atsumu. Osamu can only wonder if the reason they are subjected to this fate is because they are twins. Until a cure is found, Atsumu, his most beloved other, will have to replenish himself in this way.

A sharp pain rips through you and tears well up in your eyes. You feel Atsumu's cock suddenly begin to pulsate and grow in size. At first, you thought it was because you're clamping down on him too hard and will yourself to relax. But the cock, the thing, is certainly unnatural now. And between your tear-stained vision, you can just barely make out... Monster.

You begin to thrash wildly, head tossing side to side, back arched as much as you can in a futile escape attempt. Atsumu's claws rest on your hips while he pounds into you furiously. His groans, now deep growls, send vibrations that you can feel within your throbbing clit. You fear that you'll actually be ripped in half by the way Atsumu is thrusting into you. The engorged cockhead hits your cervix each time and his ball sack, even heavier, bowls and knocks against you.

Osamu unfolds his arms and comes over.

"It'll only hurt if you don't relax," he tells you, reaching out to press on your clit. "Just let him have his way."

"Go fuck her somewhere else," Atsumu snarls. His voice is warped and bellowing. Your mind is getting foggy as Osamu's fingers on your clit don't stop teasing the bud while having a petty talk with Atsumu. And Atsumu, ticked off by Osamu, picks up his speed.

"There we go, now that's beautiful," Osamu comments, taking his hand away and watching you unfurl in your pleasure. Your abused cunt is puffy when Atsumu pulls out, and you feel the thick liquid start to flow out when you take breaths.

"No, don't do that," Osamu chides, taking three fingers to gather the cum spilling out and stuffing it back in. "Better keep it all in. 'Tsumu isn't done with you yet."

Not yet? You can't even voice your thoughts except weakly shaking your head and moaning into the steel gag. In the moment, your stomach rumbles loudly.

"'Samu, she's hungry," Atsumu points out, rubbing your tummy. "You feed her and I'll stuff her."

Osamu ruffles Atsumu's long hair and gives his new, erected horns a teasing squeeze. Atsumu yelps at the touch. "'Samu!"

"Okay, okay," Osamu relents and stands next to your head. You see him take the paring knife again and slide the icy blade between the cotton ties and your hot cheek. A quick slice and you feel the pressure of the gag release. Osamu removes the tea strainer from your mouth and tosses it into the sink.

"Must have been so over-brewed, I apologize for that," he says. You know he doesn't mean it at all.

"Why?" you croak out. Your jaw and cheeks are sore from being held in position for so long. There's so many things you believe you can ask why about. Why they are prepping you like a meal, fucking you like a toy...Why Atsumu is the way he is. Why Osamu is not who you think he is either. Why you.

Despite Atsumu's grotesque figure, you're sure that you fear this twin more. Osamu's thoughts are so well-hidden behind his eyes; he never gives away what he's thinking or planning. You can only accept his decisions from the receiving end.

"Because of Atsumu," Osamu answers. Everything is for 'Tsumu. "I'll feed you."

Osamu cradles your head with both hands, his fingers tangled in your hair. He prods his cock against your lips. Feeling your resistance, he grips your hair tightly, painfully pulling on your scalp, and presses the tip of his cock to force your lips open. You nearly gag at the length entering your throat and your hands ball into tight fists. Your nose is buried in the base of his cock, pressing into his balls. Each breath you take is heavy with his musky, hot scent.

It's easy to focus on Osamu's cock fucking into your throat, leaving an unamused, monstrous twin off to the side preparing to turn your attention back to him by force.

Atsumu rubs himself against you, preparing to enter you again. You're sure that he has become even bigger. When the tip pushes through, your body attempts to fight the intrusion in self-preservation. The claws at your hips dig in and Atsumu all but pulls you onto his length like a sock. You scream around Osamu's cock, throat clenching around his thick length, and nearly black out from the stretch.

You never had anything this big in you before. Atsumu lifts you up slightly, his grasp becoming large enough to encircle around your whole waist. Your ankles are still tethered and tug on you, much to Atsumu's annoyance. He easily slices through the bondages with a sharp claw. Now free of restraints, Atsumu can cradle you more easily, finally pushing the last section into you.

Crack!

You can’t cry while you're stuffed with Osamu’s cock, but tears stream endlessly from your eyes. You’re sure your pelvic floor is broken, completely forced apart in a futile attempt to accommodate Atsumu stuffing you beyond your physical capacity. Your hips give out as your two legs, bone out from their sockets, dangle grotesquely.

“Just focus on me,” Osamu wipes your tears away and continues to pump into you. But you cannot focus on the human object in your mouth when your whole lower half and inwards are broken, stretched or squashed.

"Hey look ‘Samu! It's bulging," Atsumu marvels at the imprint of his tip pushing your flesh out from the inside. “Look, my cock is saying ‘hello’.”

Atsumu excitement translates into messy thrusts, treating your body like a game. “Maybe I can even touch your dick through her!”

Your whole body is numb, the brain shuts its pain signals off completely, and hormones pour through your bloodstream in overdrive. The broken climax spasms through your body like the last bits of a faltering system.

“Better hurry...she’s...she’s fading soon,” Osamu warns between his grunts. He clasps your head and spurts his seed into you. You mindlessly swallow every drop of him, letting the contents slowly flow down your throat. You can’t process anything nor recognize any of the murky images. Who are you? Where are you?

Your memory fades in and out as your eyesight drifts between black and white. You can’t do anything about how the monster is now on all fours over your body, unrecognizable as Atsumu. You don’t feel any fear towards this grotesque figure. You don’t register how his tongue licks your neck.

Your mouth is now empty but you can’t formulate syllables.

“I’m sorry,” you hear Osamu whisper before sharp fangs pierce into your jugular, digging in deeper and tearing a chunk out. Red sprays across your body in fast spurts, drenching Atsumu and covering Osamu. The teeth at your throat gnaw at the flesh, starved, tearing through the skin, fat, and tissues like a child crunching fruit.

You can feel the droplets falling onto your face like fresh rain after a storm. You vaguely remember your teacher and her warning of strangers. She always reprimanded you and you wanted to make her proud. There will no longer be any chance of that now. You weren’t a good student, and only an utter failure.

Osamu waits for Atsumu to finish you off. Atsumu always gets messy at this point. Osamu tried to help Atsumu section his prey off by cutting and organizing the limbs and even attempted to debone the meal beforehand, but Atsumu has his preferences, and Osamu respects them. So, Osamu delegates cleaning duties to himself instead.

You’re already beyond recognition when Osamu comes back with barrels of oil. All that is left is a kitchen stained with blood and a pile of bone with chewed connective tissue left. Atsumu sometimes eats the bones too, but not always.

“‘Tsumu, are you full now?” Osamu asks, reaching out to cradle his twin. Atsumu has now transformed back to the way he is supposed to be. Osamu threads his hand through Atsumu’s blonde hair and inhales his twin’s scent.

Atsumu doesn’t respond and tugs at Osamu’s collar, trailing down his arm to bring Osamu’s hand to his own cock.

Osamu grins and kisses the top of Atsumu’s head. “Do you want to fuck me ‘Tsumu? I know you like to, after your meals.”

Atsumu whines and nips at Osamu’s jaw, pushing the twin down on the blood-stained floor.

“Okay, okay.” Osamu unzips and pulls down his pants before crawling onto all fours.

Atsumu’s hand cups Osamu’s ass and pries the cheeks open before curiously fingering at the specimen plugging Osamu’s hole. Atsumu holds onto the base and turns the object, before laughing.

“‘Samu, what is this you have in your ass,” Atsumu teases. “I like this presentation.”

This time, Osamu is the one embarrassed. “Last meal, it hurt like hell. So...I wanted to prepare a little.”

“With an egg holder?” Atsumu cackles again, fiddling with the ceramic object. “Should’ve just told me ‘Samu, I could never bear to hurt you.”

Atsumu holds onto the base and slowly pulls the object out before tossing it aside. He smiles and teases Osamu’s enlarged hole that’s opening and closing around nothing. Gathering up some saliva, he spits onto Osamu’s asshole before lining his cock at the rim and slowly pushing in.

Along with the curse comes a near insatiable lust. Atsumu knows that if he doesn’t fulfill his need to fuck or be fucked, he will snap. He doesn’t really care who he kills during a frenzy of that sort, but it’s too risky to get Osamu caught up in the collateral.

The witch that wanted to create the perfect weapon, failed. She failed because she underestimated the twins’ bonds for each other. She failed because the twins discovered that witches excrete a very special hormone in their body after climax, and it is exactly that substance that is slowly curing Atsumu. With every witch eaten and absorbed, Atsumu is healing and gaining magical powers. He is even capable of passing those essences to Osamu. One day, everything will be the way it's supposed to be.

Osamu plays with a few strands of Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu’s softened cock still buried inside of him. Atsumu has his jaw resting on Osamu’s shoulder.

“You make me feel so good,” Atsumu sighs, enjoying the quiet moments after his high.

“And what about her?” Osamu asks, gesturing to the table where your remains are still at.

“She made me feel good too. The best one yet, but don’t be jealous.”

“Come on, let’s clean up and get out of here.”

After washing their bodies and changing into clean clothes, Atsumu and Osamu are ready to say goodbye to the cottage they have overstayed their welcomes at.

"Let's go 'Samu, we're already behind." Atsumu finishes dumping the last bucket of oil along the edges of the room.

The clamor of boots stride across the creaking wood. As though with the passing of its owner, the cottage itself has lost the will to live.

"Coming," Osamu calls back, walking past the makeshift funeral pyre for you. He notices a flash on the ground and bends down to pick up a button.

"'Samu! Get the fuck out or I'll burn ya down too!"

"Yea, yea."

Osamu drops the button into his shirt pocket and joins his twin outside. Atsumu strikes a matchstick and tosses the small flame into the cottage. Fire meets oil and spreads in an instance, engulfing the cottage in an angry blend of orange and red, devouring all contents and remains within. The smell of scorched wood reaches the twins who are looking at the sight from a distance.

"She was good," Atsumu comments, looking at his twin unsure about what Osamu's grey eyes are thinking about. Atsumu realizes that he didn't specify what good exactly means. But it doesn't seem like Osamu is paying much attention. Is Osamu thinking about you? Is he unhappy? Does he regret what happened to you? Although what's done is done already, if time can go back, would Osamu choose? You or Atsumu?

Osamu slips his hand into Atsumu's, erasing the unspoken worries away. He gently leads Atsumu onto the trail, leaving the burning cottage behind.

"Stop thinking such nonsense," Osamu mutters, squeezing Atsumu's hand. No matter what happens, Atsumu will always come first. His needs, his desires. That's what it means for Osamu to love Atsumu. Even though the rest of the world may not understand the relationship the twins share, calling it depraved and disgusting, it's still selfless on their part. What sin is there to honestly love? What sin is there to try and save his loved ones?

While Osamu admits to himself that he does feel a deep attraction to you and knows that Atsumu feels the same pull as well, there's nothing that can be done about Atsumu's condition. But it's not as though you are completely gone. Your essences and core are within both twins, being absorbed as one with their bodies and soul. You'll forever be with them in that way, even if you no longer have any sentient memory of it.

Osamu fiddles the button in his pocket; there's still a physical reminder of you in that tiny form.

It must be about a twenty-minute trek from the burning site. Although the flames are already far from eyesight, the scorching smell and embers still drift over. The twins pick up their pace, eager to exit the forest before nightfall and make it to the next destination. On the way, they pass by the tree trunk with a wanted poster.

"They never get my best angles!" Atsumu complains, ripping a wanted poster that is nailed to the tree trunk.

"It's not like you have a good angle, ‘Tsumu."

"Shut it, we look the same ‘Samu. You're just calling yourself ugly too!"

Osamu shrugs and continues his trek down the main trail. Atsumu huffs, tearing the parchment into indistinguishable pieces before throwing the shreds up into the air like confetti.

"Wait up!"

Osamu stops in his tracks. "Hurry up, loser. We still have a long way to go."

Atsumu takes a few wide strides and swings his arm around his twin's shoulder. Behind them, a very light drizzle falls from the sky.

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fanficshiddles · 4 years ago

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Toy For Their Pet, One Shot

Summary: Hela and Agatha have a pet Jotun!Loki. But they needed to find him a toy to keep him satisfied. Poor mortal Cora is kidnapped and thrown in to the wild beast to appease him.

WARNINGS: Rape/Non-con, knotting, rimming.

‘I know I said to bring her here without causing a scene, but I didn’t mean to knock the poor thing out.’ Agatha said.

‘It’s fine, she’s fine. Look, she’s starting to come round already.’ Hela said in defence.

Cora heard the two female voices as she started to wake. When she opened her eyes, she struggled to focus and keep them open. Her body felt heavy, especially her head. Like she had been drugged or hit.

She tried to sit up, but then the room started spinning and she couldn’t focus on the two women there.

‘Oh no, easy, sweetheart. Don’t move too fast.’ Agatha said as she rushed over to Cora and sat next to her, helping her to sit up a bit as she put her arm around her.

Hela rolled her eyes and walked closer, hands on her hips. ‘We don’t have long before he will be awake. I don’t want to have to punish him again just for being horny.’

Cora was too confused to properly take in the conversation. One minute she was minding her own business in her home, the next she was swiftly knocked out. Now she woke up… wherever the hell she was.

‘Wh… what… what’s going on? Where am I?’ She asked groggily as she put her hand up to her head.

‘Relax, honey. We’re not going to hurt you, as long as you’re a good girl and do as you’re told. Ok?’ Agatha said softly, tucking Cora’s hair behind her ear.

Cora’s eyes widened as she was finally able to focus more. Agatha’s words chilled her to the core.

She looked at the woman next to her and the one standing on front of her… and realised she recognised them. It was hard not to realise who they were, from seeing them on the news.

The fact they weren’t exactly hiding themselves made it blaringly obvious they weren’t just two ordinary women. Hela was wearing Asgardian type light armour, her long black hair encased her face with her bold and intimidating make-up.

Agatha looked exactly like you’d expect a real witch to look. Slightly crazy long hair and she wore elegant dark bluey-purple robes.

They were both extremely intimidating in every sense of the manner. Both of them, Hela more so, were very tall. Making Cora feel even more frightened and small.

When she started shaking, Agatha slid her hand round to her back and started rubbing in circles to try and soothe her. But Cora was too scared, she tried to make a run for it but when she stood and took a few steps, she stumbled as she had stood up far too quickly, then she found herself captured in Hela’s arms.

‘You’re not going anywhere, pet.’ She said as Cora started struggling in her grasp.

‘Please… please don’t hurt me. What do you want with me?’ Cora sobbed.

Hela kept an arm clamped around her middle as she gripped her chin to force her to look at her.

‘As my dearest Agatha said, we aren’t going to hurt you… But he might.’ She grinned and motioned to the right with her head.

Cora looked over and she could barely contain a scream. There was a large glass wall that showed through into another room. But right at the front, at the glass… was Loki. A frost giant. She knew of him too from the news, he had been attacking people at random in London. Unable to change back into his Asgardian form, until he suddenly just vanished. Now, Cora knew where he had vanished to...

He was standing right at the glass, hands flat on it as he stared intently over at her. His red eyes blazing at her hungrily, he looked terrifying. And he was naked, his blue skin was really striking with his Jotun markings all over him. But what she also noticed was that he was extremely aroused.

‘Wh… what… no… please.’ Cora sobbed and panicked all over again, struggling against Hela but to the God she was just like a kitten squirming in her arms.

Agatha stood up quickly and walked over next to Cora, looking at Loki too. Hela still had a firm hold of Cora, but Agatha slid her hand up to the back of Cora’s neck and stroked on her skin softly. But it did nothing to ease Cora’s fear.

‘He won’t hurt you… If you just submit to him, let him do what he wants with you. He is just rather�� insatiable.’ Agatha said calmly.

Hela looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. Agatha shrugged and mouthed ‘Don’t scare her off before we even get her in there!’

‘Wh… why me? Please, I can’t… I’m scared.’ Cora begged, hoping the women would take pity on her.

Hela lifted her up with ease and started carrying her over towards the door that led through to where Loki was. He was pacing back and fore now behind the glass, eyes blazing hungrily as he kept locked on to Cora.

‘NO! PLEASE!’ Cora tried kicking out but she was getting nowhere.

‘Don’t tire yourself out, dear. You are going to need all the strength you can get.’ Hela purred and unlocked the door with a flick of her finger and a glimmer of magic.

She looked over at Agatha, who followed and nodded at Hela. When Hela opened the door, Agatha went in first, using her magic to put up a powerful shield to keep Loki back.

He tried to get over, but was kept back by Agatha’s magic as she entered, with Hela and Cora close behind her. Loki was snarling and growling at them, salivating at the mouth and desperate to get to the mortal girl.

He was massive in every sense of the word. A frost giant to the core. Cora thought she was going to pass out again.

