#I had Scrubbing Bubbles he was mine

[pinata-candy]

My 7 children who I love very much <3

[buckyalpine]

18+ Filth and pure smut. My mind is on a sexy dilf Bucky with those delicious greys in his beard. I want his sweet wife teasing him over his age, especially after he shakes his head over the way their teenage sons friends keep trying to subtly hit on her. He doesn't blame them because his wife is gorgeous; an absolute milf and he's the luckiest man on the planet to call her his.

You can't help but playfully pinch his side when Bucky ushers your son and his friends all out of the house, slipping him a few bills, insisting he stay out late as he wants. He even gives him permission to crash at a friends house for the night leaving the two of you alone. (of course your son already knows why his dad is so persistent and it leaves him both disgusted and happy his parents are still so in love).

"Breakin' young boys hearts, Mrs. Barnes" Bucky lets out a low chuckle, untying the apron that was tied around your waist, letting it drop to the floor.

"Careful there, old man" You tease, giggling at the way he cocks an eyebrow not that the house was empty, "Might get a heart attack if you try anything at your age" and with that you saunter off to the bathroom to run a shower, looking over your shoulder to see if your husband would follow. He watches the way your hips sway, the insatiable little minx in you trying to get a rise out of him, discarding your clothing in the middle of the bedroom and leaving the bathroom door unlocked on purpose.

He'd show you exactly what an old man could do.

****

You felt your muscles relax as steam filled the room, hot water spraying against your skin while you added your peach shower gel to the loofah. You wondered what Bucky was up to, usually he'd-

"James" You gasp, feeling your husbands hard cock brush against your ass as he presses up you from behind, his large hands moving up your soap slicked body to grope onto your lathered breasts, his fingers pinching your nipples, giving them a harsh tug.

"Shhh," He smirked, nipping your neck, his tongue running up your skin, licking up the water droplets, "Don't stop on my account gorgeous, go on" He let out a satisfied hum when you went back to gently scrubbing your skin, his hands moving to rub up your thighs, ghosting in between them before pulling away and standing in front of you. His cock stood tall and proud, his swollen tip so pink, begging to be touched.

"James, please-

"Uh-uh, thought m' just an old man baby, just doin' what old men do" He smirked, palming himself, his eyes raking up and down your body, wrapping his hand around his shaft, "Aren't you pretty"

You went along with exactly what Bucky wanted, letting your hands trail along your body, soapy bubbles flowing down your curves while your husband started to stroke himself while leaning against the cold shower wall. "You're a pretty sight, look at what you do me to darlin' got me acting like a perverted little boy, touching myself while watching you"

He groaned, jerking himself faster, not sure what he wanted to focus on first. He'd seen you naked plenty of times and he'd certainly showered with you more times that he could count but he'd never get tired of the sight of his wife covered in the cutest bubbles, dripping wet, putting on a shower all just for him.

While Bucky was admiring you, you admired him right back. He'd aged like fine wine, his chestnut hair still luscious, the ends of his hair curling from the steam of the water. His beard had a few flecks of grey which just added to how handsome he was along with the thick muscle that ran under his skin. Nothing turned you on more than a very naked Bucky under hot water, lost in self pleasure with you as his muse. Every groan and whimper was for you, shamelessly touching every intimate part of himself because of you. It was that very sight that had your fingers start to travel down your body, your pussy desperately craving attention.

"That's mine, sugar" Bucky grabbed your wrist before you could slip it between your thighs, pulling it away and positioning himself behind you again. "This pussy here-" His palm cupped every bit of your cunt in the most debauched way, his cock slotted between your ass while his chest was pressed against your back, "Is all mine. I get to play with her baby, s'mine to touch"

"Then touch me Jamie, please" Your voice was nothing more than a whine now and the pet name that slipped out was more than enough for Bucky to know you needed him bad.

"M'Jamie now, huh? Thought I was just an old man before" He chuckled, rubbing his cockhead against your slicked entrance, teasing and letting the tip catch on your hole and pulling away before stuffing his way in.

"F-FUCK JAMES!" You cried out as he set a brutal pace without warning, his thighs slamming against your ass, his hands holding your hips with a bruising grip. "P-PLEASE-Don't-don't stop!"

"That's it, scream for me baby, let everyone know how your husband fucks you" Bucky's hands held onto you for dear life, fucking you like a ragdoll, his fingers skimming across your belly and down to your clit. He could feel your stretch marks as he felt your body up, one of his favorite things about you, his mind starting to wander.

He remembered the way they felt when you were pregnant with your son, the way he'd hold onto your belly, tracing over those gorgeous lines as they made room for his growing baby boy. He'd feel those same curves when making love to you, loving the way you were extra sensitive, constantly craving for him to fill you up. You were the most gorgeous thing when you had a piece of him inside you, fuck he missed it, his balls felt so fuckin' heavy and full and maybe it was just the heat and steam from the shower but-

"Think you could handle another baby?" Bucky purred, his cock already getting harder at the thought of you with a rounded belly again, looking fucking gorgeous, barefoot and pregnant. He was perfectly happy with the way things were but another wouldn't hurt....

Fuck it.

"M'gonna knock you up pretty girl, you'll have my baby again won't ya, gonna let me get you pregnant again? Show everyone I still know how to fuck, show em how well you take my cum in that tight little cunt"

"Oh God, Jamess" Your eyes practically crossed as his fingers began to strum your clit, your head thrown back, barring your neck letting him bite and suck bruises onto your skin, groaning into your ear, "Gonna-gonna cum"

"C'mon mommy, make me a daddy again" Bucky's pace grew faster, the obscene sound of skin slapping filling the bathroom. "Milk my cock, take my cream, want it, want another baby"

Bucky angled his hips to hit depths you didn't know were possible, his fingers rubbing tight circles onto your clit along with those words alone sent you crashing head first into your orgasm. A sob slipped past your lips as your vision went white, your cunt greedily pulsing and gripping onto Bucky's cock, coaxing for him to empty his balls in you.

"That's-fuck that's it, just like that, milk it, shit mommy, milk daddy's cock, fuck'm'gonna-oh God I'm cumming!" Bucky bit down onto your shoulder letting out a slutty moan as cum burst from his cock, his endless orgasm leading to drops of his pearly white seed splashing onto the shower tile below. "Fuck, you make me cum so hard for you baby"

His hips stutterd at the aftershocks of his orgasm, his cock still throbbing the last few spurts while his arms held your limp body, rinsing you both off. He wrapped you up with a fluffy towel, carrying you bed with ease and snuggling up in the sheets.

"Meant what I said, angel" Bucky gave you a soft smile, a hint of shyness now replacing his previous dominant demeanor. "How about another"

"I'd give you as many babies as you want, Mr. Barnes" You giggled, squealing when he rolled on top of you, instantly hard-

My bad, I got distracted while already distracted and then this happened. Look at him though, can you blame me.

[minkkumaz]

WATER WASHED SHOULDERS

when the tension of your day lies in your knotted shoulders, all you want is a bath with the man you love the most to ease your nerves.

PAIRING kim seungmin x fem!reader WC 0.7k TAGS established relationship trope. suggestive (?). fluff. OMI NOTE needed to get something out even if it was small, and this idea has been on my mind forever ahgh. bathing with seungmin sounds so intimate i wanna smooch him.

work days always ran long for you and seungmin, leaving not much time to actually spend with one another. it was something the two of you mutually craved, the opportunity to hold each other without passing out for the night. 

and while he wasn’t as into physical touch as you were, even he got antsy sometimes, just wanting to be around you. that puppy - like yearning he always had became more evident. though, whenever he gets the chance to pamper you, it’s like the world came in full circle. 

you arrive home shortly after he did, kicking shoes off your sore feet and dropping all your things at the door. every part of you was ready to clean up and go to sleep. the sound of rustling in a cabinet piqued your interest, as you turned the corner to see your boyfriend grabbing two towels.

“hi pup, are you about to take a bath?” you question, giving him a quick embrace.

“no, we are about to take a bath.” he responded casually, stacking the material in one arm and taking your hand with the other. 

“ah– really? we haven’t bathed together in so long..” your lips perk into a shy smile as you follow behind him in the bathroom.

“i know, but i got home a little earlier today so i set something up for us, is that okay?” he says.

“of course it’s okay! you’re too sweet when you want to be.”

“don’t get used to it.” he tries to sound annoyed, but you know he’s just being sarcastic.

turning the knob, you see all the bubbles practically overflowing out of the tub. the lights were dim, making the glow from the two scented candles on the countertop more prominent. the steam rose from the tub, creating a comforting and misty atmosphere in the bathroom.

his expression was fond, feeling proud of the work he did and your smiley reaction to all of it. 

“min.. this is so lovely oh my gosh.” you frown, squeezing his hand.

“let me take care of you, yeah?” slowly slipping the clothes from off your heavy shoulders, the two of you undressed and lowered yourself comfortably inside the sudsy water. it splashed slightly around you as you gripped the sides of the tub. instant relief enveloped your body in the form of warm water.

seungmin took it upon himself to pull you close against his chest, feeling the contrast between his cold skin and minor heat of the bath. his arms wrapped around your torso lightly as you relaxed into his touch. a sigh of relief left your lips.

he took a pastel - colored bottle from the ledge, opening the cap and squeezing a dime sized dollop of the shampoo he uses. a finger reached around to the tip of your chin, tilting your head back so he could rub it into your hair. the scent engulfed you, making you open one of your eyes to look up at your boyfriend.

“is this your shampoo?” 

“mhm, is the smell too strong for you?” he asks quietly, his hands stopping from massaging your scalp.

“no, just wondering why you didn’t use mine instead. yours is almost out, pup.” you close your eye again, letting him continue his movements.

“just want you to smell like me.” he mumbles, using one of his hands to grab a cup of water to let it slowly trickle down your head.

once all of the soap was washed from your hair, he took a small loofa and lathered it with body wash in the same scent. his touch was tender and affectionate, demonstrating his love and desire to take care of you. the warm water and his ministrations relaxed your tired muscles, melting away the stress of the day.

your back, shoulders, arms, and every part of your body was scrubbed lightly in a soothing rhythm that eased your body. it had been awhile since the both of you had the opportunity to have such an intimate moment together; basking in the comfortable silence in which so much love drowned the two of you.

moments like these made you feel so lucky to have seungmin with you, and the drive he had to pamper you showed that he felt the same way. he poured more water on you in little bursts, washing away all of the bubbles against your skin.

“are you ready to get out, pretty?” he leans his head around to place a kiss on your wet cheek.

“just a little bit longer.” you rest your head back on one of his shoulders, eyes still closed shut.

“sounds like a plan.”

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[hughiecampbelle]

Gore (Will Graham Oneshot)

Character/s: Will, Jack, Hannibal mention

Word Count: 1,428

A/N: Truthfully, this one was a little harder to write, but I don't hate it! I just love this show. I'm re-watching some of the episodes bc I keep falling asleep/getting distracted lol. Thank you for letting me share my loves!!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! ❤❤❤❤

WRITING EVENT ❤️🔪🩸

The water has cooled around you. The color bled bright red, now pink, gummy. It circles around the clogged drain. Bubbles pop around you where the water meets the air. You shiver. He apologizes, his voice careful and quiet, pouring a steaming cup from the sink. Down your spine, it runs its fingers, playing a tune, a melody, down the spokes. They are eager to break free from your flesh. You can’t unhear it. You can only hum along. He doesn’t notice. Or, at least, he pretends not to. The act he plays is impenetrable. The cloth, stained, rubs circles around your shoulder blades. You smell like him. The soap he uses drips from your limbs. The shampoo, conditioner, lathered into your hair. There was so much of it. Not just a single bodys worth. Gallons. He scrubbed you clean, your skin irritated, but thankful. Beneath your fingernails there are remnants. The taste in your mouth. You choked on it. Metallic, cold, congealing. Gasping for air. Your clothes drenched. Soaked to the bone. Your hands slippery, previously tied together, you dial 911. Jack is there. Everyone is. All you can see is red. It’s beautiful, really. Sleek, shiny, thick. You can wipe away as much as you want, it still lingers. Sticky, too. If you closed your eyes, if you stopped gagging, vomiting, it could have been mistaken for honey. Hysterical. In your teeth. Hannibal handing you a bottle of water. Sloshing it around your mouth, your gums and teeth, spitting it into the white snow. Gory, you think. All of it. Paramedics rush towards you. He raises his hand, warning them to come peacefully. You refuse their care. You haven’t been injured. The restraints around your wrists, previously cut, left no bruises, no lacerations. They touch you, offer comfort with their sterile actions. You push them away. It isn’t mine, you say, and confusion settles into their features. Everyone is listening. A crowd has formed outside of the house. Civilians, reporters, officers. Each of them eager for information, starving, ready to nip and bite at one another for sustenance. The blood, none of it is mine. 

A house of horrors, that’s what they called it. But they have no idea. Days you spent there, it felt like, though you’re not sure how much time had passed. The killer, the offender, ordinary looking. They promised not to hurt you. And they didn’t. Not physically. You were only conscious for so long. Waking and sleeping on and off. They’d be in the middle of a speech, a monologue, when you’d come to. Truthfully, they were lonely, admitting it to you in the early morning. Tired of talking to the dead. Thank you for listening to me, they’d say, brushing your hair from your face. Climbing in beside you. Your body, your lips and tongue, too heavy to move. Made of stone. Marble, you think, or granite, like the counters in the kitchen. You only caught a glimpse of it: the kitchen. Painted white, perhaps off-white, with updated fixtures. The rest of it drastically behind in design. It wasn’t their house. That, you knew, had already been searched. So where were you? A relatives maybe, someone long gone, their reconstruction cut short. By what though? A friend? Though, from the way they spoke, the way they held you, you doubted they had many friends left. Abandoned, left for sale. You could imagine a sign with a woman's face on it. Her hair is big, her grin even bigger. Wearing magenta or sky blue. Something funny about that, it makes you smile. Loopy, dazed, lopsided. They smile back at you. See, I knew you’d like it here. A far away feeling of dread filling the cavity of your chest. Pooling, foreign to your nervous system. No longer smiling. The bed was too far from the window. No use in imagining anyways. 

Will stands, his arms out holding a towel. Fluffy, you think, though that’s as far as you’ll go, as much as you’ll let yourself express. You stand, hearing the water fall from you into the bath. There is no shame. Not here. Not now. Your gaze down. The clothes you wore, piled into a wet mound, no longer there. The mess they made cleaned up. When did he do that? You could have sworn he’d been by your side the whole time. He wraps it around you, looking you over. They didn’t, but just as you begin to speak, you stop. Hurt me, you finish in your mind, they didn’t hurt me. He was looking for wounds. Bruises, cuts, anything to indicate harm. Untouched, they left you. They promised. Says he’ll be back in a minute. Okay. You avoid your reflection. You know what will look back will seem fine. Normal. You can’t help but see the red. Your hair matted with it. Your skin is drenched. Your body looks like an open sore. Will wash it away, you know this, and yet. . . When he returns he shows up with clothes you don’t recognize. A t-shirt. Pajama pants. You dress with hesitation. If you stare too long and it all looks bloody. Better not to. Leads you to the hall. Think for a moment before taking you down the stairs. The dogs wait happily at the bottom. Your hand in his. You breathe a sigh of relief: there is no bed down here. You smooth down soft ears, feel wet noses. He leaves you with them in the living room, promising something to eat. You’re not hungry, though. You have brushed your teeth, your tongue, scraped the inside of your mouth raw, but the taste never goes away. Iron. Tired, you curl into yourself.

You hear him in the kitchen. His footsteps. His quiet breath. They weren’t so cautious. Panting, they’d drag something – someone – up the stairs, past your room to the attic. A few struggled, their voices muffled, you thought, by a gag in their mouth. Others, the ones already gone, were harder to move. Heavier. You could tell the difference. The grunting, cursing, that’s what told you they were dead. They spoke softly to the living, hushing them, assuring them they would take care of them. You were so out of it, though. Sometimes you couldn’t tell if it was a dream or not. The next time you woke up, the room, the house, was painted red. The blood dribbled from the ceiling. Not splattered, you think, but coated. The walls, the bed, you. In your nose, your mouth, your eyes. Pulling at your restraints until you get one hand free, desperate to wipe it away. You tried to run, to scream, but you fell. Slipped. On your hands and knees, shaking. Inches of it on the floor, puddle-like. Pulling at the door handle. You want to escape, to run, but everything is greasy. Wet. it’s everywhere. The blood. The bodies drained in the attic. Were they still there? You can’t look, can’t let your thoughts wander. It takes several tries to press the right number. Your fingers are clumsy. You beg for Jack, Jack your boss, Jack who had reported you missing. Pleading, crying. They missed a spot. The kitchen, sleek and new, doused in red, but the pantry, slim, forgotten. You crawl inside until you hear Jack's voice. Only then would you come out. 

