#Shards of glass and a pool of blood

[completeoveranalysis]

[3]

PLEASE RESUME HURLING ME OUT THE WINDOW THIS IS TOO MUCH

Fai tenderly letting his magic fall to his hand, not as if its his, but gently, as if holding the last remaining memento of Syaoran. Adding the -kun to his name to make their bond clear, despite everything that's happened

(And how, if he takes the magic back, this part of Syaoran will be gone - but then maybe, this part of Syaoran will always be with him too)

And Kurogane picking up his sword (in his remaining hand), as HIS final piece of Syaoran. The sword that they went shopping for together in Outo. The sword that he trained Syaoran how to use. The sword with his iconic flame on the hilt. 

AND HIM ASKING WHY HE COULDN’T HAVE USED HIS ENERGY TO STAY ALIVE INSTEAD OF APOLOGISING

BECAUSE THEN HE’D STILL BE HERE

Oh I'm BROKEN. Both of Syaoran's dads holding the piece of him that they shared one way or another. Kurogane taught Syaoran his swordplay, that central part of Kurogane's identity that means so much to him, and Fai's magic was used by Syaoran directly - the magic that has been THE defining feature of Fai's life, and this is the part of it that they BOTH used.

AND IT'S NOT ENOUGH. THEY DON'T WANT THESE THINGS BACK.

THEY'D RATHER HAVE THEIR SON.

[wwooyology]

Scream For Me | Y.JW

「paring」 : ghostface!bf!jungwon x fem!reader 「word count」 : 4.4k

「synopsis」 : word of a masked serial killer spreads like wildfire in your small town, but it never fully sets in until you come face-to-face with the very killer who just so happens to be your sweet boyfriend and he has an ulterior motive.

「genre」 : pure smut with some plot, horror/thriller, angst, serial killer au

「warning」 : jungwon is a killer, blood, dom!jungwon x sub!reader, knife play, cursing, fingering, petnames (baby, princess, my love, slut), won is MEAN, messy, oral (f. receiving), jungwon is kinda manipulative in the beginning, degradation, dacryphilia, choking, minor hair pulling, making out, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap your willy), thigh riding, teasing, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, begging, marking, breeding kink, creampie, passing out, slight manhandling, I feel like I def missed a few things, pls lmk!

「note」 : so I kinda went a little crazy with this one... this has been a serious brainrot so I hope you enjoy it! also, it's only been lightly edited!

The room suddenly felt ten times colder than it did just moments before, your heart was racing and you could hear it through your ears. Your phone was tightly clutched in your hand as your eyes scanned all of the windows in your house, his words still ringing in your head.

“It’s such a shame, a pretty thing like you left your doors unlocked…”

Word of a serial killer in your small town had gotten to you, but you never really thought much of it because, of course, you were always with your boyfriend. However, the one night that he had family matters to attend to was the very night this killer decided to make his move.

Tears had already pooled in your eyes, terror filling your veins. The person had used a voice changer so it wasn’t like you could try to figure out who it was by their voice. You stood in your kitchen racking your brain for possibilities on who this masked killer could be, all while your front door creaked open quietly.

The sound of your floorboards creaking caught your attention, head turned in the direction of the noise. Without a second thought, you started slowly walking down the hall. It was almost like the fear had made you lose all your common sense, doing things you swore you’d never do while watching horror movies. 

“Hello?” Your meek voice called out, bouncing off of the empty halls, gaining no response besides a small echo of your own voice. 

A scream tore through your throat as a vase next to you fell and shattered, glass fragments scattering all around your bare feet. Looking down with wide, teary eyes, you try to tiptoe around the broken shards without cutting yourself. 

‘What did I do to deserve this…?’

The tears finally spilled from your eyes as you made it to the end of the hall, seeing your front door wide open. This was actually going to be the end, wasn’t it? You’d never get to finish school like you planned, you’d never get to hang out with your friends anymore, see your parents at dinner, or volunteer at the animal shelter with Jungwon. Jungwon. Oh, how you wish you could talk to your sweet boyfriend one last time, tell him that everything would be okay and that you love him.

You were torn from your thoughts as a loud crash was heard from upstairs causing you to nearly jump out of your skin. Cries fell from your lips as you looked between the open door and the stairs, debating on whether you should just run for it.

‘Why the fuck am I even asking that?’ 

You turn, making your way to the front door, however, before you could step through the threshold you heard a voice.

“Y/n? Baby?” 

Your heart dropped at the sound of your boyfriend's voice, why is he here? Turning away from the door, hands trembling as you reached for the railing of the stairs. “Won?” Your voice cracked as you tried peeking up the stairs, but saw nothing.

“Baby, help me please.” He sounded like he was on the verge of tears and it broke you, tears streaming down your face, sobs falling from your lips. 

Whether it was the fear or the need to save your boyfriend you turn and go back down the hallway, stepping over the glass once more. As if luck wasn’t on your side at all, you ended up stepping on a stray piece of glass causing a sharp pain to shoot up your leg. A loud cry left your lips as you leaned against a wall, the phone falling from your hand.

Tears continued to stream down your flushed face as you grabbed your foot to look at the damage done. Biting your lip you grab the shard before pulling it from your foot, a trail of crimson blood following after it.

Another crash from upstairs reminded you of the situation once more and you scrambled to the kitchen, straight to the knife stand. Grabbing one of the bigger knives, your hands trembling as you made your way back to the stairs, walking through the living room so as to not step on any more glass. 

You call out for your boyfriend once more as you take the steps slowly, leaving a trail of red behind you. However, you were met with silence.

Terror struck you as you got to the top of the step, there were boot prints on the ground that you hadn’t noticed before, leading straight to your bedroom. Holding the knife defensively in front of you, hands trembling, you move to the ajar door, pushing it open.

Your eyes went wide as the door swung open, there was your boyfriend, on his knees in the middle of your room.

“Jungwon!” You quickly made your way towards him, throwing all caution to the wind to make sure he was okay. The knife fell from your hands as you dropped to your knees in front of him, the sound of soft cries falling from his lips. “Hold on, I'll get you out of here.” Panic and worry surge through you, going to untie his hands from behind him, only to realize. He wasn’t tied up.

“Oh y/n, y/n, y/n.” The cries turned into laughter as he lifted his head meeting your eyes. Jungwon watched in amusement as the worry on your face morphed into terror. You try to reach for the knife that you discarded, but you aren’t quick enough. Jungwon snatched the object off of the ground, “Ahahah now my love, don’t act too rash now.” he chuckled as he towered over your trembling form.

The sight of the tears falling from your beautiful doe eyes as you looked up at him caused his cock to twitch behind his pants. 

Your eyes trailed from his blood-speckled face down the length of his body before falling on the mask in his left hand. The same Ghostface mask that the police have reported the killer to always be wearing. Looking back up you met Jungwon’s eyes as realization set in. The man before you, your boyfriend, the same man who would never hurt a bug, was a cold-blooded killer.

Jungwon smirked as he crouched down in front of you, moonlight gleaming off of the knife in his hand. You watched him in fear, fear of what he was going to do with you. Was he going to kill you? Or was all of this some sick joke his friend put him up to, but with the curfew in town set you knew that'd be hard to pull off.

“Why are you so surprised, my love? I thought you were smarter than this.” His voice was cold, nothing like the warm and sweet one you were used to. Then his words registered in your brain, what did he mean? Taking in your confused expression he brought his hand with the mask, taping a gloved finger to his temple, “Use that pretty head of yours.”

As you thought more and more about how the killings always lined up when he wasn’t with you, the more you started to realize that it had been right under your nose. 

Jungwon watched with a sadistic smile as he noticed your shaking die down, as well as your breathing evened out. Even in this insane situation, your body was subconsciously relaxing in his presence. 

“It was really you?” Your voice shook as you looked back up at him, tears silently flowing down your face.

Jungwon just hummed with a nod, “Yep.” he popped the ‘p’ as he brought the knife closer to his face, inspecting it. “It’s therapeutic honestly, you should try it sometime, I know how stressed you get.”

You swallowed thickly as you watched the light bounce off of the sharp metal, your fear was slowly melting away. Noticing your lingering gaze, Jungwon pointed the knife towards you, the sharp point barely a centimeter away from your nose. Your breath hitched, eyes wide as you looked from the weapon to your boyfriend's dark eyes.

“Don’t be getting any funny ideas now, princess.” His tone is dark, making your stomach flip. 

“I wasn’t…” Letting out a shaky breath you reach forward cautiously still believing that he would never hurt you, grabbing his wrist and pulling the object away from your face. “I wasn’t going to, Won, I swear.”

He chuckled darkly before dropping his mask to encase your throat in his palm, squeezing hard enough to limit your oxygen. Pushing your body down roughly until your back was flat on the cold ground, his body caging yours underneath him. He traced the knife down the side of your face, a crazed look in his eyes causing a whimper to leave your lips, rubbing your thighs together.

Your head started to spin as so many emotions started to spiral, but fear and lust were the ones to overthrow the others. Why was this turning you on? You were supposed to be fighting to get his hand off your throat, but you only hoped he’d squeeze more. The knife that was so close to cutting your skin only excited you more. Then his face, god his face covered in blood was a sight you didn’t know you needed.

Noticing how you started to squirm underneath him, Jungwon smirked, squeezing your throat more. A broken moan tore through your lips as your eyes screwed shut, heat pooling in your lower gut.

“Are you enjoying this?” He leaned closer to your face, warm breath brushing across your lips. Your eyes fluttered open to show him the need and lust that swirled in them causing him to smile, his teeth peeking out from between his lips. “Such a dirty slut,”

He pulled away slightly to trailed the blade over your collarbone, before moving to hook the knife under your shirt. You whined as the sounds of your top ripping filled the room.

“And you’re not wearing a bra, such a naughty girl.” He teased as he placed the blade back on your bare skin, tracing the tip down the valley of your breast leaving goosebumps in its wake. A shaky sigh fell from your lips as you looked at your boyfriend, whose gaze was already on you, studying your reactions.

When he brought the blade to the sensitive skin of your nipple, you cried out, head falling back. Jungwon could feel himself growing even harder in his jeans, never knowing his sweet little girlfriend would enjoy something so dirty. Then he got ideas of how he could torture you until you were begging for his cock.

A broken ‘please’ fell from your lips causing Jungwon to look at you with a sadistic smirk, dragging the blade away from your boob, and down your stomach. When he got closer to your core, your hips bucked causing the knife to puncture your skin. Your head fell back with a moan at the sudden pain, it ignited a new kind of flame in your gut.

“Fuck.” Jungwon cursed as he watched in amazement at how your body was reacting. He pulled the blade away from your skin resulting in a whine from you. Blood trickled from the small cut flowing down your side before meeting the band of your sleep shorts, dying the fabric red.

He chuckled as he watched you squirm under his hold, your hands trying to reach him. Letting go of your throat you let out a gasp before he grabbed the back of your head, his lips smashing into yours. A small yelp of surprise fell from your lips before melting into his lips, matching his pace, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.

His free hand trailed down your sensitive skin making you moan into his mouth, his fingers tracing circles on the inside of your thigh as he got closer to your core. Your hips buck into his hand desperate for his touch.

"Hmm, you're not very patient, are you?" Jungwon whispered against your lips before biting your bottom lip, nearly drawing blood. You whimpered at the pain before he pulled your lip into his mouth, sucking harshly making your head spin.

His fingers slipped past the waistband of your bottom, smearing blood on your abdomen in the process. Your jaw fell slack, a moan falling from your parted lips as his finger brushed against your slit.

“Such a dirty, dirty girl, I’ve barely done anything and you’re already so wet.” He berated you, watching you whine, tears pooling in your eyes because your body felt so hot and he wasn’t doing anything to help, just watching with that same smirk on his lips.

“Please, Jungwon, please please.” You sounded like a broken record begging for him to do something.

However, he pulled his hand from your pussy and moved away from your body altogether. You moved yourself to sit up, watching him with wide eyes as he walked towards your bed, pulling the gloves off of his hands. He sat on the edge of the bed before looking over at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Well? Get over here.” His voice was rough, with a hint of annoyance as he watched you continue to sit on the ground. Seeing anger flash across his face made your stomach turn causing you to scramble to your feet. 

Jungwon watched as you meekly walked towards him, your boobs bouncing slightly with each step you took. When you stood before him, he looked up at you taking in the sight of you looking right at the bulge in his jeans shamelessly.

“If you wanna cum so badly…” His voice broke your trance making you meet his eyes as he grabbed your hips, pulling you into his lap. You whined as you felt his bulge press right against your clothed core. “Then ride my thigh.”

“But-” “It’s my thigh or nothing, princess. I’m not lifting a finger to help you get off.” He cut you off, getting ready to push you off of him, but you grabbed his shoulders telling him to wait.

Your face flushed in embarrassment, he’s never asked for anything like this any other time you’ve had sex. He was always sweet and making sure you were taken care of, but seeing this new side of him was a sort of whiplash.

As you moved to straddle his thigh, he removed his hands from your hips using them to support himself as he leaned back. Watching as you started rocking back and forth on his thigh, hands fisting his shirt trying to ground yourself. Sigh-like moans leave your lips as you spread your legs further trying to gain more friction.

Jungwon watched in amusement as your body shuddered in pleasure, trying to keep yourself balanced. However, the closer you got to your climax the more rushed your movements became and the volume of your moans increased.

“Wonnie please…” You whined as you slumped forward, legs growing numb due to the overwhelming pleasure. Jungwon knew you were close because of the way your jaw fell slack and your knuckles turned white due to gripping his shirt so tight.

“Oh come on baby, you’re not tired already, are you?” He mocked you as you continued to whine out, rocking your hips furiously. Wanting to prove him wrong you sat up a little bit more, your head falling back. 

Your high was so dangerously close that you could taste it, “W-Won!”

“Go on, cum on my thigh like the desperate slut you are.” His words had you tipping over the edge, your body shaking as you rode out your orgasm. Jungwon sat up taking your hips in his hands once more, pulling them further down on his thigh, a loud moan leaving your lips. He continued to rock you against him, forcing your body into overstimulation.

“W-Won- fuck, ‘s too much.” You whimper, head falling into the crook of his neck, hand on his bicep.

“But you were so desperate to cum baby, I’m just helping you.” He chuckled as he felt your body shudder, face still buried in his neck. Leaning forward a bit he pressed a kiss to your shoulder making your body tingle. 

You could feel another high creeping up on you, “Won… I’m close.” Another, softer moan left your lips as you kissed his neck. He flexed his thigh underneath you causing your body to tremble as another orgasm washed over you, groaning against his neck.

Jungwon didn’t give you a second to rest, picking you up and laying you on the bed. Not even a second later his lips were on your neck sucking harshly leaving bright red marks in his wake. A loud moan broke through your lips as he bit down on your collarbone, hand flying to his head. 

He left a trail of his marks down your chest before taking one of your nipples into his mouth, your back arching pushing further into his mouth. Your fingers tugged his hair against his nape causing him to groan against your skin, hands on your hips pulling your body flush against his.

“You taste so sweet, baby.” He raised his head, his eyes holding an animalistic gleam, “but I bet your pussy tastes sweeter.” Your head falls back as he cups your core, pressing against your clothed core. With a devilish smirk, he lets his lips trail down your tummy, licking your wound and letting the crimson liquid coat his tongue. 

Looking down you felt like you wanted to combust at the sight of him tracing his tongue along the trail of dried blood. When he got to the hem of your shorts he pulled away, meeting your eyes as he tugged them down your legs. Watching the way you held your breath, eyes following his hands until the cloth was completely off of your body. 

Throwing them to the side, Jungwon turned back to you taking in the sight of your body, completely bare before him. Grabbing your ankle he brought it to his shoulder pressing a kiss on your calf watching as you squirmed under him, your lip between your teeth keeping from letting any sounds slip.

“Why are you so quiet now baby?” He asked as he trailed to your inner thigh listening to your breath hitch. Getting closer to your core, he blew on it watching the way your hole clenched around nothing. Chuckling darkly he laid your leg over her shoulder before licking a long stripe up your slit collecting your juices and cum on his tongue, humming at the taste. Your hands go to tangle in his hair, but he stops you. “Ah, hands behind your back.”

“But-” “Now, or I’ll tie you to the headboard and you won’t get to touch me at all.” He threatened and you whined but followed his instructions nonetheless. Arching your back enough to place your arms underneath before laying back down, trapping them.

Satisfied with your actions he goes back down on you, harshly sucking on your clit, eliciting a loud cry from your lips. He hummed against you, finally getting you to release your sounds again. He continued to devour your pussy like a starved man, broken moans and cries fell from your parted lips, hips bucking against his face.

His hand that was holding your hip moved to press down on your stomach, keeping you in place. Your eyes rolled back as you felt his tongue against your gummy walls, his nose pressing against your clit deliciously. 

“You taste heavenly my love,” He groaned against you, making your head spin, a cry of his name leaving your lips, fingers digging into the sheets under you. When he pressed two fingers into you so easily you felt like you could cum then and there. 

His pace was relentless as he pumped his fingers into you while switching between soft and hard sucks on your clit. The sensation was driving you insane and you felt like you could scream. 

You didn’t even give him a warning when you came as his fingers brushed over your sweet spot. Your vision turned white as you screamed his name, everything becoming extremely overwhelming, but he didn’t let up on his pace, dragging your orgasm out as long as he possibly could. You tried to get away from him as you felt another orgasm creeping up quickly, but his grip was too strong.

“Scream for me again princess, let the neighbors know who’s making you feel so good.” He smirked as he looked at you, his lower face glistening in your juices. His fingers continued to abuse your sweet spot until your whole body shook.

“OH MY GOD!” You cried out as your fourth orgasm of the night hit you like a tidal wave. Jungwon watched smugly as you rode out your high on his fingers before pulling them from your needy hole.

You whined softly at the sudden empty feeling and he laid your trembling leg down on the bed before leaning over you, pressing his lips against yours. You moaned at the taste of yourself on his tongue, he pulled your arms out from underneath you.

He grabbed your hand before leading it down his torso before groaning as your fingertips brushed against his clothes cock.

“You feel that baby?” He hissed through his teeth as you pressed your palm against him, “It’s all because of you and you’re gonna help me right?” He asked as he nipped at your jaw earning a whine from you, “gonna let me fuck this slutty pussy right?” You moaned as he moved your hand to your own sopping cunt. 

“P-Please.” You begged looking at him, eyes pleading with him.

“Please what princess?” He brought your hand to his mouth, licking your juices off of your own fingers, “you want my cock?” You nodded, biting your lip, eyes never leaving his. He grabbed your other wrist before pinning your hands next to your head, rolling his hips against yours, a moan tore through your lips. His lips ghosted over yours, “I wanna hear you say it.” 