Hela suddenly threw Cora onto Loki’s bed, she went sprawling across it. Agatha and Hela backed out of the room.

Cora tried to make a mad rush for the door as it closed and she heard it locking. But she had barely taken a few steps away from the bed when Loki slammed into her.

She screamed, but wasn’t sure what scared her the most. Being trapped with such a wild being, or the fact he was ice cold to touch. His body was over her instantly on the bed, trapping her beneath him.

Loki shoved his face into her neck and in-haled her scent, growling as he did so. She froze while he studied her, terrified to move in-case she angered him. He began sniffing down her body and with his long nails started tearing at her clothes.

Agatha and Hela stood by the glass, watching intently. Hela leaned on Agatha, her elbow resting on her shoulder. ‘You know, love… I think we might have finally found the right pet for our pet.’ Hela said as she watched Loki tearing at Cora’s clothes and then he began sniffing her all over.

Agatha tapped her lower lip and nodded slowly. ‘I think we have. At least he hasn’t torn into her like the last one.’

Hela sighed softly. ‘She was a stunning woman. Such a mess to clean up, though.’

‘She was... But Cora is a pretty little thing. I think she is more suited for our Loki.’ Agatha slipped her arm around Hela.

They continued watching, pleased that Loki had taken to Cora. Finally, finding the right mate for him. He had already started bonding with her and marking her, licking her skin. He started with her stomach, running his tongue all over her.

Cora was crying quietly, too scared to move or argue with him. She knew there would be no chance of escape, anyway. The best thing she could do, was just let him do what he wanted and get out of there alive.

The way his tongue was lapping over her skin had her almost squirming, she was a little ticklish and his cold licks were light. But she kept still, bunching her hands into fists at her sides.

Loki licked up her body, around her breasts and over her nipples, making her squeak slightly. She was a bit weirded out, wondering what on earth he was doing exactly and why. As she was practically covered all over in his saliva by the time he was finished with her. Arms, legs, thighs, stomach, sides. When he was at her neck, he also bit her a few times that made her cry out in pain. But he didn’t react to her noises.

The final place he hadn’t yet claimed was between her thighs. When he moved down there and pushed her thighs further open, she tried to snap them shut but he growled deeply and bit her thigh really hard, making her bleed.

She screamed in agony and then started thrashing around, Loki bit her again on the opposite thigh.

‘You better keep still, honey. Or else you will end up with more bite marks all over you.’ Came Agatha’s voice. It sounded like she was in the room, but Cora knew she wasn’t, she was safe behind the glass.

Cora wept quietly and did her best to just lie there and let Loki do what he was going to do.

Loki hummed in approval when she stopped moving around. He clamped his large hands around her thighs, keeping her spread open for him with terrifying ease with his strength. She couldn’t look down at the monster between her legs, so she opted to look up at the ceiling instead.

When Loki’s cold tongue started lapping at her cunt, she grabbed the bed sheets underneath her. At first, she was repulsed that he was doing this to her. But as his tongue pushed through her folds, gently lapping at her, she found her body falling under his control more and more.

When Loki licked her clit, her body started reacting to it. Little whines came from her and her body jerked each time. Loki smirked against her as he concentrated on that spot for a while, happy with her reactions, the tip of his tongue circling her clit in firm but slow movements.

She was about there, her body being forced into the pleasure. She could feel her impending orgasm… But it was ruined when Loki sucked on her clit and nibbled, sending pain and discomfort through her instead.

‘Ohh poor pet. So close, yet so far.’ Hela said smugly.

‘Mmm, we haven’t had such good entertainment in so long.’ Agatha said, biting her lower lip.

‘Why don’t we make our own entertainment while we watch?’ Hela suggested and with a flick of her wrist, their bed appeared right next to the glass for them to watch and have fun of their own.

Loki flipped Cora over onto her stomach, he treated the back of her to the same treatment. Licking all over, not missing an inch of skin. Her body was cold not only because of his cold nature, but because her skin was cooling fast in the light air around her with his saliva drying on her.

But she panicked when he spread her ass cheeks apart and started licking around her asshole.

‘NO!’ She screamed and tried pulling herself away from him.

Loki snarled angrily, bit her left butt cheek hard and smacked her right cheek with his large palm. Making her scream even louder. She kept still after that, just letting the tears roll down her cheeks. Pleasing Loki for being still, he went back to rimming her. Leaving nothing untouched.

Cora was so relieved when he finally stopped giving her attention there. She really hoped he wouldn’t go back there at any point. She just wanted this nightmare to be over.

But it was far from over.

Loki grabbed her hips and positioned her up on her hands and knees. She so wanted to try crawling forward, away from him, but she knew better now. And the firm grip he had on her was warning enough not to try anything.

She shivered as his cold breath danced against the back of her neck. Suddenly in one smooth motion he mounted her, an arm snaked around her middle while his other hand wrapped around the front of her neck, at the same time his large cock pushed against her wet cunt, seeking entrance. Even that was cold.

Cora was losing her breath, partly from the sheer coldness of it all, having a frost giant pressed against her back and pushing his cock into her was very numbing, mentally and physically. She made a slight movement that Loki thought was her trying to escape him again, so he bit the back of her neck hard, forcing her to submit to him.

Loki ignored her cries and was able to thrust into her fully, forcing her body to yield to him. His ridged and highly alien-like cock was hitting all the right spots inside her. Her mind was at battle with her body.

‘MINE!’ Loki snarled as he held himself deep within her.

It was the first word that Cora had heard from him and it shocked her. His voice was growly and deep.

He became very possessive as he started rutting into her, his balls were slapping against her skin in a loudly lewd manner.

‘Wow, he’s really hammering into her, isn’t he?’ Agatha said. She and Hela had been fondling one another on the bed, but the action between Loki and Cora was too exciting to look away from.

‘Hopefully he doesn’t end up breaking her.’ Hela drawled.

‘Not after taking his time to mark her, I think he’s finally got a toy he’s happy with. He won’t hurt what belongs to him, and she most certainly belongs to him now.’ Agatha said with a big grin as she licked her lips.

The two continued to watch while Loki completed his mating ritual. He started to swell at the base of his cock, he was able to push it into Cora’s cunt when she had an orgasm forcefully, causing her to howl in pain and surprise pleasure as his knot then swelled, locking them together as it throbbed on her g spot.

As Loki started cumming inside his new mate, he locked onto her shoulder with his teeth, drawing more blood from her. No matter how hard she squirmed and tried to move, he wouldn’t let go. He pulsated within her, spilling his cool cum deep into her. She could feel every single drop filling her, it felt like her stomach was going to explode.

Loki collapsed down fully on top of her, almost crushing her. But the mewling from Cora had him quickly rolling them both over so they were on their sides, he kept her close to him though.

She couldn’t stop shivering… a mix of cold, fear and confusion.

Loki nuzzled into her hair, grumbling and making light noises as he stroked over her stomach. He was still knotted inside her, and when he moved a bit, she whimpered as he tugged on her.

He softly kissed her shoulder and the hand on her stomach slid downwards, he lightly touched her clit and when she started moaning, he traced patterns over her until she came on his cock again, her walls fluttered around him as he groaned in pleasure.

‘I’ve never seen him be gentle like that before.’ Hela said as she cocked her head to the side.

‘He’s like you, love. Has his sweet and tender moments, it just takes time to show and the right lover.’ Agatha laughed wickedly at the glare Hela gave her. But she was right.

After Loki ravished poor Cora for hours upon end, she finally passed out in pure exhaustion. Loki’s knot took a while to go down enough for him to slip out of her, a big mess of cum came pooling out.

He wasn’t happy when Agatha and Hela went in to retrieve the mortal. But Hela and Agatha’s powers together was too strong for him. They promised it was just for a short time to let her recover. But Loki’s anger was enough of a sign for them that he was most certainly not happy about her being taken away.

When Cora came round, she wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or not to find herself in Agatha’s arms, on her lap.

‘Hey, honey. Are you alright?’ Agatha smiled sweetly at her.

Cora froze, not sure whether to try escaping or not. Though when she looked around, she saw Hela was sitting right next to them. She knew she wouldn’t have a chance against one of them, never mind two.

Hela reached out towards Cora’s lips with a strawberry in hand. ‘Come on, eat. You must be famished, and you need your strength.’

Cora looked at the offered strawberry like it had insulted her. But her stomach was grumbling, she really was so hungry. She parted her lips and Hela slipped the fruit into her mouth.

‘That’s a good girl.’ Hela praised and hand fed her some more. They were really juicy, so flavoursome. Like from another world.

‘Loki really likes you, which is simply wonderful.’ Agatha beamed happily.

Cora tensed on her lap. ‘I’m so sore.’ She whispered, tears brimming in her eyes.

‘Shhh, shhh. It’s alright, you’ll get used to it.’ Agatha said softly and began stroking her hair.

‘Please… Please, don’t send me back in there with him.’ Cora sobbed and panicked, she clung to Agatha and buried her face in against her.

Agatha pulled a sad face as she gently rubbed Cora’s back. ‘Oh, sweetie.’ She looked up at Hela, smirking and she winked. ‘Unfortunately for you, Loki has mated with you. You’re bonded now, and for a Jotun that means for life. It would hurt him physically and mentally if we kept you apart... And we just can’t do that to him.’

Hela pursed her lips together at Agatha.

‘Agatha is right, my dear. But don’t worry, we will look after you and make sure you’re well fed and watered. Loki isn’t a complete beast all the time, he will want you to be cared for too. And he will be gentler with you now his initial frenzy has calmed.’ Hela said.

Cora wasn’t so sure about that, she was so sore and was sure her insides were bruised. The thought of having to go back in with him was utterly petrifying.

But she knew she had no choice. Up against a powerful Witch and the Goddess of death? The poor mortal girl had no chance, and she knew it.

She belonged to Hela and Agatha’s pet Jotun now. Nothing more than a toy for their pet.

#Loki #Jotun!Loki #agatha harkness #Hela #Tom Hiddleston #fan fiction #Loki fan fiction #Loki fan fic #one shot #Loki x OFC #frost giant Loki #MCU Loki #MCU Hela #MCU Agatha Harkness

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megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms · 4 years ago

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True Mate- part 2

Here you are! The much requested 2nd part to True Mate! *Familiar Characters are NOT mine!*

Fandom: Twilight(New Moon mostly)

Warnings: Angst! Mentions of Edward’s inner turmoil, “death”?, A little but of fluff. A bit longer than part 1.

Pairings/Characters: Edward Cullen x vampire!reader, Volturi Kings, Volturi Elite Guard, Alice Cullen, Bella Swan, The rest of the Olympic Coven.

Edward didn't notice Bella until she was practically throwing herself at him. He was waiting outside, still hidden from the sun while he waited for his mate to feed. He caught her easily and gaped. "Bella?" She hugged him close, practically clawing at his back and the nape of his neck. Her scent nearly overpowered him. It had been so long since he'd smelled it. He pulled back. "You're alive?"

"Yes. I'm alive. You don't have to do this." Edward's brows furrowed. "Do what?" Bella gestured to him. "Kill yourself. Alice told me that's what you planned on doing." It took everything in him not to chuckle. Alice must have stopped watching for his future. Either that or hadn't told Bella everything.

Before he could answer, another voice spoke up. "Cullen, the masters want to see you. Now." Demetri's red eyes swung over to Bella. Bella grabbed onto Edward's arm, nails digging into the flesh. Even if he could, he didn't have to read her mind to know she was afraid. This was going to make things that much more difficult. Alice appeared at his shoulder as well with Felix at her side.

"This isn't necessary. We'll come with you," Edward stated calmly, hoping to convey that he had no intention of disobeying. Not now. He followed after Felix and Demetri, making sure Alice was with them as well. Bella still clung to his arm. The scent was driving him insane once again. He needed to get away from her before he did something he'd regret. He listened to Alice's mind and Bella's questions, answering without really thinking. He was too busy trying to remember to hold his breath. He was saved from his thoughts, however, when their small group approached the throne room doors.

Bella didn't let go of his arm when the eyes of all three of the masters landed on them. "Look, Brothers! It seems Isabella is alive after all!" Aro cried with a gleeful clap of his hands, "I do love happy endings. They are so rare." Edward gave Aro a tight smile, but his eyes searched the room for you as he hoped Bella would finally let go before you appeared. It would not end well for Bella if she didn't.

"And Alice is here too," Aro continued. As Edward opened his mouth to ask the leaders to let Alice and Bella go, that sense of peace washed over him again. He fought back a smile when you entered the room. Your eyes met his and you graced him with an upturn of your lips. At least until you saw Bella clinging to your mate like a toddler.

Your eyes turned dark and your teeth gnashed together. In an instant, Felix was in front of you, holding you back. Bella flinched. "Oh my. Perhaps, dear Isabella, you would be kind enough to remove your hands from young Edward. You seem to be upsetting Y/N." Bella stared dumbly at him, prompting you to growl out, "Remove your hands from my mate." In your fury, Edward couldn't help but stare. You were beautiful. Glorious. Never before had Edward's inner monster been so at peace knowing there was someone who would give everything for him, even with Bella's intoxicating fragrance invading his senses.

"Mate? You aren't his mate." Edward closed his eyes at Bella's audacity. Even Alice winced a bit. She knew the difference between singers and true mates. She gently removed Bella's hands from Edward, who instantly appeared at your side, whispering soothing words in your ear. You calmed a bit, but your red eyes never left Bella. You were furious, your own inner beast threatening to claw its way out and destroy the person who dared to try and claim your mate.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken, Isabella. See, you are Edward's blood singer. Your blood calls to him. It urges him to give into his true nature. I am surprised you've survived this long. Just remembering how you smell to him…makes me thirsty," Aro stated before clearing his throat and continuing, "But Y/N is Edward's true mate. The part of him that makes him feel whole."

Bella blinked and flicked her gaze between Aro and you and Edward. You had calmed considerably with Edward at your side. Your thoughts were becoming clear again to the mind reader. "This? This is who he tried to destroy himself over? Sure, I guess she's pretty enough and her blood, oh that smells good, but she's a mouse. A mouse playing at lion." You glanced at Edward and smiled as you apologized to him in your mind. You spoke again to Felix who was still extremely close. "You can relax now, Felix. I'm fine," you said before cutting your glare back to Bella.

"I am his mate," you told her through clenched teeth as Edward ran his nose along your cheek. It was taking all his will power to stay by your side. Bella's scent mixed with yours had the monster he had hoped would stay locked away pleading to drain the human of her blood, much as it when he'd first met her.

Bella tried to argue, but the leaders weren't having it as Aro questioned what to do. Not that Edward heard much other than the dozens of thoughts invading his head. You placed a calming hand on his cheek, soothing him. Only then did Edward tune back into the conversation. "Edward, you should go." He blinked in surprise.

"My father and uncles are going to rule that Isabella must be turned or killed. I know her blood is calling to you and I would never want you to do something you're uncomfortable with. I know you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you hurt the human you've been fighting so hard to protect. So go. I'll find you after I feed." Edward nodded stiffly. He didn't want to leave your side, but he knew you were right. He would regret it if he drained Bella now. So, he followed after Bella and Alice until you were finished.

No sooner were the three alone did Bella round on Edward. "How could you do this?!" she asked, nearly shrieking at him. Alice held her arm to prevent her from getting too close to Edward. "That thing is a monster! Not your mate!" Edward growled as he used every ounce of self control not to launch himself at Bella.

"Bella, stop," Alice pleaded before turning her eyes to Edward, "This is what happened in my vision. I'm sorry, Edward. I didn't know they were your mate or we wouldn't have come." Edward arched a brow. Alice replayed her vision for him in her mind and he sighed. He understood why she had, but she hadn't needed to bring Bella.

"This is ridiculous. Edward, come back to Forks with us. You belong with your family. With me. Isn't that what you wanted? Isn't that why you came here to have them destroy you? Because of me? Well, I'm alive. You don't have to change for me. You will for that…Y/N person." The sound of your name from her lips made Edward's whole body stiffen. He didn't like the venom in her tone.

Bella attempted to come closer and put a hand on his cheek. Once more, her scent filled his senses and he backed away. "Bella, I wouldn't. Please, just listen to me. Edward isn't as in control as he usually is. To his true nature, you are a threat to his mate. If you keep pushing, it will not end well. Please."

Edward was thankful for Alice's intervention. She was at least trying. It didn't stop anything though. When the doors opened to reveal you alongside Felix and Demetri once more, Bella's hand was still outstretched toward Edward. Your eyes flickered to Edward for a brief second, assessing the situation before you sighed.

"Isabella Swan, I would suggest you stop trying my patience. I have warned you once. Do not make me tell you again. Keep your hands off my mate." Since feeding, you were in a bit more control than before, but that didn't mean you had to like it. You flashed to Edward's side, enveloping him in the serenity he needed in that moment.