When you wake you tug at your wrists, sitting up, expecting to be back there. No, no. The warmth beside you is not them, their body, but one of the dogs. Across the room sleeps Will. He placed a blanket over you while you slept. You breathe in and out, taking in your surroundings. Wills house. The sun setting, the dark blue of the sky bright. Lights scattered through the house remain on, as if expecting you. He took you home. He washed off the blood. He took care of you. You hadn’t thanked him. You barely said anything. You would. They are still out there. Jack, Will, Hannibal, they all promised you would be safe. They would not find you again. They would not do what they did, they would not love you, care for you, make you listen while they killed innocent people. No more blood will be poured, spilled, drenched. Will moves in his sleep, burrowing his head into the pillow. Something about it, the act so innocent, makes you believe them. This place was not the house you were in, scared, crying. It was not stained. You’re safe now. He would take care of you, they all would.

[the-fiction-witch]

Scrubber Girl

Media Artful Dogder

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Flirty AF

first fic post show release for Jack Dawkins!

I would like to formally welcome him to the roasta and thank everyone involved in artful dodger!

I hummed myself a gentle tune as I folded laundry away into the upper cupboard when suddenly this smell, this stench! this utter aporance! met my nose. 

"Ohh my-" I gasped turning to see if I could see what on earth had happened only to see a strange sight indeed. 

As Resisdent Dr Jack Dawkins came trudging up the stairs dressed in his shoes, socks, his undergarments and a dirty old coat, with a look of anger and frustration his body coated with dirt, blood and... frankly I didn't want to know what else. His whole body stank enough I could smell him before he even reached the top of the stairs.

I met his angry eyes, then his... undergarments utterly in shock grabbing a yet folded sheet to hold over my eyes

"ahhh goodness gracious! Dr Dawkins!" I yelped "What on earth happened?"

"Don't ask." He snapped heading to his room, 

I quickly finished the laundry and took my dress in hand to scamper along behind him to his room quickly going in before he stopped me 

"What on earth happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it" 

"Alright, You need a bath. You utterly reek"

"I'm fine" he said stripping the jacket off and washing his face from the basin by his bed

"Jack you need a bath." 

"I'll deal with it in the morning Y/n I know you trying to help but It's been a long day I just want to get to bed." 

"I just clean those sheets jack, No absolutely not." I said moving to stand in front of his wardrobe to prevent him from getting clean clothes

"Y/n."

"I will ask you nicely once Jack, and I will ask you rather bluntly a second time. Do not make me ask you a third." I glared 

He rolled his eyes "Run me a bath." 

"Thank you, I will add some extra bubbles just for you" I smiled going to scamper away to run him a bath but he grabbed my arm "Yes?" I asked his response like normal was to merely rub his nose on mine "Not on your life while you're smelling like that doctor. Once your bath is finished I will consider it" I told him before I hurried down to the bathroom running the large tub with a nice fresh bar of soap, some fluffy towels and extra bubbles and soon enough he arrived wrapped up in his jacket with a fresh set of clothes "You're bath awaits you, Dr Dawkins" 

"Thank you y/n." 

"You're welcome, now come on let's get rid of that horrid... whatever it is." I told him 

He smiled and stripped off what remained of his clothes before climbing into the tub "Ahhh hot,"

"if its not hot your not clean" I giggled "Enjoy your bath" I smiled going to leave but he grabbed my arm and tugged me back "Yes?"

His response was to lean on the side and give me puppy eyes 

"Alright" I rolled my eyes sitting on the edge "What on God's green earth is in your hair?" I asked 

"You don't wanna know" he sighed relaxing a little 

"I worry about you sometimes." I sighed picking up a rag from the side getting a good rub of soap and starting on his matted hair filled with chunks of... ehhh I don't wanna know "You get into another fight again?"

"No."

"You trip over the surgery waste bucket again?"

"No. And I can do it myself you know" He pouted 

"Alright I'll go" I laughed trying to get up and leave but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back

"Ohh no you don't" He smirked tugging me back so much I almost fell in his bath with him 

"Jack let me go!" I giggled 

"How am I ever meant to get clean without my little scrubber" He smirked 

"Jack!" I giggled pushing him off before he really did pull me in his bath with him "Not while you still covered in... Ohh my- Is this flesh in your hair! How- what- when-"

"I told you, you didn't want to know." 

"Let me guess some crack pot scheme of you boys downstairs gone horribly wrong?" I asked having to work a bit harder now I knew what it all was getting the good scrubbing brush 

"More or less" He shrugged "While your at it scrubber girl I have a terrible itch on my back" He complained arching his back so I could use my long scrubber 

"I protest to being labelled your scrubber girl" I complain playfully but still decently hitting him on the head with the wooden steam of the scrubber 

"Owww" He complained "Sorry scrubber girl"

"One of these days, your going to call me that and I'm going to push this scrubber slightly further down and end up shoving it right up your arse. Like to see your quick fingers get you out of that"

"You'd be amazed what my quick fingers can do" he smirked "I suppose you wouldn't be surprised. Would you scrubber girl?" He smirked leaning back to playfully wink at me 

"You want me to hit you again? cause I'll do it. and it'll be much harder."

"not the only thing getting harder." he smirked 

"Okay. You asked for it." I glared fetching the hard brush the one often used for the bottom of your feet, calus hands and stubborn merky mud. I dabbed a bit of soap and before he could argue or protest I shoved the brush down his chest until I met his crotch and scrubbed like I was cleaning off old boots to which he squealed like a nine-year-old girl has lost her dolly and immediately he scampered himself to the other end of the bath sheepishly holding his legs to his chest

"No." He warned "Noo. put the brush down."

"I'm not sure, a scrubber girl needs to scrub" I giggled jumping to the other side and trying to get him again but he again moved in fear 

"ahh no! no. okay... I apologise." He said, "Just put the brush down."

"Alright," I giggled setting the brush down "What am I?" I asked 

"My scrubber girl" he smirked 

"Jack," I warn going to pick it up again

"Alright! Alright, Your y/n. my very sweet little laundry girl." he smiled moving over to be close to me leaning on the tub a little "Not the scrubber girl"

"That's better" I smiled fixing his hair a little and giving his lips a soft gentle kiss he tried for more But I pulled back 

"Would my lovely laundry girl like to join me?" He suggested

"After what's just come off your body Jack you have more chance of getting the virgin Mary herself coming through that door to give you blow job" 

"I mean... you can empty it and re-run it if you feel that strongly about it"

"Just put some pants on Jack before I really do shove that scrubbing brush up your arse" I warn getting up and throwing him a towel to it hit him in the face

"Thank you-" He sighed 

[pasukiyo]

YOU'RE ALWAYS GONNA BE MINE

| CHAPTER ONE

a royalty au. remus lupin x princess!reader. multi-part series. series masterlist.

word count; 4,521 summary; lord sirius is visiting the castle! the princess is more than enthusiastic to see her dear friend again but brunch doesn't go quite the way she planned, and now all she wants is to disappear, to run away and leave everything behind. remus belongs nowhere-- the forest is all he has ever known.

so even in a different life, you still would've been mine, we would've been timeless...

 “Forgive me, your highness, but it’s time to wake up!”

 She stirred in her sleep and groaned as Marlene drew the curtains away from the windows of her bedroom, sunlight spilling like an egg yolk inside the room. She squeezed her eyelids shut and dug her knuckles into them until she saw stars, arching her back off of the bed, feeling the delicious crack of her bones. “Is Lord Sirius here already?” The princess asked, her voice thick with sleep. She hoisted herself up into a sitting position, lids barely open as she found Marlene’s figure across the room, the midnight blue dress she had requested the night before draped over her arm. 

 “Not yet, as far as I know,” Marlene replied. “But soon. I insist, princess, you must get up now. We simply don’t have a second to waste. I’ve already drawn you a bath.” She grumbled as Marlene ripped the comforter off of her, her head lolling forward until the top of her head was flush against the mattress. “What happened to quiet, shy Marlene from last night?” The princess mumbled, hesitantly swinging her legs over the side of the bed, groaning as her feet met the floor below. 

 “You told me to stop acting like that, remember, princess?”

 She narrowed her eyes over at Marlene where she stood by the vanity, taking stock of everything she needed. “Hmph,” she huffed as she rose to her feet, stumbling over to the restroom where Marlene had drawn her a bath already, a towel neatly folded on a stool beside it. With half a mind, she slowly stripped herself of her nightgown, stepping into the burning hot water, hissing as she slowly sunk further in until her bum hit the bottom of the tub. 

 “Will you wear your hair down or in an updo today?” Marlene asked as the princess scrubbed her body, her skin white as she lathered herself with soap. “Down, if you will, Marls,” she replied simply, pouring water over her head, the bubbles sliding off her flesh. Her skin smelled of olive oil and a hint of lime, her hair like sage and thyme and at last, she was done, rising from the tub.

 She leaned over to grab her towel and wrap it around her body, and Marlene rushed over to the tub to take a hold of the princess’ hand, guiding her safely down to the floor. The princess willed herself to suppress her laugh as the handmaiden led her back behind the dressing screen where she slipped on her undergarments, Marlene practically shoving her into a corset. 

 The princess hissed as the handmaiden began to tighten and lace it, Marlene furrowing her eyebrows in apology. “So sorry princess,” she said as she laced the corset even tighter, until the seams were practically busting. The princess coughed, her teeth sinking down into the flesh of her bottom lip to help ease the discomfort. “No matter,” she sighed as Marlene grabbed the midnight blue dress draped over the top of the screen, rolling the skirt until the head was visible. “Nothing I’m not used to.”

 Finally, the dress was down over her head and Marlene made quick work of tugging it down the remainder of her body, tugging at the skirt until it laid on her hips perfectly. The princess blinked down at the dress before up at Marlene as the handmaiden stepped away, eyeing the fabric for any wrinkles she may have missed. 

 “So?” The princess spoke up, tilting her head at Marlene. “I trust I look pretty and comfortable?” The handmaiden pressed her lips together to stifle her snicker and nodded, “as always, highness.”

 Her lips curved into a grin as she followed Marlene to the vanity, sighing as she plopped down onto the stool, letting her handmaiden pull and tug at her hair and batter her face in as much makeup as she desired. As she was putting on the finishing touches to the princess’ makeup, three knocks rapped on the outside of the bedroom door and she glanced over at it from the corners of her eyes, sighing. 

 “Peter, no doubt,” she mumbled, “come in!”

 The door swung open and, really to no one’s surprise, in came Peter, eyeing the pocket watch in his hand. “You, your highness, have approximately five minutes before your father expects you to be down in the dining hall for brunch. Unfortunately, he asked that I escort you down there today.”

 She narrowed her eyes over at Peter as Marlene dabbed a little more blush to her nose and held her chin as she fought the urge to sneeze. “You always escort me, Peter,” she replied while Marlene stepped out of the way to allow her to gaze at herself in the mirror. 

 “Yes, and every time is more unfortunate than the last,” she watched Peter sigh and stuff his pocket watch into his coat through the mirror. 

 She rolled her eyes, “charming.”

 She turned back to face herself in the mirror, eyeing the way her hair curled, the way the corset of her dress squeezed her waist so tight, her bosoms had no choice but to press against the neckline of her gown. Marlene clasped a golden chain around her neck and her gaze ventured down to the dark pendant resting just below the space between her collarbones. It was a gift from Lord Sirius, she recalled, from the very first day they had met only a few years before when she was the age of sixteen and Sirius eighteen. He had officially become a Lord then, and despite it being his day, still insisted the royal princess be given the necklace. The corners of her mouth twitched at the memory. “Are you alright, highness?’ Marlene asked from beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder to help stir her from her daze. The princess clasped her hand around the pendant, her pad of her thumb soothing over the obsidian as she nodded, glancing up at the handmaiden.

 “Three minutes, highness,” Peter’s voice cut through the moment like a knife and her expression deflated again, turning around on the stool to face him. “Lord Sirius is waiting, may I remind you.”

 Her smile was quick to return to her lips. “Well, why didn’t you say so!” The princess exclaimed, practically leaping from her seat as she ambled towards the door, grasping the handle and swinging it open. She could hear Peter call her name as she lifted her dress and jogged down the corridor, peering back over her shoulder as Peter scrambled after her, Marlene on his left. “Slow down!” Peter called after her as she made her way down the staircase, nearly losing her balance on the skirt of her gown had it not been for Marlene clutching her elbow, allowing her to stumble into the railing.

 “Careful, princess!” Marlene hissed. “I didn’t spend all that time prettying you up for you to fall straight onto your face!” 

 She giggled and gripped the railing, walking the rest of the way down the staircase. “Sorry Marlene.”

 “Sorry Mar– how about sorry Peter!” Peter hissed behind them as he finally clambered down the stairs, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. “Here I am— just doing my job! Why must you be so insolent…”

 “Oh, but Peter! Were you not the one trying to rush me?” She asked as they approached the dining hall, turning around to face him, her arms crossed over her chest. “You wouldn’t want to displease mother and father now, would you?” She laced her fingers together behind her back and grinned at the Royal Advisor as he sneered, stepping past her to push open the doors to the dining hall. “Princesses,” she just caught him muttering beneath his breath before following close behind, her parents and Sirius talking ahead. 

 Her smile widened when Sirius turned, dark gaze swift to catch hers, his lips curling into his own grin. “Your highness!” He exclaimed as she approached, a hand behind his back as with his other, he gingerly took her hand, bowing and placing a kiss to the back of it. “Always a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 Her eyes rolled at the formalities, a knowing glint in his eyes of dark obsidian when he lifted his chin. “You look beautiful. And what a pretty necklace,” he commented as she slipped her hand away from his, exhaling a laugh through her nostrils. “It was a gift from a dear friend. And you look very dashing. What shade of black are you wearing this time, Lord Sirius?” Sirius tipped his head back to laugh at this as her parents approached, her mother’s arm draped around her father’s. 

 “Nearly late, my dear,” the King said as she approached, rolling onto the tips of her toes to press a kiss to her father’s cheek. She furrowed her brow, “not quite. Peter made sure I was right on time, isn’t that right?” She turned towards where Peter stood to the side of the hall, his lips twisted in a tight-lipped grin to mask the sneer twitching at his lips. “Of course, highness,” he bowed his head, an eyelid narrowing in spite of the princess. 

 “Yes, well, I do suppose you’re hungry then? I’ve had Tobias make our famous meat stew for us today,” the Queen gestured towards the grand dining table, following close behind her husband as they circled around the table, finding their seats. Sirius stepped aside to allow the princess before him and her face illuminated with a soft grin as she ambled past, the Lord close behind. Before she could settle herself in her seat beside her father, Sirius reached out and closed his hand around the back of her chair, bowing his head when she turned to face him. 

 “Allow me, your highness,” he insisted and when she cocked an eyebrow at him, he flashed an eyelid in a wink, the corners of his lips twitching in an amused grin. She rolled her eyes as she bowed her head, murmuring her gratitude, voice laced in sarcasm. They both settled themselves in their seats as the royal house elves began placing down plates and silverware whilst she folded a handkerchief in her lap. An elf poured red wine in her father’s goblet and the King eyed Lord Sirius from over the rim of the cup. 

 “Lord Sirius, tell me,” her father began as a house elf placed a bowl of meat stew before her. “How is the trade?”

 She deflated at the topic of discussion, glancing over at Sirius as he spoke to her father. It had been awhile since she last saw him, a few months, at least. He hadn’t changed much, perhaps other than his raven black hair must have gotten longer. But when she looked closer, he seemed… tired, evident from the faint but somewhat visible circles beneath his eyes. It certainly didn’t take any away from his charming glow, no, he was still, in fact, as handsome as ever. Perhaps he just had a rough night, she thought to herself. Perhaps it was best not to ask. 

 Sirius must’ve felt her gaze on his pale skin, for he took almost every chance he could get to sneak glances her way, his lips twitching in levity as he listened to the King rant on and on about trade and merchants and whatnot. Quite frankly, she couldn’t find it within herself to care about anything her father said– she missed her friend, she missed Sirius. She was absolutely itching to finally get to talk to him again.

 A silence fell over the table for a fleeting moment and she turned away from Sirius to face her parents, her mother’s hand on her father’s arm, their lips unmoving but their connected gaze communicating every unspoken word. She furrowed her brow at this, wiping her lips with her handkerchief, her heart suddenly lurching in her chest. If there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that silence was never good.

 “Should we tell him, dear?” Her mother finally murmured close to her father’s ear and somehow, she seemed to already know the direction the conversation was about to take. The King shifted in his seat and set his goblet back down onto the table, a soft grin on his lips as he looked from his daughter back to Sirius.

 “Lord Sirius, it is to my understanding that you have met King Fleamont and his son James, yes?” Her father inquired, cocking an eyebrow as he awaited a response. Suddenly, she didn’t seem to have much of an appetite. Her gaze fell to her lap and as Sirius shifted in his seat, she snuck a glimpse over to the man beside her. “Yes, your majesty,” Sirius replied, a brow raised quizzically. “Tell me, what do you make of them?” The King asked and she shuddered in her seat, her skin feeling hot like wax. 

 Why would he bring her betrothal up now of all times?

 A silence loomed once again as Sirius pondered his reply, his tongue swiping over his teeth as he eyed the bowl of near empty stew before him. He could sense the princess’ sudden discomfort but alas, as much as he wanted to change the subject for his dear friend’s sake, he and she both knew it would do neither of them well to ignore the King.