His eyes bore into yours, your bottom lip quivering. With another roll of his hip, your brain turned into mush. Your hands balled into fists, eyes screwing shut, “fuck, Wonnie please, I want your cock in me so bad, fuck me please, Wonnie, please.” You rambled on as Jungwon watched you lose yourself smugly. He doesn’t know why he didn’t try this earlier, this was the hottest he’s ever seen you and it made him ten times harder. 

Releasing his hold on you he moved back to pull his shirt over his head leaving you to ogle at his bare torso. Reaching out you let your finger brush against his skin before he gave you a look making you retract your hand worried he’d deny you of his cock for longer.

Undoing his belt and unzipping his pants he pulled them down along with his underwear letting his dick spring free. Your mouth watered at the sight of it, yearning for it even more. Noticing your gaze Jungwon smirked, moving closer to you and grabbing your thighs pulling you closer to the edge of the bed.

“I haven’t even put it in yet and you already look like you’re about to cum.” He teased as he slapped the tip of his cock against your clit making you whine and squirm. A smug smirk tugged on his as he lined his tip up with your entrance watching your eyes roll.

“Fuck.”  You cursed as he pushed in before stilling and grabbing your hips to keep you from moving them, a whine leaving your lips.

Without any warning, he thrusted into you stealthing his length in you in one go causing you to quite literally scream his name, nails digging into the sheets. He smiled sadistically as he leaned down next to your ear, pushing deeper into you.

“You just love getting fucked by a serial killer don’t you y/n?” He nipped at your ear, “I bet you’d love it even more if I wore the mask huh?” Your brain was foggy, not able to voice a single thing, but your body did the talking for you. Jungwon groaned as he felt you tighten around him, squeezing his dick like you never wanted him to leave. “You’re such a dirty slut.” He berated you with a smile before he pulled his hip back until only his tip was left in you.

He thrusted his hips back into you, a moan leaving your lips as your eyes rolled back. He kept the brutal pace, his hand that was on your hip traveled up to your neck, squeezing and making you squeak. Tears fell from your eyes, drool spilling from the corner of your lips as you babbled nonsense. 

Jungwon could feel himself grow even harder at the sight of your fucked out state, taking in your teary eyes that would look at him before rolling back when he hit a particular spot in your cunt.

“God, you feel so good, princess.” He groaned as you squeezed around him, he had been hard for so long that he knew he wasn’t going to last long, not if your pussy kept squeezing him like this. “Fuck I’m not gonna last, I need you to cum for me, baby.” He breathed out as he grabbed your leg, throwing it over his shoulder. The new angle had you seeing stars, your vision quite literally going dark, a pitiful squeak falling from your swollen lips. “I’m gonna stuff you full of my cum and you’re gonna take every last drop like the good little slut you are.”

His words were your tipping point, your orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan and Jungwon groaned loudly as you squeezed him so hard, pushing him over as well.

His cum painted your walls white as he continued to fuck it into you and you were milking him for all he was worth as your walls continued to pulse around him. He felt your body go limp against his making him look up at your face seeing that you had passed out.

“Aww, how cute…” He cooed as he continued to roll his hips into yours until he went completely soft inside you. “Don’t worry I’ll take care of you.”

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[hybbart]

Day 2506: The world almost ends...

Short story below

The last thing Tango could recall was laying on the ground in a warm pool of his own blood, staring up at a sea of faces gnashing their teeth and claws into his limbs.

And thinking, none of you are Jimmy.

Then everything burned away into darkness.

Yet the world did not end.

It reformed itself a pool of indiscernible reds, an incomplete, deafening whisper, and a biting stench.

A barrier draped itself out over it all. The first shape to ever form, outstretched to block out the colours and sounds and smells. The first feeling accompanied it, something soft and structured, dragging the whole world back down.

And Tango thought for the first time, and he thought, that is Jimmy.

The world was swallowed once more, in its infancy before anything could take form. So, it tried again.

This time it created more than just red. Blacks, blues, greens. Yellow. Tango reached out for it, but had no body with which to do so. Trapped by nothing. There were sounds but they were somewhere else where he wasn’t. Skin he did not have itched and burned. If he could only exist enough to reach, but what little there was soon slipped away. The first, last, and only thing this Tango knew was despair.

So, it tried again.

In this one Tango had a body, he knew, but it was a cage. Cold, stiff, unyielding to him rattling it, begging for freedom. He still couldn’t reach Jimmy, only a shadow in the pool. He screamed, but it made no sound, and he went unseen.

So, it tried again.

Everything burned. Not an inch of his cage went unbitten. If he could he would tear it all off. This time Jimmy heard him, but it did Tango little good. There were too many sounds, too many smells, and they all ripped him apart until there was nothing left.

So, it tried again.

And again, and again, and again.

Until finally the world began to settle into place.

Tango peeled open his eyes, staring up at the clouds, body numb and heavy from the pain. It was like his muscles had turned into snakes biting each other every time he moved, but he could move. He could feel, and think, and hear the nearby sound of bird song.

He tried calling out for Jimmy, voice like shards of glass to his throat and ears. It was good enough. There Jimmy was, leaned over him, blocking out the sun. Though it still burned to do so Tango could feel the weight of a hand on his own. He wished he could assure Jimmy that he was fine.

Jimmy watched him silently. Tango reached out for him again, tears in his eyes. “Jimmy.” He croaked, trying to beckon the avian forward. But he would not move. Tango began to sob. “You’re here. You’re here.”

He opened his mouth. It was as though the whole world went silent to listen. No voice came. Nothing but a sickening crunch. Tango’s vision swam, consumed by Jimmy. Old blood poured from his mouth, drenching Tango below, around the mangled remains of beating flesh. No light filled his eyes, not the bright light of the sun or his own inner sunshine he always carried, or even the black flames consuming his wings. They were as lifeless as the dried mould clinging to his jaw bone and the grey of his cheek.

Tango couldn’t scream.

His own heart wrenched him awake. The rest of him delayed, eyes darting and muscles cramping. Something was squeezing his left arm to death until it was numb. His eyes began to sting from the light piercing right into them. A muffled voice filled the air, and a shadow cast over to block the sun.

“Are you okay?” It asked.

Tango was in too much pain to reply. The shadow stretched out far to canopy the whole sky from view. Wings. They were wings. Tango gasped, trying desperately to call out. “J-”

But his eyes adjusted soon enough, and before him was not feathers made of fall wheat and butter. These were a dusty brown, only golden in the light of the afternoon sun. The eyes that stared down upon him were a piercing sky blue and the shoulders were far too broad. New panic settled within Tango’s bones. Too much of his body hurt to run away.

“Oh, good, you’re awake this time.” He said, voice most certainly not Jimmy’s. His grin was too sharp. “I was starting to think you were just gonna kick the bucket.” The stranger shifted, grabbing something far beyond Tango’s view. “Which would be quite a shame given how much of my supplies you’ve used up.”

Some brightly coloured cylinder was held up towards his face. A water bottle, Tango’s brain finally provided after several seconds. Tango managed to move his mouth enough to accept, its straw preventing him from spilling too horridly over himself. Even still, he quickly found himself choking, sputtering up much of what made it into his mouth. The stranger hummed to himself, waiting for Tango to cease his coughing before trying again, this time one gloved hand cradling the back of Tango’s head to hold him up just slightly. The water went down much easier. Only after it was taken away did it occur to Tango it may not be the best to trust the liquid. He was already a soft breeze away from death, what did it matter?

Because you still have to find Jimmy.

The stranger yelped, but Tango ignored him as he tried to push himself up. “Hey, there!” Hands found their way to the back and front of his torso, the only thing keeping him from collapsing back down as the brief pulse of energy abandoned him. “You took at least fifteen chomps, there, buddy, you’re in no condition to be on your feet.”

Tango tried to explain himself, tried to yell at the man. But all he could get out when he said Jimmy’s name was a squeak that tore up his throat. Insufficient. Though he tried to fight back, the stranger laid him back down. Tango tried not to sob. Everything hurt, everything was going horridly wrong, and his rancher was probably dead in a ditch somewhere. He’d follow soon enough at this rate. It was all so pointless-

Warmth wafted through the air. Sweet and achingly familiar. Tango’s head lulled to watch the stranger as he held up a fork towards him, the fluffy pasty dotted with berries and dripping syrup. “I hope you don’t mind, but I kinda live off instant pancake mix at the moment. If you can eat.”

Tango wasn’t sure he could, but he accepted the offer anyways. Even just the smell would have brought tears to Tango’s eyes if he could cry. The bites kept coming until Tango hadn’t the strength to eat anything more. His body screamed at him to both stop and eat, desperate for the food Tango had been denying it and lacking the strength to continue, stomach rolling in that fashion that he knew meant it would all come back up if he tried.

Silence returned while the stranger finished the rest, most of it still there. Anything else might have made Tango throw up from the smell anyways. All he could think of instead was breezy summer mornings, sat at an uneven oak table covered in blemishes that they never got around to replacing, throwing plastic tablecloths over instead. Coffee that became tea that became increasingly questionable flower water that became tea once more. The distant sounds of mooing and much closer sounds of barking, and, somewhere in between, a bird song matching whatever was on the stereo.

Why had they left? They should have stayed on the ranch. He should have tried harder to convince Jimmy not to go, should have put his foot down. When that bridge came into view he should have immediately turned them back around. They saw the ocean, and what good did it do them? Jimmy died, lost and far away from home, and Tango would soon join him...

The next time Tango woke up it was early morning. Something loud had ripped him from his slumber, but he could not for the life of him recall what it was. As best he could he looked around, and found the stranger shutting a cabinet set against a far wall. Tango must have made some sort of noise, because his head immediately swivelled towards him. “You’re awake again.” He said, matter of factly. There was too much energy in his hops to a kitchen. Did all avians wake up at the crack of dawn?

It was almost hard to watch the man, actually. Tango had seen it with Grian, but it hadn’t registered. Because he was a puffball and it only seemed natural, or because he’d never had reason to note it. This strangers talons similarly rarely touched the ground, taking leaps and bounds to reach for anything. Wings casually unfurled themselves to glide him across the room. It was so different to Jimmy, who stumbled his way everywhere, only used his wings for balance.

More food was set in front of him, this time a small bowl of mixed berries. “I already ate.” Explained the stranger while he held out a spoonful. “If it’s too hard to chew I can blitz it into a smoothie.”

“No.” Tango croaked. Easier than last time, but his throat still felt like it was splintering.

The stranger quietly fed him. The sun was quickly rising, but the avian didn’t seem to have anywhere to be. At some point Tango thought he heard the bark of a dog, but no one else came into the sky-lit room. The stranger’s clothes were not the sort one wore when they knew zombies were nearby. His sweater was sleeveless and his gloves were for sport, to keep frog scratching his hands and keeping a good grip, rather than the heavy leather work gloves Jimmy wore. The sort of thing they’d wear on peaceful days at the ranch, not the city Tango thought he was last in.

“So,” The man rocked his head slightly as he put the half-empty bowl aside. “You got a name, stranger? If you’re up for talkin’ of course.”

“Tango.” His voice scratched worse than it usually did, almost incoherent to his own ears. No long sentences, then. “You?”

“Wels, at your service.” He did a small bow, smile widening. “There’s not a lot of survivors out here these days, Tango. You musta come quite a ways?”

He nodded, wincing at the sting in his neck. Had he been bitten there? “We came from the mountains.”

Wels’ eyebrow rose. His hands began moving just outside Tango’s vision, fiddling with something. “’We’, huh? Run into some bad luck?”

“I’m looking.” Tango quickly snapped. “We got separated. He’s here.”

“You don’t sound like you believe that.”

Of course he didn’t. Tango had never been the optimistic sort. It was Jimmy who comforted them when things went wrong, calmed Tango down when he lost his temper. Thought there’d be an adventure to have exploring uncharted territory. If it was Jimmy here and now instead, he’d be just as determined as day one. Tango couldn’t do that, could barely hope to even find a body. But... “If I stop looking, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

The room fell quiet. A rough hand lifted the stump of Tango’s left arm, peeling something off it. It stung, but not as much as the air did seconds later. Tango grit his teeth. It last too long, but eventually it subsided into a dull ache. Even without looking he knew it was swollen and ugly, raw from wearing his arm for too long. It would take too much time to pull on and off without help. Why was he so stupid as to design it that way? Like he’d never be alone?

The dog outside continued to bark.

“Well, then,” Wels sighed. “Guess if you gotta keep looking then I’ll have to keep my eyes open, too.”

Tango strained to shake his head, “You don’t have to-

“Hey, it’s my city. Who better to keep an eye out? Besides,” He stood up, spreading his wings wide enough to block out the skylight, “You aren’t really getting out of bed any time soon, and you can’t exactly get back down without my help anyways.”

“Down?” Tango murmured to himself, turning towards the sunlight.

His vision was still a mess, but he could see it. Behind stacks of supplies and reorganized furniture was a wall-wide glass balcony, doors wedged wide open. Peeking over the rail was the very top of a half-dozen skyscrapers he recognized from the ground.

Wels hopped over towards the open doors, grabbing various items from a table. A bag, rope, a sword- was that metal gauntlets? By the time he’d kitted out he looked like he’d raided a museum exhibit. When he noticed Tango’s staring he gave him a grin and a thumbs up. “Gotta go for a water and medicine run. Be back before the sun sets.” He jumped up onto the railing, but paused. “Say, uh, what’d your buddy look like? In case I run into him.”

“Blond.” Tango rasped. “Lanky, bit taller than you. Long yellow wings. Should be with a big black dog with no eyes. Hopefully...”

Something in the man’s wings tensed, smile falling away. “A canary avian?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“And you- how did you say you got separated.”

“He was gone when I woke up. He kept-”

“Wandering off?”

The blazeborn’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah... What-”

But Wels unfurled his wings once more, waving his hand dismissively. “We’ll talk later, when I get back. You should rest up, get back on your feet.”

With that he was gone.

Tango could feel his heart hammering in his chest, wounds pulsing down his limbs. He turned his gaze up to the ceiling. How on earth was he supposed to rest after that?

[comatosebunny09]

tempest | sylus q.

summary: sylus sabotages all your attempts to move on. things come to a head after you grow tired of him giving you mixed signals. genres: angst, erotica warnings: melodramatic af, alcohol, jealousy, unprotected intercourse, size difference, written with female reader in mind, dirty talk, restraints, profanity, emotional hate sex, “slut” used like once notes: a consequence of staying up past my bedtime, this late night/early morning blurb was born. thank you so much for reading, lovely! hope you like it! ❤️❤️❤️ now playing: masc - doja cat

Nothing seems amiss tonight, Sylus thinks, leant against the rail of the second-floor balcony in his club.

He studies the crowd—the sea below of writhing, sweaty bodies. The floor thumps beneath his feet from the bass of the music. Red strobe lights briefly highlight his features, revealing a pristine glass of whiskey poised at his lips. Nothing in particular seems to capture his intrigue. There are no suspicious-looking people sinking into the crowd. No dancers to protect, no fights to break up. He’s about to retreat into the quiet safety of his office, but—

Oh, what’s this?    

Something finally does pique his curiosity tonight. That very something being you, and he finds his brow ticking upward at what’s got you so tickled. You come to him in a flash of sensual grins and carnal titters, tucked away in the corner of the first-floor VIP section. Sylus bristles at the sight, blood turning to icicles in his veins.

You’re not alone, much to Sylus’ chagrin. Shacked up with another performer, and Sylus doesn’t like how close he is to you on the red leather couch. Doesn’t like how he nuzzles into the hollow of your shoulder, whispering God knows whatever obscenities into your ear. And his hands are on a languid excursion over your waistline, down the swell of your thighs...

You don’t push him away. Instead, you encourage his advances with a hand clasped around his neck, an airy sigh parting your lips. Your laugh pierces through the dense fog and thumping melody, heard only by Sylus. And the sound of it curls its fingers around something hidden in his chest, squeezing.

Sylus sets his jaw into a rigid line. Narrows his eyes. The whiskey glass suddenly explodes in a flurry of jagged, glittering shards in his palm. He ignores the lazy drip-drop of his blood pooling on the marbled floor, unable to tear his eyes away from you so effortlessly entwined with another man. What’s more off-putting is that you’re doing it of your own volition, blatantly playing in Sylus’ face. In his club, no less.

His girl. Enthralled by someone else. 

The iron-wrought rail screeches and bends under Sylus’ crushing grip. He turns away from the scene with a tempered rage, stalking into his office. None the wiser to your eyes, boring holes into the space between his shoulder blades as he retreats. 

—

You have a thing for blondes.

Platinum blondes, to be specific, the unnatural sheen reminding you of a figure stuffed in the darkest reaches of your fantasies.

He talks too much, you muse, tugging at the give of your newest conquest’s belt. Still, he’ll have to do for tonight. 

He chuckles, hot and lustful against your shoulder, open-mouthed kisses emblazoned into your skin. He promises the best of things whilst his hands smooth over the silk of your nightgown. He bunches it between your thighs as he seeks out the searing heat of your womanhood. 

You roll your eyes. You’re all too familiar with this song and dance—a convenient face in your bed to chase away the loneliness, whispering hollow words. White noise in the muddled mess of your mind, your need for instant gratification blotting out all thought and reason. Tamping down your dignity, your pride. 

You giggle despite yourself to play up the theatrics. Act all docile so you can get what you want as he moors you to the bed beneath him, branding your throat with kisses. Despite the angle, his belt finally gives, and he sighs something relieved as he slots himself between your thighs.

At least he feels good, you reason, lying back once you’ve unfastened the buckles of his jeans, and you grant him whatever claim he wants on your body. Your eyes slide shut, your mind spilling into a fitful haze. You will yourself to relax. Will away thoughts of a man clad in black and his stupid hair and equally stupid, stunning eyes boring into you. 

But it seems fate has other plans for you tonight.

He comes to you in a flourish of inky feathers and sparkling, claret orbs of energy at the foot of your bed. 

Initially, you mistake him for a trick of the light, your bedroom’s muted, amber glow distorting your vision. Desire dulling your senses. There’s no mistaking the shift of pressure in the room, however. The air crackles with static, the hairs adorning the back of your neck standing stiff.

“What the fuck?” you mutter over your counterpart’s shoulder, sitting up as best you can with the hard press of his body weighing you down. You find your blood running cold, your breath corked in your lungs.

It’s him, alright.