"Edward, calm. The Masters have made their decision. Isabella is to be turned within a year or she will be killed. No exceptions. I will personally be going to Forks at a later date to see that their orders are followed." You cut your eyes back to Bella and Alice. "Miss Cullen, I suggest you sit between these two on your way home."

"Home?" Edward asked. You faced him again and nodded. "Yes. Home. You need to at least talk to your family about this. About us. They will understand, but it would be unfair to them to say nothing." Edward reluctantly nodded. He didn't want to be apart from you, but knew you were right.

"Come with me?" You laughed slightly but before you could reply, Bella stupidly piped up. "I don't think that's a good idea." You swung your eyes to her once more, making her shrink back a bit for once. "I-I mean, you don't want to put those innocent people at risk."

"I assure you that I am in control. However, I have duties here." Bella scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Control? You nearly killed me." You arched a brow, unimpressed by her little tantrum. "Believe me, Miss Swan, if I truly wanted to kill you, you would already be dead. Now, you are testing my already limited patience. I suggest you close that obnoxious mouth of yours before I do it for you, my father's ruling be damned."

Felix and Demetri snickered, prompting Bella into a fit of anger. "See? Do you see how easily they talk about killing innocent people?! They are monsters, Edward! All of them!" Felix and Demetri stiffened but could do nothing but watch as you held Edward back. He had finally snapped.

All those months of her blood calling to him. All that time, knowing that he could absolutely drain her dry and it would be the best meal he'd ever tasted. All the days of him pushing his self-control to the limit had finally done him in. His control over the monster that resided inside him was breaking at the thought of someone insulting his mate. Even Felix wouldn't be able to hold Edward back, so it was no surprise when Edward broke free of you and had his hand around Bella's throat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*one year later*

Edward gripped your hand tightly as he opened the door to the house he'd once called home. To his surprise, he wasn't greeted by Carlisle, Esme, or one of his siblings. He felt you stiffen against him. "Hello," he greeted. Bella glared daggers at you, her own now topaz eyes filled with fire. Even now, though she understood the difference between singers and mates, she hated you for taking Edward.

When Edward had finally snapped that day in Volterra, it had taken you, Demetri, Felix, and Alec to pry him away from Bella. Even then, it was too late. The process had already begun. Bella was turning and there would be no stopping it this time. Alice escorted out of Volterra after the change was complete. You hadn't seen them since.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped. You arched a brow. "I've come to meet my future in-laws. Edward misses his family." She opened her mouth to protest, but Jasper appeared behind her with a rare smile on his face. Edward returned the grin and pulled his brother to him. The rest of the Cullens weren't far behind.

After greeting Edward warmly, all the topaz eyes of the Olympic Coven turned to you. Esme was the first to greet you with a smile. "This is Y/N…my mate." The rest of the family began to greet you much in the same manner they had greeted their son/brother.

Later on that night, Carlisle, Edward, and you retired to Carlisle's home office. For a moment, Carlisle said nothing and Edward did his best not to read his mind. Carlisle's eyes moved between you and Edward a few times before he finally spoke. "Are you happy? I mean…truly happy?" Edward smiled. "I am. For once, I really am. No torturous existence. I still feel the same, but happier and stronger. This was my decision. I promise." Carlisle nodded and expressed his approval. "That's all I ever wanted for you." Edward turned to you and smiled when your eyes met his newly red ones.

(a/n: I hope you like it!)

Tagging people who requested part 2: @lopezbr210 @a-bi-who-just-wants-sweaters @imdoingathingmom @kajikani @truly-insatiable @yrawn @vanteguccir

#twilight #edward cullen #edward cullen x reader #edward x reader #part 2

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lilith-of-rivia · 4 years ago

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The Bards Sister Geralt XFemale!Reader Part 1

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Masterlist

Summary: Geralt of Rivia and his long time travel companion Jaskier find themselves in Jaskiers home land. A place geralt had not only never seen nor heard of. Jaskier is ready to reunite its his family after traveling and exploring the world for 20 years. The one person he missed the most was his baby sister (Y/N). Who he hadnt seen since she was 5. The journal is long, but the pay off is grander then they would ever be able to predict. I know i am trash at summaries.

Trigger warnings: NONE a lot of Geralt and Jaskier in this first part. Your charicter doesn’t come in till closer to the end.

Pairings: GeraltxReader JaskierxSister!reader

Word count: 6,095 longest fanfic I’ve ever written!!

A/N: hello my loves!!! I got my Insperation back!! I’m hopping i will be regularly posting agin!!! I ove you all so much you consistent love and supoort has not gone unnoticed. The constant likes and reblogs truly means the world to me. I love every single one of you so much. Thank you for believing in my writing the way you do. All my love -Lilith ps. I have reviewed and edited but I will be doing a more in-depth review soon!

“Where are we going, Jaskier.” The Witcher’s brooding voice echoed threw the flowered valley. His horse trotted not far behind his companion. Jaskier looked back at him and just rolled his eyes.

“How many times have you led me on endless roads, towards the middle of nowhere speaking little to no words to me no matter how much I ask?” Geralt said nothing. Jaskier snorted looking back towards the road.

“Exactly. No shut up, your brooding is giving me a headache.” The bard was giving the witcher a taste of his own medicine. The idea that Jaskier was leading him to somewhere he had no idea of the location, made him uneasy. Did he trust his bard? Absolutely without a doubt. Would he ever admit it to him? No never.

Their travels continued till the sun was barely hanging in the sky. The air had grown crisp replacing the harsh burning of the full summer sun. Jaskier pulled his mare to the side of the road, climbing off her, tying her to a tree. Geralt followed, realizing they were stopping for the day.

“We still have a couple hours of daylight left.” Geralt said as he took Roach’s saddle and tack off.

“We don't need a couple hours, we are nearly there. Maybe an hour and half.” Geralt cocked an eyebrow at Jaskier.

“Then why did we stop?” Jaskier pulled his saddle bags off his horse, putting them beside a log as he gathered some sticks for the fire.

“Because I have to debrief you as to who we are going to see and you must bathe before we do so. The stream here will do the trick.”

“Gods Jaskier, will you just tell me where we are going? The secrecy is bullshit.” The broot of a man was losing his patience with his friend.

The duo had been on the trip for nearly two weeks. They left Tramieria and headed east. Much further east than Geralt could ever remember traveling. Yet the bard seemed to know exactly what turns to take and when. The closer they drew to their destination the more the witcher could hear his heart beat faster.

“Jaskier if this is some stupid plot for me to protect you from some man who’s wife you slept with again-“

“It's not Geralt-“ Jaskier pinched the bridge of his nose, his stress causing a minor headache. “Just go bathe then I’ll tell you everything.” Geralt studied his friend, his eyes searching his face, his ears tuning into his heart beat trying his best to figure out what he was getting himself into.

With a low grunt the witcher grabbed his last set of clean clothes and the bar of soap from the bard's hand before stomping off to the river.

“Clean EVERYTHING!” Jaskier yelled over his shoulder. Only getting an unfriendly finger in return.

Nearly an hour later, the sun was completely hidden behind the canyon, the glow of the fire Jaskier started illuminating their small camp. Jaskier’s fingers strummed mindlessly at his lute, his eyes fixed on the stars that were making their presence known more, humming to himself softly. He heard his friends footsteps as he approached, his hair was wet at his shoulders. A fresh white Cotton tunic hugged his muscular build, black trousers hugging his legs. He smiled nice for once. All thanks to the lavender and honey soap Jaskier had received as a gift.

“Now don't you look better.” Jaskier said with a chuckle. The witcher sat down across the fire from him, his golden eyes staring heavily at the bard.

“Spill your guts Jaskier.” Jaskier rubbed his hands over his face and nodded. His eyes looking anywhere but at his friend.

“I haven't been completely forward about my family life.” Jaskier’s eyes landed on the moon above them. It was nearly full, he was doing well with time. He knew they would reach their destination well before the next full moon.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s harsh voice broke the silence. With a loud sigh Jaskier finally looked his friend in the face.

“I’m royalty Geralt.” The Witcher’s expression did not change. He just looked at his friend. He could hear Jaskier's heart beat become uneven and unsteady. At first he thought it was a joke but the nervous energy radiating from his long time friend made him think better.

“My family, they are wonderful people. My mother, bless her, taught me everything I needed to know about writing and music. Convinced my father to let me train at Oxenfurt Academy. My father is a noble and loyal king. He served our people well. Still does to my knowledge. I haven't been back in nearly 20 years…” the bard trailed off, his eyes fixated on his hands, his fingers twildilling with a ring he had on. The ring was that of his family. Their crest engraved into the gold.

“I was never meant to be a noble. I lived for adventure, for more than just sitting on a throne and watching people come and go. I was never fit to be king. My parents knew that. They understood. Understanding people they are.” His voice trailed off again, hopping his friend would say something. Ask a question. Anything. He didn’t know where to go next.

“Why didn't you ever tell me?” Geralt finally asked.

“Because it never came up. My family never needed me. I never needed them. I love them all dearly of course. But we were never the closest people in the world. Well, my sister and I were.” That caught the Witcher’s attention. His eyes narrow slightly, he made sure to not let his expression scare the bard into not telling him more. He was genuinely curious about his family. But he couldn't lie and say he wasn't disappointed that in the 7 years they traveled together he never heard of them.

“You have a sister?” The bard's eyes lit up. His memory raced with images of his tun little sister chasing him around the courtyard screaming, yelling his name. Her giggles and laughs pulling at his heart strings.

“Yes. Her name is (Y/N). She is about to be 25. Big age for a princess. I havnt seen her since she was very little.” His heart started to break softly. His neglect to his baby sitter weighting heavily on him.

“I write her often, as much as I can. She was...well, a surprise to my parents to say the least. I was 15 when she was born. I left home at 20. I was only around for her toddler years. I never got to see her grow, blossom into a young woman. I missed so much.” Jaskier had to fight back the tears, his throat becoming tight and dry. His body filling with regret.

“I just kept pushing it back Geralt. I alwasy said I’d make it home. I alwasy had it in the back of my mind to go back and see her. But I never did.”

“Why now?” Geralt asked.

“She wrote me a few months back. It was nearly a book. It was filled with tales of her new travels around our country. She had been training heavily with an unmanned matester of combat. She traveled the countryside with the man. She referred to him as an uncle. In the letter she asked me if it was true that I’d been traveling with you. She said the songs and tales of Jaskier the Bard traveling with the White Wolf made it to her ears.” Jaskier stopped talking for a brief moment, rummaged around his rut sack and pulled out a notebook. He untied its string and a large pile of papers fell out into his hand. He unfolded the parchment and scanned the writing.

“I wrote her back that week. Only to receive this in return.” He began to read;

“Oh dear Jaskier!! I cannot believe its true. I thought he was only a legend. The white wolf. Please tell him he is a hero here. We love his stories. Many have written books of him. Children run round calling themselves the butcher of Blaviken here to save the damsel and distress. I love his stories, mainly because they involve you. Please come visit me this year. I miss you terribly. I want to hear of your travels with the wolf. Mother said he is more than welcome to stay if he wishes to travel with you. I do miss you Jaskier. More than I think you know. I do not mean to guilt you or make you feel bad as i know you are traveling the world to your heart's content and would never want you to feel as though I do not support you-“ Jaskier stopped reading for a brief moment. A small tear dripped onto the page he was reading. Geralt listened to every word he read. He couldn't help the small tug of his lips when he read about the children pretending to be him. It was a breath of fresh air for the witcher. He had constantly been told he was a monster. To hid your children from him. Yet here was an entire country that loved him, yet he had no idea. Jaskier cleared his throat and continued. “But i miss my brother. And maybe, just maybe. I could come with you. If you deem me fit. I have been working tirelessly with a friend of fathers. He trains me in not only swordsmanship, but Herbology, and monsters as well. I can name nearly every monster that has inhabited the Continent and how to slay it. He thinks I’m ready to leave the nest and I think mother and father are getting a bit tired of me as well. I cannot stand another somber, dull, dinner party with nobles who look at me like a piece of meat. So please. Visit me soon. Come and stay a few days. Catch up with your dear sister and maybe, if he isn't too busy and if it doesn’t inconvenience him, bring the Wolf with you. He’d be a welcomed hero. All my love dear brother. Xoxo Love always, (Y/N) Irene Pankratz

Jaskier folded the letter, placing it inside his notebook before safely storing it inside his sack again. He ran a hand over his face, his eyes slowly moving from his hands to his best friend. They sat in the silence for a while. Geralt’s brain replaying the words he had heard from his friend.

“You could have told me about her Jaskier. Why didn't you? You’ve been in contact with her all this time, planning to see her and your family again. Bringing me along for the ride, yet not a single word in 7 years. Do you not trust me with such a secret Jaskier?” Jaskier was taken aback by his friend's words.

He never knew his secrecy would have such an impact on his friend. When it came to Geralt he learned long ago, the little words, the better. The witcher can only handle so much before he loses interest and stops listening or walks away. He never in a million years would have thought he cared about his life that much. It warmed the bards heart to know his dear friend, the only brother he ever had, cared that deeply for him.

“It has nothing to do with not trusting you Geralt. Is has everything to do with the shame I hold for not seeing her sooner. For treating her like a dirty secret form the world. There is no logical reason for me to keep my family such a big secret. Yet I have. For 20 years.” Geralt’s hands rubbed together softly as he listened to his friend. He understood the secrecy. He was a box full of secrets that nobody could get into.

“Its okay Jaskier. I understand the secrecy. Is that where we are going tomorrow?” Jaskier nodded, a smile appearing on his face.

“Her birthday is the next full moon. I’m hoping my gift will be a good start in time lost.” Geralt looked at him curiously. He hadn't noticed any major item in Jaskier’s possession that could make a good gift for a young princess.

“You’re her gift Geralt. I wrote her back after that letter and told her I’d be back for her next birthday. But that you simply were to busy with your work. I told her that you greatly appreciated her support and that youd consider writing to her in the future. She has no idea your coming with me.” Geralt didnt know how he felt about being a gift. He never ever saw himself as a gift to anyone. More of a burden the a gift. He shook his head at Jaskier and tutted at him.

“Jaskier if your that broke you could’ve asked me for a few extra coins for a real gift.” The witcher attempted to joke with the bard. It made Jaskier smile more. Geralt could be funny, but his humor was incredibly dry, much like Jaskier’s father.

“Geralt! Did you just try and joke around with me??” Geralt rolled his eyes, laying down stretching his muscles as he looked up at the starts.

“Best get some sleep Jaskier, you’ve got a rather big family reunion tomorrow.”

The next morning Jaskier was up and awake before Geralt, a rare sight. He truly hadn't slept more than a couple hours that night. His nerves kept him awake. He feared his sister wouldn’t be as loving as he pictured, she had every right to be mad at him, hate him even. By the time Geralt was up, Jaskier had bathed, changed and had his horse completely ready to go.

Geralt had to do everything in his power to not laugh at his friend. He looked rather ridiculous. His normal bright attire was replaced with a royals outfit. A green and blue velvet tunic and some extremely uncomfortable looking black trousers. His hair was combed back and his face was freshly washed. He even cleaned under his fingernails. He looked rather ridiculous in Geralt’s opinion. He couldn't help the low chuckle that left his lips as he put his bed roll away.

“I don't understand why you're laughing. I have some clothes for you to put on as well.” Geralt’s expression changed instantly, from humorous to angry.

“No. Absolutely not. What I’m wearing is perfectly fine. I’d wear it to meet any king or queen.” A bag was chucked at him, he barely caught it before it smacked into his face.

“This isn't any normal king and queen Geralt. This is my family. And besides, you are no ordinary witcher in my kingdom, you’ll be treated as royalty there. You may as well look the part.” Geralt huffed and threw the bag of clothes back at his friends feet, glaring daggers at him. He hated dressing up with a burning passion. Everything was too tight, not easy to fight in. If anything happened he’d have to rip the seams on every piece of clothing to be able to maneuver his weapons properly. And fancy clothes dont have space for weapons. He didn't like that one bit. Jaskier looked at his friend. His eyes pleading with him.

“Please Geralt. Just for today and her birthday. I couldn't care less what you wear at any other point on this trip.” He had walked closer to Geralt now. About a meter away from him. He extended his hand, the bag in his hand. Geralt looked from the bag to his friend. His teeth and jaw clenched.

He let out a loud huff and grabbed the bag from the bard.

“Fine.” He said through gritted teeth and began taking off his clothing. Jaskier smiled before turning his attention to Roach, getting her stalled and tacked so when Geralt was dressed they could leave.

“If we move with a bit of a haste we could make it there before breakfast.” Jaskier said as he mounted his horse, looking at his friend. His hand slapped over his face. The witcher looked utterly ridiculous in his new attire. The bright red and orange vest a-top a cream tunic, his legs tight in some disgustingly ugly corduroy pants. The pants were obviously smaller than the seamstress he bought them off claimed them to be. The ends of the pants came nearly mid calf on Geralt’s legs. His pasty white ankles and feet shining in the early morning sun.