 “They’re good people,” he finally replied, nodding his head. “Wealthy. Powerful.”

 This seemed to please her father and she fiddled with her fingers in her lap as he hummed, leaning back in his seat. “It pleases me to hear that,” he replied, Sirius’ addled expression certainly not going unnoticed. “I ask you this, Lord Sirius, because your family has been dear friends to ours for generations, and I do believe in your better judgment.”

 Sirius nodded along, still somewhat confused but silent, anxiously waiting for the King to continue. The princess’ heart was thundering in her ears now and her chest burned, as if she’d been kissed by flames. She really did not like where the conversation was going now. 

 “I’ve accepted King Fleamont’s proposal to wed the princess to Prince James, you see.”

 She exhaled the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in, suddenly feeling the meat stew and wine bubbling in acid at her throat. She felt like she’d been set aflame, like she was the lava oozing over the mouth of a volcano. She wanted to move, she wanted to leave, she wanted to run.

 But her legs wouldn’t move. She was frozen, glued, stuck to her seat. 

 Sirius tried to mask his surprise, sneaking a swift glance down to the princess, able to sense her nerves just by the way she breathed, the way she seemed frozen still. 

 “You’ve… accepted, already?” Sirius stammered out, clearing his throat and hoping to play his apprehension off. He looked between the King and the Queen as they both shared glances, their daughter’s behavior certainly not going unnoticed yet, neither of them made any move to comfort her. It made Sirius almost tremble in anger— he knew better than to think they’d care for her, this was technically her destiny, after all. 

 But was it fair? Sirius wasn’t so sure. 

 “Yes, the prince should be arriving in two to three days’ time,” the King continued, scooping his goblet back up in his hand, taking a swig of wine. “He‘ll be staying in the castle for a few weeks and I do hope you’re able to stop by every so often, I’m sure he could use a friend, someone he already knows.”

 He was speaking as if she weren’t there, as if her mind wasn’t feeling, her heart drumming so fast she’d fear it was prone to explode at any given moment. Of course she’d heard of her betrothal in passing but to hear it now, to hear her parents speak of it so casually, to think that they have made their own decision without having so much as a word with her… she wished she could disappear, she wished she could be anywhere but here. 

 She turned her head, glancing over at Sirius as he cleared his throat, catching her gaze for a brief moment before turning to acknowledge the King once again. He pressed his lips together and hummed, “of course, your majesty,” he replied. “Also, I think you ought to know, I recall the prince particularly fancying lamb.”

 He was trying to change the subject, for the princess’ sake, of course. Fortunately, the Queen took the bait and began interrogating him over everything the prince fancies or doesn’t fancy or what he thinks the prince might come to fancy, meanwhile the princess was still trying to anchor herself down to the conversation at hand. She was doing her best to make it seem like she was there even if she was, in fact, not. The dining hall seemed to fade away, her mother, her father, Peter, Marlene, Sirius, everyone along with it. Sirius’ attempt at changing the topic of discussion became nothing more than a mere background murmur, her vision blurring to watercolor. 

 All she wanted was for brunch to be over, to speak to Sirius and Sirius alone. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could take sitting here, having marriage beat into her head before her tears slipped down her cheeks, ruining the makeup she knew Marlene worked so hard on. She couldn’t take one of her mother’s lectures either about how princesses shouldn’t cry, how she was ridiculous and stupid for being so upset over marriage. How she should feel proud, honored that such a well-off, handsome young prince was her betrothed. 

 All she wished to do now was curl into a ball, even willing the very chair she sat on to absorb her until she was nothing. Disappearing was better than having to exist in a world that has already written her destiny for her, she supposed. 

 The princess sniffled as the King and Queen rose from their seats, turning to speak to Tobias, one of the many royal house elves and the main chef. Sirius was swift to seize the moment, reaching for her hand beneath the table and sliding his fingers into her closed fist, the pad of his thumb soothing over her skin. 

 “Are you alright?” He asked in a soft murmur and she pressed her lips together, willing her weeping to remain lodged in her throat, her body trembling with the effort. She couldn’t reply, for if she opened her lips, she would most certainly break into a fit of loud, violent sobs. So, instead, her tears fell silently in river streams down her cheeks, her head shaking in response. 

 Sirius glanced up to where the King and Queen stood with Tobias and Peter, their backs all turned to the two who remained at the table. Marlene was standing off in the corner of the room, trying to make it seem like she wasn’t watching the Lord and the princess. Sirius wouldn’t have minded if she was— all he cared about was his dear friend. His free arm wrapped itself around her shoulders and pulled her quivering body against him, briefly maneuvering his hand out of hers to wipe at her tears with the back of his knuckles. 

 “There, there,” he whispered as he let her squeeze his hand again, inhaling deep through her nose, doing her best to gather her composure. 

 “I can’t do this, Sirius,” she hardly managed to whimper, her lips trembling. “I don’t… I don’t want this.”

 His hand gripped her shoulder as she sniffed again, dabbing at her under eyes with her handkerchief, praying to whoever it was above that she still looked presentable. Sirius pulled away when the King turned to address him again and the princess blinked away all the tears she could as she rose from her seat, standing beside him. 

 Marlene rushed towards the princess as Sirius quickly divided the King and Queen’s attention away from their daughter, an arm wrapped around her shoulders where Sirius’ had been, using her handkerchief to dab at the smeared makeup on her cheeks. “Your highness…” she murmured, the princess sniffing, furiously rubbing at her tear-stained cheeks. 

 “This isn’t going to happen, Marls,” she whispered. “I won’t let it.”

 Remus’ bones cracked and ached as he stirred awake, a soft grunt slipping between his lips and his eyelids squeezed together, the sunlight pouring inside the room straining his eyes. It was well past morning— that much Remus could gather, which wasn’t uncommon after waking up from a night of great pain. 

 He laid there for a number staring up at the ceiling, wishing he could lie around in bed all day, wallowing in his own pity. But his father would be wondering where he was, he supposed, and he never wanted to seem like he was intruding on Sirius or taking advantage of his friend. 

 So, despite his creaking bones and aching limbs, he pushed his way onto his elbows, hissing through his teeth as he managed himself up into a sitting position. He paused for a moment to gather himself, blinking the rest of the sleep away from his eyes while his mouth parted in a yawn. He rolled his neck as he swung his throbbing legs over the side of the mattress, stumbling onto his feet and tidying the bed to the best of his ability.  

 He strode up to the mirror on the opposite side of the room, running his fingers through the wild mess of unkempt brown locks atop his head, his mind still a foggy haze from sleep. He didn’t loiter much longer, staying long enough to fix his coat back on his shoulders, pawing at the sleeves as he crept his way down the steps of the home and towards the back door. He’d grown used to this routine, Sirius’ house always his haven when he had transformation-related pain, never wanting to burden his father more than he already had. 

 The sun gleamed down at him as Remus stepped out onto the street, its light kissing his skin and making his eyes narrow. He breathed the autumn chill in, his lungs full of crisp air and burning like tree bark. His house was on the other side of the village— the poor side, to put it bluntly, of course. Before meeting Sirius— which was completely by chance, for the record— Remus never dared set foot on this side of town, never dared even look at this part of the village. He was bitter then and admittedly, still bitter now. How could some be so well off and comfortable when there were others hardly getting by, hardly even living at all?

 He assumed all people of wealth were snobs, that they sneered at the mere thought of the less fortunate ones. Which was why it came as a total shock when he met Sirius to learn that he was a Lord, one of the wealthiest in the village, in fact, and that he was so close to the royal family. It would’ve been enough to make Remus wrinkle his nose in disgust and wish to never see him again— which was why he was so surprised when he realized that he didn’t push Sirius away. 

 Remus huffed as he turned down his street, his dingy, little house one of the many on the poor, beaten-down road. He passed by many of his neighbors, sparing them not even so much as a glance as he padded up to his front door— which was leaning to the side and falling off its hinges. Carefully, he twisted the knob and pushed open the wooden door, its creak permeating the small room he had no other choice but to call home. 

 “Remus?” A low, husky voice called from the other side of the room where Lyall Lupin sat in a rickety old wooden rocking chair, his fingernails burrowing further in the divets they’d already created in the arm rests. “Is that you?”

 “Yes, father,” Remus replied as the door slammed shut behind him, its bang loud and scattering dust. “Where have you been?” Lyall questioned as Remus shuffled his feet towards the paper thin mattress he called a bed, its size not nearly big enough to hold his long legs. “You didn’t come home at all last night.”

 Remus cupped a hand on the back of his neck and rolled his head, lips falling agape in a soft sigh at the delicious crack of his bones. “I’m fine, dad,” he responded, reaching for his knapsack tucked away in the corner behind his bed. “I was just out… thinking.”

 Of course his father appeared skeptical of this, his mustache twitching as he twisted his lips and narrowed his eyes over at his son. “You’re not hurting again, are you?” Lyall asked. “The full moon isn’t for another couple of weeks, you shouldn’t be—“

 “I said I’m fine, dad!” Remus’ voice thundered and shook the walls of their home and he sighed, dropping his head as he shouldered his oversized coat back onto his frame. “I’m not a child anymore, you don’t have to worry about me.”

 Lyall’s teeth chewed at the inside of his lip as he pondered what to say next, his tongue twisting in his mouth. “You are my son, Remus. My duty as your father is to worry about you,” he began. “Your mother— your mother, she… she—“

 Remus was like the frayed end of a rope as a flame rolled down the length, at the end of his limit and ready to pop. He wasn’t sure if it was his transformation pushing him to his limit or if he was just tired, but all he knew was that he couldn’t take it anymore, squeezing his eyelids shut before turning on his father, skin hot and blaring with frustration. 

 “Mum’s not here anymore, dad! When will you open your eyes and see that?” He practically roared, the walls shaking with the aftershocks of his fervor and Lyall’s lips snapped back closed. His father’s lids were blown wide, his fingers were rolled into his palms, his bottom lip was quivering, and his chest was heaving with his irregular breathing— in Remus’ eyes, this was fear. 

 His father was afraid of him. 

 And once again, Remus was reminded of how much of a burden he was to everyone he knew. 

 Neither Remus nor Lyall said anything more as the former turned on his heels to make his way back towards the creaking door, a shaking hand tugging it wide open and letting it fall shut behind him as he stepped back out onto the street, uncaring if it fell straight off its hinges. He couldn’t be here, not at his home, not in this village, anywhere. He needed to be alone— so he went to the only place he knew. 

 Remus maneuvered his way between crumbling buildings and withered handcarts as he ventured further into the outskirts of town where the forest outstretched its arms at the sight of him, welcoming him into its embrace. 

a/n; i'm sorry the first chapter was rather uneventful but i can say with certainty that the next chapter will be where all the fun begins :) i still hope you were able to enjoy chapter one and i thank you all for your support on the prologue, it makes me so happy to see you guys already feeling hype for this story! i certainly hope i won't let you down :) and remember to fill out the taglist form in my pinned post if you'd like to be added to this series' taglist!

TAGLIST !!

@cancelledkaley

@burns-in-the-sun

🫶✨

[sinsandsweetness]

hi. idk if you’d be down to take it on but i would really like some gentle smut or just some fluff with daryl x fem!reader. him taking care of her in whatever way you see fit.

my mental health has taken a beating this week and sometimes i like to pretend he’d take care of me in his dixon sorta way.

if not, that’s absolutely okay. thank you regardless. ♡

I’m sorry your mental health has been tough on you lately, baby. I’m honoured if my blog can act as an outlet to escape for a little while <3

I went with fluff/comfort because I’m just in that kinda mood so… enjoy sweetheart (and feel free to check out @daenysx and @writella for some soft/gentle smut as well)

Wiping your runny nose with your sleeve, you take a few deep breaths and attempt to compose yourself. Knowing that Daryl would be home any minute now. You didn’t feel like being questioned about your tears. Rolling your sleeves up, you dip your hands into the hot soapy water, grabbing the nearest plate and getting to work on it. Using the sponge in your other hand to scrub the porcelain a borderline excessive amount. Rinsing the dish off under a cooler stream, watching all the bubbles swirl down the drain, before placing it on a clean towel, laid out on the counter.

You hear the front door open and close. Taking a deep breath you try to calm yourself even further before the man sees your glossy eyes and flushed face.

You grab a glass and begin cleaning the rim, then the inside, twisting the sponge in order to reach the bottom of the cup.

Within a minute, you feel strong, leather covered arms wrap around your waist, as Daryl rests his chin you your shoulder. You let out an involuntary sigh at his touch. So warm and comforting. Something you’d been craving all day.

His beard tickles your skin as he presses sweet kisses down your neck.

Finally, after the cup is rinsed and placed alongside the other clean dishes, you turn slightly to press a kiss to his lips.

Immediately he notices your slightly disheveled state, though he refrains from reacting too harshly.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, reaching up and swiping a thumb over your cheek.

You shake your head, feeling the tears starting to well once again.

“Hey, sweetie, c’mhere,” he spins you around and tucks your head into his chest, as your arms find themselves snaking under his jacket and pulling him in close. “Let me finish these.”

You look up at him to thank him, and notice a shiner on his right eye that definitely wasn’t there before he left the house that morning.

“Dare…”

“It’s nothin’,” he insists, way too focused on you to even start to explain the day he just had.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Let’s go for a walk. You can tell me about your day, then I’ll tell you about mine. And we can see who’s is worse.” He jokes and you stifle a wet laugh into his chest.

“Going by the state of your face, I’m putting my money on yours.” You mumble.

He huffs an amused breath and tips your chin up to kiss you once more. Soft and slow and everything you need. He grabs your hands and starts tugging you towards the porch, leaving the dishes for when the two of you get back and he has you smiling and laughing instead.

“Come with me and you’ll find out.”

[gliphyartfan]

@yanderelinkeduniverse @stars-for-thought @imprisioned-in-the-hole @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes @eternadreeblissa @justanerd1

(Runs in, throws post in your face and runs back into the void. Plot bunnies chasing after me)

How many times will you watch it Fall young warrior? 

As many times as it takes to leave this place.

.

.

.

She watched him mutter as he meandered through the town. 

"Finish the temple..obtain...speak to...reset everything." 

He seemed to become more and more erratic after the first 3 days. 

 He kept muttering to himself in a way that made it sound like gibberish. Barely acknowledged her. (Though to be fair she deserved it for helping Skull kid steal from him) Yet the very first day he arrived, he walked around aimlessly as if in a daze. It looked as if something was wrong with him.

 (Perhaps being turned into a Deku scrub affected him more than she thought?) 

Then on day 2 she saw him standing out near the Laundry pool for most of the afternoon, staring up at the clouded sky with an empty expression on his face. 

 She had never seen a stranger looking so lost before, let alone a kid. She couldn't help it; she felt bad. 

So on day 3, she tried to talk to him, tried to distract herself from her nerves, distance herself from the nearing moon and trembling grounds. She barely pulled him out of his strange trance at times and have him look at her. 

Any words she had wanted to say shriveled away when he looked at her with such sad yellow eyes. "Um, I-" she started, but she would trail off as he kept staring at her, before slowly continuing his dazed walk. 

She watched as he found a stray fairy and healed the great fairy in North Clock Town, gaining the blessing of magic from her.

She didn't say a word on the third day as the boy turned Deku scrub took slow steps towards the stairs that led up to the top of the tower. 

She kept a brave face as they confronted Skull Kid, allowing her anger to boost her confidence when he hurt her brother, yet panic swept through her as he used the mask's powers to begin the moon's collapse.

Yet the green clad boy didn't panic. 

He just used a Bubble Blast to knock the Ocarina out of Skull Kid's hands, scooped it up, and summoned up pipes to play.

She wanted to ask what he was even thinking (how could he play music at a time like this?) 

But light filled her vision as he played the final note. Felt this sense of weightlessness that could only come from falling, and suddenly, she was staring at the now distant moon, the busy workers continuing their construction.

 She was in the past. Back to the first day of their arrival. Her gaze swept through the area, trying to find an answer as to what had happened. 

Has it been a dream? No, her heart was still racing, she could not have dreamt something so frightening. 

And Link? He merely turns his back to the town and pushes through the doors behind him and makes his way inside the tower. 

"H-Hey!" 

Tatl rushed after him as he approached the ever grinning merchant. 

----

(The Gods have use for you still, young warrior. Yet despite heeding their call, you walk a path that they are utterly blind to.)

Let them continue to be blind. Their arrogance will only benefit me and mine. 

(Such confidence, or is that not arrogance as well? What is the difference between you and the Gods?)

I'm willing to be beaten down if it means never making the same mistakes again. 

(…Curious.)

Aren’t you the same? 

(…)

----

The fairy had thought the boy's strangeness would ease off after he was changed back, but it just seemed to worsen.

 When before he had been a muttering mess, he was now almost always silent. and when he did speak, he sounded different. More monotone. 

The only time he talked normally, or pretended to talk normally, was when he was dealing with someone's request. 

It shouldn't have disturbed her to see the light in his eyes fade when he left the eyesight of whoever he spoke to. 

It was as if…he was playing a part. 

 As if, like an actor, he was pretending to be someone else. But why? It was as if...he was playing some elaborate game, why wasn't he saying something? Anything? 

What was he thinking about? "Link?"