“What’s wrong?” asks the man between your legs, all breathy and concerned through the fog of lust. He ingests you with mussed hair and lidded eyes. Kiss-swollen lips part, and he scrutinizes you before chasing your line of sight over his shoulder. 

What greets him turns his body to stone.

“Mi-Mister Sylus?” the man cowers, scrambling off you. He stands at your bedside, bowing profusely beneath your intruder’s glare. “I-I didn’t know this was your ho—”

“Leave. Now.” The control of Sylus’ voice leaves no room for argument. Promises the worst of things if he’s not heeded, the glint of his Evol on his fingertips driving his point home.

Your former one-night stand books it, scooping up his clothes to slip past your employer out of your abode with his life intact. You sit up on your elbows with a scowl, your body awash with the heat of embarrassment when Sylus’ disapproving gaze slides over you. 

“Un-be-fucking-lievable!” you grate, clambering out of bed. Under normal circumstances, it would be comical to watch you tumble to the floor, fighting with your sheets. But now, you crave nothing more than to distance yourself from the center of your heartbreak. 

“What is? Me catching you screwing around with the help, or your state of dress?”

You give him a sharp look, ignoring how the rake of his eyes over your form makes your body hum. Fixing your negligee, you stalk out of your bedroom, Sylus hot on your heels. 

The gleam of your decanter on your counter calls to you. You snatch it up without thinking, the dark, viscous fluid inside violently sloshing about. The cork popping is jarring in the stillness of your kitchen, contending with the violent thrum of your pulse. You greedily drink straight from the bottle, caramel streams of bourbon easing down the sides of your face, your neck.

When the acrid sting reaches your nose, you slam the decanter on the counter. Just in time for Sylus to blur into frame, and he props his hands on your kitchen island as he watches you with his mouth carved into a tight line.

You pace. Massage your temples and smooth back your hair with a shaky hand, finally giving in to your frustration. “What the fuck are you doing here, huh? What the fu—what do you even want with me?”

Sylus’ shoulders drop the slightest. He exhales slowly, the red wash of his irises glinting dangerously in the light above your stove.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking around with my staff?” He quirks a brow at your scoff, the tendons in his jaw jumping. He otherwise appears composed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head with disdain. “This is very unbecoming of you, sweetie.”

“Are you kidding me,” you say with a bitter laugh. Against your better judgment, you maneuver around the island until you’re standing before him. He swaddles you in his imposing aura, peering at you with an air of indifference, a silent rage brewing beneath the surface of his skin. 

You’re breathing hard over crossed arms. Refuse to back down despite every synapse in your brain alerting you to flee. “Didn’t you once say I can have whoever I want?”

He bristles at that, squinting at your brazenness. You’ve struck a nerve. Buried the knife to the handle and twisted.

“Since when do you give a fuck who I sleep with? I never gave you shit for chasing that—” In a fit of rage, you kick one of your stools over, the clatter of it against the hardwood not once deterring Sylus’ stare. “—fucking Hunter around like a lost puppy!”

He scoffs bitterly. “So that’s what this is about?” It’s infuriating how calm he is, contrasting the tempest raging behind your ribs. “Petty revenge?”

“Oh, fuck you,” you seethe, stepping around him. 

You barely take two steps before limber fingers wind around your forearm, searing you to the bone, halting your escape. You stiffen. Surprise briefly glazes your features before you give him a haughty, sidelong glare. His own holds a warning. An alarm you don’t heed, trying vainly to shake yourself out of his grip.

“Let me go!” you snarl, struggling to no avail. You’re grossly outmatched. Can do nothing when he effortlessly pulls you stumbling in front of him, irritation coloring his features. 

He passively waits for you to finish thrashing about. For you to stop shoving the heels of your palms against the rigid pane of his chest in an effort to free yourself. You pause to catch your breath, glaring daggers between the divot of his collarbones.

“Are you quite finished, sweetheart?”

The childish look in your eye begs to differ. 

The air shifts. His expression warps into one of conflict as if he’s waging an internal battle in his mind. He huffs out a breath, fixing you with a look that sets your body aflame.

“Do you love me?”

The question catches you off guard. Floors you, and you replay it in your mind, unsure if you truly heard it. You blink dumbly at him. “Do I—huh?”

“Are you in love with me,” he repeats as if it isn’t the most earth-shattering thing. “And don’t lie to me because I can very well see through your ruse.” 

Sylus leans closer, the warm scent of his skin overhauling your senses. His right eye glows a sinister red as he threatens to tap into the power of his Aether Core. Like a door being knocked upon, you feel him poking around the edges of your mind, those sickly tendrils of power begging for entry.

You avert your gaze to the side. Even without the use of his Evol, he reads you like the deckled pages of a book. 

Of course you care for him, your feelings rooted deep like a sturdy tree. You’ve been his ace for years—his trump card. Yet, he’s treated you with nothing but kindness. Built you up to believe you meant more to him than just a tool to lure out and kill off his competition. The errant touches. The unguarded words he whispered…

Dammit.

You were foolish to think you could ever erase the thought of him with cheap carbon copies and one-night stands.

“Let go of me,” you say again, though the fight’s left your voice. 

“Answer me.” The hard edge his tone once held is traded for something softer—more beseeching. “Please.”

You reply with a sardonic chuckle, the taste of the truth pungent on your tongue. “Even if I were in love with you, it wouldn’t change anything. I’m nothing more than a pawn to you, Sylus. A pretty face. Your moneymaker. I’m damaged goods. ‘m nothing like her, and I never will be. So, would you—”

You try weakly to free yourself, your chest swelling with emotion. God, why do you feel like crying? “—would you just piss off?”

It is his turn to look wounded. You stiffen when the callused fingertips of his opposing hand graze your cheek to sweep some hair away from your face. You don’t deserve this tenderness—his pity. His hand falls listlessly at his side, and his trembling lips part, voice abrasive with the strain of whispering. “Is that what you think of me? That I don’t care about you? That I’m using you?”

The tremor of his voice makes your stomach pinch with regret. Its painful, sharp talons sink into you. Despite it all, you refuse to face him fully, instead swept up in your own head.

He laughs bitterly, disbelieving your apathy. There is no warning. No preamble when he suddenly hefts you onto the counter by your waist, the air pinched from your lungs as the brisk countertop touches your thighs. You blink at him disbelievingly, rooted to your spot.

“What the fuck? Are you putting me in timeout?”

Sylus doesn’t dignify you with a response, instead shrugging out of his overcoat and ducking out of sight into your darkened entryway. You watch the path he forged with your mouth agape, ears straining for every bit of sound. Every flicker of static. 

He returns soon after placing his coat on the rack. And you’ve nothing but the gleam of red and rigid hips bullying their way between your legs as preparation before he snatches you into a kiss that siphons the breath from your lungs.

“Sylus, what the f—” you pant between the fusion of your mouths. You push against him, scrambling for reprieve. He doesn’t let up, instead using your shock to his advantage. He slips his tongue into your mouth, leaving no part of it unscathed, greedy as he swallows the noises you make for him. His grip on the nape of your neck is almost bruising. Desperate as his lips slant possessively over yours.

Your pounding fists devolve into weak thuds against his chest. You find yourself melting into the warm pull of his mouth. Find your ire petering, something hot pooling in the pit of your stomach. He breaks away with a sticky click, his hands finding the crooks of your knees to tug you impossibly closer. You share a breath out when your chests crash together. He doesn’t grant you the luxury of an inhale, his lips sealing to your neck, blistering the column of it with sweltering, open-mouthed kisses.

You instinctively wrap your arms about his shoulders, weighted fingers sifting through soft strands of white.

“It seems you need to be reminded of your place,” he huffs, highlighting his words with a sharp nip to your flesh whilst his hands smooth up and down your sides. Curl around your ass, squeezing and kneading, eager to lay claim to whatever parts of you he can reach.

You snort incredulously, doing nothing to deter his ministrations. Breathless as you are, you still taunt him. “And what is my place, Sylus? Curled up at your feet like an obedient little dog?”

That gets his attention. 

He draws back to fix you with a simmering look that makes your limbs sparkle with anticipation. “No.” You suck in a breath, gritting your teeth against a moan, when his wide palm slips between your bodies, digits pressing into the seam of your muff. “You’re mine. Have I made myself clear? Mine.”

Arousal dampens the seat of your panties. Your scent betrays you, radiating in the space between. He hovers his mouth over yours, breathing hot and ragged while he strokes you with meticulous arcs, dredging the prettiest little sounds from your throat. “Were you really about to give this to him,” he husks, smug in the face of your keening. “My body? My cunt?”

Try as you might, words elude you, the tremor of your body belying your earlier fight.

“Fine. If you wish to act like a brat, then I will gladly treat you like one.”

He snatches you to him, your legs impulsively encircling his waist. With one hand sealed to the small of your back, he spins you ‘round to walk you towards your living room. His effortless display of strength makes the apex of your thighs throb. You’re a mess of shaking tendons when he deposits you onto the shag rug, peeling back to snatch his sweater from his shoulders. To fret with the buckles of his belt, freeing his girth pushing against the stitch of his slacks.

Saliva puddles in your cheeks. You missed the sight of him. Hard planes of muscle rippling and contracting, his gaze predatory from above. You reach out to touch him, to familiarize yourself with the tan stretch of flesh covering his abs, to chase the neat trim of hair dipping beyond the waistband of his briefs.

But he stops you. Snares your wrists in one hand, and your throat burns with ash when the smoky stems of his Evol materialize in its place. He lifts a brow in warning. Behave, his expression reads. Once perfectly coiffed hair falls into his face, adding to his wolfish appearance. 

Soundlessly, he eases down the sprawl of your body, blazing your stomach with languid kisses. His eyes never disconnect from yours as he pushes your negligee over the ripple of your ribcage, dipping his face between your thighs. You arch with anticipation. Why is it so damn hard to breathe?

Deft fingers bow beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down none-too-gently. He drags them over your ankles, flinging them over his shoulder, and the warm musk of your sex causes his eyes to smolder and his lips to part. Drawing your thighs further apart with one hand, the other seeks refuge at your bosom, curving around a swollen breast, thumb grazing over your pebbled nipple.

Your lips part with a sigh of his name. You don’t know if you’re begging him to leave or stay. He reads between the lines, parting your sticky labia with the upside-down V-shape of his fingers before diving in for a taste of your pretty pussy. 

You scramble for purchase of his locks. Drive your fingers between the strands, tugging, burying his face deeper into your muff. He feasts like a man starved, his appreciative groans growing in volume and tingling your stomach whilst he relentlessly sucks on your clit, alternating between licking that sticky bud of pleasure and tonguing the pucker of your pussy.

You chase that cresting wave of pleasure, your hips surging off the floor. His hands mold around the globes of your ass to keep you fastened to him. To keep you nice and open, humping pitifully against the glide of his tongue. 

Your toes strain with the effort of keeping you up, your head thrashing, and you’re pulling so roughly on his tresses, his grunts of satisfaction intermingle with those of pain. You don’t care. Not thinking straight, your mind a nebulous cloud of pleasure. Pleasure you’ve missed, pleasure that only he can give you.

With another succession of licks, you come undone in his mouth, your orgasm spilling through you like warm liquid. You sigh all hot and wanton, your hips slowly meeting the ground with your exhale. You shake like a fawn when Sylus laps up the remnants of your orgasm, and you tug at his hair with your manacled hands when the stimulation borders pain.

“Done already, sweetheart?” he goads huskily, sitting back on his haunches, eyes shrouded by alabaster bangs whilst he swipes his thumb over his cheek to chase the last vestiges of your nectar away. Such a feral sight makes you clench, a reawakened surge of need rippling through you. 

“Too bad,” he croons, coaxing and tender, the texture of his voice betraying the sinful things he’s doing with his hands. He palms himself, lip pinched between his teeth. Reaches beneath the band of his briefs to pull his cock free, and it slaps intimidatingly against his navel. “I’m just getting started.”

The head burns an angry red. Shines with a pretty, pearlescent bead of pre-spend, and you swallow, watching his fist swallow up the bulk of it whilst he strokes himself. With a devious cant to his lips, he taps the milky mess of your cunt with his cock, and you gasp, your hips twitching whilst your sex throbs in protest.

There’s no preface when he takes hold of your hip, effortlessly flipping you onto your stomach. The carpeted rug bites into your naked torso, leaving pretty, raw indentations on your skin. You peer over your shoulder, a flash of crimson alerting you to what Sylus is up to behind you.

He rucks your hips up until you’re on your knees. Positions himself between your splayed thighs, fisting his cock. You’ve nothing but the crisp kiss of an errant breeze on your sticky cunt as a warning before you feel him pressing into you, the engorged head of his cock slowly feeding into the clench of your pussy. 

His groan is strained from the force of your union. You quiver around him, and despite your overstimulation, you suck him in so greedily. So filthy, your pussy squelching as he sinks further in until his hips notch up against your ass.

His grip is vexing on your hips. For a moment, the pair of you sit like this, the searing channel of your sex readjusting to his size. It’s been far too long since you’ve felt like this. Felt so full, your stomach pinching pleasantly. 

When you clench around him, finally reacquainted with his girth, he moves. Slow and steady at first, drawing out the agony, killing you with suspense. You grit your teeth as your arousal resurfaces, your cheek buried in the carpet. His pace quickens thereafter, and he alternates between sharp snaps of his hips and shallow thrusts that leave you keening and leaking.

He gathers your makeshift restraint in his hand, tugging on the band of his Evol as he fucks you, your arms awkwardly folded behind your back. 

“This is what you wanted, right?” he huffs amid the lewd symphony of skin slapping skin, your bodies adorned in a fine sheen of sweat and slick. “For me to fuck you like old times?” He slams into you with a particularly violent thrust, punching the air from your lungs, your body painfully scrubbing against the high-pile rug. “To fuck that little attitude out of you?”

You can only pant, a hot film of tears blurring your vision. Your mouth hinges open, saliva leaking from between your distended lips. Feels so good. Hurts so good, and you can hardly speak, trained only to the sensation of him moving inside you. 

“It seems you only understand me when I’m using you like some wanton slut. Is that right, sweetheart?”

Of course you can’t respond, your voice siphoned with each pump of his hips. He clasps your ankles, drawing your legs up until your heels dig into your buttocks. And he digs a little deeper with this angle, his thrusts growing erratic as he batters against the swell of your cervix.

Finally, finally, his hips stutter. Stiffen, a groan pushed through grit teeth. You milk him, hot, furtive spurts of cum bathing your sex a milky white. So much, it seeps down the inner curves of your thighs, pooling in the carpet. Slowly, he draws out of you, releasing your ankles and freeing your wrists of the harsh pull of his Evol. You lay flat on the floor, thoroughly spent and heaving breaths, something between a laugh and sob caught in your throat.

He leaves you sprawled out like this, and you’re remiss of his warmth. He doesn’t leave you for long, coming back to you with a towel he’s procured from your linen closet to clean the aftermath of your union. There’s reverence in his ministrations, contrasting the beast he was mere moments ago. As if he fears causing you further harm, gentle as he cleans around your swollen sex, whispering words of praise and reassurance.

The remainder of your time with him slides into a confusing blur. With him helping you stand, arms snaking around your waist to keep you steady. He kisses you like you’re something fragile. Like he’ll never see you again, though you doubt this will be the last of your encounters like this.

You help each other with your clothes. And there’s an unbearable silence between you when you watch him leave through the doorframe of your front door, bidding him a fitful goodnight. 

“See you tomorrow night, sweetheart,” he promises, a smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes, cresting over his lips. You nod quietly, and you’re surprisingly lovesick mess as you close your door behind him, battling with a new onslaught of emotions swelling in your chest.

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch. 4: Black Out Days

Ao3 | Previous - Next | Masterlist

Vampire!Poly 141 x Fem!Fat!Reader

MDNI | cw: sickness, hallucinations, injury, some light dubcon

Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life. Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate.

A/N: the tone of this story has sort of shifted as I’ve worked on the next few chapters/plot points. I hope it’s not too jarring, but I’m excited for the direction it’s going in.

Your mother rises out of her drunken stupor - spine too straight and head flopped back limply. As if her hips are the only thing capable of moving and her neck has snapped at every ligament. The worn sheets pool around her hips, torn neckline of her nightclothes exposing her gaunt, bruised collar bones.

She says your name in that sickening, gruff voice of hers. A voice too exposed to the poisons outside. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth, coats her teeth as she speaks. Black and viscous. “Oh, darling, what have you gotten yourself into?”

You’re small. A child kneeling by her bed like you always did, waiting for her to ask you to bring her water or pain pills. “What?”

“It’s easier if you give in.”

People aren’t buried anymore. There isn’t room. Your mother’s urn is painfully cold in your hands. You stumble as the train lurches. A new voice hisses above you. Wild eyes and big hands that leave clawing, bloodied stripes in their wake down your body. A flash of blonde, some sort of scar. An accent so old you don’t recognize it.

“It’s easier if you give in, little girl.”

You fall back, out of the train doors and onto something soft and silky. For a few beats you stay there, in the quiet. In the dark. Comfortable in a way so deeply foreign to you it might as well be alien. Until some thick cover pulls away from your face. John grins down at you, shirtless with his head resting on his hand and elbow on the pillow below him.

“Knew you were awake.”

You rub your eyes. “Wh- when did- when did I get here?”

He frowns, a deep crease forming in his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve…” You run a hand through your sleep tangled hair. “I don’t know…”

“It could be so easy, Fancy.” He murmurs, voice low and far away. “It doesn’t have to be… this.”

“I can’t…” Something complicated swirls in your chest. A twisting of guilt and love and unadultered disgust.

The world shifts. You’re standing, now. Simon leans on the railing of the penthouse balcony, staring out at the city. He takes up so much space. Envelopes you without even touching you. “How many memories do you think a person can lose before they’re someone else entirely?”

“What?” You frown. There’s an ache in your head - a drumming pain growing more intense by the second. Your bones rattle along to the rhythm.

“It’d be so easy…”

You peel your eyes open only slightly. It hurts, as if they’ve been glued shut. An offensive light blazes in your face. It takes a moment before you realize the tingle on your skin comes from the UV lamp beside you. Did you fall asleep under it again? No matter how hard you blink your vision won’t clear. When you finally manage to swallow it feels like your throat has been lined with shards of glass.

You grope around the bed uselessly, hands unsure. The edge of the bed takes longer to get to than it should. With a low groan you crawl to the edge, barely managing to swing your legs over. Well, swing is a generous description. In reality you end up on your back on the floor, head thunking against some sort of plush rug or carpet. Your vision swims.