“Jesus Geralt. Those are worse than the ones I got for Pavetta’s party.” The bard could no longer hold in his laughter. Did Gerarlt look like a nobleman? Sure, but his size, white hair, and bright yellow eyes really didn't help the situation.

“Jaskier, I will kill you for this.” Geralt grumbled angered as he pulled his socks up his feet and over his calves. Luckily for him (and Jaskier) his boots went higher than his pants, making it harder to notice that the pants he was wearing were way too small.

“At least I’m not making you wear a big hat with a feather, those are truly hideous.” Geralt mounted Roach, more carefully then he normally does in fear his pants could bust at the seams.

“I had to wrap you up nice and pretty to present you to my sister.” Jaskier commented as he led his horse; Napoleon to the main road, Geralt and Roach in tow.

The two men rode in a comfortable silence for some time, but as they got closer and closer to Jaskier’s home, all Geralt could hear was his frantic heartbeat. Jaskier’s palms get sweaty and his throat dry, no matter how much water he drinks from his water skin.

“Jaskier. You need to calm down. Your fucking heart beat is driving me insane.” Geralt hissed. They could see the end of the valley they had been traveling in. Geralt looked out in the distance, his eyes saw the castle first. It was very far, but he could tell how beautiful it was from where they were.

“Maybe you just shouldn’t listen to it then.” Jaskier barked back.

“You know I have no control over it, idiot. Take a deep breath. I know you're scared, I understand. But from the sounds of it your sister desperately misses you, I don't think she would ask you to come see her if she was going to hate you.” Geralt didn't talk much at all, that everyone knew. He was a man of few words. But when he did speak it was wiser than most people ever expected. People tended to forget the age of the white haired man, as he stopped ageing physically in his late twenties.

Jaskier smiled softly at his friend's words, he listened to him and took a few deep breaths, calling himself down. Geralt was right. His sister seemed eager as ever to see him again.

The two men approached the entrance to the city. Geralt was more than shocked. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen a city so beautiful in his entire life. The streets were lined in beautiful stone, flowers, vines, greenery all around every corner. The banners that were hanging on the outside of the main gates caught Geralt’s eyes. The crests on them were brightly colored in greens and blues, a very large diamond in the center. Their horses rode into the entrance of the town. Jaskier’s heart was calm, steady, his face was bright and had a smile Geralt had never seen on him before. He was finally home.

“Welcome to Inritha (In-Rithe-A) the capital of Unthya (Un-The-A) Geralt. Welcome to my home.”

Their horses traveled down the stone brick road slowly, the city was buzzing already even with it being the early hours of the morning. Geralt was surprised to see everyone look so...happy, care free. Enjoying their lives. They looked as though nothing was a fret, no monster looming. Geralt was mesmerized by the city. The buildings were built out of what looked to him like limestone, a building material he so rarely saw in other parts of the Continent. The buildings were being taken over by vines and moss, flowers all over. He’d never seen so many butterflies in his life.

“Jaskier-'' his voice was barely a whisper, the bard turning to look at him as they rode side by side. Jaskier couldn't help but smile as his friend admired the beauty he himself had so easily forgotten over the years.

“I know, it's beautiful. I've forgotten myself.”

The two men continued riding their horses up the road closer and closer to the castle. The longer they road tho more attention they got from passer buys. Geralt could hear their whispers.

It couldn't be. Could it?

THE Geralt of Rivia? Here in Inritha?

Mummy look! It's the butcher!!

Has Prince Jaskier finally returned home?

For the first time in what seemed like his entire life, the hushed whispers Geralt heard as he rode through a city were not of hate and disgust. But of admiration and curiosity. The entire time Geralt and Jaskier rode through the city, he never once had the urge to grab either of his swords that were at his side.

The two men approached the gates of the castle, four armored guards stood outside. The put their hand up in motion for the men to stop. One who looked as tho to be the commander of sorts stepped forward poking between both men. Eyes lingering for a long while on the two.

“State your name and what business you have in Inritha at this early hour.” Jaskier dismounted his horse, waking a few feet forward.

“My name is Jaskier Alfred Pankratz son of Dastrill and Alvere Pankratz. This is my companion Geralt Of Rivia, we are here on behalf of my sister, (Y/N) Irene Pankratz’s 25th birthday.” Jaskier bowed his head lowly, keeping eye contact with the commander in front of him.

“Prince Jaskier?!?” The man clearly looked flustered and embarrassed for not recognizing the prince of his own kingdom. All four men quickly bowed their heads.

“Please accept my apology your highness, we welcome you home. As do we welcome your honored guest.” Jaskier smiled and told the men to not trouble themselves with an apology. Geralt continued to watch from atop Roach, still not use to being idolized instead of feared. Honored guest. Geralt thought to himself. He could get use to the new treatment. Jaskier remounted Napoleon the gates to the castle walls opening. The both road threw, all four men bowed their heads as the two walked threw. Not once did they threaten Geralt’s life. They were led by a guard to the stables where they left their horses.

Geralt could hear Jaskier heart beating again in his chest as they were led inside the castle. Geralt tried to concentrate on his friend, to be there for him but he couldn't help but let his eyes wander all over the castle's walls, it was a bright exterior. The walls polished, candles everywhere. Large windows allowing for natural lighting. Nothing dark or gloomy about the castle at all. He felt uplifted..cheary almost. As they neared the entrance to the grand hall where the King, Queen, Princess along with some others were. Geralt could hear the light conversation, and the clicking of silver on plates, they were eating breakfast. But he could still hear Jaskier’s heart beating in his chest. Geralt placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder as they walked, giving it a soft squeeze. The action made Jaskier more worried if the witcher was feeling alright, as it was abnormally out of character for the man. But he said nothing, appreciating the gesture.

They got to the door and just as the guard was about to push the doors open Jaskier grabbed his arm.

“Could we maybe skip the loud over dramatic announcements of my arrival? I have not seen my family in years.” The guard only nodded, bowed his head and walked back outside to his post. Jaskier looked over at his friend, as he put his hand on the door ready to push it open.

“Now or never.” Jaskier said as he opened the door. Both men walked into the large room, the talking stopped almost instantly. Geralt stood at the door, not wanting to impose on the important reunion of his friend and his family. He followed Jaskiers gaze to the table ahead of them in the front of the room. The room was lined with huge floor to ceiling windows, the light of the early morning sun shone brightly making the marble floors glisten.

“JASKIER!!!” The loud scream of a girl nearly made Geralt jump out of his skin, his hand reaching back for a sword that wasn't there in instinct.

It made Jaskier jump but the smile that covered his face was even bigger than the one he had seen as he walked through the city. Geralt followed Jaskier’s gaze to a young woman. The sight of her alone made Geralt want to pass out. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen someone so beautiful in his entire life. Her hair was the same chestnut brown that Jaskier had, but it was long, hip length. She had it pulled back slightly out of her face, a few baby hairs framed her face. Oh her face. Geralt thought as though he was looking at a living breathing angel. He heard her chair scrape roughly on the ground before it loudly crashed on the floor. She raced around the long table from her mothers side and sprinted to her brother. She practically threw herself on him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. He quickly wrapped his arms around her, stumbling back a few steps. Everything was quite as the two embraced. Geralt's eyes went to the king and queen who were now standing. The queen looked just like (Y/N) but her hair was black, long stripes of grey peeking through her hair. The crown atop her head glistened in the light. Her right hand was tightly around her husband's arm, her other hand placed softly over her mouth as she looked at her children. Her husband looked much like Jaskier. His hair was the same color as both of their children, but much like his wife’s, much of it had turned grey. His eyes were the same cornflower blue that Jaskier had.

Minutes passed in silence before Jaskier put his hands on his sisters shoulders, pulling her away from him. He put one hand on her cheek as he examined her features. Her pale cheeks were damp with tears. But not sad tears. Tears of joy.

“My sister, how you’ve grown.” Geralt could hear the tears in the bard's voice. He couldn't see him but he could hear everything.

(Y/N) fingers gently brushed over her brother’s face as she smiled at him.

“My brother, how you haven't aged a day. You look just as I remember you. Maybe a few more wrinkles.” She teased. He laughed softly. Wiping his eyes with his hand before pulling her into another bone crushing embrace. She was much shorter than Jaskier, barely shoulder level with him. Geralt was shocked to remember she would be turning 25 in two days. She was still young in the face, beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to see her more up close.

While the siblings spoke their parents moved from the spots at the table, standing behind (Y/N). Alvere was the first to pull him into a tight embrace after her daughter let go. Her fingers gently combed through his hair as she inhaled his scent deeply.

“My dear son how I've missed you.” She whispers slowly into his ear. Geralt was starting to feel bad for eavesdropping. Not that he could help it. He was still standing at the entrance to the grand hall yet he could hear everything.

Jaskiers father hugged him next, it was not nearly as long as the outer two but both men were okay with it. Understanding that their relationship had never been one for long father son hugs.

“It is good to see you again my boy.” His hand clasped down on his son's shoulder.

The four of them stood close together, smiling more than Geralt ever thought possible. It almost made his heart turn. Deep, deep, deep, down the witcher longed for a family that would look at him the way they looked at Jaskier. He often cured the universe for not giving him an option when it came to what he had become. He clung to the few memories he had of his mother. But as years passed they became harder and harder to remember, more painful. But he had. Made a new sort of family over the years. From Jaskier, to his brothers at Kaer Morhen.

“(Y/N), mum, dad, there is someone I’d like you to meet.” Jaskier turned his head towards the door to the hall. Geralt stood tall, shoulders pressed back, his hair framed his face gracefully. Even in the entirely ugly attire he was in, he made himself as presentable and as proper as possible. (Y/N)’s eyes grew bigger when her eyes met his. He once again was taken aback by her beauty. Her eyes were a powerful emerald green matching similarly to the color of her brother's tunic, but brighter. Her mouth fell slightly agape when she realized who it was. The eyes were a dead give away that he was in fact a witcher, but once she saw the silver medallion that rested on his chest, she knew.

Jaskier nodded his head for Geralt to walk forward and he did, his footsteps were light, his pace slow and steady as he walked closer to the royal family. (Y/N)’s hand gently covered her mouth in excitement. Her eyes flickering to her brother who grinned at her.

“A bit of an early birthday gift.” He winked. Once Geralt was closer to the group Jaskier turned so he could introduce them, at his sister's side. All eyes were on him. Even the few people who were still seated at the table were looking at him. He started to feel a bit more uneasy. He started to remember how far away his swords were if he needed them. This alone was beginning to make him panic. He was not used to being welcomed into royal courts unless it was specifically for a hunt.

“This is Geralt of Rivia, one of the most feared, renowned, and skilled Witcher’s the content has to offer. And also my best friend.”

Geralt's eyes were back on (Y/N)’s, his worries dropped more when she smiled brightly at him. Her eyes gleamed.

Geralt bowed his head to the three of them, “ it is an absolute pleasure to meet you, your highnesses.” (Y/N) was nearly blown over by the sultry sound of his voice. She had only heard stories of the witcher. Never see him for herself and definitely had never heard him speak. She never expected a monster hunter to be as handsome as he was. She admired every feature he had. Her eyes fixating on his chiseled jawline, the light gray stubble across his chin and cheeks.

“My, what a pleasure it is to meet such a famed warrior as yourself Geralt!” The king spoke before (Y/N) could, which she was happy about as she did not trust her voice to not waver at his beauty in that moment.

“You my dear are very popular around here. Your stories are legendary. The school children even host yearly plays, Reenacting your most beloved stories.” (Y/N)’s mother added her finger pointing light hardly at Geralt. Her hand came out gracefully from her side to shake the Witcher’s hand. He gently took it, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His attention returned to (Y/N).

“I’m terribly sorry I’m the birthday gift from your brother this year.” She shook her head almost as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Do not be sorry Geralt-'' the way she said his name made him feel as though he could keel over. “I would like to thank you, for protecting my brother for the years you have. He never skips on his gratitude for you in his letter to me. For that we are all eternally grateful for you.” She reached her hand out. Geralt wasted no time in grabbing her hand, shaking it gently. He was dying inside, but he couldn't let her or anyone else see. He took a gentle step towards her, his head lowering softly, his soft lips were placed on the back of her small hand. The small action made the young girls' faces burn red. Her eyes flicked to her brother who smugly smiled, knowing danm well his gift was going to take the cake.

“Well, you both should come join us, we just started eating.” The king said with a smile, with a quick wave of his hand two more places we set.

(Y/N) gently removed her hand from Geralt’s. Walking towards the table, both men in tow. As she reached her spot she moved her plate and glass to the middle seat that had been prepared, leaving Jaskier a seat next to their mother and Geralt a seat next to her. They all sat and waited as food was served to them. (Y/N) could feel Geralt watching her as she ate, her brother deep in conversation with her parents about his most recent travels. But she wasnt listening. Her attention was only on the man seated to her left. She looked over at the man, eyed him up and down then turned to her brother. For the first time she noticed how ugly their attire was.

“Gods Jaskier who dressed you two?” She asked as she sipped her orange juice. Both men looked at her. Jaskier looked a bit hurt and Geralt only snorted.

“I told him the clothes were horrendous.” Geralt said beside the young woman making her giggle. The sound made his heart beat faster. This was also when he realized how sensibly everyone else in the room was dressed, and how much they stood out. (Y/N) was in a thin white cotton dress, it was around knee length and a light sweater was on her shoulders. Her mother and father dressed similarly. Their clothes looking normal, comfortable.

“Oh my dear brother. What have you done to the poor witcher.” She laughed, turning her attention to him. She could see how uncomfortable the clothes made him. The vest was way too tight and he was practically bursting out of his pants, not that she minded, she gladly enjoyed the view.

“He is torturing me. That's what.” Geralt scoffed and she couldn't help but giggle again.

“You're so dramatic Geralt it's truly not that bad.” Her head flicked to her brother.

“Jaskier don't be rude.” She tutted him like a mother, it made Geralt snort under his breath as he took a bite of his eggs. She stood and walked behind him. He was stiff at her movements.

“Do you mind?” Her fingers were on the strings of the vest. He shook his head no and she quickly untied the tight strings, and it fell from his shoulders. She took it off and handed it to one of the maids

“You can burn that horridly ugly thing.” She said as she sat back down.

“I do not remember you being so rude, little sister.” Jaskier quipped.

“What I think is rude is how you made sure you got the more presentable clothing and dressed your poor friend in those horrendous colors. Have you seen his pants, Jaskier?? It's a miracle he can still breath.” Her eyes looked towards the witcher who was already looking at her with a cocky smirk on his face, glad she was putting Jaskier in his place for the ugly outfit choice.

“I can take you to the seamstress later today, if you’d like Geralt.” Her smile was like a drug.

“I’d appreciate that m'lady.” He said softly.

“And I can show you around the city, both of you. But in return I would like to hear some of your stories, first hand if that’s doable.”

“That sounds like a reasonable trade.” Geralt quipped back.

“Then it's a date, Witcher.”

“A date it is.”

454 notes · View notes

whelvenwings · 4 years ago

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who will fall beside you, if you fall

Dean Winchester's been loved in a lot of different ways throughout his life. He was shaped by that love, changed by the expectations and hopes and hurts of the people he cared about. He learned fear and silence and caution. But Castiel's confession, free of expectation, might undo those lessons.

Tags: Fix-It Fic, Endgame Castiel/Dean, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Lisa/Dean Snippet and Minor Cassie/Dean Snippet, John Winchester’s A+ Parenting, Fallen Angel Castiel Word Count: ~4k

“If you’re angry, you could just tell me,” Dean said. “God knows I’d get it.”

He glanced to his left and right before crossing a road, his eyes lingering on the faces nearest him, as though he were looking for someone.

“Cas, just talk to me.” The words were so quiet that no human but Dean himself heard them. He was still watching around him, waiting, but nothing happened.

He put his hands into his pockets again. Walked with his shoulders set a little lower.

“It’s not…” Dean muttered, a broken-off answer to a thought inside his head. “Just – I don’t know what you want me to do. Can you hear me thinking about you? ‘Cause it’s all the time, man. I don’t know what to do. Last time I saw you, you told me… but now you aren’t even…”

He rounded a corner and began to cross a small parking lot.

“If you’d just come here. You could tell me what I’m supposed to do. All I want is…” Dean’s eyes searched the backs of the cars he passed as if their number plates were esoteric texts with all the answers, all the things he needed to say. He breathed out. “I don’t know how, man, I don’t know what to do.”

Read the whole thing below the cut!

Dean was three years old and not quite steady on his feet, still, when his father took him outside to help shovel the snow. In his coat and hat he was a little duffled-up sweetheart, to whom nothing particularly bad had ever happened.

Red-cheeked and grinning, he left small bootprints in the snow.