Dull, empty, lifeless eyes turned to look at her.  A stare, devoid of any warmth or emotion

."Hello…there." Tatl waves a hand at his face,"Um…what are you gonna do?"

The boy just stared at her before turning back to continue onward.

"...Do you need anything?", she asked hesitantly, "Do you even know where to go?." Tatl commented. 

"...Yes." A response! 

 She had gotten him to respond !!! "Really!?"Tatl questioned in disbelief, "Yes." The child repeated.

 "But where are we going?" She asked, fluttering a little bit closer to him. Link didn't seem to care and continued walking as if she weren't even there.

"...Woodfall Temple."

The young fairy blinked. "Huh..?".She looked at him in surprise, then turned to look back down. 

"But...how do you know that?"  she asked. 

"...An owl told me." He answered simply, still staring ahead. 

An owl? They hadn’t met any owls…

The wind blew slightly and rustled the bushes behind them...

…and she didn't have the courage to ask him for further details. 

And as he continued to walk forward, it showed he didn't seem to care enough to provide them. 

-----

(Do you think you could be forgiven for your sins against the one you supposedly hold dear?)

No…but that won't stop me from making amends. 

(Is it worth it, for one mere soul?)

For Her, I would freely allow the world to End if that is what She wished. 

(...)

and I am not the only one with such beliefs. 

(No...I suppose you aren't.)

---

He seemed to know exactly where to go, who to speak to, what to do. 

Tatl felt utterly useless, even her knowledge of the enemies weren't of use. 

The boy seemed to have no trouble with all the monsters he battled. He fought them as if he dealt with them his whole life. 

 And the monsters that festered in the temples, there was no way he could have known how to deal with them. Yet he did. With experience. 

Experience he shouldn't have. Experience that there was no way he could have. 

So all she could do was hover awkwardly nearby as she watched him continue on his way. 

She felt utterly useless, she couldn't help him with anything, nothing at all!

 All she could do was..observe him, waiting until something happened, hoping that nothing else bad happened, then move forward.

She was lost in her thoughts as dull blue glanced over at her silently. 

-----

(Your memory of her. Such a curious thing. What beholds you to such a small soul? When there are others with more power and prestige that would freely offer themselves to you?)

If you need to ask me such questions, then you are as blind to what makes her soul beautiful as those that would ‘freely offer themselves to me’. 

(…)

-----

Link supposed he was being a bit cruel…towards someone he was meant to consider a friend. Yet her presence, the presence of Termina as a whole, simply reminded him of how far he was from where he belonged. 

 He knew (How could he not with what he experienced?) how long it would take to reach his destination. Yet that only emphasized how much time remained before everything was right again. 

For the past several weeks he had been wandering aimlessly between areas. Occasionally taking requests from people. It was odd, how familiar he has become to the sensation of being the only one who was ever aware of what truly transpired. 

It was a dull sense of familiarity, of knowing he would remain the only one who remembered the knowledge of what would come and what would not, and had, passed. Normally such a thing wouldn't have bothered him, not anymore at least.

But then again, normally, his being wasn't screaming that he was going insane. Normally his mind wasn't screaming out for the others his sword brothers, the only ones who would understand how he was currently feeling because She was not. Here.

He wondered what was happening with them right now, were they in the same boat as him? Trapped in a past that had long since passed for them? Trapped in a point in time where their memories were the only proof of the trials they had overcome? 

Trapped in another time period where their choices had taken them down a path away from the quiet lives they had once lived? 

Perhaps…trapped in time which had once been their home. Their home which was now so familiar yet so…foreign.

The memories held by so many…now only held by them. 

It was a burden he wouldn't wish on his sword brothers. Yet it was one he selfishly prayed for. 

 To make himself feel better perhaps.

That maybe, in a way, he was not alone in this cruel fate. 

Perhaps they too walked forward, waiting to reunite with each other. 

Yet no amount of self-comfort could push aside the fact that...he was alone...for the first time in so long, he was alone...and he hated it so much. 

 His brothers were gone. The uncertainty of whether or not they would retain their memories left him off-kilter. 

And Termina... 

Termina.

How this land taunted him greatly. 

Striving forward yet trapped in a cycle that forced him to continuously stand still. 

Each day passing yet the sense of tomorrow never truly arriving. 

It left him desperate. Desperate for some semblance of connection...control…

Some kind of reason to get out of his own head.

Desperate to stop feeling. Desperate to let go of this burden weighing on his shoulders. Desperate to leave this place...desperate to return.

Desperate to return to the world he knew... 

 To regain what he had lost.

Because of the fear that he could have lost it forever.

That he would be the only one to even remember, in life and in death…it swirled within his heart. 

And it terrified him. 

It terrified him so much. 

So he just allowed the memories of this cruel place to lead his body forward. 

The paths and foes here ingrained in his memories so deeply, that traversing this place was easier blindfolded than not. 

In the end, while he felt some sense of guilt for treating Tatl distantly. He did not care. 

She would leave in the end anyway. 

So he wasn't going to waste his efforts escaping this place just to appease her feelings. 

In a land where 3 days was too much yet never enough. 

He just didn't have the time to waste on useless things. 

—

—

(What would you give in order to protect her?)

What would I need to give you in order to protect her? 

(So quick to return the question, would you truly offer something precious to me for her sake Young warrior?)

If you must ask me...

(....Then I suppose I must not be seeing what is clearly there.)

My memories, my heart, are open to you, you know this…make use of that privilege. 

(...I suppose I shall.)

—

"Hmhmhm~ What a rather curious fate you've been handed." 

"Has my fate piqued your interest?" was the young, yet far too old, hero's reply to that. 

"Quite so! There is something fascinating about you….the fact that you seem to be rather familiar with the item I am asking you to seek...with this whole land in fact…" The ever-grinning salesman commented, "You seem to always have an answer or word at the tip of your tongue to placid anyone who interacts with you, even me." 

"Perhaps I have a knack for picking up on conversations and people," Link replied. His voice was calm and steady, his eyes focused on the turning gears above them. He had asked Tatl to wait outside for him when the smiling man requested a moment to speak. 

Link wasn't bothered, not like he was short on time. 

"Yes, yes! Indeed you must!" The merchant exclaimed, "And you are correct about our current conversation." He stated, grinning down at the boy in front of him.

"You are a curiosity I wish to 'pick apart' so to speak. you seem to have quite the experience with the task I've presented you." 

Link nodded, "I'm used to situations like this. So, what will you gain from such a conversation?"

"The satisfaction of my curiosity sated, of course." 

"I suppose you'll be sad to know you're in for disappointment." 

A chuckle filled Link's ears, the man smiled as if he was enjoying some joke Only he understood. Then he leaned in close, grin seeming to grow wider. 

"You seem to know a lot about me." The man remarked.

"More than I'd like to," Link answered back calmly.

"Such an interesting response!" Link simply shrugged.

"So child, will you humor my curiosity?"

"...Well, since you seem insistent..." The merchant laughed. 

"Of course! Of course!" 

Link looked at him properly, "Alright…”

"So what do you want to know?"

"Well..."

.

..

...

…..

...

..

.

Tatl waited patiently outside for Link, she had been hovering by the water when she saw the doors of the Clock Tower open, she flew over as Link walked out,  her gaze fixed on his form.

She frowned as she took notice of the strange expression he wore, almost as if he were troubled...

She flew beside him, watching him quietly. Link turned his head slightly to look at her briefly before looking forward once more.

 His lips were pressed into a thin line, frowning in thought.

Tatl blinked in confusion. Did the strange man upset him somehow?

Her wings fluttering anxiously behind her. She reached up to put her hand gently on his shoulder but then quickly withdrew. Her hands folded together.

"Link…." She murmured softly. Her brow furrowing. Did she try to make him talk with her? Or was something more wrong?

Did something happen that she had not noticed?

Was he thinking about everything that's happened to him since arriving in Termina?

"Hey…" She called, swallowing her hesitation and lightly tapping his shoulder, trying to catch his attention, "What's wrong?"

Link glanced over at her and shook his head slightly. Then he moved forward. Tatl followed along with him, her eyes never leaving the back of his head as he continued onwards.

—-

---

(So quick to flee, young warrior.)

..That man will always unsettle me. 

(It is not monsters you feel the need to flee from, nor gods...yet a mortal such as he is enough to send you off to the hills.)

Monsters are simple, they have only one aim, to kill any and all for their master. 

(…)

Man, on the other hand, can unsettle even a God with the right words. 

(You think yourself a god?)

Never. 

(...Apologies…that's right...only one holds such a position in your heart.)

And only one.

---

Link stared into the masks covering the moon children's faces as he tracked each of them down.

-Your friends…

What kind of... people are they?

I wonder…

Do those people…

think of you... as a friend?-

(My brothers, My lady...to ask such a thing would be to diminish the value of what I, what we, believe in.)

-You…

What makes you... happy? 

I wonder…

What makes you happy…

Does it make... others happy, too?-

(The happiness of others has long ceased to matter to me. My brothers...My Lady…All I wish is to be with those who have long earned my trust, loyalty, and devotion.) 

-The right thing…

What is it?

I wonder…

If you do the right thing…

Does it really make…

everybody... happy?-

(My first attempt at the right thing nearly cost me a place in her heart and bond between my brothers. My second attempt cost my brothers and I everything. I pray there will never be another attempt after this.) 

-Your true face…

What kind of... face is it?

I wonder…

The face under the mask…

Is that... your true face?-

(When was the last time I looked at my face and thought of it as mine? When did my child face become that of a stranger's to me? Perhaps the face beneath this child's mask only shows when united with my brothers. Perhaps my true face only shows when blessed with Her presence.)

—

—

He walked calmly towards the last moon child sitting at the base of the tree. 

‘Do you want to play with me?’

"No." He answered. "But you want to play with me." 

‘...Everyone has gone away, haven't they?’

"They all chose to play somewhere else, yes." 

‘You don't have any mask left...do you?’

"No..none left...but you have a mask that you want to give me, don't you?" The child nodded.

"Then, give me the mask, and then let's play a game together. Good guys against Bad guys." Link then smiled at the child, smiled in a way that didn't fit on his own child-like face. 

"I'll be the bad guy.”

The moon child stared at him silently, before slowly tilting their head. 

‘Yes...Let's play that.’

Link held out his hand and the moon child stood and placed a mask in his grasp. 

The moon child watched as he stared down at the Deity's mask, his face blank, his attention focused within. 

Whatever the child saw was enough to please them and they spoke once more.

'Are you ready?' Link swallowed and nodded. 

"Yeah." 

'You're the bad guy…’

'And when I'm bad, I just run." Link finished for him. 

The moon child nodded. 'That's fine, right?'

"Only if you're fine with being chased." Link answered back. 

The child's shoulders seemed to shake lightly in silent laughter.

'Well...shall we play?' Link bowed his head and smiled in amusement. 

"Fine...Let's Play." And with those words, he placed the mask on his face.

Almost instantaneously, the fledgling (-flayed, torn, should have never been severed-) bond that had lingered weakly within the depths of his mind since he awoke in Kokiri Village, the bond that (barely) kept him from falling into the lies this world tried to trap him into believing-

(What had kept him sane during a period when he didn't have any proof other than his turbulent memories of a time that no longer existed.) 

-It all solidified. The presence within the mask, potent, powerful, deadly, surged forth and wrapped around his mind in such familiarity, he would almost be willing to admit he missed. 

(-Young Warrior...My vessel...-) 

For a moment the illusion of wholeness trapped Link in it's hold. 

 But only for a moment. More than enough time to make him choke just before his body began to transform.

 …It seemed this land was fated to always make him feel something. 

-Rest Young Vessel.- The Deity of Ferocious War spoke to the boy whose body the god claimed as His. 

...Or rather…was it instead the Boy, who claimed the deity? 

Their bond was strong, their minds united in this form. It did not matter who claimed who. 

All that mattered was the eradication of the one who would dare threaten that connection. 

The child was claimed by him from this very moment, and the god was now free to wage battle once more.

And as Majora stood before him, the Fierce Deity raised his sword. 

Blood roared within him to bring ruin upon this beast that dared attempt dominance over him and his.

---

---

Link stared at the sky for what felt like hours. The moon no longer visible within the early dawn. 

There is nothing much left to see out here in this land.

The sun would rise every morning, bathing this world in its warmth. 

The moon would rise every night, lighting the darkness with its gentle glow. 

Time finally moved forward in this land once again. 

Which meant..it was time for him to move on from this place. 

In a way…he'd miss Tatl. He had been happy to see her again, even if he had become so different from the boy she had gotten to know in another life. 

But she is back with her brother, and they are friends again with Skullkid. 

At least for Tatl, her parting with them had been short. 

What a lucky gal, compared to him..

…

-

- -

- - - 

- - 

- 

"So what do you want to know?" he asked the mask merchant standing before him. 

"...Who are you?" the merchant asked.

"...I am Link."

He wasn't certain why the merchant asked that or who he was, but perhaps asking that question would give him some answers.

"...Are you?"  Link frowned, focusing on him more intently. 

A moment passed in silence while the merchant considered him. 

"Why do you travel child?" Link turned his eyes away. 

"To find someone precious to me." 

  Link said quietly, returning his eyes to the merchant after a moment. "Someone I love very dearly..."

"How far are you willing to go for such a person?"

"As far as they want me to go, and beyond."

"Where will you go next?"

Link shrugged. "I don't care as long as it's not this place." His eyes glancing back towards the gears above them. 

Another moment passed in silence.

"...I see.." the merchant muttered.

"…Do you?" Link asked.

The ever present smile grew on the merchant's face.  "I see...you are a lonely spirit...empty, unwhole." 

The merchant chuckled, "and you wish to seek answers to a puzzle hidden deep inside you, haunting you, and you have a chance of finding it if only you stay alive long enough to reach its conclusion."

 He continued to laugh at Link's expression. "Child," he continued, "if you were to continue living like this, you wouldn't survive until the end."

Link opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure whether or not to reply. 

"You need to let go of all that weighs upon you, or you'll drown."  Link remained silent, and the merchant smirked as he noticed the lack of response.

"This journey that you've set yourself on. You're trying to fill a hole that no one is willing to fill." 

"Shut it." Link muttered under his breath. 

"No one has been able to fill the space left by the absence of those who once filled that void inside you." The merchant clasped his hands in front of him. "Or rather, you refuse to allow anyone but the ones who once filled that void to hold such a place on your heart." 

"Enough." Link said, a bit louder. 

"You're looking for an answer to some questions, but not all answers can be found in this world."  

"You think I don't know that?" Link growled at him. 

"I know. But there are many worlds where the answers might be within your grasp...or the world you've lost might still be close enough for you to find, if you simply look."

"Stop talking nonsense."

Link turned his head away from the merchant and older man sighs deeply.

"Ah..Then allow me to ask you one last thing" the merchant asked softly. "What direction are you hoping to take?"

"Home." Link replied simply.

"And where is home?" 

"Far away." Link answered quietly.

The merchant hummed. 

"Far away? That is a vague description. Is there any particular location that you mean to return to?"

Link was silent. 

"...I see..." He said to the young boy. 

 "Despite your companion, you are indeed alone, aren't you?"

Link looked up at him, but still said nothing.

"You have many waiting for you." He continued, his eyes locked onto Link. "Is this something you desire?"

"..." Link clenched his fists and glared at the floor.

"You're going to walk away without any answers, and you will be forever confused." The Merchant stated.

"I've already found what answers I could find ..." Link said, almost sounding bitter.

"And yet you still cannot understand why."

"...I believe that's enough questions." Link said before turning to leave. 

He only took a few steps before the merchant spoke up.

"I'll tell you something that tickles my mind, then." Link glanced at him.

 "You are not alone in this."

Link tensed.

"Don't worry. Your companions will wait for you just as you wait for them."

"...How do you..." The Happy Mask Salesman chuckled, bowing to the boy. 

"...Perhaps one day you will realize the truth behind my words." 

-

- - 

- - - 

Link stroked Epona's mane, smiling softly as she whinnied and shook herself. 

Parting with Tatl had been numbing, though not as bittersweet as last time. He had given her a genuine smile and wished her and her brother all the happiness in the world. 

That had surprised her, he could easily tell, and she wished him luck in return. 

With a promise to Skullkid that he'd see him again, he left.  

And in spite of his best efforts to remain stoic, Link allowed himself the momentary break, allowing the tears that had threatened to spill fall freely as he buried his face into Epona's neck, inhaling deeply the scent of her coat.

He just wanted to return to everyone, he wanted to be united again. Termina had been crueler than the shift between his adult form and his child form. 

So much time wasted yet no time wasted at all.

Epona's comforting noises and her warmth was what he focused on to feel calm and secure in this moment. 

After some moments of silence he pulled away slowly, wiping his tears. He couldn't afford to be weak, no matter how much he wanted to be free of this curse…there was work to be done. He couldn't let himself get distracted.

So much time still needed to pass after all.

But it will pass…

…

…It will always pass.

[metalmonki]

Supernatural, Hunting, Living and Love Part 17

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

4.1k word count

fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers

warnings none

Authors Note: 3 chapters to go!