With another groan you slowly pull yourself up into a shaky stance. Wherever you are, it’s big. The bed you fell out of is easily a king with richly woven sheets and a thick comforter. The rug on the floor has such intricate patterns it makes your pounding head dizzy. There’s even a fireplace in the far corner, unlit at the moment.

Something different catches your eye - an item too familiar for this foreign room. Your box of valuables sits on an elegantly carved wooden dresser. Real, actual wood. You run your fingers over the strangely organic material, so rare that it almost feels more unnatural than the plastic plywood you’ve grown accustomed to in the slums.

You limp weakly toward the heavy door on the far wall. A whine escapes you as you pull it open, the heavy wood causes the hinges to creak quietly. You poke your head out, walking down the empty hall like a person with decade long atrophy. Sweat drips down your back, the sickness in your gut turning to anxiety as you realize where you are.

The penthouse.

Voices waft through the mostly open central area - deep and growling. A sound you might mistake for an angry beast if it weren’t for the intelligable words the noise makes up.

“Bloody ‘ell, Price, what the fuck?” That baritone could only belong to Simon. You poke your head around the corner of the wall, peaking into the living room where the four vampires stand.

“I know, I fucking know. I couldn’t-” An exasperated sigh. “I couldn’t lose her again.”

“So you fuckin’ marked ‘er?”

Your hand lifts shakily to the still sore cuts on your neck. They’ve scabbed over but barely. The action makes you look down at your hands - neatly bandaged. Recently, too, you think. At least if your blurred vision is to be believed.

“We’ll lose ‘er anyway if you fuckin’ scare ‘er away!” Simon’s volume continues to grow. He steps forward. John doesn’t back away.

“Guys…” Kyle tentatively steps in, hands outstretched between them as if stepping into a dog fight. He might as well be, frankly.

“You promised her you wouldn’t!” Simon’s voice wavers. It makes your heart skip, the unsteady sound so bizarre coming from him. “We all did!”

“Simon’s right.” Johnny crosses his arms. “We said we’d take our time. See where she’s at.”

“Weren’t exactly taking your time when you fucked her raw were you?” John snaps back. It’s shockingly childish and out of character for the man. Not that you would know. He sighs, rolling his wide shoulders. So much for not being angry about it.

Before you can make heads or tails of the scene playing out in front of you, your vision blackens, one leg stiffening and the other giving out. You barely catch yourself on some random side table, knocking it against the wall in the process. Despite your efforts to hold yourself up you collapse onto the cold, hardwood floor.

“Oh, baby girl.” It’s Kyle at your side first, cool hands tenderly enveloping you as he checks for damage.

“Don’t…” You push at his chest weakly. “Don’t touch me…”

“Dove-” A crack sounds throughout the penthouse, deafening and ringing as Simon’s palm comes into contact with John’s chest, forcing the man back a few steps.

“You’ve done enough.”

There’s a moment, long and silent as you watch them stare each other down. A power struggle. John is the head of the coven, objectively. The only way to change that is an exchange of power. A death. You’ve seen it out on the streets within lesser covens. Simon is bigger, but you can see the cold, dogmatic shift in John’s eyes. The look he gave you in the car. The one that says he is well and truly Right and there is nothing to stand between him and what is Right.

The moment ends when you double over, lungs heaving as you choke and cough. A slimy, viscous glob of red-black comes up from your throat. Barely liquid with the thickness of it. You fall limply against Kyle, as much as you’d rather be left in a dark alley than with these psychopaths your body just can’t hold itself up.

Someone scoops you up, pressing you tightly to their chest. Johnny or Kyle, you think. A touch so soft and sweet you might mistake it for love. Not that you would know. You’re back under the wave of nothing before you even touch the sheets.

You sit still as you can, arm growing tired of the stiff angle you have it positioned in. Laid out across some old loveseat that creaks every time you move even slightly. You don’t trust it to not have at least a little dry rot considering it’s from a good few centuries ago. One of those random pieces John hoards for some secret reason. The light positioned carefully above you feels too warm, discomfort making you twitchy.

“Johnnyyy!” You whine. “Hurry up!”

“Ye can do it, bonnie. Just sit like me.” He goes still. Inhumanly still. Transitioning from living (well, undead) being to a marble statue in barely a second. It sends a frightened shiver down your spine - the prey instinct in your hindbrain moving into overdrive.

You take a shaky breath. “I hate when you do that.”

When he does what? Has he done that before? Have you been here before?

“Jus’ be a good lass f’me.” Johnny murmurs. A different sort of shiver runs down your spine.

You recognize his room but it’s… different. Lighter, somehow, than the last time you were here. The only time you were here. The wall has far more drawings tacked to it, nearly doubling the amount and bleeding across onto another side of the room. You squint. It’s you. Well, mostly. All in different poses, some more salacious than others, each carved out with a deep attention to detail. Were… were those there before? They couldn’t have been.

Your body lights up, the room grows darker. Nearly pitch black. Your hips roll lazily. You feel… good. Ecstatic. The warmth from the light replaced by an immeasurable heat. The man below you comes into focus as the dream settles - a mountain. Blonde and pale and scarred. Part of his right ear is clipped off from a fight. At least you think it was a fight. His hair just barely long enough for you to tangle your fingers in. You’d know those dark eyes anywhere - the ones that look right to the very core of you. That know you wholly from Eve.

“Fuck, Si…”

“Tha’s my girl.” He grins. The action pulls at a scar covering his lips. “Always so good f’me.”

The hands on your waist lift you like nothing. Like you weigh as much as paper and are just as delicate. A burning fills you, a tension that pulls a grating whine from your chest.

A distant part of you remembers to question what this is. Why you’re here, with him. Why you’ve never seen his face before but seem to know every detail of it by heart. The rest of you falls into the moment without a care, allowing yourself to be consumed entirely by him and his desire. It’s all you want - all you need.

Simon’s voice rumbles in a sort of call and response to your devoted babbling. “I love you.”

You jolt, snapping forward and sloshing water around you. For a moment, you panic that you’re drowning. That you’ve been dropped into some great sea and left to flounder.

There’s a quiet rumble behind you, vibrating through your back. Simon. You couldn’t make out whatever he said.

You relax instinctively. Some unconcious part of you falls back into him. Until he runs a soap rag over your chest and you tense, clumsily attempting to cover yourself and curl into a ball. The water sloshes over the edge of the tub again. You don’t get very far, despite the massive size of the bath you’re utterly surrounded. Bracketed by Simon’s strong thighs and large hands.

“None of that.” He barks, pulling your arms back to continue washing you. “You’ve been sweatin’ in bed for four days. Gonna make y’self worse.”

Four days? Worse?

You stay quiet, limp and pliant as he pours a hefty glob of shampoo into your hair. Vanilla. Far too exhausted to put up any sort of fight. Not that you would win. It feels good, if you’re honest, the way he systematically scrubs every part of your scalp, slowly detangling with conditioner. You nod off for a moment, coming back when he pours water over your head to rinse you.

“Simon?” You murmur weakly.

He grunts.

“Why am I here?”

The hands in your hair pause. Only for a moment before going back to their gentle movements. “Because you’re ‘ome.”

You shiver, another coughing fit wracking your body. At least nothing comes up this time. There aren’t bandages on your hands, just the scabbing wounds that have obviously been carefully tended to. Even as the coughing subsides your breaths wheeze, shallow and hollow in your chest.

When you were young, your mother would set you in a cart to walk to the supermarket. The cracked streets would bump and rock you uncomfortably but it was better than walking all those miles. You always hated the market. Too loud and confusing. A maze of sterile white tile and shelving so high it felt giant to you.

One time you lost her, distracted by a massive plushie that she said you can’t afford. You’d stood there staring at it, angrily contemplating why you couldn’t afford it. What sort of societal disservice had been done that you can’t have that bright pink creature. Angry and lost you ended up wandering the aisles for what felt like an eternity. Walking through that white void in search of… you’re not really sure what, actually.

That confusion continues to eat at your mind as the aisles transition into a small, lush greenhouse. The UV lights above you would burn, if it weren’t for the large hat covering your head and shoulders. Gardening gloves protect your hands as you carefully harvest a few tomatoes. They came in so well this year, bright and firm.

You’re lost in it. The green. So accustomed to grays and neon lights that it feels unnatural. You turn your gloved hands over, palm up, down, up, down. They’re yours but distant. As if you’ve possessed some alternate version of yourself. You suppose you have, in a way, if these fever dreams are in pattern. Not that you remember the others well.

The lights turn off suddenly and you freeze, muscles tensing and hackles raising. You turn slowly as the door begins to creak open, trowel in hand. Not that it would do much against whoever has you cornered. John said to be wary.

He’s been acting strange lately.

Isn’t he always?

A hand clamps over your mouth and you shriek behind it. You claw at the stony hand covering you, instinct taking over. Adrenaline pulses through you.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.” Kyle coos, letting you go quickly. “Sorry, love, I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t do that!” You snap, harsher than you meant. Or less so?

He deflates a bit, shoulders sagging. “Sorry, I just wanted to come in here with you for a bit.”

“Why?” You snort. Kyle is the only one brave enough to venture in. Even with an external light switch, the others are far too wary of the UV lights hanging across the roof to enter. It’s a joke between Simon and Johnny - that they’ll throw Johnny into the greenhouse if he doesn’t behave.

Kyle nods, scooting forward. You can barely make him out, the only light being that of the faux stars drifting gently through the fogged greenhouse glass. “Missed you.”

“I saw you, like, five minutes ago.” Did you?

He shakes his head. You wish they would tell you more. They always hold back so much, as if your puny human brain can’t grasp what they think. You could. You’d learn to. Even if it was some horrid, eldritch secret you would bear it for them. He pushes you back until you’re laying on the floor, slowly resting his weight on you and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Just let me stay like this for a bit.”

You frown, but only move to reach up and pet his hair. It’s smells like vanilla. He stole your shampoo again. A fraction of you screams, rails against the idea of being this close to an apex predator. To a man you don’t know. Strange. You know Kyle. You love him. Both the fear and the fondness swirl together into a confusing mixture in the back of your mind.

“We can stay. For as long as you want.”

Something heavy and cold coils around you. You weren’t out as long this time, you think. If you’re even awake now. The room is dark. A pitch black void that you float in outside of the grounding weight holding you in place. That vanilla scent felt so real, still wafting through your nose. A nagging sense of despair settles in your chest as it dissipates.

“Need t’go home.” You croak, unsure of why you say it. Your tongue feels heavy and numb. God only knows why.

“Ye are home.” Johnny murmurs in your ear, voice low.

“Not m’bed… sheets’r t’nice.”

“It’s yers.” Johnny’s arms tighten around you. His voice shakes. “It’s always been yers.”

“N-no…”

“Knew it was tae soon tae bring you back.” He buries his face between your shoulder blades. “Told Kyle it’d be tae much.”

“Wh-”

“Ye make us such a mess, bonnie.” He sighs. “Cannae believe Price-“

Johnny cuts himself off. You can’t find it in yourself to argue or press. A sob wracks you out of nowhere. Something about Johnny, about being wrapped up in his strong arms sends you over the edge of it all. The weight of him mimics the one in your chest.

“Dinnae cry.” Johnny sits up a bit, running a thumb under your eye.

“I’m s-so confused-“ You sob. “I can’t- I-“

Somewhere in the midst of your crying fit the bed dips in front of you. Kyle cages you in between himself and Johnny, pressing you tightly in the center. It makes you want to thrash, to fight and scream.

It also feels so, so good.

You’re back in the slums, in your apartment, with some random man groaning above you. He works down the street, you think. Smiles at you whenever you go get a coffee or cigarettes. You stare at the ceiling blankly. You brought him here… why did you bring him? What- You hiss at the living heat of his hands, burning through your skin - gut churning at the blue of his eyes. It’s wrong. Neither bright nor tranquil enough. You can’t voice it. Can’t place it. They’re just wrong.

You catch a flash of dark irises as you take drinks to some slimy little vampire paying on credit. Immortal but still poor. Pathetic. Suddenly, though, you don’t care when he and his friends grab at you, your gaze trained on the man lounged in a booth on the other side of the club. You can’t stop staring at him, something tugging at you deep down to go to him. His eyes connect with yours, and you nearly leap with joy when he waves you over.

Except, when you get close, you freeze in place. Straddling his lap, a crushing weight lands on you all at once. They’re not what you’re looking for…

What are you looking for?

You sob in your bed late into the night, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. You’re so lost. So hollow. You don’t know why - don’t understand what changed. Some portion of you carved out into nothing. A soulless tulpa born of someone’s imagination. You can’t be human, there’s no way you can be human and this empty. A walking carcass. Not even undead, just barely animated. A puppet, almost.

It’d be so easy…

You wake in a fog this time, limbs heavy. As much as you try to will your arms to move, they won’t quite do it right. Your hands glide over the soft fabric around you, barely moving a few inches. The muscles twitch and shake. It feels like wading through molasses and with a thousand pounds of steel strapped to your back as you attempt to sit up even slightly.

“There she is.” A familiar voice murmurs. It’s soft, comforting, but also incredibly far away. “Hey, lovie.”

“Kyle?” You croak. You might as well be speaking around a massive ball of cotton. There’s something hot and wet streaming down your face. Are you crying?

“You’re alright.” He murmurs, soothing down your hair. Petting you like a dog in pain. An injured, feral animal.

You collapse back on the bed - not that you made it that far in the first place - unable to see more than a few feet in front of you. Kyle, really. Kyle is all you can make out. His face so vivid you’re sure you could draw it from memory. “Where am I?”

He pauses. “…Your room.”

“M’chest hurts…”

“I know, lovie. We’ll make it better.”

“What’d y’do t’me…?” Your vision flashes in and out. You’re going back under, as hard as you try to fight it. The edge just comes closer. You teeter on your heels.

“You just breathed in some bad air. You’ve been out for… a while.” Somehow, you get the sense that what he says is an understatement. That there are layers he has to hold back. Simon said four, you remember, though you can’t quite define if that was real or a dream.

“I hate you.” You whisper, barely audible. “I hate all of you.”

“I know.” Kyle sighs, continuing to run his fingers through your hair. “I know.”

Teeth sink into you. A choked gasp escapes your lips, body stiffening and hands knotting into some thick cloth. The pain is searing but fleeting. A part of you, the present part of you, feels disgusted. Wants to shake and batter whatever parasite has you caught in its maw. Another part, a far more distant piece of you that you aren’t even sure is you, blossoms with warmth. You melt into the strong arms that hold you against a cool chest.

“John?” You murmur. Or, rather, this other you murmurs.

A low groan reverberates from his chest to yours. Your head gets lighter, vision fuzzy around the edges. A hand clamps over the bloodied parts of your neck. Your vision fractures, partially the scene in front of you and partially the ceiling of your room that isn’t your room. Your lashes flutter and you’re back loosely straddling John’s lap.

“Yes, love?” He pants, mouth and teeth stained red. It sends a wave of panic through your veins.

You swallow roughly. “I don’t-”

Something shatters - the staccato sound reverberating through the apartment.

You startle, sitting up and throwing your blankets back. The bed is empty, room dark except for the few embers trapped in the fireplace off to the side. You don’t notice the box missing from your dresser.

“Hello?” You frown, standing and moving toward your door as if possessed by some external force. As if you at all know where you are going. Your bare feet pad quietly against the hard wood, door silently sliding open a fraction.

There’s another smashing sound. Your heart rate spikes, fear coursing through your veins. No one’s home - they left days ago. On business.

How do you know that?

Suddenly you’re in the living room of the apartment, crouched behind the couch and groping underneath for one of the silver daggers stashed around in various hiding spots. An insurance policy. Your breath comes in short, rapid gasps. You have to get out. Get downstairs. There’s security down there. They’ll help you, they know you.

How do they know you? How did you know the knife was there?

With the small dagger gripped tightly in your fist, you flinch at another smash. It came from John’s room across the apartment, another following right after. It sounds like this person (or people) tore his metal bed-frame apart. Splintered into pieces.

You take the opportunity to carefully move toward the front exit, allowing the noise to cover the sound of your movements. Damn the open concept design. You told John you didn’t like it. Breaths come in faster and shallow. You’re not built for running - too soft from all that pampering. A chubby, well loved pet. Not that you’re complaining. It’s just not the best for this particular moment.

A figure moves at lightening speed from John’s room to Kyle’s. You duck down behind the kitchen counter, covering your mouth to stifling the sound of your breath.

“I can smell ya.” A low voice taunts, echoing through the apartment. Fortunately, your scent is everywhere. It will take longer to distinguish where you are in particular than he may think.

Why is your scent everywhere again?

There’s more tearing and smashing. A door groans loudly as the intruder tears it off the hinges. More shattering. Your heart breaks a little - that must have been Kyle’s pottery. Oh he worked so hard on those. Some of them are from a century ago.

Anger begins to boil up your spine. Who is this fuck who thinks he can just wreck your home? Someone you know, for sure. He would have had to be invited in at some point. With a sneer you continue making your way through the penthouse, toward the front door. John’s going to rip this fucker in two when he gets back.

Except, just as you’re reaching for the front door, the vampire exits Kyle’s room. You meet his eyes - glinting in the dark of the hall. There’s barely a beat before you begin to rush, opening the door as fast as you can.

Not fast enough, of course. You’re only human, after all.

A scream rips it’s way through your throat as you connect with the far wall, knife clattering who knows where. Something broke, you’re not sure what. Every nerve ending seems to light on fire as you try to sit up. Your arm doesn’t move more than a twitch when you try to stand.

“Hey there, little girl.” The man pins you suddenly. You get the nagging sense that you know him, his name on the tip of your tongue. Buried somewhere under lock and key in your mind.

You thrash, punching at his chest and tearing at his hair. To no avail, of course. He just lets you, a cruel grin spreading wider and wider the harder you try to get away.

“What do you want!” You finally sob, going limp when your body finally gives out under pain and exertion.

“To destroy John’s coven. Obviously.” He huffs. “Yer step one.”

The vampire grabs your jaw in an iron grip, your teeth crack under the pressure as his pupils dilate. They’re bright - so blue and infinite and you can’t look anywhere else no matter how hard you try.

A clarity washes over you almost violently as you come to - like breaking through the surface of water after staying under too long. Everything from yo ur time under washing away, sinking back into the deep. A forgotten wreckage - old and twisted and grown over. Another lost Atlantis somewhere in the depths of your mind.

“John?” The name falls from your lips before you even realize you’re speaking, before his face comes into focus. Soft and familiar - comforting and enraging.

“Right here, dove.” He murmurs, dabbing your face with something damp and cool.

“Wh…” You swallow roughly, not entirely sure what you even want to say. So any words threaten to spill from your lips and yet your mind feels blank. All fuzz and static.