“Come over here, Dean.” John stood behind Dean and lowered the shovel down to Dean’s height, so that they could hold it and move the snow together. Dean pressed his lips together and frowned as he followed his father’s movements. John’s coat smelled like smoke and the outdoors. They moved one, two, three, four, five big shovel-fulls.

“That’s enough for one day,” said a voice from the porch – Mary, smiling down at the two of them. John carefully lifted the shovel out of Dean’s reach, standing up to his full height. They’d managed to clear just a short stretch of the path that led up to the house.

“But Mom, there’s loads more!” Dean said, pointing to the rest of the pathway.

“Your dad can clear that. You need to come in and have some lunch,” Mary said. “Come on.”

Dean looked up to his father with wide eyes, but John put his hand on the top of Dean’s head and ruffled it so that his hat almost came off.

“Listen to your mom, Dean. In you go.”

Dean’s eyes travelled from his father’s face to his mother’s.

“There’s your favourite for dessert,” Mary said, coaxing him with a little smile.

“Yes!”

Dean made a sudden break for it towards her, running down the path he’d just helped to clear. After the crunch-crunch-crunch of the snow, the cleared pathway was hard under Dean's feet. Hard, and unexpectedly slippery.

“Whoa, there,” said John, as Dean felt his balance go, his feet skidding out from under him – and suddenly he was being lifted, one hand on either side of him. John pulled him up out of the fall, and set him back down in thick snow.

Dean blinked. It had all happened very fast.

“Next time,” John said, giving Dean a little push indoors, “I won’t catch you. You’ve got to learn, Dean.”

–––––

And now Dean was eleven years old and trailing after his father down a quiet midnight street, with a sleepy little brother in tow.

“Dad… are we nearly at the motel?”

“Nearly.”

He’d pay for that question later somehow, and Dean knew it, but because he’d asked there was a new purpose in John’s step. They didn’t stop at the liquor store that Dean knew John had been weighing going into. Walking past it, Dean felt a little break of relief in his chest. They’d get out of the cold sooner, and Sam could get to bed.

“Dean?”

Dean turned his head to look at his brother, keeping walking. Sam was wearing Dean’s coat, swimming in it, the hood pulled up and the elastic tight so only the round circle of his face was visible. It was nearly funny, but they hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and the humour was shaved off everything.

“Come on,” Dean said.

“I’m cold.”

“I know.” Dean cast a glance forwards at his father’s back. He lowered his voice. “It’s okay. Just a little bit longer.”

Sam made a miserable face. Their breaths were puffs of air between them. Underfoot was the hiss and crunch of melting, slushy snow.

“Can I have soup when we get there?”

“It’s late, Sammy. We’ll have something in the morning.”

“But I can’t sleep when I’m hungry…”

“Okay.” Dean cast another worried look towards his father, and then made a meaningful face at Sam when he looked back around. “I’ll find something. I think we have some of that apple juice left over.”

“That’s cold,” Sam said, but he’d quietened his voice, too. “And a drink.”

“You didn’t know?” Dean said, making sure his face was completely straight.

“Know what?”

“That’s the best part,” Dean said. “Cold drinks make you warm up faster.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, and Dean cursed internally. Every day Sam got a little smarter and a little harder to keep happy.

“That’s not true,” Sam said.

“It is,” Dean promised. “You’ll see.” He thought for a few seconds, and then said, "Maybe we can heat up the apple juice."

“Keep up, boys,” said John’s voice, from too far away. Dean realised he must have slowed down as he’d talked to Sam, even though he’d been trying to hold a steady pace. He reached for Sam’s hand, turning his head at the same time to call back to his father – and as he did so, he felt his balance betray him. His feet slipped in the slush, and in a rush he was a jumble of elbows and knees hitting the ground in all the wrong places.

For a second he sat still, assessing the damage. Nothing broken.

“Are you okay?” Sam said, the dish of his face looking pale and worried above Dean.

“I’m fine… ugh.”

“Get up,” John called, and when Dean turned his head to look, he saw that his father was turning away to keep walking. Dean scrambled to his feet, hands out for balance. His hip ached – he’d landed on it.

“I’m alright,” Dean said to Sam, pulling on a smile. “Let’s go.”

He hurried after John, making sure Sam was beside him, going as fast as he dared until they were right behind their father. His knee was starting to throb, too, and he kept it off his face carefully, because Sam was still glancing up at him.

“Saw you reach for your brother when you were falling,” John grunted. “Don’t do that. If you two’re on your own and both of you go down, you’re both dead. If Sam’s still up, he can go for help.”

“I wasn’t –” Dean tried to say.

“Don’t do it,” John repeated, more forcefully.

They walked on in silence.

––––-

And now Dean was twenty-one years old and stepping out into the brisk air of a winter evening, with his head a little light from the drinks he’d had in the bar at his back.

“Come on,” Cassie said from beside him, her eyes bright with laughter. “You can tell me.”

“Hey, we’ve been through this,” Dean said, as they began to make their way down the street, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“As if you could,” Cassie said.

Dean glanced over at her smile, and thought about the way the shifter he’d taken out earlier that day had looked at him, right before he’d swung the blade through her neck. He swallowed hard.

“I might,” he said, and held his arms a little out from his body. “How long can I contain this much raw aggression, you know?”

“Stop," Cassie said, nudging him with her shoulder. “Seriously, okay, just tell me what your job is.”

“Is it really worth your life?” Dean asked, putting on his most serious face.

“You’re really trying to tell me you’re, what – a spy? A fed?” Cassie asked. “C’mon, you can’t expect me to believe that. With that face?”

“Hey,” Dean said, mock-offended, as they passed closed-up stores and parking bays. “What’s wrong with my face?”

“Nothing,” Cassie said, “that’s literally the problem. The FBI don’t hire people who look like you, do they? This is real life, not HBO.”

“Okay,” Dean said, his face working not to look too pleased. Underfoot, the pavement was shiny with ice. Dean started to walk a little slower. “So, if this isn’t the face of a fed, what is it the face of?”

“Mmm. Radio show host?” Cassie laughed when Dean threw her a look. “Well, c’mon, how am I supposed to know? Third date and you still won’t tell me?”

“Just trying to keep the mystery alive,” Dean said, faking an absent kind of tone in the hope that Cassie would drop the subject. The sidewalk was getting more and more treacherous, each of his steps sliding just a little.

“The mystery is too alive,” Cassie said. “It could die a bit. I’d be okay with that.”

“Whoa… careful.” Dean’s foot slipped out from under him, and he only managed to keep his balance by grabbing onto a parking meter that happened to be close by.

“Easy, big shot.” Cassie watched him start to move again, even more tentatively. “Wouldn’t wanna lose the deal with HBO if you fall on that perfect face.”

There was an edge of hurt to her tone of voice, and Dean jaw tightened. Was he ever going to tell her, he wondered. Surely not. She’d hate it. Spending time with Cassie was like visiting a parallel universe. That world didn’t have room for monsters under the bed.

And so Dean kicked them back underneath as hard as he could, and smiled at Cassie, and held out his hand.

Cassie looked down at it, and then back up at him.

“Really?” she said, a smile waiting at the corners of her mouth.

“It’s slippery,” Dean said, and wiggled his fingers temptingly.

“Yeah,” Cassie said with a laugh, pushing his hand away, “it is, asshole. That’s why I’m not letting you take me down with you.”

––––-

And now Dean was thirty-one years old and watching a soccer game, gloves on, hat on, clapping along with the dark-haired woman next to him.

“Come on, Ben!” called Lisa.

“Like we practised, okay, kid?” Dean added, and watched Ben’s face relax into concentration as he placed the ball for his free kick, just a yard outside the penalty box.

“You practised free kicks with him?” Lisa said to Dean, sounding like she was holding back a laugh. Dean glanced down at her; she had her eyes on her son, but there was a little smile on her face.

“A couple times,” Dean said. “He asked.”

“That’s sweet. And I thought you two just watched TV and ate too much pizza together.”

“We do that too,” Dean said. “When I have a say in it.” He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up. On either side of Lisa and Dean, also at the edge of the soccer pitch, were other parents all waiting on Ben to take his kick. They were standing on wet grass, a few of them stamping their feet to keep them from going numb.

Ben took a short run up, swung his leg, made contact. The ball sailed high, dipped – and the goalie caught it neatly.

“Next time,” Dean called out when Ben’s face fell, and gave him a clap. The game played on.

“God, it’s cold,” Lisa said.

“You want my coat?”

Lisa looked up at him, her big brown eyes soft.

“You’re cute, you know that?”

“... Right.” Dean smiled awkwardly. Lisa’s would-be compliment hung in the air, sounding more incongruous the longer Dean stood tense and unmoving.

Lisa reached out, and put her hand on his folded arms.

“You wanna order in, tonight?” she said lightly. “Or I could make fajitas.”

“I can cook,” Dean said. “I’ll make burgers.”

“Mmm. Twist my arm.”

Some small burst of relief, there. Dean’s expression eased. He put his hands in his pockets, lifted his chin, as though remembering the role he was playing. Who he was, now.

He shifted his feet – and felt his right foot slide, almost right out from under him. He steadied himself, hands out to the sides, looking down at the grass.

“Careful,” Lisa said.

“Jesus,” Dean said at the same time.

“Come here,” Lisa said, holding out her hand.

Dean smiled.

“It’s all good,” he said, reaching out and giving the hand a squeeze, and then letting go quickly.

“Can’t have the head chef breaking his arm,” Lisa said, her hand still out.

“It’s fine, really.”

“Dean, would you hold my hand?”

“We’ll both go over,” Dean said.

“Mm-mm. I’ll hold you up.”

Her expression allowed no argument. Unwillingly, Dean allowed her to loop their arms together, Lisa pinning Dean to her side and turning back to the game, calling out to support Ben as he went for a tackle. Dean stood quietly. He was having to lean down ever so slightly so that Lisa could keep his arm tucked under hers.

He tried very hard not to move. Just the smallest slide of his feet and he’d be over and he’d take her with him. Every muscle in his legs was clenched, forcing himself not to slip.

After just a minute or so of stiff silence, Lisa sighed.

“Okay,” she said, “you win.”

She let go.

––––-

And now Dean was forty-one years old and walking down a street in Lebanon, Kansas, on legs that still felt a little new. The cold air was harsh; he took in a deep breath.

He went to cross the road, and a car gave a screech as it swerved suddenly to avoid him. The driver made a few different gestures at him through the window, and Dean held up a hand in apology.

It was easy to forget that things didn’t part and make way on Earth like they had done in Heaven.

“Couldn’t fix that for me, could you?” Dean said aloud. “Not that I’m not grateful for the ticket home, Cas, but Heaven had its perks.”

Silence. Dean kept walking, with only the slightest slump to his shoulders and crease on his brow. Lebanon was wearing snow like a big white coat. Dean’s boots crunched in it when he stepped off the gritted path to let a mother with a stroller go by.

“I should probably stop expecting to see you round every corner, huh,” he said. “Been a week now. And I keep wandering around thinking you might show up just ‘cause I’m looking.” Someone passing gave him a slightly frightened look and a wide berth as he walked by, talking to himself. Just another thing no one had much noticed in Heaven: the prayers. Dean frowned, and ducked his head. Tucked his hands in his pockets.

He walked quietly for some time.

Long enough for his hands to come back out of his pockets, and his shoulders to lose their self-conscious hunch. Long enough for the hurt in his eyes to seem nearer the surface.

“Might not even have been you that got me out of Heaven,” Dean said, his tone quiet, as though picking up the thread of a half-finished conversation.

A pause, in which he walked. Passed by other people, made no eye contact. Dean meandered a little as he went, as though his mind were elsewhere.

“If you’re angry, you could just tell me,” he said. “God knows I’d get it.”

He glanced to his left and right before crossing a road, his eyes lingering on the faces nearest him, as though he were looking for someone.

“Cas, just talk to me,” he said. The words were so quiet that no human but Dean himself heard them. He was still watching around him, waiting, but nothing happened.

He put his hands into his pockets again. Walked with his shoulders set a little lower.

He rounded a corner and began to cross a small parking lot.

He swallowed.

“It feels like I have to do something, though.”

He kept walking.

“Or, I don’t know. Maybe I just want to.”

He breathed out.

Emotions were crossing his face, too fast to catch one alone, too swift to parse. He looked down at his feet, watching where he stepped.

“If I had what I wanted,” he said, “you’d be here.” After a pause, he rolled his eyes. “I’m sure that’s news to you. Like, wow, right? Not as though I’ve ever asked, after all.” Another silence, and then he said, “But you know, I – it’s not that I just want to… fix it, or… finish things off. It’s not… I’m not…” He pressed his lips together, smiled wryly. “Jesus. I hope you can’t hear this. I’m not making any sense. I’m just trying to say, I want you here, man. I want you here to stay.”

A little flicker of light seemed to touch Dean’s eyes.

“You could stay now,” he said, “right? You could actually stay. If you wanted to. And we could…” He stopped. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

A car drove by, and the child in the backseat stared out the window at him. Dean blinked back to reality.

“We didn’t have time to think about what we wanted,” he said into the quiet of the parking lot, when the car had passed and he was walking again. “All this time. Or maybe you did. But I didn’t.” He looked upwards, towards the iron sky. “And now there’s time, Cas, and all I’m thinking about is you.” He looked down. “I said that already.”

He moved on, stepping out the other side of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk.

“I remember you said that the… the thing you want, you can’t have.” Dean took in a breath and let it go. “I don’t know why you thought you couldn’t. Whatever it is, man, you deserve it.”

His feet carried him onward.

“You gotta be sick of hearing me talk at this point. But I just…” Dean’s eyes glanced over the snowy Lebanon street in front of him, and he crossed the road. “I just want you here. Maybe I should take a damn hint.” His voice strained, hurt betraying the attempt at levity in his tone. “But you said… I keep thinking back on what you said. About how you feel. And I, uh. You know. If you’d just let me…”

Dean lifted his hands, a little helplessly, into the air as he walked, as though wanting to give something invisible to someone who wasn’t there. He dropped them awkwardly, his expression creasing.

He was circling back around towards the mall, his footsteps pointing him towards home. He looked heavy, weary. The lines on his face were deep, and his eyes were unfocused, lost in thought.

The people around him paid him no attention. He was just part of the crowd. They swirled across his path and around him, irrelevant to him, not seeing him. Except –

Dean came to a sudden stop. His gaze sharpened.

Twenty feet away from him, standing completely still, was a figure. Not struggling with carrier bags or strollers or wallets and keys like the other shoppers going into and out of the mall. Utterly stone still.

Tall, almost as tall as Dean. Wearing a long coat. Brown-haired. Impassive.

Watching Dean as though waiting for him.

And Dean visibly blossomed. His mouth fell slightly open, his shoulders loosened, one hand reached out unconsciously.

“Cas?” he said, disbelieving – and Dean saw a slight smile appear on Castiel’s face, and the angel slightly raised one hand in greeting.

Warmth touched Dean’s eyes, rising up as though from a great depth. He began to move, at first taking care on the slippery sidewalk. But his feet hurried him, and he was walking fast and then he was almost running, caution forgotten, eyes on Castiel’s.

It was when he was only a few steps away that his foot hit a patch of black ice. His arms went out, struggling to balance him – Castiel moved forward, one hand out – Dean reached for him on instinct, grasping his arm, his body relaxing in obvious expectation of Castiel being able to pull him upright –

But Castiel’s weight tilted along with Dean’s, and the ground gave them both a hard and cold welcome. There were some muttered ooohs from people passing by, and a few of them came to awkward stops nearby.

Dean landed hard on his back, head hitting the cement. He stared for a moment up at the sky. It had all happened very fast.

He sat up, and saw Castiel kneeling beside him, inspecting his own hands.

“Fuck,” Dean said. He put a hand to the back of his head. No blood.

“Are you okay?” said someone behind Dean, and he waved them off.

“All good,” he said, seeing in his peripheral vision that the people who’d stopped to look were moving on. He looked at Castiel. “Are you… you’re…”

Castiel stopped staring down at his hands, and looked at Dean instead. His blue eyes searched Dean’s face. Under his gaze, Dean smiled – a smile that grew on his face from a tiny brightness in his eyes until his whole face was alight with it.

“It’s you,” he said. "Damn, Cas, it's really you."

“It’s me,” Castiel confirmed. His voice held a recognition of Dean’s smile, a reciprocal warmth.

“You’re here.”

“I heard you,” Castiel said.

“You heard me? Just now?”

“Yes.”

Dean nodded. He was breathing a little fast. His gaze searched Castiel’s face, partly seeming to be looking for something, partly seeming already to have found it. People were stepping around them to get inside the mall.

“It’s good to see you,” Dean said.

Castiel smiled too, at last.

“But you know,” Dean added, “you could’ve just appeared right next to me instead of a whole freaking mile away on a slippery sidewalk. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

“Ah.” Castiel, still on his knees beside where Dean was sitting, dropped his gaze. “That was, in fact, not under my control. Jack sent me down here. After I asked him to do something for me.”