Original / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

I sat cross-legged on the bed, the weight of Cas’s words pressing heavily on my chest. Dean was sitting across from me, his brows furrowed as he listened to me recount every detail of what the angel had said. I could barely look at him, afraid of how he might react.

When I finished, there was a long pause. Finally, Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Look, about the Nephilim thing... I already knew.”

My head snapped up. “What?”

“Cas told me a while ago,” he admitted, his voice low. “He thought I should know, in case it ever... came up. But I didn’t think it mattered. You’re still you, Y/N. Nephilim or not.”

I stared at him, a mix of emotions swirling in my chest. “You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

Dean winced. “I figured it’d just freak you out, and you’ve had enough on your plate. I was gonna tell you eventually, I swear.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “And the pregnancy thing?”

“That,” he said with a dry laugh, “I’m pretty sure is Cas being Gods good little soldier. He’d do anything that guy says. But if it’s really bugging you, we can grab a pregnancy test and settle it.”

I shook my head, feeling a strange mixture of relief and frustration. “You’re probably right. It’s just Cas being... weird.” I hesitated before adding, “Let’s just forget about it for now.”

Dean nodded, his hand reaching out to squeeze mine. “Good call.”

I let myself lean back into the pillows, forcing the thoughts to the back of my mind. It wasn’t easy, but with Dean’s steady presence beside me, sleep eventually came.

…

The next morning, I was jolted awake by a loud banging on the bedroom door.

“Y/N! Dean! Wake up!” Theresa’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement.

Dean groaned, rolling over to glance at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s 10:30,” he grumbled. “What could possibly be so exciting at 10:30 in the morning?”

Before either of us could get out of bed, the door burst open, and Theresa stood there, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“I’m pregnant!” she blurted, her grin so wide it could’ve lit up the room.

I blinked at her, the words taking a moment to sink in. Dean sat up straighter, his face a mix of shock and confusion.

“Pregnant?” he repeated, his voice flat.

Theresa nodded eagerly. “Yes! I just took the test. Sam and I are having a baby!”

The silence that followed was heavy but only lasted a beat before I broke into a wide smile. “Oh my god, Theresa! That’s amazing!”

I jumped out of bed, wrapping her in a tight hug as her excitement became infectious.

Dean sat there, still looking stunned. “Congrats,” he managed, his voice laced with a kind of bemused awe.

Theresa pulled back from the hug, her eyes bright with happy tears. “Thanks! I just had to tell you guys first!”

As she babbled on about telling Sam and their plans, I couldn’t help but glance back at Dean. His expression softened as his gaze met mine, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time in a long time, things felt... good. Even with all the uncertainty hanging in the air, this moment was pure joy.

…

Theresa from the moment she told us hadn’t stopped talking about dragging me shopping to put together a gift for Sam to announce the pregnancy.

Theresa practically dragged me from one store to another, her excitement bubbling over as she picked up tiny baby clothes, soft booties, and pacifiers, holding each one up for my opinion. I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm, even if the topic of babies brought an unsettling knot to my stomach.

“This is so cute, isn’t it?” Theresa asked, holding up a pale-yellow onesie with little ducks on it.

“Adorable,” I replied, my voice light even though my thoughts were far from the conversation.

By the time lunchtime rolled around, we had a few small items in hand, ready to put together a gift to announce her pregnancy to Sam. Just before we were about to head out, Theresa suddenly stopped.

“Wait, I need to pop into the pharmacy,” she said, gripping her stomach lightly. “This morning sickness thing... I’m not sure ginger cookies and ginger ale are gonna cut it no matter what Google says.”

“Of course,” I said, following her inside.

While Theresa chatted with the pharmacist about options, I found myself wandering down the aisles. My feet carried me to the pregnancy test section before I even realized where I was.

The shelves were lined with boxes in bright colours, each claiming to be the most accurate. My hand hovered over one, my heart pounding. I glanced back to make sure Theresa was still preoccupied, then quickly grabbed a box and shoved it into my pocket.

“Ready to go?” Theresa asked cheerfully, appearing behind me with a small bag in her hand.

“Yep,” I said, forcing a smile.

As we walked out, Theresa caught the scent of garlic bread wafting from a nearby restaurant. “Oh my god, we have to eat here,” she said, practically drooling.

I laughed. “Garlic bread it is.”

We found a small table by the window and placed our orders. The knot in my stomach tightened as I excused myself to go to the restroom.

Inside the stall, my hands trembled as I opened the box. The instructions were simple enough, but my nerves made everything feel harder than it should have been.

Minutes later, I stared at the small screen, holding my breath.

Negative.

A wave of relief washed over me, so strong I had to sit for a moment to steady myself. I tucked the test into the little trash bin and washed my hands, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

“Get it together,” I muttered to myself.

When I returned to the table, Theresa was happily munching on her garlic bread. “This is the best thing ever,” she declared, holding up a piece for emphasis.

I chuckled, sitting back down. “I take it we’re ordering more for the bunker?”

“Absolutely.”

As we ate, the conversation shifted to Sam’s gift. We brainstormed ways to wrap it, deciding on a small box with tissue paper and a handwritten note.

Theresa brought up pregnancy care, casually waving off the concern. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” she said, popping a piece of bread into her mouth.

I nodded, but her nonchalant attitude left me wondering. I made a mental note to look into options for her later.

By the time we left the restaurant, the heavy weight on my chest had eased. Theresa’s joy was infectious, for a moment I let myself believe that maybe just maybe Cas was wrong, that maybe he was just saying what God wanted him to.

Just as we were about to leave the restaurant my phone buzzed dragging me away from our conversation.

“Oh well looks like our plans are on hold” I sighed looking at the text “Dean messaged, apparently the holidays over”

…

 We sat around the war room table, maps and files spread out in front of us as Dean leaned back in his chair, tossing a pen between his fingers.

“Just got off the phone with Bobby,” Dean said. “He says there’s something weird going down in a little town called Centerville, Pennsylvania. Looks like a couple of demons are running the place, setting up some kind of... meatsuit recruitment drive. At least fourteen people have gone missing after passing through.”

I frowned, leaning forward to study the map of Centerville. “Fourteen? That’s a lot, even for demons. What’s Bobby think they’re planning?”

Dean shrugged. “He’s not sure. Could be they’re stockpiling bodies for something bigger, but whatever it is, we’re gonna shut it down.”

“Sounds like a solid lead,” Sam said, pulling out his notebook and jotting down a few details.

Dean turned to Theresa, his tone firm. “You’re sitting this one out.”

Theresa’s eyes widened. “What? Why? I’m perfectly capable—”

“He’s right,” I interrupted, giving her a meaningful look. “You should stay behind, and we’ll call Bobby to come hang out with you.”

Theresa’s confusion mirrored Sam’s as he glanced between us. “Okay, what’s going on?”

Theresa hesitated, then reached into her bag, pulling out a small gift box she’d carefully prepared on the way back from town. She slid it across the table toward Sam, her excitement bubbling just beneath the surface.

Sam took the box, his brows furrowing as he opened it. Inside were the baby items we’d picked out: the tiny onesie, a pacifier, and a positive pregnancy test.

For a moment, he just stared, as if his brain needed an extra second to catch up. Then his face broke into a grin so wide it was almost comical. “You’re... you’re pregnant?”

Theresa nodded, her smile just as wide.

Sam was out of his chair in a second, pulling her into a tight hug. “Oh my god, this is incredible!” he said, his voice full of unrestrained joy.

Theresa laughed, hugging him back. “I was gonna tell you last night, but the timing didn’t feel right.”

Dean cleared his throat, his expression softening as he watched the moment. “And that’s why you’re staying behind. No way we’re risking you and the baby out there with demons.”

Sam nodded quickly, turning to Theresa. “Dean’s right. It’s too dangerous.”

Theresa’s smile faltered. “I’m not helpless, you know.”

“We know,” I said gently, reaching out to touch her hand. “But this isn’t just about you anymore. And Bobby will make sure nothing happens here while we’re gone.”

Theresa sighed, crossing her arms. “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”

Dean smirked. “Noted.”

Within the hour, the Impala was packed, and the three of us hit the road to Pennsylvania. As I settled into the seat beside Dean, I glanced back at Theresa, who stood in the doorway of the bunker, Sam’s arm draped protectively around her shoulders.

We had a job to do, but part of me already couldn’t wait to come back.

…

After what felt like an eternity on the road, we finally rolled into Centerville under the cover of darkness. The town had a strange vibe—quiet, too quiet for a place that had a growing reputation for disappearances.

“Motels are a no-go,” Dean said, scanning the town as we drove through. “Too many eyes.”

Sam pointed to a dilapidated house on the edge of town, its windows boarded up and the lawn overgrown. “That’ll work. Looks abandoned.”

Dean turned the Impala into the dirt driveway, parking beside a rusted shed attached to the house. We all piled out, stretching and shaking off the stiffness from the long drive.

“Hide her in there,” Dean said, nodding toward the shed.

Together, we pushed the Impala inside, closing the rickety doors behind us. The house itself was better than I’d expected, but not by much. The inside smelled like dust and decay, and the floorboards creaked with every step.

“It’s got charm,” I said dryly, earning a snort from Dean.

“We’ll make it work,” Sam said, tossing his bag onto what might have once been a couch. “Let’s head into town, see what we can dig up.”

We cleaned up quickly and headed out, walking toward the town center under the dim glow of streetlights. Centerville looked like any other small town, but something felt... off.

Our investigation eventually led us to a bar that seemed to be the social hub for visitors. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and the low hum of conversation. A pool table sat in the corner, and a jukebox played a classic rock tune that barely drowned out the sound of clinking glasses.

We split up, each taking a different approach to questioning the locals. I struck up a conversation with the bartender, a wiry man with a skeptical gaze.

“Strangers roll through here often?” I asked casually, leaning on the bar.

He shrugged, wiping a glass. “Not much to see in Centerville. Most don’t stick around long.”

“What about the ones who do?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why you asking?”

“Just curious,” I said with a smile, trying to put him at ease.

Eventually, the bartender opened up. He and a couple of locals confirmed they’d seen the same couple hanging around the bar regularly—a man and a woman who had apparently blown into town about a year ago and never left. They’d made themselves at home, which was unusual in a town like this.

Dean joined me at the bar, a cold beer in his hand. “They sound like our demons,” he muttered under his breath.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Sam said, appearing behind us. “But it’s definitely worth looking into.”

We stayed a little longer, gathering more details about the mysterious couple before heading back to the abandoned house. The pieces were starting to come together, but we still had more questions than answers.

…

The house was eerily quiet as we settled in for the night. The faint creak of the wind brushing against the boarded-up windows added to the atmosphere. Sam and Dean were in the small, makeshift living room, pouring over maps and the notes we’d scribbled down from the bar. I sat cross-legged on a tattered armchair, watching as they hashed out tomorrow’s plan.

“We need to figure out where they’ve been taking these people,” Sam said, tapping his pen against the map.

Dean grunted. “Yeah, but waltzing into their hideout isn’t exactly easy. They’ve been here a year. They know the lay of the land better than we do.”

Sam leaned back, crossing his arms. “That’s why we need to split up. Y/N should approach them. Alone.”

Dean’s head snapped up, his jaw tightening. “No way. Not happening.”

Sam held up a hand. “Hear me out. They’ve been targeting strangers, right? Someone who seems like they don’t have ties. If Y/N plays the part of a solo traveler, it could get them to drop their guard.”

I stayed quiet, letting them argue. Dean’s protectiveness was nothing new, but this was different. His shoulders were tense, his voice edged with something more than frustration—it was fear.

“And what if it’s a trap?” Dean shot back, glaring at Sam.

“It’s always a trap, Dean,” I said, finally speaking up. “We’re hunters. That’s the job.”

Dean turned to me, his eyes softening but still filled with worry. “I don’t like this.”

“I can handle myself,” I said firmly.

Sam nodded. “We’ll be nearby the whole time. If anything happens, we’ll step in.”

Dean rubbed his face, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But the second anything feels off, you’re out. Got it?”

I nodded. “Got it.”

With the plan decided, we started preparing for the next day. I packed a small bag with essentials—my knife, a flask of holy water, and a few other tools of the trade. Dean handed me an emergency burner phone, his fingers brushing mine longer than necessary.

“Use it the second something goes wrong,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Promise,” I replied.

As the night wore on, we all settled into our makeshift sleeping arrangements. Dean and I took the slightly less destroyed bedroom, though the mattress on the floor left a lot to be desired. Sam claimed the couch, his long legs awkwardly dangling over the edge.

Lying next to Dean in the dark, I could feel the tension radiating off him. His breathing was steady, but I knew sleep wouldn’t come easy for him tonight.

“Dean,” I whispered.

“Yeah?”

“We’ll figure this out. Together.”

He didn’t say anything, but his hand reached out, finding mine in the darkness. He gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I know”

…

The plan was in motion the moment I stepped into the bar. The air smelled of stale beer and desperation, a fitting backdrop for what I was about to do. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I took a seat at the counter, making sure to appear as if I didn’t have a care in the world. My eyes darted around briefly, taking in the patrons. I spotted Sam a few minutes later, casually perched at the opposite end of the bar, his head down like he was nursing a bad day. Dean, much to his displeasure, was waiting outside in the Impala, ready to spring into action.

The bar door creaked open, and in walked the couple. Even without seeing their eyes flash black, I knew. The energy around them was unmistakable—dark, predatory. They carried themselves with the confidence of predators circling their prey.

I felt their gazes lock onto me almost immediately. My heart pounded in my chest, but I didn’t let it show. I picked up my drink and took a casual sip, pretending not to notice them as they approached.

The man slid onto the stool to my right, the woman to my left, effectively boxing me in. “Well, hey there,” the man said, his voice smooth but with an undercurrent that made my skin crawl. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

I turned my head slightly, giving him a small, shy smile. “Just passing through,” I said, keeping my voice light and friendly.

The woman leaned in, her perfume almost choking me. “Passing through? Someone like you must have places to be, people to see.”

I shook my head. “Not really. Just… trying to figure out where I’m going next.”

“Perfect,” the man said, his grin widening. “We might be able to help with that. You see, my partner and I—” he gestured to the woman with a nod “—work for a modeling agency. Talent scouts. And, well…” He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering uncomfortably. “You’ve got the look.”

My stomach churned, but I forced a surprised laugh. “Me? Modeling? I don’t know…”

The woman placed a hand on my arm, her touch cold despite the warmth of the bar. “You’ve got it, trust me. We’ve got a studio just outside town. Free shoot, no strings attached. Just to see if you’d be a good fit.”

I hesitated, playing my part. “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“That’s the beauty of it,” the man said, his tone dripping with fake enthusiasm. “Fresh faces. Untapped potential.”

I looked between them, feigning a mix of doubt and intrigue. “Alright. Why not?”

The woman clapped her hands together, her smile too wide. “Fantastic. Let’s head out.”

I glanced toward the exit briefly, knowing Dean was just outside, then picked up my bag and followed them out of the bar. As we walked to their car, I caught Sam’s reflection in the bar mirror. His jaw was tight, his fingers twitching, ready to act if needed.

The couple led me to a black sedan parked a few spaces away. The man opened the back door for me, gesturing for me to get in.

I climbed in, clutching my bag tightly. The moment the door shut, I felt the weight of their eyes on me, and I forced myself to focus. This was just the beginning. Dean and Sam wouldn’t be far. Whatever came next, I wasn’t alone—even if I had to act like I was.

I sat in the back of the black sedan, watching as the town disappeared behind us. The ride was long, the demons making small talk, keeping up their act as professional talent scouts. I played along, feigning excitement and nervousness, while my mind stayed focused on the mission.

The farmhouse they took me to was beautiful, the kind of place that would make anyone believe this was a legitimate opportunity. Inside, they led me to a professional-looking studio, complete with backdrops, bright lights, and a rack of designer clothes.

For two hours, they ran the whole con—switching my outfits, styling my hair, touching up my makeup. They directed me through various poses, snapping pictures as if this was just another day in the life of a budding model. It was almost impressive how much effort they put into the charade. Almost.

At the end of it, they smiled, nodding approvingly.

“You’re perfect,” the woman cooed, brushing a stray curl from my face.

“Absolutely,” the man agreed. “We’ll put you up for the night, and first thing in the morning, someone will take you to New York to sign the contracts.”

I widened my eyes in fake excitement. “Really? Oh my god, this is insane!”

The woman smiled. “I know. You’ll be a star.”

They led me to a cozy-looking bedroom, complete with a plush bed and a window overlooking the fields. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, I dropped the act.

I moved cautiously, making sure I wasn’t being watched. Then, I pulled out my phone and typed a message to Dean and Sam.

Demons running a long con. Getting people out of town with the modeling scam. They plan to move me to NYC in the morning. No sign of the other victims yet. What’s the plan?

Dean’s reply was almost instant.

We’re pulling you out. Letting Bobby know their next stop. Sit tight. We’re coming.

I let out a slow breath. Good. I had no doubt they’d come for me, but still, something in my gut felt off.

…

Dean and Sam broke into the house as quietly as possible. The plan was simple—get in, take the demons by surprise, and get out before anyone knew what hit them.

But something went wrong.