You want to beg him to let you go. To keep you forever. To tell you why he brought you here despite the ever nagging sense that you know why. Something deep in your marrow that connects you to this place - to these men - at the very soul. You are theirs and they are yours and you want nothing more than to run from them as far as you can go.

Those blue eyes focus on yours, so oddly gentle for all of their inhuman qualities. “We’ll talk when you’re better, okay?”

Talk about what? There isn’t anything to talk about. You don’t know them and they don’t know you, no matter what that tugging in your chest tells you. You’ve lied to yourself before - you’ve lied to others before - surely you’re just doing it again. This man hurt you. Marked you, whatever that means, so why do you still melt into his touch?

Your name falls from his lips, reverent and frightening. You blanch, eyes wide and mouth falling open. You didn’t tell him that. You didn’t-

“Just sleep for now, yeah?”

~~~

John watches intently as you fall back asleep. There was panic in your eyes for a moment, but your sick body can’t do much more than drift in an out of consciousness. You look more peaceful this time, at least, your breathing even and your body still. You’d been thrashing before, for what reason he isn’t sure. The lower city’s poison air does a number on the body, it’s effects only growing worse as time goes on and the pollution becomes more dense.

He did that, didn’t he? He left you and now you’re sick and hurt. John runs his fingers over the Mark, nearly entirely healed now. Just two small, faded marks that will follow you to the grave.

“I’m so sorry. I just keep failing you, don’t I?” He sighs. You always said he was a good man even when he didn’t believe it. Even with all the things he’s done. Would you still agree?

John‘s eyes sting. He’d be crying if he was human, surely.

He glances at the door. The others are out - taking care of business while he watches over you. The world doesn’t stop even when you need it to desperately. It took Johnny and Kyle nearly dragging Simon away to leave you alone with him.

He takes your hands in his, guilt wrecking him. They’re so much smaller, so much warmer. He can feel your pulse in every fingertip. Surely he’s ruined any chance to fix this before they could even try. He wouldn’t blame Simon if the man decided there needed to be a change - that John needs to be removed. He wouldn’t fight it.

John crawls into bed beside you like he’s done so many times before. Nestles under your pink silken sheets - the ones you picked out for Christmas. That was years go, now. Over two. Two tortorous, draining years that felt longer than the past six hundred.

He ran for days. Weeks maybe. Tearing through the city block by block, dodging and weaving between people and buildings alike. Speaking to anyone, using up every connection and resource he ever gained under this damned dome. It took a week to get through the sewer system.

No one knew where you went.

No one heard a thing. At least, nothing they would admit to. Even under compulsion.

You were gone, just like that.

Two years go by in the blink of an eye for a vampire. Might as well be a day, a night, a handful of hours. Time in such small increments is nothing to an immortal. Decades are barely enough to measure with. Not for them, though. Every second drug on. The days were long and tense.

A fracture formed between them. Kyle retreated into himself - quiet and frayed around the edges. Sometimes John caught him with a far away look in his eye, staring at nothing. He thinks Kyle would have been crying in those moments if he could. Johnny became far too unpredictable. Ripping and tearing any lower level vampire he can find. He spent a few months hunting Frenzies in the lower city without contact.

And Simon…

Simon turned into a fucking nightmare.

After the first year, they at least hoped to find your body. After the second anniversary of your disappearance came around, they gave up. The guilt of giving up brought a whole new wave of grief on them. Johnny laid in your bed for weeks, nearly beginning to petrify as he denied any blood. John couldn’t blame him, opting to re-read your favorite books with shaking hands. Simon fished your last knitting project, eyes heavy and tired. Kyle meandered listlessly through the house, sometimes laying with Johnny but most often sequestering himself in the now empty greenhouse.

They try to fill the hole with pretty girls that look sort of like you. Never enough and they never act like you. Too busy placating to snap at them like you were so willing to do. These others are only place fillers - something to take up the space you left between them. They could never truly fill it, though. It was far too great. A chasm that continues to swallow the four of them whole.

He’s so tired. The others were, too. Kate handled business well enough but their involvement was still required. Each issue and event weighing on them more and more. Kingpins of the city and they’ve been nearly ruined by the loss of a single girl. A single, human girl. None of it mattered in the face of what they lost.

John looks up, the pin-drop silence in the room bringing his attention back to the present.

And there you are.

Like Lazarus returned. An angel bathed in low, red light. Your hair spills around your shoulders framing that face he knows so well, one he’s held more times than he can count. A face that made him pray to a god he does not believe in every day to get back. Just once. Those unmistakable pearls grace your neck, the ruby latch glinting as you twist your neck and tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I’ll be your Companion tonight.” You say so softly. Almost the way you used to, laid up in his bed, whispering about nothing and everything with your fingers running through his hair. Asking about the things he’s seen with such awe.

“What happened t’ Cherry?” Kyle asks faux casually. John can feel the tension in the man next to him. He’s feeling it out - always so good at that. Better at human subtleties than the rest of them. His dark eyes sparkle, though, with a light John hasn’t seen in so long. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed it.

“She was unfortunately unable to come in tonight.” You slide the tray onto the table. You look the same. You sound the same. There’s a few new scars, some scratches here and there. A wariness in your eyes that wasn’t there before. Damage done to your skin that could only come from the lower city air.

Where have you been?

You shift nervously. “If I’m not to your standards-“

“Well, now, none of us said that.” John says far too quickly, smiling despite himself. It might not even be you. Maybe a doppelganger. A distant relative. A clone is more plausible. “What’s your name, dove?”

“Fancy.” And oh, John is sure his dead heart comes back to life. It is you. It has to be.

“Fittin’.” Johnny says, eyes raking over you. He might as well be vibrating, struggling to keep himself held back from yanking you into his hold.

They’re all measuring you up the same way he is. Feeling for anything unfamiliar. Outside of your distant, distrustful gaze with a lack of recognition that makes his chest ache, it’s you. It’s all you.

“Do you know who we are?” Simon murmurs. You’re having trouble looking at him, only meeting his gaze in small glances. Not so different from when they first met you. You and Simon have always had a certain… connection. Not that you weren’t all close - that they all didn’t love you deeply - but you and Simon had an understanding. He wonders if you can still feel it somewhere, deep down in the back of your mind.

You’re panicking a little, eyes flitting between their faces. John’s heart sinks. He feels it in the others. A deep disappointment - a turbulent melancholy- seeping into their bodies. You don’t know them. You don’t recognize a single one of them.

It’s all gone.

“It’s not a trick question.” Kyle says gently, ever one to soothe.

“No, sir.”

John’s heart breaks all over again.

A/N: My initial summary for this one was just “Fancy tripping balls on pollution while John and co. have a meltdown”

[oepionie]

— "AND WHILE YOU SLEEP, I'LL BE SCARED." overblot gang 

SYNOPSIS: Your lover waking up from a horrific nightmare and scrambling to listen to your heartbeat so he can make sure you're still alive.

⊹ [ cw ] — angst, hurt/comfort, overblot, blood, glass shards injury, anxiety/panic attacks, insecurities, mentions of death, crying (them)◞

⊹ [ tags ] — ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP. GN! READER | riddle tears his room apart, leona feels immense guilt, caring leona, azul having a panic attack, vil being an absolute mess, vil speaks german, shy idia, jamil injures himself accidentally, jamil calls you 'albi' (my heart), malleus immortality angst ◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 1.5k+◞

✩—RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS:

It's far past his scheduled time for sleep.

A bitter taste is bubbling up in his throat and frothing against his tongue. Riddle doesn't know what this wretched feeling is. All he knows is that he's terrified. Perhaps that's why he allows himself to disturb your sleep, the maddening emotions slamming against his head becoming too much for him to handle.

"I-I apologize for waking you," Riddle rasps, slipping into your shared bed and burrowing his face deep into the crook of your neck. His breaths come out in quick and fleeting puffs, heart thrumming hard against his ribs.

In the dimness of the night, the myriad of mangled and torn-up books that were strewn and flung about the room in a frenzied fury could hardly be seen. Your gaze flickered down to your lover. The tips of Riddle's fingers were a blistering raw red, his once well-groomed nails now visibly chipped at its ends.

With a touch of your tender hands, you pull him down to rest against your chest.

"What's wrong?"

"I–I just…I recalled the incident of my overblot and how I hit you with that blast. H-How you nearly—" Clamping his eyes tight, Riddle dared not to finish that sentence. The boy trembles in your arms—ears fervently straining to hear the steady and melodic thump of your heart, a melody he feared he would never hear again.

A choked sob tumbles from his lips and your chest aches.

"…I'm sorry," was his quiet cry. "I'm so sorry."

✩—LEONA KINGSCHOLAR:

Peacefully fast asleep, your back was nestled snug against the Leona's chest while his firm bicep protectively curled around your ribs.

Over the course of your relationship, Leona began to realize how much he loved having you in his arms. You were at peace when you slept, untouched and untainted by the stress and pain you dealt with every day.

He crept his free hand up your torso, cold fingers slipping underneath your shirt, skimming up your stomach, and settling above the spot on your chest where your heartbeat danced vividly against his touch. Leona splays his fingers out more, fixated on how the thrum of your life felt against his skin.

It was a daily struggle to keep his emotions at bay, ensuring that his strong feelings and magic wouldn't hurt you again. The nightmarish phantom of his blot still haunts him to this day. That wrath was an ugly and hideous beast he wished to keep locked away in the depths of his mind for all of eternity.

Yet, at the soft beat of your delicate heart against his sullied hands—Already, Leona finds himself wavering, uncharacteristically weak.

An overpowering mix of stress and strain washes over him, pooling up into watery blobs and flowing down his cheeks in faint streaks as he silently wept.

"Fuck," Leona curses, pulling your dozing form closer to him. "Fuck. Fuck, I'm sorry. You don't deserve this."

✩—AZUL ASHENGROTTO:

The torment of nightmares was far worse than he remembered, but this dread he felt was unquestionably different, pressing in on him like a frigid cold. The icy sensation seeps into the marrows and dips of his flesh—his sole respite being your touch, which both warmed and scorched at his skin.

"Angelfish." Azul breathlessly sputtered, blindly patting around the bed in search of your body.

Through the fringes of his blacked out vision, he could barely make out your worried drowsy visage. This caused him to panic, pulse picking up, but you were quick to soothe him—reaching a hand out to press against his cheek. Finally finding you, the octo-mer pulled you towards his side of the bed, engulfing you in a tight hug.

Azul tried to stop the flood of tears that layered his face, but your soft lips strewn with kisses on his skin seemed to further elicit his unceasing cries. 

"I'm not going anywhere, Azul. I'm here." You whisper, cradling his face, but he was inconsolable. The octo-mer desperately clawed at your shirt as he pressed his ear deeper against your chest, practically melting into you.

The throbs of your heart echoed through his anguished mind, providing him with some semblance of comfort.

"Don't go….Please…" Azul sputters, body shaking from every deep, labored heave of his burning lungs, "Please."

✩—JAMIL VIPER:

A strangled scream awoke you from your abyssal sleep, your bleary eyes ripping open to dart here and there around the room in a manic frenzy. The ensuing shattering smash of a glass further threw your thoughts into disarray.

"Jamil?!"

Your lover had stumbled off of the bed, now kneeling against the wooden flooring with the bedsheets pooling around his hips, sheets damp from the shattered glass of water on the floor.

A bloody hand clenched at his palpitating heart, glass shards digging into his skin, as his lungs fought to maintain his breathing.

You sprang from the mattress and skidded in his direction, but Jamil scrambled away from you.

"Albi, no. There's glass. Stay away. You're going to get hurt," Jamil stammered. Holding a shaky hand up, the boy avoided your gaze.

"Jamil—" Brows pinched together, you eased towards him. "I'm not going to get hurt, don't worry."

You stepped over the shards of crystal glass with caution and made your way past, "See?"

Once you were within his reach, Jamil caved in and slowly brought you into his arms—careful with his injury. He could feel the distant sting of the cuts on his hands, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Leaning down, he lay his head over your heart. Even though the batter of your heart was frantic and panicked, it somewhat provided a steady beat for him to follow as he worked to untangle the complexities in his thoughts. Your lover sunk against you, anchoring himself against the warmth your body radiated.

✩—IDIA SHROUD:

As the minutes pass, Idia was rapidly losing every meagre amount of confidence he managed to scrape together.

"Idia…honey? Please get up." You croon, running a hand through his flaming hair.

Though it seemed as if he didn't hear anything—Idia kept his head glued against your beating chest, refusing to get up from his position on the floor.

He's been kneeling before you for so long that the rough fabric of his pants burned and skidded against the tender skin of his knees, sending excruciating stings along the threads of his flesh.

"I—No…N-No…I can't." Idia's lips quiver, eyes glossing over as he diverts his gaze. The weight of his arms lay heavy against your legs, elbows resting by your knees while his dull nails dug into the skin at the back of your thighs.

"Why's that?" You whisper.

Idia shut his eyes. The flash of numerous dreams and nightmares he's suffered at the hands of his own demented twisted memories clouded his mind. It did not help that they were all molded out of his own self-inflicted pessimism...cruel and unforgiving. A reason as to why he couldn't bear to look at you tonight, not when the image of your mangled body was still fresh on his mind.

"I-I'm s-sor-sorry…I ca-can't get up…I need to…” he stumbles for words, his breathing picking up its pace. "I need to…need to know you're okay."

✩—VIL SCHOENHEIT:

"Vil…" You worriedly murmur, pressing your lips against his mascara-stained cheeks, not minding the bitter aftertaste it left lingering in your mouth.

Laying atop the plush silk sheets of his king-sized bed, the dorm leader's eyes were ripped wide open as his chest heaved viciously. It was quite a rare sight as your lover lay vulnerable before you, heart bared open.

Oh, he was an absolute mess.

Dark streams of teary mascara ran down Vil's cheeks, his uniform wrinkled and his golden hair splayed out everywhere—unbound from its braids and tangled up.

The grip of his arms around your midsection tightens as he pressed you up closer against him, his head resting atop your chest. At the sound of your heartbeat, Vil allowed himself to unwind and let your affections banish away even the most ominous of his thoughts.

"Liebling…Es tut mir ehrlich Leid—" Vil rasps, his mother tongue dripping like honey from his lips as he suddenly found it difficult to speak the language he was so accustomed to every day.

Hushing him, you press a fleeting kiss against his brow line and Vil clamps his red-rimmed eyes shut, ceasing to say anything more.

"Hush now. Rest, my prince." You press a gentle kiss to his temple and brush the frizzes of his blonde hair away from his face.

A small smile quirks on his lips as he feels his stomach fluttering from the nickname. The look in his eyes is softly lit, warm like a candle.

✩—MALLEUS DRACONIA:

One day, Malleus knows, you will be nothing more than wilted and withered ash.

It was a truth that wrapped around him like shackling chains—tearing, whipping and lashing against his raw, bare skin. No matter how hard he pulled, scratched, and screamed at it, the chains remained.

The clanging and grating iron truth about reality cannot be so easily pushed away. Human lives are fickle, and you would inevitably leave him.

Once you do, the fae prince knows he will be a mere shadow of his former self, a wretched and lonesome creature awaiting and longing for his lover who was no more than a ghost of his fleeting memories.

"I apologize for the disturbance, my treasure."

And yet, Malleus presses his hand firmly against your beating heart. A distant marching beat serving as his reminder that you were very much alive and well.

"I truly apologize." Malleus heaves, hands clamouring against your collarbone.

Although thick tension and silence still hung heavy in the air, the dragon basked in the warmth and feel of your flushed skin, a bitter smile gracing his lips as he lay beside you on the bed.

"Sweet dreams, beastie…"

—TAGLIST:

꒰ ♡🧷: if you want to be tagged for ALL of my works, comment here!

@keedas @spadecentral @crypticbibliophile @pastellepastary @cassidycampfire @cocomollo @poisonioushearts @kawaiipotatoghost @ramvuda @sweeneyblue1 @the-lost-anime-dad @kyraxiyn   @skadi-winterfell @mushroomchaos101 @rainybeebs @taruruchi @fluffimemes @awkwardspontaneity @phoneandchips @gussuri

[semisasseater]

Intro (end of the world.)

Se-mi x fem! reader

Summary: you never wanted to get into a heated argument with your girlfriend se-mi, not even in these death games that were slowly making you and se-mi drift away from each other. not knowing it was lights out but finding out you ran to go find se-mi not knowing that’s the reason you loose your life.

Tw: Gore, stabbing, really into detail on how y/n gets killed, just full angst, crying, wuh luh wuh, grief, no happy ending. let me know if i missed anything!

authors note: if you thought this was bad imagine what i would’ve wrote if they both died. felt a little uh.. heh evil (cause of that damn poll) and sad today.. but anyways this was very not sigma to write also i’m sorry i didn’t post yesterday </3 forgive me.

Not proofread!

Part 2

Word count: 841

The tension had been building between you and Se-mi for days. Every game, she threw herself into the fire without thinking twice, taking reckless risks that made your heart nearly explode with fear. You had warned her, begged her to be more careful and pick X. But she never listened.

And tonight, after barely scraping by in the last round, it all came boiling over.

“I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY! YOU KEPT WANTING TO PLAY AND ALMOST GETTING YOURSELF FUCKING KILLED!” you shouted, frustration and fear twisting your voice.

Se-mi’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Whatever,” she scoffed, rubbing her temples. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

You huffed, crossing your arms as you watched her walk off. Your chest was still heaving with anger, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t just anger—it was fear. Fear of losing her.

You sat against the cold wall, pressing your forehead against your knees, mumbling curses under your breath. The frustration made your limbs feel heavy, exhaustion from the past games catching up to you.

Then—

BOOM.

The lights went out.

At first, it was just silence. But then—screams. Bloodcurdling, gut-wrenching screams. The sound of bodies hitting the floor.

Your breath hitched as you looked around. The room had turned into chaos. The weak were being slaughtered, and the strong were becoming animals.

Your mind screamed one thing—Se-mi.

You scrambled to your feet, heart hammering, pushing past the bodies and the flashing silhouettes of people fighting in the darkness. You had to find her. You had to—

A hand yanked your hair back violently.

A pained gasp left your lips as you were thrown against the wall, your skull bouncing off the hard surface. Vision swimming, you looked up—shit. nam gyu.

The gleam of a sharp, broken glass shard caught your eye before it plunged into your shoulder.

A piercing scream ripped from your throat as white-hot pain seared through your body. You struggled, kicking at him, clawing at anything to get away, but he was relentless. With a sickening grin, he pulled the shard out, only to drive it into your stomach.

Your screams turned into choked sobs, pain overtaking every nerve in your body. You could feel the glass slowly dragging up toward your chest, your body convulsing in agony.

you wheezed, trying to push him off.

But he didn’t stop.

The next stab was to your hand.

A broken, shattered cry left your lips as your body weakened, your limbs trembling, blood pooling beneath you. Your vision blurred, dark edges creeping in. The pain was unbearable. Your body slumped against the cold floor, breaths shallow, mind slipping away.

You heard more screams. More fighting. But it was all fading.

Until—

“Y/N!”

A familiar voice. A desperate, trembling voice.

Se-mi.