Castiel looked down at his hands again, and this time Dean looked too. His expression broke into slight surprise when he saw red on Castiel’s palms, at the sight of the blood – and then the surprise came in a second, deeper wave, as realisation hit.

“Cas,” he said.

“Just a graze,” Castiel said calmly.

“But you – you’re – that’s not supposed to happen,” Dean said. He reached out, and took Castiel’s hands in his own, inspecting the little scrapes on the skin. “You can’t get hurt like this.”

“Well,” Castiel said, “I can, now.”

“But you’re…” Dean stared at Castiel, seeming suddenly caught in consternation.

“Staying,” Castiel finished for him.

Wide-eyed, still sitting on the sidewalk, Dean took this in. Something light crossed his face, then anger, then confusion.

“I heard you,” Castiel reminded him. Dean stared at him.

“What I said?”

“Yes.”

“About staying?”

“Yes.”

“And you… you want that?”

Despite the hustle of people around them, the crunch-crunch of their boots in the snow and the harshness of their voices, Dean and Castiel might have been the only two people in the world when Castiel said,

“Yes, Dean.”

“So, but – before, in the bunker, with the Empty, when you said – the thing – the thing you said you wanted –”

Castiel looked down at their hands. Dean’s holding Castiel’s.

Dean tightened his grip.

“Just that?” he said, his voice sounding thick.

Castiel said nothing, words seeming to fail him.

They stared at each other. Hands in hands, touching, Castiel bleeding. Dean didn’t let go.

“It’s yours,” Dean said roughly.

“You mean…” Castiel’s eyes were suddenly wide. “You mean that you…”

“Since pretty much day one. I just never thought you’d want that from me.”

The world moved past and around them. They didn’t notice. Castiel was radiating happiness in every body line, though he was unmoving. Dean was watching him as though afraid he might disappear in the space of a blink.

"Is this real?" he said. "My head hurts enough for it to be real."

Castiel nodded.

“You’re really staying,” Dean said.

“As long as you’ll let me.”

After enough time under the steadiness of Castiel’s gaze, it seemed finally to sink in for Dean – the truth of it, the reality of it. Dean breathed out.

He swallowed. He looked down.

He smiled.

“We should get home, then,” he said.

Castiel didn’t say anything, but he gave a nod made small by emotion.

“Oh. I’m sorry, though,” Dean said, his eyes catching on Castiel’s small injuries now that he was looking down again. His thumb lightly touched the place where blood was drying on Castiel’s palm. “If I’d known I wouldn’t have run at you.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel said, getting to his feet and pulling Dean up with him, their hands not letting go.

“I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Don’t be,” Castiel said, his blood on Dean’s hands, and still holding them. “Don’t be.”

#whelvenwingsfic #destiel #destiel fic #WELL HERE SHE IS #I'll reblog in a sec with the ao3 link because tumblr hates external links #also thank you so much to sammich for beta reading this ah #also if anyone's asking if i intend to be extra #and keep making banners for even little fics that i post #the answer is YES FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE #because what is more calming than photoshop and a podcast

327 notes · View notes

taiey · 4 years ago

Text

i am thinking about basira and john and i am thinking

061

DAISY I reckon we should cut you off, but Basira’s soft. She likes you. [heh] No idea why.

088

MARTIN Look, he didn’t kill anyone, okay? There’s… I think something’s going on, okay. I actually think he was framed. BASIRA Yeah, well, I hope so. If not, well… I just can’t believe I was so stupid, you know? He really got me. MARTIN Got you how? BASIRA I actually thought I misjudged him. Hell, I liked the guy.

195

BASIRA I’ve been hoping for a friendly face for a while now. ARCHIVIST Glad I could oblige.

—

073

ARCHIVIST Here. BASIRA Thanks. ARCHIVIST I assume it didn’t go well, then? BASIRA [Swallows drink]

128

BASIRA Here. [She sets down a cup.] ARCHIVIST Thank you. [He picks up the cup.] BASIRA Was it worth it?

140

BASIRA Coffee. [She sets down a cup.] ARCHIVIST What? BASIRA Coffee. Drink it. ARCHIVIST I’m really, uh… Fine. BASIRA You look awful. You try drinking with Daisy again?

122

ARCHIVIST I don’t suppose you brought in any – clothes? BASIRA No, I just, you know, grabbed that statement on my way out. ARCHIVIST Right, well, uh – I kept some in the – uh – Archives, uh, in my office. BASIRA Yeah, those got um – we had to throw those out...I’ll get you some new ones. ✨Better ones.✨ Anything else? ARCHIVIST Water, please. BASIRA Sure thing.

—

128

BASIRA What do you want? Why are you here? [Silence. The Archivist sighs.] ARCHIVIST Why are you here?

143

BASIRA Where is everybody? MANUELA (scoffs) Go to hell! ARCHIVIST (overlapping) Answer her.

—

179

BASIRA It’ll… It’ll help me. All going well, I’ll meet you both in London. He’ll know where to find me. ARCHIVIST So you won’t mind if I check up on you sometimes? BASIRA If you must. But don’t overdo it. I don’t like being watched. ARCHIVIST Understood.

195

ARCHIVIST I’d be more than happy to let you take over, if you’d like? BASIRA No, I wouldn’t want to cramp your style. ARCHIVIST At this point, that’s just about the only part of me that isn’t cramping. BASIRA Alright, give ‘em here.

—

088

BASIRA I just, I mean he was good company. Y’know, when he wasn’t being a paranoia machine. He was funny, you know? MARTIN What, John? BASIRA Yeah. MARTIN I don’t think I’ve ever heard him tell a joke. BASIRA Maybe you weren’t listening.

043

BASIRA I’m not really big on writing. I’m more of a talker. ARCHIVIST Odd choice of career, then; [attempting levity] I hear there are lots of forms to fill in.

118

BASIRA So would you say this was supposed to be Churchill or Alfred Hitchcock? [John lets out a breath.] ARCHIVIST Jowls like that, could be either. I mean, the suit is a bit –

143

BASIRA Eyes peeled. [Pause.] ARCHIVIST Was that a joke? BASIRA Yeah.

195

BASIRA I know a good way to take your mind off it. ARCHIVIST I wouldn’t want to cramp your style. BASIRA Ha!

197

BASIRA Can’t keep catching you every two minutes. ARCHIVIST Heh. BASIRA At some point I’ll give in to the temptation. ARCHIVIST [Sarcastic] Hah hah.

—

128

ARCHIVIST Daisy’s alive, in there. BASIRA Right. [...] BASIRA And don’t open the coffin. ARCHIVIST It is addressed to me. ... Yes, alright. Alright.

132

BASIRA John, you stupid idiot! What did you think—

143

ARCHIVIST As in… actually see it. MANUELA Go ahead. Just try. BASIRA (overlapping) Look, it’s okay, John. No one else knows it’s here. And if we just leave it, no one will know.

158

[HEAVY, UNEVEN FOOTSTEPS. DISTANT FEMALE SCREAMS CAN BE HEARD.] ARCHIVIST Oh, no. BASIRA Stay here, both of you. I’ll check it out.

158

BASIRA They’ll follow us… goddammit. John, go, we’ll keep them busy. ARCHIVIST Fine. Just don’t die. BASIRA Go.

—

133

ARCHIVIST If you go it alone, you are going to die. Even Gertrude worked with people. We make bad decisions when we don’t communicate. BASIRA You literally jumped into a spooky coffin without telling anybody. ARCHIVIST …Case in point.

140

ARCHIVIST It’s not a hangover. Well, not – I wasn’t drinking. BASIRA Drugs, then? Sick? Got some weird monster disease? ARCHIVIST Seriously? BASIRA We’ve been over this. You need to tell me stuff. Communication works both ways, you know.

—

148

ARCHIVIST You said Martin gave it to you. BASIRA Yeah. ARCHIVIST How was he? How did he look – was he – uh – BASIRA [interrupting; sounding slightly less harsh] I don’t know. I didn’t see him. He just left it on my desk with a note.

151

MARTIN How is he? BASIRA Hungry. [MARTIN EXHALES] But - he’s keeping it together.

177

HELEN So what’s it going to be Basira darling? Quick and easy? Or are you looking to take the long way round as a third wheel? BASIRA …I’ll stick with the guys, thanks.

179

ARCHIVIST Sorry. BASIRA You apologise too much. ARCHIVIST [Chuckling] Martin says the same thing. BASIRA [Chuckling] Like he’s any better.

—

091

BASIRA This is too far, Daisy. You know it is. DAISY He murdered two people, Basira. Maybe more. I’ve done one monster today, no reason not to do another. ARCHIVIST I didn’t… I didn’t kill anyone! BASIRA For god’s sake, look at him!

141

ARCHIVIST Floyd Matharu. Served on the Dorian from 2011 to 2014. With Salesa. BASIRA John, I’m not sure about this. ARCHIVIST I am.

—

123

MELANIE I warned Basira; I said not to let you back in here, but she just (increasingly angry; starts slamming the wall) doesn’t! listen!

127

ARCHIVIST My priorities haven’t changed. I hope you can believe that. I’m still on your side. You can trust me. BASIRA (tired exhale) Yeah. People keep saying that.

146

BASIRA How many? [Short pause.] ARCHIVIST Four. MELANIE Jesus. BASIRA Including the one on the boat? ARCHIVIST Including Floyd? Five.

—

176

ARCHIVIST Basira, I know you’re not going to shoot us. There’s already too much doubt in your mind. BASIRA I told you before not to look into my head.

146

BASIRA So you say you’re being controlled. ARCHIVIST I-I don’t know. Maybe. Th-The Web, i– BASIRA (overlapping) What, What was the name you said before? Annabelle Cane.

155

BASIRA No sign of Annabelle either. ARCHIVIST You still on that? BASIRA You’re not?

—

141

ARCHIVIST Anyway you’re the one who wants to be like Gertrude. You think she’d give a damn about a few bad dreams? BASIRA No. ARCHIVIST No. She got the job done, and didn’t care about the cost. BASIRA But I thought you did.

146

MELANIE Why didn’t you record them? BASIRA Why do you think? Because he was ashamed.

—

178

BASIRA [Weakly] I thought we were good. ARCHIVIST [Softly] I know how that feels.

199

BASIRA I just mean… um… If we don’t make it out of this… I wanted to say thanks. For coming back for me. [sighs] What I did… Who I was… I – Thanks. ARCHIVIST I’m sorry for all of this. BASIRA We’ve all got regrets. But we can’t undo what’s done. All we can do is try and do something worthwhile with the time we’ve got left. [HEAVY SIGH FROM THE ARCHIVIST] ARCHIVIST Yeah.

#the magnus archives #tma #tma spoilers #Basira Hussain #Jonathan Sims #tma meta #mine #thinky thoughts

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make-me-imagine · 4 years ago

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Scenario Prompts: Feb 22 E: + Feb 18 E: Lucifer is protective of you because he is in love with you + Lucifer Confesses he is in love with you, because he is in love with you. Requested by: Two Separate(?) Anons

Premise: Lucifer has protected and saved you multiple times in the past; when you are finally alone with him you get the chance to ask him why.

Pairing: Lucifer x Gen!Neutral Reader

Triggers: Fighting, Blood, injuries, monster death, etc.

Words: 3k (told you it was long)

Everything Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural Supernatural Taglist: @kaashi

Note: I have not seen the last 3-4 seasons of Supernatural. So this is based in a world were Lucifer is like Crowley; he’s a “bad guy” that shows up to help, and annoy Sam and Dean occasionally and what not.

See about Scenario Prompt Requests: here

You eyed the angel from the corner of your eye as he leaned against the doorway, picking at his nails. Walking across the room and stopping next to Dean you spoke quietly to him “Why is he here again exactly?”

He glanced over at Lucifer before responding “No idea, but I guess it’s better to have an eye on him than to have no idea where he is and what he’s up too.”

You looked over at Lucifer, your heart skipping a beat when you see that he is now staring at you. Looking back at Dean you muttered “If you say so.”

Turning at the sound of the door, Sam walks in with a duffel bag in hand “Hey, so I didn’t-” he stops in his tracks when he spots Lucifer “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked before looking at you and Dean.

Lucifer shrugged “Bored.” he said plainly before looking back at you and Dean “But it’s better that I’m here right? Rather than you having no idea where I am or what I’m up too.” he repeated Dean’s own words back to him with a slight smirk on his face.

Sam let out an annoyed sigh before walking to the table and putting down the duffel bag “Anyways, what I was saying was that I didn’t find any trace of the witches in town, so they must be hiding out outside of town. If we can figure out where then we can get them by surprise.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that one Sammy.” Lucifer said as he peaked out the curtained window.

“Yeah, and why’s that?” Sam asked with disdain.

“Because I’m pretty sure they already know you’re here.” He said as he straightened up, just as the door blasted in making you all jump and fall into a defensive stance.

You reached for the knife in your belt, leaving your hand on it in preparation as you watched three older women and a man walk into the room. They must have followed Sam back here. Lucifer slowly rounded the side of the room until he was on the same side as you. You stared at him in confusion as he stepped in front of you, getting in your way.

“Well well, to what do we owe the honor of having the Winchesters in our humble little town?” One of the women asked, a scornful look on her face before she looked at Lucifer and then saw you behind him “And I don’t believe I know either of you.”

Lucifer took a step forward “What a shame, and here I thought I was famous.” he said with a sarcastic tone in his voice “Lucifer, nice to meet you.”

The witches looked at each other before smiling “Yeah right” one of the younger witches said with a scoff “As if Lucifer would be with the Winchesters.”

Lucifer shrugged “We’re working on our problems” he looked back at Sam. “Right Sammy?” Sam clenched his jaw in annoyance before looking back at the witches.

“Then you’re a traitor” one of the witches said with anger before he raised his hand, shooting out a fire ball at Lucifer and you.

Lucifer quickly reached his arm back grabbing and pushing you out of the way before he lunged towards the witch, gripping him on the shoulder and staring into his eyes “Well that was dramatic. And quite stupid honestly.”

You watched as the witch began to crumple to the ground as his skin began to burn, landing on the floor lifeless. You were surprised by this, having thought Lucifer lost most of his stronger powers.

One of the other witches yelled in anger, gaining your attention once again. You and Dean lunged forward and attacked the other witches with your iron blades. Sam took out his gun and fired his gun at one of the witches, killing them immediately.

As you stabbed one of the witches she screamed before using her magic to throw you across the room. As you hit the wall you watched as Lucifer grabbed her, killing her as well before turning and watching as Dean struggled to kill the last witch. Rolling your eyes as he did nothing, you ran forward past him before stabbing the witch in the back and killing her before she hexed Dean.

Panting and trying to ignore the pain from having been thrown so hard you looked back at Lucifer “Since when did you get your powers back?”

He shrugged “Not long. Besides, I don’t have all of them back, just some.” He saw Dean and Sam glaring at him so he raised his hands up “Don’t worry, I have no intention of using them on you.” You looked back at Sam and Dean before Lucifer spoke again “Well. This was fun. But I’m bored again, so...see ya”

You turned back to him just as he vanished. You sighed, wondering where he went, and what trouble he was going to get himself into. Hoping that he wouldn’t return to his old ways.

- - -

**Two Weeks Later**

Currently you were on another case, some strange attacks had been happening that seemed supernatural so you were checking it out. You got a lead on a possible suspect. A man picking up people at a bar, 7 out of 10 of those people had been found dead or missing.

Catching the mans eye you smiled at him, trying to lure him in. Turning away from him, you waiting, staring down into your drink. Feeling a presence behind you as someone sat down, you glanced up, almost choking as your eyes met a familiar pair of blue ones.

Straightening up, you glanced back, seeing the man you were here for was now gone. Mentally cursing you glared at the man in front of you before whispering angrily at him “Lucifer, what the hell are you doing here?”

His eyes widened slightly as he was taken aback by your aggression “Woah, can’t a guy check in every now and again?”

You sighed “Not when I’m on a case” you said as you looked back into the bar, trying to find the man you had been tracking again “Damn it.” You muttered.

Lucifer followed your gaze before leaning in “Did I interrupt something?”

You rolled your eyes “Yes, now stay” you said pointing at him as you rose from your seat, walking towards the back door. Aware of his eyes watching you as you left.

Taking a few steps outside, you looked around the parking lot, checking to make sure the mans car was still outside. You felt a pang of relief when you saw it was still there.

“Hey there.”

You spun around at the voice, meeting the eyes of the same man from before. “Oh, hello” you said with a smile, trying to sound casual.

“Just wanted to check if you were alright.” The man got a little closer, somewhat circling you as he continued “I was gonna come say hello, but that guy came up to you. Honestly you seemed kind of pissed about it.”

“Saw that did you?” you asked “My ex.” you said with a hint of annoyance in your voice, doing your best to play dumb.