I heard the scuffle from my room—the heavy thuds of bodies colliding, the crash of furniture breaking. My heart pounded as I cracked the door open just in time to see Sam wrestling the female demon, chanting an exorcism.

And then I saw Dean.

Or rather, I saw the way his body jerked unnaturally, his back arching as the male demon forced its way inside him. His green eyes flashed black.

My breath caught in my throat. “No.”

He turned his head slowly, those black eyes locking onto me with a cruel smirk. “Well, well,” the demon purred, rolling Dean’s shoulders like he was settling into a new suit. “This is… cozy.”

“Dean.” My voice shook. “I know you’re in there. You have to fight it.”

The demon laughed, stepping closer. “Oh sweetheart, he’s fighting all right. But he won’t win.”

Sam had finished his exorcism, the female demon shrieking as she burned away. Now he turned to me, panic in his eyes.

“Y/N, get back!”

But I couldn’t move. Not when Dean’s possessed body lunged at me.

I barely had time to react before I was pinned against his chest, held between Dean and Sam. Deans hunting knife was held to my throat. I was looking at Sam as tears pricked my eyes.

I gasped, clawing at his wrist, my heart hammering. “Dean,” I choked out. “Please… you can fight this.”

His grip faltered for the briefest second, his expression twisting in pain. “Y/N…” Dean’s voice broke through, hoarse and strained.

The demon snarled, trying to regain control, but I felt the flicker of resistance in Dean’s arms.

“That’s it,” I whispered. “You’re stronger than him. You’re stronger.”

Dean clenched his jaw, his whole body shaking as he fought the demon inside him. Then, with an agonized roar, his head snapped back, and a thick cloud of black smoke erupted from his mouth, disappearing through the nearest vent.

Dean collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.

I didn’t hesitate. I dropped down beside him, wrapping my arms around him in a tight, desperate hug. “I thought I was gonna lose you,” I sobbed, clutching onto him like he might disappear.

He exhaled shakily, his arms circling me just as tightly. “I’m here,��� he murmured. “I’m right here.”

…

Back at the abandoned house, we packed up in silence, the weight of the failed hunt pressing down on us.

Sam was on the phone with Bobby, explaining what had happened, his voice tight with frustration. “One got away… Yeah, we’ll head back to the bunker…can we talk about this later”

I sat in the Impala, my hands still trembling slightly. The reality of what had happened hadn’t fully sunk in yet. Dean had almost—

I shook my head, shutting the thought down. He was here. He was okay.

Dean slid into the backseat beside me, pulling me against him. “You’re shaking,” he murmured.

I let out a weak laugh. “Yeah, well. Watching you get possessed kinda does that to a girl.”

His arms tightened around me, his lips pressing a soft kiss to my hair. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

I nodded, closing my eyes as the Impala rumbled to life.

The road stretched ahead of us, a long 17 hours back to the bunker. But for now, I let myself breathe, let myself believe that, at least for the moment, we were safe.

[halfagonyandhope]

ignite the stars │ch. 10

first chapter (x); previous chapter (x)

Satine Kryze is an internationally-recognized scholar in genocide studies who recently resigned from the Department of State over her concerns regarding the agency's ethics. Ben Kenobi is a tenured professor at Georgetown University studying the use of religion to justify military conflicts. Once high school sweethearts, the two haven't spoken since parting ways for university. That is, until Satine accepts a research fellowship - at Georgetown.

---

Satine leans back against her desk, not quite trusting her ability to remain upright without an anchor. Ben drops his bag at the door and steps toward her. “The Secretary of State is keeping tabs on you?”

She looks up at him. “It appears so.”

He looks around as though hoping he’ll find answers in the air around them. Eventually, he asks, “Satine, why did you leave the State Department?” 

She shakes her head. “I can’t tell you,” she whispers, wishing she could convey everything in a glance, without words. But that would still be bringing him into the game, and she’d never jeopardize him by involving him.

Ben scrubs a hand down his face. “Satine.” He takes a step back, turns quickly, and paces across her office. The only other time she’s seen his emotions so clearly on display was two days ago, in the library, so rarely do his feelings bubble over the surface.

He stops, facing her.

“Are you in any danger?”

Depends on your definition of the word ‘danger’, she thinks but does not say aloud. But judging by his expression, he’s guessed her thoughts.

“Satine,” he says again, stepping to her and placing his hands on her elbows. “What is going on? Please. Please.”

She places a hand on his chest and pushes him back firmly. “Ben, if you have any respect for me, if you care for me at all, you will not pursue the answers to those questions. You will not even ask those questions.”

His face falls, and Satine hates that she is the reason.

“You said whatever I am going through - it is mine,” she reminds him. “At least for now. So I’m asking you to keep your word.”

There’s a sharp rapping at the door. “Kryze! Is Kenobi in there with you? Vos and I are about to head out for drinks.”

“One moment!” yells Satine, glancing at the door and then back at Ben. She lowers her voice. “Promise me, Ben.”

“Satine - ”

“Promise me.” Her voice is nearly a growl.

He nods sharply. “I promise.”

She brushes past him, but he reaches at the last second to grab her elbow, turning her back around. “Satine, I - ”

“I know,” she says, but she doesn’t, not really. She just doesn’t have the bandwidth to respond further. So, instead, she moves to the door to open it. Ventress and Vos are on the other side, and they exchange a look upon noticing that Ben had been with her behind closed doors.

But then Ventress takes a closer look at Satine’s face. “Change of plan, boys,” says Ventress. “Vos, take Kenobi. Kryze and I are going out.”

“Beg pardon?” says Satine, her head snapping up to look at Ventress as Ben helps her shrug into her jacket. Ben’s fingers linger a fraction of a second too long at the nape of her neck as he pulls her hair out from the coat, letting it fall softly on her back.

“You heard me,” says Ventress. “Kenobi, hand her her bag, and let’s get going.”

Satine sends Ben a helpless look as Ventress’ cold hand wraps around her wrist and pulls her out of the office. Ben flips the lights off as he steps over the threshold of the door, and the trio wait for Satine to lock up behind her.

“Come on,” says Ventress, and she leads Satine away from Vos and Ben, Vos shrugging, clearly used to such behavior. Ben hasn’t managed to wipe the quizzical look from his face as Satine and Ventress disappear from view.

Ventress pulls her into the elevator, and she requests a taxi on her phone. “I know a place,” she says, laughing at Satine’s wide eyes. “I’m buying you a drink.”

The elevator door closes in front of them. 

Ventress adds, “You look like you need one.”

---

Half an hour later, they step out of the taxi in front of a donut shop. “They sell drinks here?” asks Satine, not bothering to hide her confusion.

Ventress just laughs again, and Satine follows her inside.

In the entryway, there’s a small District flag hanging from the corner. Ventress pulls on the flag, which appears to be attached to some sort of pulley device.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never been to a speakeasy,” says Ventress. When Satine says nothing, she rolls her eyes. “Academics. You all don’t get out enough.”

Then the wall by the flag starts to move, sliding a few inches, and a young woman’s head pops out. “Two?” she asks, and Ventress nods. The door opens further, and she gestures Ventress and Satine inside.

She shuts the door behind them.

Satine’s eyes adjust slowly to the stark contrast in lighting between the donut shop and the speakeasy. Where the donut shop was bright, lit with neon colors, the speakeasy’s lighting is soft, filled with small light fixtures, and much of the actual room itself is dark. From what Satine can make out, it appears to be a converted garage, filled with eclectic and antique leather chairs and old tables, and string lights hang on the walls.

The hostess says, “Table or bar?”

“Bar,” says Ventress, and the hostess leads them around the tables.

The bar is more lit, with backlights lining the shelves behind it, making the bottles of alcohol stacked there look like they glow in the dark. Ventress sits immediately on a barstool, hooking her coat underneath the bar’s countertop, and Satine follows her lead.

Satine does a double take, checking again to confirm she’s seen correctly.

“There are no men here,” she murmurs.

“Even owned by women,” says Ventress. And she grins and flags the bartender over. She orders a vodka, and then she looks at Satine. 

Satine examines the bottles on the wall behind the bartender. “Whatever you suggest mixed with brandy.”

The bartender lets them watch her prepare their drinks, and Satine is hit with the significance of a woman-owned bar, of a bar whose patrons are not men. Some of the tension leaves her shoulders.

Ventress seems to notice. “Want to talk about it?” she says, thanking the bartender as she sets both drinks in front of them.

Without hesitation, Satine reaches for hers. “What do you know about Malek?”

Ventress sips her vodka. “Never to be alone with him. If Malek ever stops by again, make an excuse and leave immediately. You’ve got Kenobi’s office next to yours, so literally rap on the wall if you don’t feel comfortable slipping past Malek. If Kenobi’s not in, Vos is on your other side - do the same and he’ll be over immediately.” She reaches for a napkin and then asks the bartender for a pen. Scribbling on the napkin, she says, “This is my cell number.” She writes another number below it. “And this one is Vos’. Text us both if he ever shows up again.”

She slides the napkin over to Satine.

Satine nods and slips the napkin into her pocket. “How did you know Malek stopped by my office?”

“Vos and I saw him leaving. That, and your expression after was a giveaway.”

“Do you know about him from…personal experience?”

Ventress swirls her drink around. “Luckily, no. But I was warned, just like I’m warning you. Just like we now need to warn all the graduate students.”

Satine runs her hand through her hair. She understands the implications, the undertones, of Ventress’ warning without her friend needing to elaborate. “And here I was, already worried about him professionally. Now I have to worry about physical danger, too.”

“He didn’t visit your office to make a sexual advance?” asks Ventress, surprised. 

Satine shakes her head. “It was an academic threat, connected to my time at State.”

Ventress swears. She leans in. “Listen, that man has been passed from institution to institution in the past few years, and there are more stories than I’d care to count about the women’s lives he’s shattered as he moved. Whatever he can do to you professionally, your immediate concern is to physically stay as far away from him as possible.”

Satine takes a deep drink. “Is it the usual? No woman is safe enough to testify or come forward? Each university covering their own ass, just grateful to get rid of him so that he’s no longer their problem?”

“Why do you think he’s been sent away from the War College?”

Satine sighs. “I’m going to need another brandy,” she tells the bartender.

As the bartender makes the drink, Ventress says, “While in the taxi, I texted Vos to brief Kenobi so that he knows all this as well. He’ll keep an eye on your office, which means that between the two of them, you’ve basically got your own Secret Service team.”

Satine blinks at her, and Ventress chuckles.

“Vos very nearly played professional rugby in Samoa, but decided he’d rather have a full-ride scholarship to play American football at Berkeley instead. He’s also an expert in Limalama, which is a Samoan type of self-defense. And Kenobi was an Army Ranger. He didn’t tell you?”

Satine finishes off her first drink and reaches for her second, murmuring her thanks to the bartender. “I thought he was a military translator.”

“I imagine his Arabic was probably used during some of his missions, so that wouldn’t technically be a lie.”

Satine pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear, contemplating this. It’s not as though she���d directly asked Ben about his time in the military; she’d made her inferences based on casual Google searches. “I haven’t exactly been forthright with him about my professional life,” she admits finally. “I can’t complain if he acts similarly.”

“He’ll tell you,” says Ventress, and there’s no mistaking the sureness of her tone. “It may just take a while. I don’t know the details, but I imagine he saw some fucked up shit.”

“Him and me both, then,” Satine says, taking another drink.

“Speaking of him and you,” says Ventress. “You appear to have gone from it’s complicated to it’s officially complicated in the span of one week.” 

Satine nearly spills her drink all over the top of the bar. Ventress smirks at her.

“That would not be an inaccurate assessment of our relationship status,” says Satine.

Ventress takes another sip. “Progress is progress,” she says, grinning.

---

Satine is getting ready for bed when her phone lights up with a text from Ben.

Text me so I know you’re home safe.

She sits on her bed in the dark, reading the words several times, a rush of warmth flooding through her with each pass.

I’m back safe and sound, she responds.

She sees the ellipses that indicate he’s composing a reply, and she waits until the words come through.

Quinlan told me about Malek. We compared our schedules and he’s going to make sure he’s in his office next to yours whenever I teach so that someone is always there.

Satine has to lock her phone after reading this, and she tilts her head back, willing the tears not to fall. Ben’s words from the library echo in her mind: You don’t have to do everything alone, Satine.

The light returns, indicating she’s received another text.

Are you okay?

Oh, how to respond to that.

Finally, she decides on: I’m a little shaken, if I’m being honest. 

His reply is immediate. I’d be more worried if you weren’t.

Fair, she replies. And then: How was your night out with Vos?

His response takes a little more time. You mean how is it still going? We’re still out, and he’s getting another round.

Yes, she replies. I clearly meant: how is it still going?

Satine pulls her knees to her chest, hugging herself tightly, as another text from Ben comes in.

That man is not affected by alcohol whatsoever. My tolerance is far lower.

Satine lifts a brow. You’re drunk, she texts in realization, laughing. She laughs harder when she realizes that despite his inebriated state, his texts still have impeccable grammar.

Very, he replies.

I’ve never seen you drunk, she says, her thoughts wandering. You were such a golden student that we never actually drank underage.

Clearly I’m making up for lost time.

The ellipses return, indicating he’s composing another reply. This one takes far longer to appear, and Satine’s brow furrows. 

Then a voice note file arrives. Curious, she presses play.

“Satine!” comes Vos’ voice. “Ben here has been like Orpheus all night, singing your praises.”

“Quinlan, the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice is a tragedy - ” cuts in Ben. “Give me back the phone before you scare her off.”

“First, have you seen the way she looks at you?” says Vos, but his voice is a little faint, as though he’s holding the phone away from himself slightly. “Eurydice isn’t going anywhere. Second, grow a few more inches and put on some muscle, and then we’ll talk.”

Satine is struck by the sudden image of two brothers, the taller of whom is playing - and winning - a game of keepaway. She rolls her eyes, amused.

A moment later, the din of the bar becomes less prominent, and Vos’ voice becomes easier to hear.

“I’m trying to convince him to offer to teach you self defense,” says Vos. “Not only would it be good for you to know the basics - ”

Ben sighs in the background. “She’s a pacifist, Quinlan.”

“And who says pacifists can’t defend themselves? Look, Satine, I think you should agree because, quite frankly, you’re the only one capable of fairly getting the drop on Kenobi, and that would amuse me greatly.”

The voice note ends suddenly, and Satine suspects that Ben has managed to wrestle his phone back from Quinlan. Satine leans back against the pillows and pulls the duvet over her skin. She shivers slightly at the cool air, rolling over to her side.

Another text message appears.

My apologies. I will call you tomorrow, if you’re agreeable.

I’m very much still agreeable, Satine types, and then she presses send.

She sets the phone on her nightstand and rolls over, anticipating sleep.

But it doesn’t come to meet her.

Instead, the glow from the streetlight outside casts shadows through the dark, and memories knock at Satine’s subconscious, threatening to break in. Satine pulls the duvet up to cover most of her head, trying to slow her breathing, but her body temperature rises uncomfortably. She feels a bead of sweat roll down her back, and then another.

She hasn’t dealt with insomnia since she was a child, after escaping Bosnia. But she remembers her coping mechanisms, and all of them warn against remaining in bed just to continue to toss and turn. So she grabs her robe, tightens it around her waist, and heads downstairs.

If she’s awake, she might as well make herself useful.

She grabs her laptop and burrows into the couch, blanket covering her legs. Desperate to keep the memories out, she decides to complete a book proposal review she’d been putting off. She’s not any less tired after submitting the review, however, so she accepts an invitation to review an article being considered for a journal she’s regularly published in.

The article has a solid start, and Satine has some pointers on how to improve it, including additional literature to cite and a question about an analysis that apparently has not yet been run. When she finally submits the review, she sets the laptop on the coffee table, settling back against the couch cushions. 

This time, she leaves the light on, and she tries to sleep again.

But sleep is nowhere to be found, and by this point, her head is pounding thanks to the brandy cocktails she’d had and hours of staring at a computer screen. Satine shuts off the light and throws herself back on the couch, and the darkness provides at least some relief to her headache.

But with it come the memories, and Satine is too exhausted to continue to push them back.

Pulling the blanket over her head, she lets herself cry.

Over the next few hours, she dips close to sleep but never quite manages to sink under. She finds herself angry at the sun when it eventually rises, a constant reminder that she should also be rising as well.

Mid-afternoon, she hears Ben’s distinctive knock at her door, and she scrambles up from the couch to open it. Gesturing him inside, she rambles, “I thought you meant you would call me on the phone, not literally call upon me.”

Ben stomps the snow off of his shoes before stepping over the threshold. “I listened to the voice note Quinlan sent again - this time fully sober - and I realized I needed to apologize in person.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” says Satine, taking his coat and hanging it up in the closet. “I actually think it’s wonderful that you have such good friends. I like Vos, and I like Ventress. And it’s charming that both like you enough to tease you.”

Ben’s expression changes as she speaks, and she realizes that his gaze has dropped below her eyes.

“Ben?”

His eyes snap up. “Did I wake you?” he asks, gesturing at her attire. Satine realizes belatedly she’s still dressed in her sleepwear: leggings and the oversize tee shirt that’s fallen off her shoulder, exposing the bralette underneath.