Your eyelids felt like lead as you barely managed to turn your head. Se-mi was there, her face streaked with tears, hands shaking as she grabbed your weak, bloodied body.

“Nonono, Y/N, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have left you alone!” she sobbed, pressing your head against her chest. Her warmth felt comforting, even as your body turned cold.

You let out a weak, trembling breath. “It’s okay Se-mi… it’s not your fault… it’s mine… I was being an asshole…”

She shook her head violently. “No. No don’t say that You’re gonna be okay You have to be okay”

Your body felt lighter. The pain was dulling, everything slipping away.

You looked at her, eyes heavy with exhaustion and something deeper—love. “Se-mi… I’ll always love you…”

“No—” her voice cracked. “No, no, no, don’t say that.. You can’t leave me. You can’t!”

Tears dripped onto your face as she shook you, desperately trying to keep you here. But you were already floating away.

“Get out of here… for me… okay?”

And then—darkness.

“NO! Y/N!”

Her scream echoed through the room, raw and heart-wrenching. She clutched your body, sobbing uncontrollably, rocking you in her arms.

But you were gone.

The guards arrived, their cold, emotionless hands pulling Se-mi away as she kicked and screamed, refusing to let go.

“DON’T TAKE HER! DON’T TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME!”

But they did. They placed your lifeless body into a black and pink coffin, sealing it shut.

Se-mi collapsed to the floor, her cries silent now, just broken breaths of someone who had lost everything.

She was still alive.

But for Se-mi, she was dead, what was the point of living if your reason to live is gone?

@semisasseater

[lumillsie]

ೃ⁀➷ glass shattered on the white cloth ੈ✩‧₊˚

se-mi x gn!reader

a/n : I was originally only going to write the last scene and make it a fluff piece with a hint of angst as the request said, but I feared it wouldn't satisfy the angsty-fluff part 🙏 that being said, maybe did too much in the angst part but trust its a fluffy ending.

fear had infiltrated your very bones and made a home of your skeleton the very moment that chemical agent sent you to sleep in that polished, luxurious vehicle you found yourself in on the night you were brought to this hellscape.

you began to think you couldn't feel it anymore — that you truly succeeded in numbing yourself to it.

the sight of her — cornered against the ivory tiles of the wall as thanos' nameless sidekick slithered close to her in all of this unbidden chaos, made you realise that you were not numb to fear. your body stilled at the sight, and your eyes darted around the room in a desperate attempt to locate something you could use to incapacitate him. you thought of him as hyena-like from the moment him and the purple-haired rapper he trailed behind first approached you and the girl who'd taken you under her wing. you had no idea how spot on your assessment was until this very moment.

you knew she was going to die if you didn't succeed in wrestling that silver fork out of his hand, and all thoughts of self-preservation abandoned you at the thought of her lying in a pool of her own blood.

as you made your first step, a figure on the top of the tallest bed caught your gaze. min-su tossed his bottle on the top of nam-gyu's head, allowing it to break into a thousand of pieces and cut into the other man's skin. se-mi saw her opportunity to sink down and grab a shard in her hand and lunged at him. you made your way closer, the rowdy noises of violence concealing your quiet steps and grasped a shard in your own hand carelessly, as your skin screamed in agony.

he over-powered her, and he was about to slit her throat on the spot. you were no murderer, of course not — you could never willingly, knowingly take a life. but in that moment, you knew only one of them would live. and it you knew that it needed to be her. there was no time for hesitation, so you didn't.

he was grasping at his throat as pools of crimson spurted down his neck and onto the pine green tracksuit. the white number 124 on his breast was drenched in liquid. the same liquid that coated your shaking hand and the shard that slipped its grasp the moment you saw he was no longer moving.

his eyes were empty — you imagined yours were too. you wanted to cry, you wanted to scream, you wanted to rub your hands over and over again until there was no trace of his blood ever having dripped down onto them.

"we need to hide. now" she proclaimed urgently, her unmarred hand grabbing your soiled one. you let her pull you under one of the beds as she nestled in close to you, hopeful that you wouldn't be discovered before the violent event came to its conclusion. you could see now that she was shaking too. you allowed her to keep your hand in hers, and prayed that you'd both remain undiscovered.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the water rushes down from the faucet as red pools towards the drain. it doesn't look as thick anymore. it almost looks like wine now. se-mi's watchful eyes rest on you as you scrub the remainders of nam-gyu off your moist skin.

"I didn't get a chance to thank you, last night. you saved my life" she breaks the silence as her hands sink into her pockets. "if you hadn't done what you did... he would have killed me." you know the realisation is difficult for her too. if it weren't for a shard of glass, she would be dead now. the shards of glass shattered across the bedding reminded you both of what happened the night before when you crawled out from underneath the springs of your bed.

"so did min-su. he threw the bottle. I just..." you trail off, the words almost unspeakable. "I made a choice." you decide that's the right thing for you to say.

"I'm glad you're still alive." you declare, and if you were anywhere else in the world, it would sound strange and morbid and nothing like a declaration of affection. she understands what you mean. "I'm glad you're still alive, too" she says it back, and with her words a tinge of light makes its journey back into your eyes. a chuckle of relief escapes you, and soon enough you've both burst into giggles as hysterical tears drip down onto your cheeks.

the sight of the man you killed may return to haunt you in the night — but during the day, your thoughts are consumed by her. you want it to stay that way.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

your hands are gentle as you press the water-soaked cloth to the gash on her hand. the glass left its mark on her too — as did nam-gyu's attempts to bring her life to an untimely end with the work he lifted from thanos' neck.

"stay still." you beg her, as you tear off a piece of the bedding to wrap her her hound. you make sure to shake it first, as tiny fragments of glass shattered across the floor. your movements are precise, and yet you're careful not to cause her anymore pain. God knows she's experienced too much of it recently.

"you've been holding out on me. could've gotten into a fight with that ass on day one if I knew you were going to patch me up" se-mi teases as she does her best to stop moving while you finish tying the cloth around her palm. you roll your eyes, but you can't stop the edges of your lips from curling up into an amused smile. "I guess it never came up" you answered with the same tone of voice, your mouth making a 'pop' sound as you drawled out the last letter.

"we should go see that band you like, when we get out." she remarks almost unexpectedly, and you find yourself caught off-guard. "you remembered that?" you pose the question, your eyebrows slightly lifting. "of course. I remember everything you've told me." she responds, and you know now that something really has changed between the two of you. before, she looked out for you — but she was sarcastic, reserved, almost distant. now she's itching to lean closer to you, and you know you'll let her.

"we can get ready together, wear matching jackets." you answer her proposition, as your hand finds hers this time. she holds it tightly, her thumb rubbing gentle circles into the soft skin. "we can." she agreed.

"if we're lucky enough, we can take min-su with us... and visit the nice old lady who invited me to her place for dinner." you add, a renewed hope forming in your bones. it's infiltrated you farther than the fear could. she nods at that, with an expression of genuine joy on her face.

the sight of it fills you with affection — and with courage too. you lean forward until your lips reach hers, and she places a hand on the back of your neck. as you pull apart, you make a silent promise to yourself. you'll get her out of there — and you'll do your hardest to get out too.

a/n : and that's it for my first fic in this format! I intended to spend more time on it but something came up and I wasn't able to dedicate as much time as I wanted to for it, but I'm still happy with how it turned out. as always, tagging more characters for maximum visibility but I only tag characters I write for, so you can feel free to request any of them 🙏 thank you so much for your time and let me know if you have any feedback or constructive criticism 🩷

[allaboutsturns]

ɪ ᴡɪꜱʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ (ᴘ2)

matthew sturniolo x reader

warnings/content: angst, car crash, mentions of death, mentions of needles, mentions of hospital, serious injuries, mentions of respiratory tubes, very sad triplets.

summary: the triplets watched from the middle of the road as your vehicle flipped in the intersection at the end of their street. each of their minds raced with thoughts. would nick ever get to share a spa night with you again? would chris ever get to have another sleepover with you? would matt ever get to apologize for hurting you? would he ever get to kiss you again, hold you again?

• 2:10am

matt, nick, and chris stood in the middle of the road in front of their shared house, looking after you as you sped off towards the intersection at the end of the street.

the three of them turned to walk back inside, each of them feeling defeated, matt especially, but that was before they heard the screeching of tires against the asphalt as they fought for friction.

matt was the first to turn, followed by chris, and then nick. immediately, without hesitation, matt starts sprinting towards the scene unfolding in front of him. nick and chris are following closely behind him.

the adrenaline coursing through matt’s veins sobers him completely, ridding his body of any trace of alcohol. his eyes begin to pool with tears that begin to fall from his eyes and fly back in the direction of the wind that he felt he was fighting to get through.

he took in shaky breaths, the cool air nipping at his lungs with each inhale. he could barely hear anything other than his own heart beat which echoed through his mind.

badum. badum. badum.

he heard the muffled screams and desperate sobs of his brothers from behind him, but it didn’t register. all that mattered to him in that moment was getting to you as quickly as possible.

badum. badum. badum.

finally, after what felt like a lifetime, he reached the intersection and threw himself to the ground right in front of the drivers side door, his bare knees hitting the pavement. he barely flinched from the pain though. he could barely feel it.

badum. badum. badum.

he began trying to pry open the door which separated himself from you. soon after he had managed to reach your flipped car, his brothers managed to reach it too. they threw themselves onto the pavement just as matt had, and immediately went to help him pry the door away.

the smell of gasoline flooded their noses, sending shocks of fear throughout their bodies, “matt, we have to get her out now!!” nick yelled through tears, his throat sore with a ripping sadness.

badum. badum. badum.

matt didn’t acknowledge his brother, he couldn’t. he didn’t even know either of them had spoken. he yanked at the door, praying that the hinges which held it in place would snap so he could pull you from the car.

snap.

the hinges did exactly as he prayed. they snapped, releasing their firm grip on the separation they had created. the three boys dragged the heavy door away from its frame, nick and chris dragging it a couple inches away.

matt had immediately gone back to you, frantically reaching for the buckle of your seatbelt, and in one fell swoop, he clicked the button which released the seatbelt from its prison, and quickly grabbed you and dragged you out of the car before you hit your head on the asphalt and injured yourself more.

he dragged himself back with one hand, scooting as far back as he could, holding onto you tightly, making sure to not let you go this time.

as soon as he was a relatively safe distance from the flipped car, it ignited into flames, a bright orange illuminating the world around them.

matt frantically looked from the car, down to you. you were laying lifelessly in his arms. he brushed the hair away from your face with the palm of his hand, gently. your hair was tangled with a mix of dry blood and shards of glass. some glass had managed to plant itself into matt’s hand when he brushed the hair out of your face.

the breath in his throat came to a halt as he saw your face. there were deep cuts scattered across your skin and dark bruises that bit at your beautiful face.

“stay with me, baby.. please stay with me…” he managed to squeeze out through sobs as he pulled you into him as closely as he possibly could, gravity pulling your limp arms back towards the ground, your soft fingers brushing the asphalt.

nick was frantically searching for a pulse in your wrist while chris sat completely frozen beside matt, tears ruthlessly running down his face as he rocked back and forth.

finally, the ambulance arrived. the boys would never be able to tell you when they got their because they were so stuck in one moment of time.

the paramedics quickly but gently placed you onto a gurney and wheeled you into the back of the ambulance. matt got into the back of the ambulance in complete and utter shock.

nick and chris would have gotten into the ambulance as well, but there was no room, so instead they would have to resort to ordering an uber.

-

• 2:40am

the paramedics rushed through the doors to the hospitals emergency room, matt holding on tightly to your hand as if his life depended on it. he was scared that if he let go, you would disappear.

“we need some help over here!” one of the paramedics shouted. almost immediately, a couple doctors and a about three nurses ran over and guided the gurney that you lay on to an unoccupied hospital room.

matt just stared at your face as one of the nurses gently removed your hand from his grip, guiding him outside of the hospital room. he couldn’t even react, he was too shocked.

the nurse rushed back into the room and shut the door behind her, “she’s got a faint pulse! someone get a damn crash cart!” one of the doctors yelled urgently.

beep. beep. beep.

matt could faintly hear the imitation of your weak heartbeat on the monitor through the door. he put his back against the hospital wall right next to the door, incapable of moving to the waiting room.

beep. beep. beeeeeeeeeeep.

“we’re losing her!” another doctor yelled. through ringing ears, matt heard the muffled flatline on the monitor, signaling that your heart had stopped. signaling that you were gone and that he’d never get to fix what he had said to you last. never get to try and mend what he broke. he fell to the floor pulling his knees to his chest and hiding his face in them, sobs escaping his lips as his lungs fought for air.

all he could think about was everything he would never be able to do now, everything he’d never be able to fix. he remembered all the plans the two of you had. he would never get to kiss you again, never get to hug you again, never get to please you again. he would never get to hold you and run his hands through your hair, and it was all his fault. all because he told a lie. he never cheated. the only reason he had been distancing himself from you was because he was stressed and his anxiety was through the roof, that also being the reason he was at the bar so much the past few nights. if anything, anytime a girl even looked at him, he would walk over to them and brag about how amazing his girlfriend was and how bad he felt about how he was treating her recently.

nick and chris pushed through the door to the hospital, frantically looking around for a sign of you or matt.

“nick, over there!” chris said to his brother, his voice cracking from the soreness in his throat. nick and chris ran to matt and when they reached him, they heard it.

beeeeeeeeeeeep.

“no…” chris whispered, covering his mouth with one of his hands, tears managing to escape his eyes once again. nick just stood there, his hands at his sides, completely frozen and unable to mutter a word.

chris fell to the floor beside matt and buried his face into his brothers shoulder, soon after nick did the same. all three of their bodies heaved up and down with each shaky, unfulfilling breath that they took.

each of their minds were racing with memories that they had with you. you may have been matt's girlfriend, but you were family to all of them. you had always been equally as involved with nick and chris as you were with matt.

nicks sobs grew louder as his thoughts wandered. you always knew how to make him laugh only in a way that his brothers had ever made him laugh. anytime he texted you alerting you that he was upset, you would read the message and immediately be bursting through his bedroom door with snacks and nail polish in hand, ready to cheer him up. you and nick had a weekly spa night, you would paint each others faces with a face mask and put a movie on the tv while you waited for them to dry. nick would always lay on your chest and listen to your heartbeat as you watched the movie together, it was comforting to him. you were his best friend and practically his sister and he loved you so much. he couldn't help but think about how two nights prior would be the last time he ever listened to your heartbeat, the last time he ever watched a movie with you, the last time he ever painted your face with a green face mask.

chris shook as he tried to scoot as closely to matt as he could. you had always had a soft spot for chris. he was like a little brother to you even though he was older. you loved him so much and he loved you. you were the only person he allowed himself to be completely vulnerable around, he trusted you entirely. you couldn't count the amount of times on two hands that he cried in your arms when he became too overwhelmed because he couldn't focus or complete the task at hand without getting sidetracked. almost every night chris would have a sleepover with you because you kept his nightmares at bay. you were his best friend and he loved you entirely. he couldn't stand the thought of you being gone, he didn't even want to imagine it. what would he do? who would he go to?

-

• 3:10am

all of the nurses and doctors had left the hospital room by now except for one. the final doctor stepped out of the room quietly, leaving the door open a crack, and looked down at the three boys who had fallen asleep due to exhaustion, their bodies had been working too hard in the short period of time that these events were occurring. the doctor frowned, sympathy washing over his features as he looked at the boys. they looked tired and definitely not at peace. their sleep looked painful and restless, each of their faces were red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears.

atter a minute or two had passed, the doctor reached a hand down and gently patted matt's head to wake him, "hey buddy," he said gently.

matt's eyes shot open and he started frantically looking around, confused as to where he was at. as soon as he remembered what was going on and where he was at, immediate tears welled in his eyes.

beep. beep. beep.

matt's eyes widened when he heard the beep of the heart monitor coming from your room. he pushed himself up off the ground quickly, which woke his brothers up, and he ran past the doctor into the room.

he paused for a moment when he saw all the tubes connected to you and the iv's in your arms. finally, he shook the thoughts away and ran to your side, grabbing your hand gently in his and placing a kiss to it.

nick and chris followed closely behind matt and ran to the other side of the bed, both of them taking your other hand in theirs gently.

"it's gonna be okay.. you're gonna be okay," matt whispered to you, unsure if you could hear him or not.

-

• 10:01am

sunlight shone through the gaps of the blinds into the hospital room, painting the room a light yellow color.

your eyes opened slowly, so slowly that it would've been painful to watch. immediately you felt pain shoot through your body, but it was gentle pain. the meds the doctors had put you on numbed it almost entirely.

you looked to each side of you at your boys. nick and chris on the right and matt on the left. they were all asleep, their heads laying gently on parts of your body. they looked peaceful. worried, but peaceful. you coughed a little when you tried to speak, unaware of the tubes that were in your mouth. you were too tired to fight the tubes, too tired to panic.

instead, you gently rubbed both of your thumbs back and forth against the soft skin of nick, chris, and matt's hands.

matt was the first one awake, almost as if he had sensed you were awake. immediately he was planting the most gentle kisses to your head and face in spots that weren't as visibly injured as the others. you weakly smiled as best you could at him, completely ignoring the argument that you and him just had. that was the least of your worries now.

almost dying made you realize you never wanted to lose any of them, not over anything. you knew you could work things out with matt and he knew he would do everything in his power to fix what he broke.

nick and chris were awake a couple minutes after matt, all three of them had tears of happiness building in their eyes.

nothing mattered in this exact moment. nothing at all, except that you were going to be okay. you weren't going to leave them.

you and nick would get to make more spa night memories and you'd get the opportunity to help him when he was sad.

you would be able to be a lighthouse for chris, a comfort person. he wasn't going to lose his best friend, his safety net. he would get to cry into your arms and have sleepovers after a nightmare with you again.