“I had a feeling” he smiled at you before taking a step closer. “Wanna go somewhere else? Get away from him?”

Just as you opened you mouth to speak you were cut off by another voice “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The guy turned to the voice, as your eyes landed on Lucifer “Who-” the man before before Lucifer leaned back and punched the man in the face, effectively knocking him out.

“What th- Lucifer!” you yelled as you stared down at the unconscious man.

“What?” he asked defensively “That was the guy you were after right?”

“Yeah, but I needed him to take me!”

Lucifer hesitated “I’m sorry? You- Needed him to take you? You were trying to get kidnapped?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes!” you yelled before looking back, hearing someone running towards you. Sam and Dean came running from their hideout spot “Dude! What the hell, what are you even doing here?!”

“Well, I assumed I was helping.” Lucifer said, nearly pouting.

You sighed as you looked at him before speaking to Sam and Dean “I think he thought I was in trouble.” you turned back to Lucifer “You were trying to help me.” He shrugged in response “Why?” you asked.

He remained silent for a moment “Why not?”

In the blink of an eye he had vanished, leaving you standing there. You rose your arms up in bewilderment before looking back at Sam and Dean with an annoyed sigh.

- - -

*One Week Later*

You winced in pain as you continued to run as fast as you could, looking back to check if the wendigo was still coming after you. When you showed up on the case, everything pointed to werewolves, but man were you wrong.

When you got to the hunting sight, and heard a mimicked voice of Sam, who you knew was no where near you. You got suspicious and began heading back to the car. Not long later the Wendigo attacked you, cutting open your side with it’s claws. You managed to make it back off after shooting it in the head. But you needed fire.

As you now ran as fast as you could back to where you had split off from Sam and Dean. You could hear the monster roaring from somewhere behind you.

Knowing you couldn’t outrun the wendigo with your injury you desperately called out in your mind ‘Cas!’ you thought in your mind, hoping he could hear you, but having no idea where he was. “Come on!” you muttered desperately, before another thought crossed your mind ‘Okay, Lucifer!’ you called out to him in your mind ‘Since you keep trying to save me, now would be the best time to do it!” you practically yelled out just as you heard the wendigo shriek, the noise shaking through you as you could hear it land right behind you.

Suddenly lunging to the side, you saw as the wendigos clawed hand swiped where you had just been. Loosing your footing you tumbled down a small hill, rolling. As you tried to stand back up, the wendigo landed right in front of you, swiping at you, knocking you back a few feet as you slammed into a tree.

You’re vision was spotty as you stared up at the creature as it began to approach you. As it rose it’s hand in the air, ready for it’s final attack. You flinched when you saw a bright light shine from behind it.

The wendigo shrieked as it arched back, the light engulfing it’s body and turning into flames. You pushed yourself away as the wendigo’s body fell forward onto the ground, dead.

Looking up, you see Lucifer standing in front of you, looking down at the monster, his eyes fading from their Angelic glow. His gaze moved from the monster to you as he now saw just how close he was to having been too late. He saw your clothes now soaked in blood as you struggled to sit up.

He moved over to you and crouched down “I didn’t know if you heard me.” You mumbled, as you grew weaker.

Lucifer gingerly reached towards your wound before briefly meeting your eyes "Of course I heard you.” You winced as he placed his hand on your stomach, a light emitting from it as you felt the warmth fill your body, being replaced by strength.

After a moment he removed his hand, you looked down, seeing your deep wound now simply a fading mark. You looked up and met his eyes as he stared deeply into your own “Thank you.” you muttered, feeling an uneasy shyness take over.

“Y/n!” You heard familiar voices shouting through the trees as Sam and Dean slowly appeared, running towards you. As they got to you, they saw the dead wendigo and Lucifer.

“What the hell happened?” Sam asked as he ran over to you and helped you up, seeing the blood remnant on your shirt.

You looked between Sam and Dean and then the wendigo “The wendigo was chasing me, I was already injured and knew I couldn’t take it alone. I tried to call out to Cas but he didn’t come, so...” you looked over at Lucifer “I called out to Lucifer, and he showed up just in time to save me.”

Sam looked over at Lucifer and silently nodded his head, a form of thanks, as Dean checked the wendigo “Damn. How the hell did we not think wendigo?”

“They seemed too much like werewolf attacks.” Sam said as Lucifer seemed to catch on to what had happened.

“Lets get back to the hotel, head back in the morning.” Dean said as he stood.

You leaned against the tree, still feeling tired as Sam set his hand on your shoulder to steady you. Lucifer continued to watch you as you wiped some blood from your face, revealing a small cut along your cheek.

Lucifer suddenly walked up to you, making you straighten up. Placing his hand on your shoulder you opened your mouth to question him but stopped when you felt an unusual feeling wash over as you nearly fell over, the tree you had been leaning on now gone as you stood in the middle of the bunker.

Lucifer placed his hands on either side of your shoulder to steady you as you looked around. “What, why did you bring me here?”

“Would you have rather sat in a dingy hotel room with them before driving all the way back here in your condition? I know I healed your main wound, but I don’t have enough power to heal everything, I can tell how unsteady you are.”

As he spoke, you took out your phone and texted Sam to tell him where you were, before looking back up and meeting his eyes as he kept his hand on your shoulders. You saw his eyes flick to the cut on your face.

Pulling away from him you walked slowly to the kitchen, getting a damp rag and using it wipe off your face. Leaning against the counter, you looked at Lucifer who was still looking at you.

“Why do you keep helping me?” you asked.

He remained silent and emotionless for a moment before he walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter across from you, meeting your eyes again. “Do you not want me to?” he asked.

“That’s not what I’m getting at.” you began “You keep showing up at random times, saving me, helping me, being protective and I just want to know why. A few years ago we were enemies. We tried to kill each other multiple times. And now what, we’re cool? You’re just going to keep saving me?”

He continued to stare at you before looking down at his hands, thinking to himself. “I always had a soft spot for you.” He looked back up now “You’re stronger than most humans, different. Not as annoying or helpless. I find it... frustrating. I hate humans. But you...I can’t seem to. ”

You were slightly taken aback by his clear honesty “I never understood why you hate humanity. I mean, there is a lot to hate in humans definitely, but overall people are good. I don’t get why you can’t see that.”

He let out a dry chuckle “I see that goodness in you, but not in others. Other humans are not good. They are selfish and childish.”

You tilted your head and stared at him. Smiling lightly he did the same, mirroring you. You felt your lips tug slightly before you stood up, tossing the rag into the sink “I still don’t understand how I’m different from other humans.” you said simply as you walked out of the kitchen.

Lucifer reached out and grabbed your wrist, stopping you. Turning back to him you were startled when he brought his face close to yours as he stared down at you “You are entirely different. And...I’m frustrated because I can’t quite put my feelings into words. I’ve never felt this....especially not for a human.”

You swallowed, trying to steady your heavy beating heart “I can’t change that I am human. But you can change what you think of humans. It’s not bad to change your point of view Lucifer.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips “Perhaps. But maybe I only want to like one human, and tolerate others.”

“So that feeling you can’t put into words is that you like me, and you hate it?”

He brought his hand to your face, rubbing his thumb across the small cut along your cheek. Feeling a warmth come from his hand as your face tingled, you figured he had healed the small cut. “No.” You met his eyes again as he stared into your own “The feelings I can’t put into words is love.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his confession, you really had not expected Lucifer of all people to say that he felt love for a human, love for you, one of the ones who helped damn him back to the cage.

He saw the uncertainty in your eyes and understood it. How could you believe him. After all that you, he, and the Winchesters had been through. How could you believe it wasn’t a trick?

Bringing his other hand to your face, he brought his lips to your forehead in a kiss before looking back into your eyes. “There is no such thing as redemption for the Devil. But falling in love with you gives me hope that I can be good enough to be loved in return.” He leaned down and brought his mouth close to your ear “Know, that I will always come when you call.”

Feeling a rush of air, you stared at the now empty space in front of you. Looking around at the now empty bunker, you struggled to keep calm, his words repeating in your mind. Did the Devil really love you? Or was it a trick? And why did you desperately not want it to be.

xx End xx

I hope you liked it, let me know if you did, or even if you want another part???

Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed~

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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scopaesthesia 👁️ chapter 1

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, mentions of death, murder, violence, stalking, paranoia and other warnings to be added

This is dark!Bucky Barnes with a likelihood off dark!Steve Rogers as well and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Someone’s watching you.

Note: This one’s gonna be a bit creepy as it features a serial killer and stalking and all sorts of creepery. It’ll be about two or three parts!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The bleak headline glared across your screen as bleaker weather fogged the glass of your window.

'Grisly murder suspected to be connected to previous incident'.

You shivered as the steam rose from your mug and the smell of roasted bean filled your nose. The city was on edge. Death was not unfamiliar but killings so methodical were. There was a pattern that no one could deny, even if the media left out certain bloody details.

You tapped the porcelain and turned to look at the misty cityscape beyond your building. The city had a pulse; the car horns, the puffing manholes, the endless parade of footsteps on the pavement. The immortal metropolitan was unaffected by its mortal occupants.

You closed the window on your phone as you turned back. You couldn’t finish the article. To think that any human could do that to another; that any should suffer at the hands of another… One could never truly be immune to the helpless despair. It was a chance that set one in the hands of a monster, as much chance kept one from the same fate.

You finished your coffee and ate a bagel before you readied for another day lost in the sea of people below. Another day at your desk answering phones and staring at a screen between greeting many who acknowledge your existence with impatient disdain.

The same daily ritual in the mirror; another department store blouse, another grey skirt, another pair of low pumps. You grabbed your pea coat and your leather tote and hurried out to catch your train. Twenty minutes with your favourite podcast before you pulled the cord and ran off into the concrete jungle.

Another coffee at your desk; the watery fare from the staff room machine. You sat and began your work. Fake smiles and a sickly sweet voice for every caller and visitor to the small office. Log this, change this, email that. The mindless toil bearable only for the promise of your box-like apartment and its tiny comforts.

You never stayed in the office for lunch. Not anymore. It made the days suffocating, even on rainy or snowy days. You went to the park to eat, although sometimes you weren’t hungry. You watched the ducks or the shedding trees or the teens playing hooky and puffing none so subtly near the bushes.

When you returned, you felt at least that your break hadn’t been wasted even if it had only been more sitting. Ring, ring, click, click, tap, tap, cough, cough. The hours wore on in monotony. Nothing unexpected, nothing more than tedium. The most exciting part was when the clock bid you to leave.

You were almost so lost in the endless banality that you didn’t notice the man behind you until you boarded the train. Until you sat and took out your phone. You pretended to be enraptured by the screen as you scrolled through unread emails and peeked up at him. He stood by the door. His eyes avoided yours.

When you stood at your stop, he did not move. Not until the door began to close and you were near the turnstiles. His shadow was a fleck at the edge of your vision. He was definitely following you. You thought of the article, and its precursor the week before; the suggestion that the murderer had already amassed half a dozen victims. You shrugged away the paranoia and climbed the old filthy steps to ground level.

As you turned the corner onto your street you stopped and waited. The man nearly passed you as he came around the bend and you cleared your throat. You gripped your keys in your fist, ready to stab the man with the largest one.

“You following me?” You asked as pedestrians bumped into him and passed by.

He moved out of their path and stood beside you against the wall. He smiled to himself and scoffed. His blue eyes ran you up and down and you felt as if you’d seen him before. As if you knew him from somewhere. You just couldn’t place it.

“I am.” He confessed. “You’re very… observant.”

“You’re not very subtle,” you countered.

He lifted his head and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. Capitals ran across the top; S.H.I.E.L.D. and below a name and picture; James Buchanan Barnes. You sighed and crossed your arms. Your spine went rigid. What on earth could he want from you?

“So…” You pushed yourself away from the brick wall, “How exactly can I help a government operative?”

He glanced around and tucked away his wallet. “Is there anywhere private we can talk? You live around here?”

“Private? At least tell me what’s going on?” You huffed.

“For both our safety, you need to wait for that answer,” he hook his thumb in his jean pocket. “But if you don’t give a shit, I can leave you be and see what happens.”

You frowned. You were confused and slightly afraid. You couldn’t guess at what could have brought him to you. A man you’d only ever seen on a screen.

“Fine,” you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, “Across the street.”

He followed you to the curb as the blood swelled in your ears. Your cheeks were hot and a chill gripped your neck. You crossed between the flooded New York traffic, aware of his shadow at your shoulder. His boots barely made a noise on the pavement as your short heels clicked noisily.

You led him into your lobby and fumbled with your keys. You shoved them into the slot and the door clicked open. He grabbed it before you could and waved you inside. You remembered him now. You rarely saw him without another. In your mind, the man didn’t exist exclusive to his old pal, Steve Rogers.

You stopped just inside the door and kept yourself from hitting the elevator button.

“Mr., er, Agent Barnes--” You began.

“Bucky is fine.” He corrected

“How do you even know who I am?” You asked suddenly. “I’m… nobody.”

“As I said, I’d prefer somewhere private,” he urged, “It’s protocol for this type of circumstance.”

“And which type is that?” You challenged as he stepped around you and hit the button.

“The type where you should stop worrying so much about me and more about yourself,” he said as the doors slid open, “Come on.” He stepped inside and turned, “What floor.”

“Third.” You answered as you entered the small box, “I’m in danger?”

He was quiet and his left hand balled into a fist then released as he stared at the numbers. You could hear the strain in the leather glove.

When the doors opened again, he let you off first and kept a step behind you as you led him down the hall to your door. You paused and looked back at him as you picked out the right key. He was impossible to figure out; stone-faced and staunch. You opened your door and welcomed him in with a flutter of fingers.

He shut the door and locked it behind him. You dropped your bag on the shoe rack and kicked your shoes beneath it. Your arches were sore as you backed up and watched him. He looked at his boots and back at you. You shrugged off your jacket and he sighed before he did the same. He reluctantly knelt to unknot the laces of his boots.

“Should I… get you something? Coffee?”

“This isn’t exactly social,” he uttered, “Can we sit? There’s a lot to… explain.”

“Sure,” you led him to the couch and sat. He lowered himself on the other cushion, on the edge as he kept an eye on you.

“Okay, so you’re first question, how do I know who you are?”

He leaned against the arm and dug out his phone. He unlocked it and flicked through its content. He turned it towards you and you frowned at the picture of yourself. You behind your desk, the phone to your ear, as you scribbled on your notepad. He dragged it over and another appeared; you at the grocery store. A third, you at the front door of your building.

“What--”

“These were found at a crime scene.” He interjected. He flipped his phone and searched through the images, “Do you know this woman?”

He showed you the screen again and you shook your head. Whoever she was, she was a stranger to you, although you couldn’t say she didn’t look familiar.

“Her?” He brought up another photo and got the same answer. Three more times as the hair stood on your arms. You didn’t know any of them but they all looked alike. They all looked like you.

“What’s going on?” You asked in a brittle voice.

“You read the news?”

“Sometimes.”

“You’ve heard about the murders? Of the women?”

You nodded and gulped. Your eyes rounded as you trembled in disbelief and fear. “Why are you here though? Why not the cops?”

“They are doing their part and we’re doing ours. You see, we found more than just the photos. Due to security protocols and to protect both of all, I can’t divulge all the evidence I can only say that it brings it under S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction.”

His thumb slid across the screen and revealed another picture. One of the women with a welt across her neck and sloppily down make-up on her face. You blanched and he looked down. He cleared his throat and blackened the screen.

“Sorry,” he put his phone back in his pocket. “You shouldn’t… Look, I know it’s a lot to digest but it’s better you know.”

“But why are you here? I don’t understand… why did he have my picture?”

“From what we can tell, who it is has been following you. These killings seem to be steps on his path to you. He didn’t have anything about the other women. No photos, no writings--”

“Writings?” You gasped.

“Take a breath. Be calm.” He said. “I’m here now. To protect you.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Well, I guess that’s the real bad news.” He said. “I’m gonna be your shadow. Now, since we nearly got this guy and have all his stuff, we know he’s scrambling right now. He’s hiding, waiting to come back to you but we know he’s not dumb enough to do it yet. Which is why I am here at this very moment. When he does return, when he’s watching you, I’ll be watching him.”

“You can’t-- You can’t move me?”

“Scaring him away won’t do anything. You’re safer if we can catch this guy. We can’t let him know that anything’s changed.” Bucky said.

“So… I’m bait?”

“You’re safe.” He insisted. “You’ll have my number, you can call me anytime. And I won’t be far. Not really. And I don’t work alone. You’ll be protected.”

“Why are you telling me then if you’re just going to let him keep following me?”

“Well, we waited until it was crucial to let you know,” he said, “And given his desperate circumstance, we think you should now.”

“Do you know how long--”

“Months, years, we’re still combing through the evidence. We only know he won’t stop.” He shifted on the couch. “And I’m telling you because there’s a few things I need from you.”