As he takes her in, Ben’s brow furrows.

“You look tired,” he notes. “Actually, you look dead on your feet.”

Satine sighs. “I didn’t sleep well last night,” she admits. She uses her fingers to comb her hair back into place. “I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“I thought Ventress had you back before nine.”

She nods. “She did. My lack of sleep had nothing to do with going out.”

Ben kicks off his shoes, and before she realizes what’s happening, he’s literally gathered her in his arms, bridal-style.

Taken aback, all Satine can manage to say is, “Well, this is new.”

And, indeed - for the first time, she realizes how much muscle he truly has put on since they were young. He’d been strong, then, of course, but he’d only been eighteen and just coming out of a growth spurt. He’s broader now - properly filled out - and Satine remembers what Ventress had said about Ben having been an Army Ranger.

Ben just chuckles. “We were bound to grow up eventually.”

“Sometimes I wish we hadn’t,” Satine whispers. 

And Ben carries her to the couch, where he sits, still cradling her to his chest. He grabs the throw blanket and tosses it over them both, leaning back and positioning her so that she can stretch out against him, sharing his body heat to fight the February chill. Ben doesn’t respond, just allowing her to have her space, allowing her to have time. She rests a hand on his chest. 

“I don’t remember anything about my life in Bosnia,” Satine eventually begins. “Rationally I know this is disassociation, and it’s a trauma response to Srebrenica.”

She concentrates on Ben’s breathing.

“I don’t remember my father. I quite literally have no memories of him. I have one picture we managed to save, and the things my mother told me about him before she herself passed, but that’s it.”

Ben’s arms tighten around her.

“I already told you all this, and about my mother, of course. How those memories haunted her. And the entirety of my adult life, I resented her for not being able to live with those memories - for taking herself from me when she was all I had left. But…” she trails off, gripping Ben’s sweater. “Last night, talking to Ventress, it brought up some things. Memories I hadn’t realized I could feel, even if I can’t really remember. Ventress warned me about Malek, and it was like…like a tuning fork, causing all these other moments to vibrate to life again.”

Ben tries to lift her face to meet his gaze, but she shakes her head.

“If I look at you right now, I won’t be able to keep talking,” she whispers.

He nods against her and doesn’t push it.

So Satine continues. “Did you know the first use of the term genocidal rape was in reference to what happened in Bosnia?”

He doesn’t respond beyond a sharp intake of breath, but it is response enough.

“Not that that means rape wasn’t used as a tool of genocide well before Srebrenica,” adds Satine. “But the term was first used to describe the violence there. The concept of genocidal rape was first proposed in 1996. And I…I think it’s related to what my mother had to live with. More accurately, I think it’s what she couldn’t live with.”

Her grip on his sweater grows tighter.

“I still don’t remember anything about Bosnia. But I think she was…I think she was raped. And I suspect that if it had just been her own rape that she had to live with, she probably could have survived.”

“Satine,” murmurs Ben, and suddenly his arms are vice-like. “Are you saying…”

“I don’t remember,” says Satine. “Nor do I want to. But…I think there’s a high likelihood that my mother killed herself because she couldn’t live with the memories of watching them…”

She can’t get the word out.

“...hurt me, too. In front of her. While she could do nothing to stop it.”

She hears him swallow, can feel the tension in his jaw as he brings his lips to her temple. But she has to continue, because now that the words are half-out, she has to tell him everything. 

“I think I unknowingly endangered you, Ben. Our first time, I wasn’t tested. Obviously I’ve been tested since then and had a clear bill of health, and it sounds like you have been, too, with similar results. But I put you at risk.” She buries her head into the crook of his neck. “I put you at risk.”

“No,” he says immediately. “No, Satine, don’t say that. It’s not true. You didn’t know, and none of that was your fault - ”

“Just because it wasn’t my fault doesn’t mean it wasn’t my responsibility - ”

“Satine,” he says, and his voice is strangled. “No. It wasn’t your fault, nor was it your responsibility. You were a child.”

And her headache is back - or perhaps it never left - and it brings tears to her eyes. Closing her eyes tightly helps, but it does not keep the tears from falling.

“Ben, I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

“As you told me earlier, I’m telling you now: there’s nothing to apologize for,” says Ben, and the silk of his voice is reassuring mixed with the steel of his arms around her. 

She hears the words but doesn’t fully comprehend them. “I’m so sorry.”

He kisses her forehead again and rests a hand on the back of her head, his fingers combing through her hair, massaging her skin. And she’s not sure what she did to deserve such divine intervention but she’ll take it - because his fingers are somehow the antidote to her headache, driving it away with each movement.

The tension begins to leave her muscles, and the flow of tears slows.

“I’m here, Satine,” Ben whispers. “I’m here.”

She nods against him. “I know,” she says weakly.

“I’m here,” he says again, and it’s the last thing she remembers before passing out.

---

When Satine wakes up, it’s dark again outside, and she immediately reaches for Ben. Instead, she finds her pillow, and she realizes that at some point Ben had carried her up the stairs and tucked her into bed. Sitting up, she switches on the lamp on her nightstand.

The duvet on the other side of the bed is wrinkled but hasn’t been pulled down, and Satine realizes that Ben must have laid with her for some time, choosing to remain on top of the comforter. Her heart twists with such force that she has to marvel at the sensation, and it occurs to her that maybe this is what it feels like to mend a heart rather than feel one break.

A soft clanging sound echoes from downstairs, and Satine notices that the hallway light is still on. She hears a faucet being turned on and then off, and she realizes Ben hasn’t left yet. Moreover, he appears to be prepping something in her kitchen.

Curious, she throws back the duvet and heads downstairs - sure enough, Ben stands at the range, stirring two pots. His sweater has been tossed on the counter, leaving him wearing a plain gray tee shirt and jeans. Satine smiles, leaning against the wall at the foot of the stairs, and watches him for a moment in silence.

As though he realizes he’s being observed, Ben looks over his shoulder. Catching her eye, he gives her a soft smile. “Feeling better?”

She nods. “Much.” She shuffles toward him, standing next to him at the stove. “What are you making?”

“Garlic penne pasta with sun-dried tomatoes,” he says. He hands her a pasta fork. “Keep an eye on the pasta for me as I make the sauce?”

“Bold of you to assume I won’t burn it.”

“It’s noodles, Satine. In water. How would you even - ”

“My friend Breha wouldn’t let me boil water alone in college,” she says.

Ben takes the pasta fork back from her. “In that case…”

Satine just laughs.

“We’ll work on your culinary prowess some other time, when you’ve had a proper number of hours of sleep.”

“So suddenly you can cook?”

“There was nothing sudden about it,” says Ben. “It took many years, and many hours watching YouTube videos.”

He reaches for the colander and sets it in the sink. Satine steps back so he can drain the noodles.

“How long was I asleep for?”

“It’s almost eight o’clock, so a few hours.”

“And you’ve been here this whole time?”

“Well, I stopped at the co-op down the street to pick up a few ingredients you were missing. But yes, I stayed. Just like I told you.”

I’m here, Satine. I’m here.

He sets the empty pot on an oven mitt and pours the now-drained pasta back into it. Satine waits until he turns off the other burner and moves the sauce to the side, and then she can wait no longer.

She pulls him toward her, rolling onto the balls of her feet so she can press her lips against his.

She immediately decides it’s been far too long since they’d kissed on Wednesday in the library; they’d been too cautious about whatever this fragile thing between them is to take a step forward and risk it being a misstep. Ben seems to agree, if the way he returns the kiss is any indication - one hand grips her hip and pulls her closer while the other traces down her spine, and she moans into his mouth as his fingers move over her lower back.

His tongue asks for permission against her lips, and she readily grants it. When he catches her lip between his teeth, she shivers, pulling against his hair, and his hands seem to drop of their own accord to her ass.

He lifts her easily, moving across the kitchen to set her down on an unused portion of the countertop, her legs still wrapped around his hips. But when she reaches down to fumble with her own shirt, he pulls back slightly, panting.

“Wait,” Ben says, hands on her own. At her questioning glance, he adds, “It’s not that I don’t want to. But given what you told me today, maybe we should take things slower.”

He gives her a chaste kiss to take the sting out of his words.

“You probably need time to process everything,” he murmurs.

He searches her face, hands coming up to frame it.

“I know you hate waiting. I know you tend to go after something as soon as you know you want it. And we’ll get there; I promise. But in the meantime, I propose a compromise.”

She hooks a finger through one of the loops on his jeans and pulls him closer. “I’m listening.”

“If you want to fool around, I’m obviously not opposed.” Ben reaches for his sweater, and he pulls it over her head, helping her thread her arms through the sleeves. “And if skin is what you’re after, then here.” And he brings her hands to the hem of his tee shirt. “In the meantime, my hands will venture no further down than here - ”

Ben places his fingers on her hips.

“And my lips no further down than here.”

He kisses her clavicle.

“And then, once you’ve talked with someone - you still have a therapist, right?”

Satine nods.

“Once you’ve talked with someone, then we’ll talk about how to proceed.” He holds her gaze. “Are those terms acceptable?”

In response, she grins and pulls the shirt up and over his head.

[snake-skinz]

Bitten

I knew the risks when I started dating a vampire. Bloodlust, occasional fits of aggression, lack of aging. All the things they teach you in the supernatural unit of seventh grade health. I always did get Bs in that class. Now I'm in some dingy motel room by the gas station wearing his jacket because mine was coated in my own blood and the smell was driving me insane. Last I remember is making out with him, feeling him against me. Then things got steamier, he started getting more aggressive. He bit me. Again: I knew the risks. I can only blame myself really. He even warned me when I asked him out: he had trouble controlling the thirst. A brief thought bubbles about calling Mom but I shake it away. How would I explain this? "Hey Mom, you know that vampire that you didn't want me dating? He bit me!" No. I can't tell her that. Put her through that. This is my fault, I got him riled up. I should've known better. The smell of my jacket from the tiny metal trash bin saunters it's way into my nose. No. I have to fight it. I need to get myself out of this. I can't let this ruin my plans. I got into Brown. I'm going to study ancient runes with a minor in art. I'm going to get a nice place in Gnome Acres and I'm going to be okay. A cough escapes my lips and blood splatters over my chest. I feel a sharp prick in my gums. I'm growing fangs. I wipe away the blood with a sweep of my tongue and spit it out on the floor. I can't bring myself to care about the poor cleaning pixie that will have to scrub it out of the carpet. I wonder where he is. Perhaps searching for another (ridiculous, stupid, naive) human kid to seduce. What's another another six months to an immortal? I wince as I feel a stabbing in my tongue. I stick it out to see it coated in coagulated viscera. I gag, practically upchucking it out of my mouth. After a cough or two I look at my tongue again. It's forked. A cold feeling enters my stomach. Like a stone being dropped down a mile long well. My body is being permanently altered. My tongue will never be circular again. My teeth will be sharp and jagged forever. I tear my tear filled eyes away from the ground towards the blinds. I think it'll be the lack of sun that'll get me. No more bright beach days with Mom. No more afternoon strolls. I won't get to feel the light bounce of my skin and warm my flesh ever again. Maybe thats why he was such a curmudgeon. The lack of sunlight. Or maybe it was just his natural disposition. Either way I guess I'll be finding out soon. I look at the blinds again. The previous dark navy that permeated the sky and peered through into the dingy room was slowly beginning to brighten. I know that it's time for me to leave but where am I supposed to go? I wrap his jacket tighter around me and stand up, my knees rattling slightly at the movement. As I step out of the motel room and stumble my way out of the parking lot I have no clue where I'm going. Nowhere feels safe anymore. Nobody. Another thought slithers in: I'm so thirsty.

There's a young man across the street.

[talesofsonicasura]

Glamorous Mishaps

Based on this post. I thought it be best to put my examples about Optimus Prime's mishap with glamour here since they're more story oriented. There will be three involving OCs of mine as I got other ideas for Self Insert. Now let's get started!

Transformers Prime: Oil and Sugar

Optimus Prime was a being of habit. It is quite rare to see him leave the base, much less rest. His current outing was one of those unique times as curiosity led the Autobot to explore Jasper. Optimus didn't mean to bump into the strange woman and knock the pastries from her arms. Nor find out why she smells like a rabbit.

First example is my rabbit yaoguai Tikki Cho, owner of the therapeutic Sweet Healing Bakery. A kindhearted motherly woman who prefers not to fight and settle issues peacefully. It doesn't mean Tikki will let people walk over her as the rabbit can suplex someone like Optimus in seconds.

She had recently settled into Jasper to open her bakery when our dear Prime enters the scene. Optimus decides to help Tikki set up shop mainly as an apology for his less than stellar greeting. The two become great friends with the Autobot Leader visiting in holoform whenever he can.

It's all fine and dandy until Megatron returns. A Vehicon attack forces Optimus Prime to reveal his true nature and take Tikki to base. Funnily enough, no one expected the human woman to become a big fluffy rabbit!

Optimus Prime: You aren't human?

Tikki Cho: I guess both of us had a secret, dear.

Here's what to expect!

Therapy for everyone! You can bet your ass Tikki is gonna get both bots and humans to healthily process trauma. If she happens to give sessions to some Decepticons, they consented.

Cybertronians underestimate the rabbit baker. It's all fun and games until the bunny kicks your bearings with boulder shattering strength. Or throw your metallic ass into a mountain as if a purse.

Bumbling mess Optimus Prime. Man clearly doesn't get enough positive affection and he has no idea how to properly react. He tends to blue screen as one hug from Tikki solidifies how touch starved he really is.

Sacred paperweight and eldritch Satan are afraid of a bakery owner. Breakdown quits cause "bunnies are better and fuck everyone except Knockdown". Deception Leader has misinterpreted jealousy fueled hate against Optimus' ward.

Transformers Animated: Don't Stop The Beat

It's very rare to find a shop in Detroit's mechanical central not run by a robot. Yet Koro Beats proudly stands booming with prosperous music selections. Although the shop owner would never expect her secret to become uncovered by a humble 'dropout'.

Here's our second OC guest, Kororo. A feisty and extremely blunt Deku Scrub who dislikes Hylia for taking away her god son Link. She left her world to set up shop in the TFAverse years before the events of the show began.

Kororo used to babysit Sari for Isaac and only the young girl knows about her true form. An involvement that leads to the Deku Scrub becoming entangled in the Autobots' lives during the search for Sari. She would honestly say it was like someone dumped three extra kids, an inexperienced young adult and a grumpy grandpa on her.

Kororo becomes Optimus' emotional support as it's clear he needs a friend around his age. Things turn out fine until Black Arachnia accidentally wreaks havoc with the All Spark. Kororo drops her human mask before Optimus and helps him save Sari.

Optimus Prime: Kororo, you're a small...tree person?

Kororo: Finally! Someone who doesn't mistake me for a dummy!

What to expect:

Autobots have a one Deku Scrub pep squad ready to throw hands. Sentinel Prime and Ultra Magnus are intimidated by this small tree woman as magic bubbles fired like bullets HURT. No one berates Optimus Prime with Kororo around.

Sari tries to parent trap music store owner with a giant robot. Both are so damn confused about the constant weird shenanigans happening. Ratchet puts a stop to it because one trap left him in an ugly yellow paint job.

"How To Accidentally Adopt Decepticons by a still confused Deku Scrub." Being nice to one Con having a bad day becomes a domino effect. Megatron and Starscream are so bewildered about the sudden decrease in numbers.

When your missing god son shows up at the door with your lost mask trapped deity friend. Link wonders how he suddenly got adopted into a family like this but doesn't mind. Optimus Prime somehow becomes a ward to a forgotten war god. More at 11.

Transformers Knightverse: Steel Magnolias

A shrine surrounded by roses. Optimus had been plague by the visage despite never encountering such a place. As he searches for clues about his scout's on this strange planet, Prime would stumble across a mysterious entity living secretly amongst the unaware humans.

The final OC for this glamour based mishaps, Rose Elysium or Rosa for short. An wandering emissary of chaos who travels dimensions searching for wonders. She only aids those that proves themselves worthy or gather her curiosity.

Optimus Prime stumbles across Rosa by sheer accident as he searches for Bumblebee. He constantly encounters the mysterious woman who helps him bit by bit whether it be his search or a companion to talk to. Only when the Autobot leader ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time does Rosa shed her mortal disguise to help him.

Optimus Prime: Are you an angel from human mythology?

Rosa: I may angelic but I am far from a simple angel.

What To Expect:

Million year old war veteran is claimed by an ancient eldritch entity. Those that earn Rosa's friendship or interest become her wards. No one should dare touch the claim of the divine as a fate worse than death awaits them.

Optimus Prime becomes accustom to seeing roses on a daily basis. A bed of flowers is more comfortable than the cold hard floor. Even a Prime needs his beauty sleep and Rosa is happy to provide it.

Optimus' helm is a perch for chaos emissaries and susceptible to hugs. Rosa is nice enough to cover his optics or audials when someone's about to do something stupid. He can finally be childish for once without breaking his 'Prime air'.

Tired dad of three kids now has a caretaker to help manage them. Mirage definitely started calling Rosa 'mom' and it quickly spreads. He also tries to ship her with Optimus like the gremlin he is. Bumblebee helps much to bossbot's future horror as they will enact the Parent Trap scheme. (Side story.)