you and matt would be able to fix things and finish everything you had planned together, make more memories and share more love. pain came with the territory but you knew you two would always find a way to work through it.

you were family to two of them, and to the other, well you were the love of his life. none of them wanted to lose you, not now and not ever, and you didn't want to lose them either.

you may not share their blood, but you share their happiness, their sadness, their anger. you share their love, and that was all that mattered. that's what made them so important to you.

today you lay in a bed with tubes and wires connected to you, but in a month you lay in bed with nick while your face masks dry. in a month you hold chris in your arms while he cries because he's so overwhelmed. in a month you kiss matt lovingly and hold his face gently in your hands.

today you hurt, but in a month you will continue to make memories with your boys.

divider by: @/Kafekitsune

ERMMM i'm crying wtf.

this is my SECOND time writing this because the first time the draft DIDNT SAVE and it had like 2000+ words. i cried many tears. hopefully you guys like thissss!! ¡ probably wont do a part 3 but if you guys absolutely want it i will! the support on my page the past 2 days has been insane and i love you guys so much and am so grateful!!

- ace <3

tags: @whoisabbyysblog @mattyblover07 @b2cute @samandcolbyfan22 @norr1ssturni0lo @sturnlover4eva @sturniololover-09

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part one

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part One - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.3k

The mansion is a war zone. Screams and gunfire echo through the halls, mingling with the sickening stench of burning flesh and molten metal. Blood splatters the walls, once lined with family photos and cherished memories, now smeared with the desperate last stands of my friends. My heart hammers in my chest, a relentless drumbeat urging me forward as I sprint down the corridors I once knew like the back of my hand. Now, they feel like the intestines of some dying beast, twisting and turning as it thrashes in its final moments.

I skid to a stop outside Logan’s quarters, nearly slipping on a pool of blood. The heavy oak door is reduced to splinters, gunshots carved deep into the wood. Logan isn’t there. Damn it. Where the hell could he be?

Of course, he’s been in one of his foul moods all week, growling at anyone who dared get too close. Typical Logan, retreating to the nearest bar when things get too heavy. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I rake my brain, trying to picture him—his location. There has to be something, some clue that could lead me to him before it’s too late. The X-Men are losing. They’re being slaughtered, and the only chance we have lies in Logan’s bloodied hands.

I force myself to see it, a twisted sort of daydream: Logan tearing through our enemies, me getting to him just in time. My thoughts race faster, my vision blurring with desperation. It’s not enough. He could be anywhere in this town, and my friends—my family—are dying.

“Kurt!” I scream, the name ripping from my throat, a raw, desperate plea. “Kurt, where the hell are you?!”

I stumble into Kurt’s room, eyes wide, hoping for a flash of blue, the familiar scent of brimstone. Nothing. The room is a wreck—furniture overturned, shards of glass glittering like ice in the moonlight, blood smeared across the floor in haphazard patterns. How much of it is Kurt’s? How much of it is anyone’s?

A cold dread grips my insides, gnawing at my heart. I can’t lose them. Not like this. Not now.

“Kurt!” I call out again, the name choking in my throat as I stumble forward, deeper into the room. My eyes scan the wreckage frantically, desperate to catch even a fleeting glimpse of him.

Suddenly, the world around me shifts. Time fractures, and I’m flooded with chaotic visions, flickering images of what could be, what might have been, and what is. It’s my curse—my gift. Chrono-Perception. I see Kurt laughing, his smile wide and genuine. Then, in another vision, he’s gasping for breath, his eyes wide with fear as a blade plunges into his side. The echoes of possible futures assault my senses, each one more horrific than the last.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the noise in my mind to settle, to focus. But when I open them, the reality of the present hits me harder than any of the potential futures. Just beyond the overturned bed, a familiar blue hand sticks out from beneath a collapsed bookshelf.

My breath catches in my throat, and I rush over, time seeming to slow around me, each step dragging as if the universe itself is dreading what I’m about to find. When I reach him, my heart sinks.

Kurt’s body is twisted at an unnatural angle, his once vibrant blue fur now matted with blood. His gentle, kind eyes are wide open, staring into the void. I reach out with trembling hands to close them, my fingers brushing against his cold skin. The sensation of his lifeless body under my touch sends a shiver down my spine. He wasn’t supposed to die like this. Not here. Not now.

A flash of another potential future assaults my mind—Kurt, alive and well, teleporting behind me with that infectious grin, teasing me like he always did. But it’s just an echo, a cruel reminder of what could never be.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking as I gently close his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

I know I don’t have much time. The echoes of the future still buzz in my head, warning me of the impending danger. But it isn’t just my perception of time that sets me apart. My Time-Linked Vitality means my body ages slowly, each year passing like a drop in a vast ocean. It makes me resilient, gives me strength, but it also means I’m cursed to watch as the people I love die around me, one by one.

The pain of losing Kurt, of seeing him like this, is almost too much to bear. But I can’t let it consume me. Not now. Not when there are others still fighting, still clinging to life.

With one last look at Kurt’s lifeless form, I force myself to my feet. I wipe the blood from my hands on my tattered pants, my resolve hardening with every breath. The mansion is still under attack, and my friends—my family—need me.

I turn to bolt to the next room when a strange shift in the air makes me freeze—a ripple, like reality itself hiccupped. This isn’t my doing.

I spin around, but before I can even process what’s happening, a door materializes out of thin air. It hovers there, glowing with a light that feels wrong, like it belongs to a place that doesn’t give a damn about things like hope or mercy. My heart lurches, adrenaline spiking as I instinctively reach for my powers. But they fizzle out, sputtering like a dying flame.

The door swings open, and a figure steps out. Cloaked in shadow, they bear the insignia of the Time Variance Authority on their chest, a symbol of cold, unyielding authority.

“Y/N,” the figure speaks, voice smooth as polished steel. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“What?” The word comes out more as a snarl, anger sparking to life within me. I have no time for this. “What the hell are you talking about? I need to stop them—my friends—”

“—Are meant to die,” the figure interrupts, their tone as final as a tombstone. “This timeline is not yours to change.”

The words hit me like a blow to the gut, driving the breath from my lungs. “What?”

Another figure appears beside the first, blocking my path. “It’s not your decision,” the second figure says, calm and detached. “You’re disrupting the timeline, and for that, you must be removed.”

“Removed?” I echo, my voice quivering with fury now. Cold dread coils around my chest, squeezing tight. “You can’t just—”

The first figure raises a hand, and my world goes dark. My muscles lock, frozen in place as a swirling portal opens beneath my feet. Panic surges, but it’s too late. The world dissolves into a whirlpool of shadows and chaos, the cold hands of the TVA agents the last thing I see before I’m dragged into the abyss.

The Void is worse than death. As I fall, time twists and warps around me, past, present, and future bleeding together in a nauseating blur. Memories crash over me in waves—Logan’s gruff voice, the X-Men’s laughter, the mansion bathed in warm sunlight. It all slips through my fingers, distant echoes swallowed by the darkness.

I hit the ground hard, the impact like a sledgehammer to my spine. Pain explodes in my ribs, but I grit my teeth and force myself up. The world around me is a desolate wasteland, an endless expanse of lost possibilities and forgotten timelines. Cold, lifeless, devoid of anything remotely human.

I stagger to my feet, my body aching, the emptiness of the Void pressing in on me from all sides. It’s suffocating, the silence so loud it’s maddening. I am alone—truly, terrifyingly alone.

My chest aches as I push through the underbrush, my hand pressed firmly against my side where the pain throbs persistently. I can’t see my future here—my control over time-slipping is erratic, even on a good day. The uncertainty only makes the situation worse. Each step through the dense forest feels like I’m wading through thick, invisible mud, the oppressive silence wrapping around me like a heavy shroud. My breath comes in ragged gasps, the crushing weight of despair threatening to overwhelm me.

A flicker of movement catches my eye, a brief flash of light piercing the gloom. My heart skips a beat as a figure materializes from the swirling smoke, gradually solidifying. I squint at the fiery glow surrounding him, a stark contrast to the dark, oppressive forest. Fear grips me, and I instinctively reach for my powers, but nothing happens. I’m powerless, feeling utterly useless.

“Hey there!” The figure calls out, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and curiosity. “You look like you’ve seen better days. Want a hand, or are you planning on moping around all by yourself?”

I blink, trying to process his presence amidst the chaos. “Who are you?”

He grins, flames dancing around his fingers. “Johnny Storm. You know, the Human Torch.” His casual tone does little to soothe my fear, and I take a step back, distrust etched on my face. “You look like you could use some company. So, what’s your story? Lost and hopeless, or just taking a scenic tour of the void?”

I scowl, irritation mingling with confusion. “I’m not in the mood for jokes. I’m having a really bad day—dragged into a cosmic wasteland and all.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement still lingering in his expression. “Ah, a bad day. I’ve had a few of those myself. So, what’s got you all twisted up?”

I swallow hard, my mind replaying the horrifying scenes from moments before—Kurt’s lifeless body, the screams of my friends and family. “I was trying to save my friends when these… guys in suits showed up and sent me here. Why are you here, anyway? Cosmic firefighter?”

“More like a cosmic firestarter,” Johnny retorts with a wink, his flames flaring playfully. “Anyone the TVA deems as trash ends up here—the lost and abandoned. Now, how about we get you out of this mess? The Borderlands is a decent place to catch a break.”

I narrow my eyes, skepticism etched on my face. “Borderlands? Sounds like a place where people go to get even more lost.”

Johnny smirks, his flames casting flickering shadows on his face. “Well, it’s got its charm. Plus, we’ve got a few folks there who might be able to help you out. But if you’re expecting a five-star resort, you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“I’m not picky,” I reply with a hint of weariness.

Johnny’s grin widens, but there’s a hard edge to it now. “Oh, and just so you know, there’s a delightful lady named Cassandra who’s been making a little shit storm. To put it mildly, she’s a real cunt.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve encountered a few of those in my time.”

Johnny’s expression darkens further. “She’s a real menace. And then there’s Alioth, a cosmic entity that thrives on chaos. Think of it as a hungry monster that devours everything in its path.”

“That sounds… cheerful,” I deadpan. “What do you do here, anyway? Fight monsters and avoid psychopaths?”

Johnny chuckles, the sound a welcome break from the heavy silence. “Pretty much. But don’t worry. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, and from what I can see, you can handle yourself just fine.”

I look him over, nodding grimly, quick to expect my fate.

Next Part

A/N: Will maybe consider making a taglist! But lmk what you think!

[pininghermit]

Gift of Fate

AN: if you saw this on my ao3, no you didn't. Is it weird to write platonic stuff for him? Yes, but I want to.

Genre: fluff, found family

Pairing(s): Alucard x Platonic Reader

Summary: If he had been the Alucard of legend, the rumored savior of old tales, these people might have lived. But he wasn’t that Alucard anymore.

His slow heart pounded in an erratic rhythm. He pushed aside the shards of shattered wine bottles, uncaring of the glass biting into his skin. The surrounding ruins, broken furniture, faded tapestries, blurred into nothing.

Had the rotting flesh that adorned the castle not been enough of a warning? He summoned his sword, the weight familiar in his grip. Whoever dared trespass here would not be met with the welcome they expected.

Dracula’s castle welcomed no guests anymore. It once had. When his father met his mother. When love had breathed life into its halls. The last time its doors opened, two human corpses had hung outside them, rotting in the cold air. Now, death reeked from every cranny and crevice.

Long ago, these walls had known joy. A young master, he, had run through its corridors. Love once lit its chambers, and golden sunlight poured through the windows, warming stone and soul alike. Now those same rays only served to highlight the layers of dust, the decay of a forgotten past.

Alucard halted at the castle’s main door, sword gripped tightly. He listened. A heartbeat, soft, faint, alone echoed in his sharp ears. No other sound accompanied it. He scoffed at the fool who dared step into his father’s domain. Weakness would not betray him again as it had in the past.

The scars on his body were reminders etched into his skin as eternal warnings. No amount of alcohol could numb the pain that lingered in those wounds. It burned always, like the doom of patricide that weighed on his every breath.

He had once thought his father weak. In his arrogance, he had scorned Dracula’s fall. Fate, ever cruel, had broken him too left him hollow, drowning in his own despair.

Breaking from his stupor, Alucard slammed the heavy wooden doors open. He moved through the woods like a shadow, soundless and swift. The noise had been close, so close it felt as though it echoed from the castle’s empty halls. But he knew better.

His sword cut through the air in a deadly arc, swift and final. But no cries rang out. No burst of warmth from a severed artery sprayed his blade.

And then he saw it.

His sword suddenly felt heavy in his hands as he took in the scene. Blood soaked the earth in a deep pool around his boots. Five bodies lay still. Four men and one woman. A fleeting pulse clung to one, withering with every heartbeat.

Merchants, he decided, looking at the scattered goods. Bandits had attacked, overwhelming them. The couple had tried to fight but failed. The survivors had fled quickly, gathering what they could in their stolen minutes.

If he had been faster, perhaps he could have helped. If he had been the Alucard of legend, the rumored savior of old tales, these people might have lived. But he wasn’t that Alucard anymore. He was the man who stared emptily into nothing, passing his days in the wine cellar. The blood, the stillness, it was too familiar.

He could leave. The night creatures would erase the evidence by morning. He could return to his misery, save himself the fruitless seconds of caring. Yet… death lingered here, and he knew it too well.

Then he saw movement.

A faint shift, soft as a falling leaf, caught his eye. Hidden near the woman, tucked into the bushes, you stared back at him.

Wrapped in a bundle of worn blankets, you looked at him, stormy gray eyes unblinking.

He froze. In his two decades of life, Alucard had rarely seen human children. He had been one, once, though those memories were distant and faded. Vampires did not have children, not like humans did. They were creatures of cold immortality, unchanging and barren.

Yet here you were.

Your small eyes met his, wide and curious, assessing him.

No… this had to be a mistake. He could take you to the nearest village. Humans cared for their own, didn’t they? Surely they would take in someone so small and vulnerable. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew the truth.

Food was scarce. Famine, drought, and night creatures left little for anyone. Even in his isolation, he knew how ruthless humanity had become.

And you… you were different. Your skin held a faint tan, a sign of a warmer place. A tropical town, perhaps. Merchants, he decided again. Your parents must have traveled far.

You wouldn’t find love among strangers. People would see you as an outsider, at best. At worst, a servant. A slave. That fate would be no kinder than leaving you here for the night creatures.

A tuft of dark hair peeked from beneath your cap. You sat so still, tucked deep into the bushes. Had your parents hidden you, desperate to save you? Blood spattered the earth, but not a drop touched you.

Then you cooed. A soft, fragile sound that cut through the silence like a knife.

You didn’t know. You didn’t understand. You had no idea your parents were gone, that they would never return. Your smile was ignorant of the blood around you, of the death that loomed so close.

How could you smile?

He wanted to scream. They’re gone, he wanted to tell you. Your parents are dead! He wanted to shake you, to make you understand. But he didn’t.

Instead, you reached for him, little hands stretching out through the air.

Something in him broke. Without thinking, he picked you up, cradling you in his arms. You were so light. Lighter than you should have been. You blinked up at him, eyes unwavering, curious and calm.

Your small fingers curled into his hair, tugging. “Ow,” he muttered, untangling the golden strands from your tight grip. You smiled wider and stuffed a piece of it into your mouth.

“It’s filthy,” he grumbled, pulling it back.

You giggled, toothless and unafraid.

For a moment, he simply stared at you. How could something so small survive this? How could you look at him—HIM—and smile?

The sky darkened. Staying out would be unsafe, he knew. So, he made his choice. He would take you with him.

‘She does not belong with you,’ a voice hissed in his mind. ‘A fool to trust again.’

But you didn’t hear the voices that haunted him. You simply smiled, a fragile light in the dark. When your small fingers wrapped around his, he stilled.

So small… but not weak.

“You wish to come with me?” he whispered.

You cooed in reply, soft and sweet.

Alucard...no, Adrian held you closer as he turned toward the castle.

Just as he was about to step toward the castle, the bloody scene reminded him of its lingering presence. Gritting his teeth, he shifted you in his arms, shielding your face as best he could. You didn’t need to see what had been left behind. He would return later, he decided. Your parents...what remained of them would stay close to you.

Adrian pushed open the castle doors. They groaned under their weight, a sound like the ghosts of the past exhaling. Distantly, he noted that the corpses still hanging outside needed to be taken down. It would do no good to keep such grim reminders where a child could see.

You were eerily quiet now. Adrian glanced down, surprised to find you fast asleep, still tucked snugly in his arms. Your small face was peaceful, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted, the faint warmth of your breath a stark contrast to the cold emptiness of the castle.

You twitched in your sleep. Unnamed, your name lost to death, to bloodshed. What was your name? He wanted to ask, but what good would it do either of you now? Should he dare. Dare to give you a name and risk his heart again?

Adrian had buried that part of himself long ago. But somehow, when he looked at you, it stirred back to life. He had found Adrian again when he found you.

It was only fair he gave you a name.

“Ilvanya,” the word escaped him, soft and reverent, a name carried from a forgotten tongue, spoken only by people long gone. A name that meant gracious gift.

“Ilvanya,” he whispered again.

The child sleeping in his arms twitched but remained undisturbed, unaware of the name now given to you.

Dusty furniture and crumbling stone didn’t seem appropriate for someone so small, so fragile. After what felt like twenty minutes of struggle, Adrian managed to locate a satisfactorily clean pillow. He hesitated, reluctant to let you go, but carefully pried you from his arms and placed you on the cushion.

The loss of warmth startled him more than he cared to admit.

There were things he still needed to do. He would bury your parents for your sake, and perhaps for theirs. His mind began assembling a mental list, a torrent of tasks that hadn’t mattered in years. The castle would need cleaning. Windows repaired. Food, water, clothes. How much did human children need? A nursery, perhaps.

His life, once confined to the wine cellar in self-destruction, had suddenly erupted into movement.

His father’s libraries would hold the answers, he was sure. Everything ever recorded lay buried in those shelves. Somewhere, a book on human children existed. His mother must have had one after he was born.

Adrian looked back at you, a child small enough to fit into his arms, but somehow bright enough to cast light into the darkest corners of the castle.

The world is cold here. You don’t know how long you’ve been in it, only that it isn’t right. The ground pokes at your back through the blankets, hard and uneven.

It smells strange, sharp, like the old iron pots your mother used, but worse. It makes your nose wrinkle. You blink, and there’s dark, dark everywhere.

Then… there’s a sound. Slow. Heavy. Feet.

You don’t know what it is, but you feel it closer. You try to focus, but the edges of the world blur when you blink too long.

Something blocks the sky. It’s tall, bigger than anything you remember. It doesn’t move like other things do. Tts steps are quiet, like the cats that crept near the house.