“Like what?” You scoffed.

“A key to this place. Just in case. And we’ll need to keep a close eye on you. That means, you’ll have to wear a bug and we’ll be tracking your location.”

“What?” You shook your head. “That’s… a lot.”

“We need to know if anything happens immediately and we need to be able to get to you. If you do this, it will help us get him sooner and hopefully, that means that you won’t have to do it for long.”

“I’ll have to have the key made,” you said quietly.

“I can take care of that,” he stood and you watched him cross the room.

He went to the coat rack and reached into your jacket pocket. He took your keys and set his phone on the small round table just beside the shoes. He placed one key on his screen and it made a chirping noise, he turned it over before doing the second key. He dropped them back into your pocket and grabbed his phone.

“This,” he stirred around in his own jacket, “Has a mic and tracker.” He held up the golden chain with the small pink rose ornament. “Wear this and that’s it. That’s all we need. If you take it off, hang it somewhere it won’t be obstructed.”

“Okay,” you got up slowly and took the necklace from him, “Um, thank you, I guess.”

“Look, I know it’s all a bit fucked up but it’s to keep you safe.” He said. “And you are safe, okay? I’ve dealt with much worse than this creep.”

👁️

There was rarely a morning when you were eager to be awake but that morning came crashing down on you with a sense of doom. You rolled over and opened your eyes. The golden necklace hung from your bedside lamp, dangling, calling to you, reminding you of the man who had stalked you back to your apartment. And the other man who loomed in the shadows. A stranger who apparently knew you well.

You sat up and clipped the necklace around your neck so you wouldn’t forget. Was it Bucky listening to you? Was he even listening so early? You stood and ambled across the room with a yawn. Today, the rain left a sheet of frost on the window. Was it winter so soon?

You drank your coffee without tasting it and chewed on a piece of buttered toast. Your phone buzzed. Private number was all it said but you knew who it was.

‘What time do you leave?’ Bucky asked. You typed in the number and nothing more. He already knew which train you took.

You dressed as you did every day. You pulled the necklace over the collar of your shirt and sighed. You felt awkward as if you were living in a simulation; a facsimile of your meek existence.

Ready to face the day and the unknown, you set out as you flicked away another message; ‘You have a break? What time?’ You’d answer him after you got to work. You couldn’t be staring at your phone knowing that someone was undoubtedly watching you.

You stood on the train, too antsy to sit. You waited by the door, ready to bolt off at the slightest sign of trouble. You played with the rose charm without thinking. Your phone buzzed and you quickly drew your fingers away.

Another message from your private caller. 'There's disturbance on the mic. Stop touching.' You almost laughed. It was comical. You'd be an awful spy but you weren't anything close. You were prey.

What would have happened if those pictures had not been discovered? You hated to even think of it. So you pushed away the thought and got off the train.

The streets felt darker even as the grey sky paled. Pedestrians were villains, each one sinister and plotting. When you got to work, you were out of breath as you had nearly broken into a sprint.

You sat and clocked in. You took out your phone and responded to the texts but got nothing back. You hung your jacket on the rack in the corner and went about your usual routine but nothing felt usual. The incessant ringing of the phone and the chatter of the office added to the chaos of your mind. You tried to distract yourself with your work but found yourself fidgety and anxious. Every unfamiliar face that walked through the doors was a potential suspect.

When you took your lunch, you stayed in the office. The break room was empty as you sat and your phone vibed in your blazer pocket. You answered the private number and unwrapped your granola bar.

“You on lunch?” Bucky asked, you confirmed with a mumble. “Are you okay?”

“Am I? What’s going on? Anything?” You stilled the crinkling of the wrapper, suddenly sick to your stomach.

“It’s not going to be that easy or fast. Right now, he’s waiting for us to look away but he could also be in a panic which means he could do something impulsive.” Bucky explained.

“Impulsive? What does that mean?”

“Look, you don’t need to be afraid. I got this. This is nothing compared to what I usually--”

“Nothing?! Well maybe you’re used to this but I’m just a secretary, okay? I don’t know what I’m doing or what to do!” Your voice was shrill as you crushed the granola bar in your hand.

“Take a breath,” he said firmly. “Calm down and proceed as usual. I’m here. I’m watching.”

You sniffed and struggled not to hyperventilate. When you finally got your breathing under control you nodded into the phone and murmured a pathetic ‘okay’.

“Hey, you don’t need to be afraid, okay? Not with me around. So far you’ve been lucky. We figured it out before he got to you and now we’re way ahead of him and he doesn’t even know it.” Bucky coaxed.

“Yeah, I guess,” you deflated and stood from the table; restless.

You went to the kettle and flicked it on. Shaena was always offering you peppermint tea; you’d take her up on that. Maybe it would help calm you down.

“How about tonight I’ll come buy with a pizza and we can go over protocol?” He offered. “And it’ll be good for you not to be alone.”

“Pizza?” You frowned.

“Well, you know, I’m sitting on surveillance all day, I don’t exactly get to relax,” he explained. “...you can say no but it’d be my treat.”

“I’m sorry I’m panicking. I’m just… scared. I didn’t sleep-- I--” You choked on your voice. “You don’t mind?”

“Do you?” He returned.

You sighed and opened the cupboard to grab a mug. You tapped your fingers on the countertop.

“This must be really boring for you,” you said. “You don’t have to--”

“If I’m being honest with you, it’s supposed to be freezing tonight and I don’t exactly get to hang around in a five star suite. You’d be doing me a favour and have the extra security of some goon with a metal arm.” He chuckled.

“Alright,” you threw your hand up. “But I don’t like pepperoni.”

“Damn…” he uttered, “Well, I guess we all have to make sacrifices.”

👁️

You were slightly less frantic when you left work. Bucky texted you to assure you he was there… somewhere. You took your usual route. He explained it was best not to change your routine. You didn’t want to tip off the creep.

The train ride was slow and jittery. The frigid air of the looming New York winter crept in between the door and you shivered as you got off at your stop. Your heels clicked around you as you gripped your bag and the phone in your pocket. You struggled not to look around and try to search out your stalker.

You unlocked your door and dropped your bag beside the shoe rack. You kicked off your heels and rubbed your legs together to warm up. You hung your jacket and took your phone out as you began to pace your apartment.

How close was Bucky? How close was the killer?

You kept checking your messages and then slammed your phone on the coffee table. Stop! You were driving yourself crazy. You made yourself sit and flipped on the television. You put on an old sitcom and tried to settle in. You squirmed on the couch and found it difficult to follow the episode.

Your phone lit up suddenly and made you flinch. The sky was already dark through the window as your ringer blared over the television. You reached for your cell; Private Number. You answered clumsily and pressed it to your ear.

“Hello?” You rasped.

Silence. You blinked and repeated your greeting. Still, the line was quiet. You shook your head and hung up. Before you could toss your phone, it shook again and cried out a melody. You answered again.

This time heavy breathing greeted you. It got louder as you listened and a trickle of ice rolled over your spine. You ended the call and stared at your phone. A third call. You slowly hit the green icon and then turned the phone to speaker.

“Don’t you ever hang up on me.” A man snarled in a crackly voice, “Ever.”

“Who… who is this?”

“Shhh, baby girl, I won’t hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re safe.” He said, “That’s all I want.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” You gulped.

Another silence. This one long and exaggerated, pierced only by a metallic whisper. “...You,” he purred darkly, “I want you, baby girl. I want your blood, I want your screams.” You shook as you dropped the phone, his voice muffled but his words clear, “I want that precious little cunt.”

You sobbed and bent to grab the phone again. Your thumb hovered over the red button.

“Baby girl, I told you about hanging up on me. I hope that’s not what you’re thinking of now.”

You said nothing as your eyes burned with frightened tears and you looked down at your necklace. Could Bucky hear? Where was he?

“Soon, I promise, we can be together,” the stranger cooed, “You and me. All alone.” He took a deep breath, “All mine.”

“Please, leave me--”

The line clicked and went dead. You stared at your phone and jumped at the sudden knock on the door. Your fingers curled around your cell and you stood. You crossed to the door. You peeked through the peephole. Bucky stood with a pizza box. You opened the door sharply.

“Where were you?” You snapped.

“What?”

“He just called!” You nearly shouted.

“Keep it down,” he warned as he stepped inside and you retreated. He closed the door and locked it. “He called?”

He went to the kitchen and set the pizza down. “Just now?”

“I thought you were listening? I had him on speaker.”

“I… I’ll have to play it back. I was on my way, I didn’t--”

“You-- you-- The things he said,” you croaked, “You can’t imagine and, and… how did he get my number? You said he would be hiding!”

“Well, these things aren’t exactly cookie cutter--”

“What if he’s watching me right now? Looking in through my window and--” Your voice was shrill as you rung your hands and brushed by Bucky. He followed you to the window as you twisted the blinds shut. “He’s going to kill me like he did all those girls. He’s going to--”

“Come on,” Bucky grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the window, “Just breathe.” He turned you to him and placed his hands on your arms. He rubbed them through your blouse. “In, out…” He began to guide you, “On my count; one, in, two, out…”

Your eyes rounded and you struggled to calm yourself. You were shaking but managed to measure your breaths in time with his voice.

“That’s it,” his hands framed your face as he leaned in to look you in the face, “I’m here now and if you need me to, I’ll stay all night.”

You nodded dumbly and grabbed his forearms. His metal thumb stroked your cheek and you slowly pulled his hands away.

“Bucky…” You whispered as he slowly dropped his hands. “Thank you.”

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canyouimaginethatstory · 4 years ago

Text

I Need You (Lucifer X Reader)

A/N: This was written for a friend that was inspired by an edit they made of Lucifer. I kinda tweeked history a bit but I think i worked. ENJOY!

Lucifer was sitting on the porch of a small little cabin that was hidden away. It was a cabin he himself had designed. True the devil didn't really need a house. He could go wherever he wanted. But after whats happened he couldn't bring himself to go anywhere else. But he also couldn't stand to go inside. The small building held good memories. It also held memories that crushed the celestial being every time he stepped inside. Especially since those events had happened just two days ago. The memories caused more pain to the fallen angel than even his punishment from his father. The day he lost the one being he had come to truly love. And to top it off she was human. Her name was Y/N and Lucifer knew for the rest of his existence he'd never love another. Lucifer snapped his fingers and a bottle of liquor appeared in his hand.

He downed a drink full as memories of her played in his mind. The archangel had met her shortly after returning from the alternate world. she was a hunter from that world. Lucifer couldn't explain it. The minute he spotted her standing in the bunker library he felt drawn to her. He remembered how confused and scared she looked. Over time Lucifer would come up with small things to say to her. To his shock unlike everyone else who glared at him or avoided him she didn't. Y/N always replied back. Always offered him a warm smile. He often found himself smiling back. Not his usual cocky, menacing smile. But a genuine smile. As time went on they spent more together. Lucifer found himself growing very fond of her.

Unknown to Y/N when she would go on hunts Lucifer always stayed close to her. She never saw him but he was determined to make sure she always returned safe and sound. During one hunt a wendigo managed to corner her. Before it could hurt her she watched as it poofed away into dust. Y/N was confused until she sensed someone standing beside her. She looked over to see Lucifer looking at her. She swore she saw worry in his eyes. He wasted no time making sure she was ok. Lucifer took notice that she was looking up at him kind of weird. He was starting to worry again when she gently grabbed his face and pulled him down enough to place a small, soft kiss on his lips. He gently wrapped his arms around her and happily kissed back. And that's when their romance was born.

In his eons of existence no one of any kind of being made him feel like Y/N did. Loved, wanted. Around Y/N Lucifer felt more like an angel than the monster most other humans and beings saw him as. He truly loved her. Every time that fact hit him he would chuckle. He had despised the human race and yet he fell hard for one of them. And this fall he enjoyed. Not to say that the relationship didn't come with worry. Y/N was a hunter after all. Lucifer knew she wouldn't give up the life. So every hunt he was secretly there with her. He smiled remembering how she always referred to him as her guardian angel. He loved how it sounded. She has had currently been on a hunt. Tracking what seemed to be a goddess of some kind. That had Lucifer on high alert. If he were to pick a being that annoyed him more than humanity it would be gods and goddesses. Y/N was slowly scoping the rundown house her lead had brought her to. When she rounded the something grabbed her and pinned her against the wall. She looked and noticed it was vines.

"Well what do we have here?" she heard a strong female voice say as a figure walked out of the shadows. The woman had long red hair with back roses braided into it and she was wearing a flowing black gown.

"Who are you?" Y/N asked.

"I go by many names," she said, "but I think your kind mostly knows me as Persephone,".

"The goddess?" she asked a little shocked. The goddess nodded.

"Why are you hurting people?" Y/N asked, "aren't you suppose to be good,".

"Oh I was," she said, "but then I was taken to hell. To be the dark princes' queen," Lucifer shuddered from the shadows he hid in. "Who knew I would actually fall in love with Hades,".

"Hades?" Y/N asked. Then her eyes widened, "You mean Lucifer?". Again the goddess nodded.

"I was given a special spell to enter his cage," she said, "but then one day he decided I needed to return to my family. I begged him to let me stay. I loved him. But he said he didn't love me,".

"So all of this for an eons broken heart?" Y/N asked.

"Oh no," Persephone stated walking closer to her, "it was to Lure you here Y/N Y/LN,".

"Why me?" Y/N asked.

"Because your the one he wants," she said coldly, "and I want my prince back,". Soon Persphone's hand was around Y/N's throat.

"Let her go Persephone," Lucifer ordered suddenly appearing.

"I will only spare her if you let her go," she said, "you belong with me Hades,".

"The hades you know is long gone," Lucifer said, "First to all of any kind Hades was a god. But I'm not a god. You gods and goddesses are lesser creatures than I. I am an archangel. We were only a thing because of one of my father's failed attempts at storytelling," Lucifer's eyes glew red, "Now let her go!".

"Fine," Persephone said, "but if I can't have you back. Have my throne in the underworld back. Then neither can she," Suddenly a bolt of light flew from her palm and hit Y/N full force. The pain through her body was so intense she couldn't even scream.

"No!" Lucifer screamed and raised the goddess up in the air by her neck. Anger fueled the angel as he slowly drained the life out of the goddess. And just let her lifeless body turn to ash in his hand. He snapped out of the state of red he was seeing when he heard Y/N gasping. Like she couldn't breathe. "It's gonna be ok," he said kneeling down beside her. He placed his hands on her and started letting his grace flow. But something was wrong. It's was like his grace was blocked. Y/N saw the fear in his eyes. He couldn't heal her. "No no come on," he muttered to himself. Trying so hard to get his angelic powers to work. "come on!" he yelled as he kept trying to heal her. Y/N gently grabbed his hands.

"Lucifer," she said to get his attention, "Just take me home,". Lucifer still determined to heal her gently picked her up in his arms and zapped to the little cabin. When things got serious between Y/N and himself he had conjured the small house so they could have a place to hide away together whenever they felt like it. He gently laid her on the bed in the small building.

"I'm gonna heal you just hold on Y/N," he assured her kissing her forehead. Again trying to get his grace to work.

"Lucifer," she said gently touching his cheek. The sadness and fear playing in his blues eyes broke her heart, but she knew for her this was it, "just sit here with me,".

"Y/N please," he tried to plead.

"There's no curing me," she said right before a small coughing fit hit, "whatever she did to me is stronger than your grace. And I can't fight it,".

"Y/N please let me try," he said. Tears clearly forming, "please hold on. I need you,".

"My guardian angel," she said placing her hand on his chest where his heart was, "you'll always have me. Right here,".

"I won't have a heart if I lose you Y/N," he said. She reached up and wiped a tear from his cheek as it slid down.

"Yes you will," she said taking a big breath of air. It was becoming harder to breathe, "I want you to do me a favor Lucifer,". He nodded. Clearly trying to hold himself together. "Don't let yourself be the monster other beings think you are," she gasped again, "be the angel I know you are,". He leaned down and kissed her softly.

"I love you," he said as he gently held her close to him.

"I love you too Lucifer," she said softly as she closed her eyes. And he knew. She was gone. She didn't witness the full blown angel meltdown. With tears freely flowing Lucifer took out his hurt and anger on the inside of the small cabin. Breaking and smashing anything in his path while letting a pain filled inhuman screech escape. And now he was sitting on the porch of that same cabin. it felt like years had passed by but had only been days since he lost her. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to give her the goodbye she deserved but what was it? Then a thought came to him. She was a hunter. Was. That word sent a bolt of fresh pain through the archangel as it reminded him that his true love was gone. Really gone. He finished the bottle of liquor and smashed it on the ground next to the countless others that he had downed before it as he stood up. He walked up the small pebble path that lead from the house to the road. And just stared at the place that for short while felt like a home. But it only felt that because he had her.

"I'm sorry," was all he whispered as he waved his hand and the cabin was soon engulfed in flames.

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