And that's it! I thought about just doing only Transformers Prime for all three but decided not to since every iteration deserves love. As for ships, those will stay in side stories mainly because some readers rather read fics without romance being in the way.

Until next time folks, I'll see you later! Transform and Roll Out!

[samrieimg]

This very late Monday drabble is from a later chapter of "Play Like You Mean it"

...

TW: Graphic descriptions of violence/some descriptions of nudity/abundance of pred/prey

...

He stooped next to George, his movements filled with the grace, yet laziness of a victorious old dog after it got the downed fowl. George acted his part of dead fowl. Dream trailed a hand down his face, his fingers tracing his jaw.

 “I think that’s enough for today, don’t you? You don’t do this is as much as I do. You’re getting all worn down." George bristled, but he only blinked slow, focusing on his breath rising and falling in his chest. "But you know, I love how hard you try. You want to own me so bad,” Dream trilled. “But you’re still too soft. You got so close, but you won’t kill me. You won’t cross the line.”

Dream cradled George's head against his shoulder as he scooped him up. Dream’s hoodie is soaked in blood, enough it smears on George's cheek. He can feel Dream limping, a jolt in every step as he carries George like a prized catch back inside. 

“Let’s get cleaned up, George.”

Cleaned up? George wanted nothing more. 

By his own hand. In his own bathroom.

George missed his bathroom. He missed the perpetual mildew on tiles too high for him to bother with scrubbing as hard. He missed the water stain on the wall near his shower. He missed his own soap, he hadn't thought the half-empty travel-size wash he'd used over a year ago and mildly disliked would feel so foreign, nor worse when nothing he saw or smelt in Dream's bathroom was like his own.

The little slice of agency a smell could give someone completely absent. 

Dream set George against the tub in the bathroom. He sat him up, making sure he was able to support himself before he dropped his hands.

George watched numbly as Dream tugged his bloody hoodie off and his shirt leaving his chest bare. The weak knife slash George had managed across his bicep was only skin deep at best but Dream traced it with his pinky. A small, awful little smile before he tended to it. George averted his eyes and Dream tutted.

"George, look."

George stared through his hair and eyelashes at him. 

 “I want you to see what you’ve done," Dream said, he rinsed his wound under water, letting the sink turn pink with watered blood..

“Why? So I can feel guilty?”

“Because I want you to be proud, George,” Dream corrected.  George shuddered. If he had pride, it’d dried up after that. 

Dream examined the knife wound, stretching the skin around it.  “I think it’ll scar. Both of these will.” He gestured to the burn.  It's a nasty thing for a stove top burn, the skin on his wrist is bubbling, and got uglier under the cool water, blisters bubbling up. Dream hardly winced, a testament to his pain tolerance. “You’re not much of a dog person, are you George? You're  more of a cat person.” 

George didn't answer him. His eyes lingered on Dream's injuries, willing them to be worse. He imagined the knife wound had been to the chest or the burn to the face. If he could break Dream…

Dream flashed that eerie private smile and began to strip off the rest of his clothes. He didn't bother with modesty and George averted his eyes to avoid staring at his flaccid cock. He'd already seen it before, but he wasn't in the mood. His eyes landed on Dream’s calves and with a small horror he saw skin gouged out around his ankles, like he'd been chained at some point. The more his eyes swept up the more scars he could find. A bite mark of a dog or something on his upper calf, flesh healed long ago, but badly. Dream wiped himself down with a rag, his hand lingering a minute too long on his cock to be accidental. 

“I can’t be your cat, George," Dream trilled, and he reached for George's face and tilted his jaw up. "But you—you could be mine. I like cats.” 

George stared into the green eyes. They reminded him of the woods, murky, familiar yet eerie. An uncanny horror lurking within. He shivered. Most people looked defenseless when naked, not Dream. George could see every hand that'd attempted to kill him, break him, and failed.

“I’m not your cat," George said.

“Not yet," Dream released his jaw and tossed the dirty rag on the sink. "Then again, what cat thinks it belongs to people, let alone belongs to a dog. Patches doesn’t think like that,” Dream hummed. He wrapped his arm slowly, firm gauze aroun. "No stitches. You'll appreciate I let this scar. You'll like looking at it," Dream said.

George swallowed. Rotten. He was rotten but he did hope it scarred.

“You are a cat. You certainly love knocking things over.”

George laughed, but fruitlessly he tried to muffle the sound, closing his mouth with a snap. Dream smiled, fond. 

“You know, you’re not half bad.” Dream said. “You’re such an oddity. For a cat person, coding does make sense. I checked if your little life story was true. I doubted. I used your fingerprint when you were passed out. You really are just what you said you are." Dream laughed a little.   "I’ve been wanting to learn to code." But—well, Sapnap and I keep busy.”

“If we were having this conversation before you tried to kill me…I'm sure I'd be more enthralled,” George muttered. He leaned back against the bathtub where he’d been set, onto his aching arms secured tightly behind him. “What now?”

“Well, we’re going to bed. And Sapnap will be here in the morning." Dream hummed in thought. “And then if this is all you have, you’ll die.”

“What more can I fight with. I tried.” George muttered, leaning his head back against the sill of the tub. “I admit it. I can’t fight like you. I can’t escape you. I tried. Can you just kill me in my sleep or now—get it over with? I’m tired.”

“…I could,” Dream says. “I wouldn’t even if I wanted to, I'm a loyal dog. But you’re forgetting, George.” Dream squat down, lowering himself to George. “Are you willing to own me?”

“I tried that too,” George said, but he narrowed his eyes,  his fatigue ebbing away. “But if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, you’ll convince Sapnap not to kill me.”

 Dream tutted. He stood back up. 

“No,” Dream said. He rubbed salve on his burn. “Not a chance. Sapnap’s thick in the head. No. If you want to survive, George, you’re going to have to convince me.” 

He finished his lazy wound care and squat over George, straddling his legs. “I don’t want to kill you yet, but the thing is, Sapnap’s my owner. If you want me to disobey him, you’re going to have give me a strong reason to obey you.”

George swallowed and composed himself, tilting his chin up. He looked to the side, considering it. “What doesn’t Sapnap give you? Are you trapped here?”

“Mmm.” Dream sounded thoughtful. “Now there’s an interesting word. ‘Trapped.’ ‘Broken-in’, more like, George.” Dream said. “But what doesn’t Sapnap give me? For one, he’s a little insecure. He wouldn’t want to emasculate himself. Everyone Is willing to call someone their bitch, but…” He gripped George’s jaw and licked his lips, his face inches apart. “You can see how it feels, can’t you? Would you willingly humiliate yourself?”

“Not my kink,” George said. Dream laughed, a musical sound full of delight.

“Hm, maybe it’s mine,” Dream said. “But see, the thing I’d like to see in an owner, is someone who knows we’re both just messed up, rotten little animals. And maybe George, you’re right. I don’t want this structure, these rules. Not anymore. But…Your pretty face isn’t going to convince me, because the one thing Sapnap has miles on you is blood lust and the ability to hunt things. If you can’t escape a hunter then—you’re no cat, George. You’re just a little bunny rabbit.”

Despite his pulse hammering heavily in his ears, George coughed and straightened. 

“I’ll escape him. I won’t need you,” George decides. “But if I did. You’d want me. I wouldn’t have to try. You want me to beg you for help, pretend I’m a bitch? A runt? Not a chance.”

Dream was salivating, his pupils blown. He gripped George's jaw tight. He licked George, trailing his tongue along George’s forehead, over his eye,  down his nose and to his lips. He licked at his mouth and grinned as George flinched, twisting in his grip. “You’re definitely a cat, George. All prickly. You fluff up. You think it’ll protect you. That I’ll see that big fluffy coat and tail and I’ll back down. But you should know, George, it does make me want you—I want to see you beneath me.”

George huffed, but he’s feeling his cock rise, a mixture of fear and the tension reaching his stomach. Dream’s naked body has been pressed against him far too long and he remembered this morning, Dream hot and tight around him. “Because George, I don’t want another Sapnap—I want you to become something more. I want you to be better. You made me realize I’m not happy, and I’m going to make you realize you’re not happy.”

“I was very much happy with my lifestyle before this,” George said but Dream’s mouth pressed against his. A chaste kiss. “Liked it a lot more than this.”

Dream let out a derisive, disbelieving snort. Dream kissed his mouth again, his tongue and teeth catching George's bottom lip. “Don’t worry, George, cats can get broke-in to a new house. It just takes a different hand,” Dream says. “Sapnap never liked cats, but you could fit right in.”

“I would never stay,” George said, huffing out breaths against Dream’s mouth. Dream rubbed his cheek against George's, nudging his jaw with his nose. 

“Well, I didn’t ever say I was the nicest to animals,” Dream murmured. “I never hurt Patches, but she’s a sweetheart. You, George?” Dream hummed. “If I like you too much, I’ll have to do what I do to the mice at the orphanage when I was a kid. I’d break one of their little legs, so they could be my pets. Mine.” 

George felt his blood chill and Dream pulled his head back to take in his expression. "Obedience is useful, George."

"I'd rather you break my leg," George said. 

[sapphire-heart-tippy]

I had another dream about my love last night- that quickly devolved into going back to high school in a Walmart:

Okay so it started off with Vanilla and I hanging out in a bubble bath. Nothing naughty, but I'm going to describe stuff. I was sitting in his lap and he was washing my hair and scrubbing my head. I felt his arms wrap around me and his chest on my back 💙💜 Vanilla started kissing my cheeks and we were giggling and just being all snuggly and cuddly in the bubble bath 🥺💙💜

Then for some horrible reason, I was in high school as an adult with other adults in an adult high school. You might be thinking, you mean college right? No.... this was specifically high school. We were in a computer lab in a basement that had really cold water spraying from pipes overhead. I was in the "boys group" and I had broken away from the"girls group" (transgender metaphor?!)

We were trying to fix the pipes and we were laughing and singing, then suddenly it was time for PE. Everyone got quiet and slowly started forming 4 lines on either side of the coach. I was first in one of the lines, then a random dude held me by the shoulders and said, "No, little guy... you go right here." And pushed me back about 5 places. I was confused and a little scared.

The coach handed out these grey t shirts individually to the other guys. It was mine and my friends turn next. Then two of my friends broke off from the group and I asked, "Where are we going?"

One of my friends just turned around and looked at me deadpan then turned back. I followed them both through the Walmart that the high school is in for some reason. We went to the principal's office that was in one of the dense clothing sections. I guess one of the counselors was there to give one of my friends some kind of item, I have no idea.

Then my friends both teleported away and I had to run back to the PE class. I saw the ceiling lights were flickering and I was like,"cool!" And I headed back to class. The coach was mad that I didn't have my grey shirt, and I was like "oh shit I left it at the principal's office."

I had to go back there and I asked the counselor where my grey shirt was. She said, "do you know where the lost and found is?" And I said, "no" and she said "well that's where it is" and I said, "okay where's the lost and found" and she got angry and said,"I already told you this morning. You should've been paying attention"

No you didn't wtf- anyway I was looking around (and I literally mean AROUND the principal's office because it was this small one room building thing) until I found a teenage girl and a teacher with a mustache. I asked them where the lost and found was. I couldn't understand what the girl was saying, it sounded like she said it was in another state. I asked,"It's in another state?!" And she just looked at me with a blank face. Then the teacher was about to cry and he said, "I know where it is... it's under the desk... In the office..."

I said thanks and went to look for the shirt. But apparently it was too late because time had flashed forward to my last class of the day. I was so tired and ready to go home. The bell rang and we all headed outside. I remember thinking, "it sucks being a junior and a senior because we have to go home at 6pm instead of 3pm like everyone else"

For reference, I've had to move around a lot so the latest I've ever had to leave a school I went to was 4:15pm. The earliest a school I've been to would let out was 1:15pm. The times we had to be there were all around 7:30am, 8:30am, and 9:30am or something in between.

The rest would let out around the times: 1:15pm, 2:00pm, 2:15pm, 2:30pm, 3:00pm, 3:15pm, and 4:15pm. I've been to a lot of schools x_x (the number of times here are not equivalent to the amount of schools I went to, a few schools had the same times to be let out)

Also just letting you know, the 4:15pm time was for a middle school. But we got Mondays off! It was pretty cool.

I also went to a school that had Fridays off, but we would get let out at 1:15pm. All of the classrooms were in trailers and had 6-8 kids in each. I really miss it... that was when I had my first (counting him) boyfriend too. I was about 9/10. We would have gushers and chocolate teddy grahams for snack time. Gushers to this day still give me so much nostalgia... I'll never forget him and I hope he's doing well 💪 he was such a sweet guy

[shmoo92]

Toasty

Kokomi’s comm rings. She sinks deeper into her bubble bath and prods the ‘accept’ button with her toe.

Kaeya greets, “Did i wake you?”

Kokomi hums.

“If you said something I couldn’t hear it.”

Kokomi rises from the water high enough that her mouth clears the bubbles. “Bath.”

“Bubbles?”

“Of course.”

“What kind?”

Kokomi puffs at the suds near her mouth until she clears a small indent, then, “Toasted marshmallow. Tartaglia picked it up from Mondstadt.”

She sinks back into the water and streeeetches her leg and prods the comm with her toe.

The screen switches to video.

Kaeya’s delight quickly folds into comical disappoint as he realizes that all he can see of Kokomi with all the bubbles is one knee disappearing into the suds and the top half of her face. “How am I supposed to enjoy?”

Kokomi once again puffs away soap. “Bubble bath, kaeya.”

“Right.” His eye flicks away and back again. Nervous? “Did you happen upon an unattended, unidentified bag when I left?”

Kokomi hums.

“So it’s mine—“ He glances away and back again.”if you wouldn’t mind popping it a pod —“ His eye sparkles. “—when next you get presents, of course.”

“Mhm.”

“So that’s all.” Then he tosses his hair and lo, her Casanova’s returned. “I’ll have to call you from the bath next time. No bubbles, though.”

Kokomi blows away suds. “Good plan.”

“I learned from the best. Do try to enjoy yourself without me, won’t you?”

Kokomi sits up and leans her head back against the wall—

Kaeya hisses.

She brushes some suds from her collarbone.

His eye flicks down. Drags back up. Bites his lip.

Kokomi sinks back down and with her toe, pokes ‘disconnect’.

.

Scrubbed clean, toasty, and in a fleecy, one piece purple pyjama (with the hood pulled up over her hair), Kokomi glides to the entry way where she left the so called unattended and unidentified bag.

Frankly, if the Dodoco keychain and Pavo branding didn’t already suggest to whom the bag belongs, then the fact Kaeya (or one of his people) had scrawled his full name and contact info on the inside of the back certainly does.

She’s ever so curious as to why he seemed so nervous.

Since he described it as “unattended and unidentified” though, she should treat it as such, and it’s her duty as steward of this outpost to ensure its safety and continued well bringing by treating all such objects as dangerous and dealing with them according.

She opens the bag fully and rifles through.

As expected, pyjamas and toiletries. A spare comm and charger. Snacks—Kokomi helps herself—and an airport paperback and—

A doll, about the size of her hand. It’s well loved and well cared for. And relatively old, too—no one had sold Princess edition Sangonomiya Kokomi dolls for at least two years.

Kokomi smiles to herself, then at the miniature, plush version of herself.

“We’re going to have lots of fun together.”

[valistheanshield]

@emberblooded sent : " i forgive you. " [from emberblooded sfdgdh SORRY] emotional prompts || Accepting

The silence that filled the room as she said those words, was deafening. To Clive, it was as if his hearing had gone out entirely. If his mother had aught else to say, he didn't hear it. Those blue eyes just stared at her, processing those three simple words as if she had spoken an entirely different language instead. From silence to the sudden sound of his blood rushing in his ears, fury bubbling in his heart like a toxic mixture about to spill over. There couldn't have been a better combination of words in existence that would better raise his ire.

"You forgive me?" His voice dripped with venom as he echoed back the statement, his fists clenching to the point that the sound of straining leather filled the air. It was oh-so-tempting to lash out, to rage over the injustice done to him by his own mother, to be the monster he had thought himself after learning what he had done at Pheonix gate. "How dare you! I did nothing wrong, save for being born without the Pheonix's power. I was still your son, and yet you tossed me aside!" His voice was beginning to rise, anger fueling him in a way he had never let happen before.

"And you have the gall to say that you forgive me." A snide laughter suddenly burst from Clive, bringing a hand up to scrub at his face, half turning away from the woman who had ruined everything. He began to pace, looking all the world like a caged couerl that was quickly growing furious with its imprisonment. But he took no single step toward her, keeping the same distance between them no matter which way he turned.

"No, it is you who needs forgiveness, and you will find none. Not here, not from me." He hissed, turning towards her and jabbing his finger in the air as if it was a sword that could pierce her heart. "And I hope you never have it. I hope your world burns down around you, just like mine did." He needed to leave. He might carry such immense hate for his mother, but this anger he felt was beyond that. Founders, it terrified him. He had never been so angry in his entire life. "I wish you nothing but embers and ash, enough that you might choke upon it."