The tall thing stops. You stare at it, and it stares back.

Golden. There’s something gold, like sunlight peeking through clouds after it rains. You blink at it...hair, though you don’t know that word yet. You like the way it shines. The face underneath doesn’t look right. Too pale. Too still. Its eyes are strange, bright and glowing, like little fires in the dark.

You’re not afraid. Should you be? You don’t know.

The tall thing tilts its head. You do too, because maybe that’s what you’re supposed to do. Your mouth makes a sound. A soft, uncertain coo. It always works. It makes people come closer.

It works now.

The man (you don’t know what that is, either, but that’s what he is) moves closer, his golden hair swaying slightly. He stops, then bends down, and everything feels bigger, his shadow, his face, his hands. He smells strange, like earth and stone and something faintly… warm. Not like your mother’s hands. Not like your father’s chest when he carried you.

He stares at you with his glowing eyes, his mouth a flat line. You wonder why he doesn’t smile. Grown-ups smile when they see you. They talk in sounds that make you giggle and touch your cheek softly.

But not him.

You reach out, your small hand finding the air between you. Your fingers curl and wave, searching. Hold me, they say, though you don’t know how to ask.

The man doesn’t move. For a moment, you think he’ll turn and leave you here, alone in the cold again.

But he doesn’t.

His arms scoop you up, and the world shifts. For a moment, you don’t like it. So high, so fast but then you’re against him. His chest feels strange: hard and steady. Not like your mother’s, but still warm enough to make you stop crying.

You look up at him, studying the lines of his face. His hair is close now, close enough to touch. It’s soft when you grab it, like the blankets at home. You tug hard, and he makes a sound low and sharp.

“Ow.”

You giggle because it sounds funny. He doesn’t smile, but his mouth moves, and he pulls the golden strands from your fingers. You try to put them in your mouth before he can, but he’s faster.

“It’s filthy,” he mutters.

You don’t know what that means, so you smile at him anyway. Your toothless grin always works. He stares at you, long and quiet, and you stare back. His face doesn’t soften, but you think maybe he’s not angry.

The man holds you closer. He smells better now, like something steady, something safe. You like him.

Your hands find his chest, small fingers curling into the black cloth that covers him. It feels thick and strange under your touch. You rest your head against him, pressing your ear to the thudding sound inside him.

Thud-thud, thud-thud.

It’s slow, not like the quick, warm beats you know. But it’s still there. It’s enough.

Your eyes grow heavy again. The dark is warm now, and the bad smells are far away. You feel the man moving, his steps steady. The world sways softly as he carries you, and for the first time in a long time, you feel safe.

You don’t know where he’s taking you. You don’t care.

The thud-thud sound lulls you to sleep.

[captain-tch]

Anchor (Logan Howlett x GN!PlatonicReader)

Logan finds you when the memories of the past threaten to swallow you whole Warning: mentions of self harm, implied suicidal thoughts below the cut

There was so much blood. Tents where you once huddled with your friends, laughing, talking, bonding were in ribbons, the poles keeping them upright having been ripped from the ground. One of the poles was skewered inside a body, the face hidden by the red spray masking their features. Fire pits where you once warmed your hands and toasted marshmallows had been destroyed, the thick smell of ash consuming all of your senses. A charred hand reached towards another, mere inches from touching each other. The makeshift laundry lines had been broken, leaving clothes strewn across the ground, muddied footprints and blood stains marrying the materials. And then there were the bodies.

So many bodies. 

You knelt in the middle of it all, unable to move a single muscle. Your friends, your family, all dead. You were the lone survivor. 

It didn’t feel fair - what made you different from the others? What made you worthy of being alive, whilst your knees sank into their pools of blood and their skin grew cold around you? 

You didn’t even move, or speak, as you heard footfalls behind you. You didn’t look up as people descended upon the crime scene, where you most likely looked like the perpetrator. You just prayed that those who caused this harm had returned to finish the job. However, the horror was only beginning. 

“Hey, we missed one!” 

You stared at your reflection with venom in your eyes. Your gaze honed onto the jagged scar running from the corner of your mouth all the way down to your collarbone. Similar wounds ghosted down your body, but this was the one you could never hide from. The feelings rushed you like a wave - rough hands shoving your shoulders into the ground, their hands leaving bruises, a menacing grin leering down at you, the coolness of the blade as it was first caressed against your skin. The fiery hot pain that lit up your entire being when the knife was plunged into your skin. The feeling of hot liquid rushing out the wound, the overwhelming taste of iron hijacking your senses. 

A bubble of anger and hatred began to boil in your veins. The memories kept flooding you, until you couldn’t remember where you were or what was happening or when you were. All you knew was the pain and the terror and the hate.  

A scream ripped out of you. You grabbed the nearest thing your fingers landed on, a small metal bin, and hurled it with all of your might to the mirror. The crash was like music to your ears, the shards flying around you in slow motion. You didn’t feel them slice at your skin. You didn’t feel the blood well or the liquid slip down your skin. You felt absolutely nothing at all.  

It wasn’t enough. You could still see their faces, frozen in death. You could still smell the fire and ash and burning flesh and you couldn’t stop feeling like you were standing back at your campsite all over again and - 

Your fist flew at the shattered fragments. A delicious fire consumed your knuckles. The images fizzled slightly, then overpowered you. You became starved for that feeling of relief, craving the sweet moment of ecstasy where all your brain could focus on was the agony rippling through your hand. 

Again and again you sent your fist flying into the glass, the hits becoming less coordinated as blood coated every surface you could see.

Bodies burned to a crisp. 

Hit. 

A singular shoe discarded in the mud. 

Hit. 

A knife glinting in the light, glowing brighter as it got closer to your face. 

Hit. 

You were so absorbed in seeking relief you didn’t hear how the thud of your fist matched the one coming from behind, until yours was the only thuds once again. You didn’t hear the tirade of swear words leaving their lips, or your name being repeated over and over again. You weren’t in this reality anymore, too deep into your nightmare of memories to escape. 

A pair of muscular arms wrapped around your chest, dragging you from the mirror. A sob wracked through you - now the images were hitting you ten fold, and no matter how much you struggled in your captor's grasp you couldn’t escape. In the jagged remains of the reflection on the wall, you saw Logan behind you, concern painted over his face. 

“Ssh.” A voice soothed in your ear. You thrashed against them even harder - you didn’t deserve comfort, you deserved to be with your family. 

“Let me do it.” You begged, unsure what exactly you were asking for, only knowing you wanted the leaden guilt and torment to be erased from your being. “I just want it to stop.”

“This is not how it’s done.” Logan held you tighter, gently leading you away from the bathroom. You tried to fight back; god, you were so tired. You were tired of fighting back the memories, or pretending to be okay. You were exhausted. 

You crumpled in his arms, leaning heavily into him. His body didn’t falter, only grasped you tighter. You turned to bury your face in their shoulder, trying and failing to stop the images of terror and agony from flashing across your retinas. 

“What can you see?” His gruff voice asked. 

You froze, the words sinking in. Your brows furrowed, struggling to comprehend what he was asking. “What?” 

“Name five things you can see.” 

Your breathing quickened. “Broken tents -” 

“No,” Logan grabbed your shoulders, firmly pulling you away from his neck. He held you at arms length, staring deep into your eyes. “Here, now. What can you see?” 

“Um,” you sniffled, gently pulling your attention from him to the rest of the room. “Glass. A toilet. Shower. Tap. You.” 

“What can you touch?” 

You sought your senses, reaching out to all of your nerves. “Your flannel, the floor, my clothes, my blood.” 

“What can you hear?” 

Forcing your eyes to close, you tried to turn off your other senses, focusing on your hearing. The distant dripping of the tap snatched your attention. Logan’s steady breathing. Faintly, you could hear shouts and playful screams of children from the hall. 

“What can you smell?” 

The answer flew out of your mouth without even needing to think - it was the smell of safety, the first thing you smelt after you escaped from death's clutches. It was what you smelt as you were carried away from the cemetery that was once your home. “Cigar smoke.” 

“What can you taste?” 

Your lips turned slightly at the corners. “Scott’s shitty bolognese.”

Logan kept you at arm's length, taking you in. Your breathing was laboured, but it was evening out. Your eyes appeared more focused and he felt you could actually seem him now.  

“You good now?” 

You contemplated it. The guilt still lay heavy on your shoulders, and the memories were always playing in your brain, except now it was muted enough that you felt like you could cope. Your heart rate had resumed its usual pace and you didn’t have the urge to smash glass.

“That’s a stretch,” you sniffled, wiping at your nose. “But I’m better. Thank you.” 

“Let’s get you to the infirmary.” 

“No!” Your hand shot out, snatching at his shirt, smearing blood on it. “Please, no.” 

His brow quipped. 

“I don’t want them to see me like this.” 

Logan sighed, assessing your injuries and thinking for a beat. “Fine, but you can’t complain about my bedside manner.”

He wanted to go get a first aid kit; he didn’t want to leave you alone. He used his best judgement, hoping the cuts he could see were as minor as they appeared, grabbing a rag and running it over a faucet, being careful to avoid the glass. He came back to your bed, where you sat on the edge staring after him. He knelt in front of you, opening his palm flat to you. You moved your hand into his, wincing at the sight. Your knuckles looked like they’d been massacred, red coating so much of your skin you couldn’t even see the cuts. Without warning, he dragged the fabric across your wounded skin, a flame of pain following in its wake. You tensed up, squeezing your jaw tight to keep the hiss quiet. 

“You know, this isn’t the best way to deal with your feelings.” Logan’s eyes darted up to connect with yours. 

You scoffed. The hypocrisy wasn’t lost on you - many times you had walked into the gym to see him destroying the boxing bag, blood being flung in every direction. “Coming from the expert, clearly.” 

“I can heal.” 

“That’s so not the point.” 

He grunted, dismissing your argument. He carried on his work, his grip on you tight but gentle as the blood disappeared wipe by wipe, revealing the skin beneath. Your skin was littered with cuts; thankfully they seemed minor, them having already stopped oozing blood. 

“Look, kid, you ever speak to anyone about what happened?” 

“Did you?” Logan huffed, frowning at you. You ignored his reaction, watching as he finished cleaning one hand and started on the other. “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

Logan stared pointedly at you. “I’ve lived over a century and survived a war - you can’t fool me.” 

“Honestly, I’m fine.” 

“The mirror says otherwise.” 

A bubble of anger exploded in your gut. Your words were flung like knives, their edge sharp. “Why does everyone have to keep asking me about how I feel? Is it really that important to have feelings? Why can’t I just bury it deep down til it disappears?” 

“I wish that was how it worked. Stuff like this doesn’t go away overnight. You shove it down, it gets ugly, infected. It’ll turn you into a different person.” 

“Is that what happened to you?” 

A few beats passed, then some more. You worried you had crossed a boundary - this man saved you, and was saving you again, and here you were opening up his wounds whilst he helped clean yours. 

He surprised you by breaking the silence, his voice so low you had to strain to listen. “...Something like that.” 

“No offence, but why should I take advice from someone who clearly doesn’t take it themselves?” 

“Take it or leave it, that’s your call. It changes nothing for me.” He shrugged, wiping away the last bit of the blood. He evaluated his work, carefully turning your hand left and right, assessing for any further wounds he couldn’t see.  

“Either way, it’s going to destroy me, isn’t it?” 

He paused, eyes flitting to yours. He surprised you yet again, sending you a small smile. “Great thing about destruction - it leaves room for something new.”

“Hm.” You pondered it for a minute. “That was very wise of you, you’re starting to show your age.” 

Logan brushed off your attempt at humour, his face turning serious. “Let’s just get one thing clear - this,” he gestured to the bathroom, where the glass still lay shattered on the floor. “Is not going to be a habit.” 

“Why do you care?” 

“Because I only have a few shirts and you’ve already stained two of them.” 

You looked at his white top, cringing. It had smears of red, marrying the immaculate white. “Sorry.” 

Logan waved it off. He threw the rag to the floor, bringing himself up to his full height. He towered over you, yet you felt no fear at his size. You felt at ease, enjoying how his shadow fell over you. 

“What do you suggest instead?” 

“Find me. We can spend some time working on your god awful fighting form.” 

“It’s not that bad!” 

“Whatever you say.” He smirked. A warmth blossomed in your chest. 

Maybe you wouldn’t feel like this forever. Maybe the memories would overwhelm you less and less with time, but they would never disappear. They would always haunt you, lingering in the back of your consciousness. But the man in front of you, your friend, would help keep you grounded. He would be your anchor. And he’d never admit it, but you’d do the same for him too.  

marvel masterlist

[soubeomies]

꒰୨୧◞ ₊˚ 𝓛𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅

⤷ 𝓟𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 ﹕ leehan x fem!reader

⤷ 𝓦𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 ﹕ mentions of blood, reader is referred to as a “her”

⤷ 𝓖𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 ﹕ angst, fluff

⤷ 𝓦𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝓒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 ﹕ 886

⤷ 𝓐𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋’𝗌 𝓝𝗈𝗍𝖾 ﹕ this is my last post before i take a 2 week ish hiatus for school!!

⤷ 𝓢𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 ﹕ your day has gone horrible and you can’t help but feel upset. while trying to calm yourself, you end up hurting yourself in the process.

dearest darling, my universe.

during your lowest lows, leehan was always there for you. to catch you when you fall, to be the shoulder you cry on, to be the hand that wipes the tears that fall from your eyes.

he would always be there for you, never has he let you down whenever you needed him. he would drop everything just to come home and hold you in his arms to tell you that it’s okay. to him, you were his universe.

today was supposed to be no different, but it felt like a different type of low. work was infuriating, none of your co-workers appreciated what you did for the team. your family still hadn’t contacted you whatsoever for the holidays and you felt so isolated. you felt empty.

you arrive home, the apartment shared with leehan remaining dark as you switch on the lights with a heavy heart. right.. he was coming home late today.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

after a successful attempt of calming yourself down, you go over to your kitchen and open a cupboard to grab a cup, tip toeing. struggling to reach the cupboard, leehan was the one who’d usually grab the cups from the cupboards since they were out of your reach. you manage to grab a cup and gently set it on the counter to grab the ingredients you’d need to make a calming cup of tea.

in the process of making tea to relieve your stress and frustration, you clumsily knocked the cup off of the counter. the glass shattering on the ground, breaking into tiny glittery fragments as the pieces spread across the kitchen floor. fuck fuck fuck, you curse under your breath.

your frustration grew within you as you hear the glass shatter on the ground. could this day get any worse? you thought to yourself. you felt tears pool in your eyes, it was something as small as glass shattering.. yet it felt like your last straw.

you couldn’t help but feel tears spill out of your eyes before you kneel onto the ground and collect the glass shards on the ground. it didn’t even come across your mind that you were picking up sharp shards of glass with your bare hands.

your head was clouded with frustration to the point it had numbed out the feeling of small glass shards piercing into your skin and leaving scratches. you hadn’t even realized the glass was piercing through your skin.

in the midst of your panic, you hear the keys turn as a distinct voice exclaims. “jagiya, i’m home!” the chaos in both the kitchen and your mind had become dull as his voice was present. you just couldn’t hold back tears, your head hung low as you let the tears stain the floor.

with no response evident, leehan makes his way to the kitchen before feeling his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. the sight of his beloved kneeled on the kitchen floor with tears streaming down her face with her bloodstained hands from the shards of glass scarring her delicate skin. his heart aches at the sight before he rushes over to you. “hey hey hey.. what happened here..” he says in a worried tone all while pulling you into his warm embrace.

the feeling of comfort simply made you even more emotional, you can’t even start to believe that someone like leehan cares for you to this extent. to hold you at your lowest, to keep you safe in his arms.

“jagiya, your hands..” he says in a low tone as he hold your hands in his, he looks at you with a frown before grabbing a wet napkin and a first aid kit and starts to wipe off the bloodstains. “can’t have your pretty hands in pain, now can we?” he says, cleaning your hands along with bandaging them up to prevent further scarring. “i’ll clean this up now okay?” he states before grabbing a broom and sweeps up all the glass shards and throwing them in the trash.

he then turns back to you as he helps you up from your kneeling position to walk over to the couch. he gently sets you down as he sits right next to you. “do you want to talk about it?” he asks, his voice gentle and loving.

at this point, you were just a sniffling mess. you were calmer now that he was here. a few moments of silence pass by before you slowly started to speak. “i—i just had a bad day. my co-workers they—“ you didn’t get to finish you sentence before you broke into tears again. just the thought of your frustrating day made you feel a sense of gloominess. you hung your head low, wiping your tears.

leehan sees your head hung low before instinctively pulling you closer, letting your tears stain his sweater as he gently rubs your back. “it’s okay, let it all out.. i’m here for you..” his words reassuring, you feel somewhat better. his hands rubbing your back in a comforting manner, you continue to wonder just what you’ve done to deserve him.

“i love you. it’s okay to cry, but i love you.” he whispers in your ear affectionately, the words making you finally smile.

“there it is, keep smiling baby. it suits you.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ networks : @kstrucknet @k-nets

© soubeomies 2025 all rights reserved ♡ do not copy/repost my works.

[chvoswxtch]

sorry

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: is your savior really here to save you? can what is broken be mended?

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of death, blood & violence

word count: the full number of words on this one is 4,444 and I just thought that was really fucking cool

a/n: I wanna thank y'all for being patient with this slow burn. i'm excited to say things are really about to start heating up moving forward. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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“Sweetheart.”

All the raging chaos that had been wreaking havoc on every single one of your nerve endings had suddenly stopped, like the clouds had abruptly parted, sending the perilous hurricane right back into the sea right before it could reach you. As if Death had decided not to knock, but wave a white flag of surrender instead to the only mortal being it seemed to fear.

To him.

The door knob creaked slightly when it was twisted from the other side, the lock still in place providing a barrier between you and the carnage on the other side of it. A deep sigh was muffled through the wood, and your ringing ears barely caught the low volume of that familiar gruff voice.

“S’just me. Open the door for me, sweetheart.”

Frank.

Ephemeral relief shot through your bloodstream, and the shard of glass lodged into your palm was immediately released, shattering into a thousand shiny pieces in the pool of merlot that was still flowing from your hand. Salty tears blazed down your cheeks and slipped past your trembling lips when you whispered his name.

“Frank?”

“Yeah, m’here. Open up, honey. C’mon.”

The relief that the safety of Frank’s presence brought was fleeting and very quickly overshadowed by uncontrollable rage remembering how you had wound up in this situation in the first place.

If he hadn’t left, none of this would’ve happened.

Bloodied fingers slipped over the lock and you swiftly flung the door open like a mad woman to reveal his large figure. The second that Frank tried to take a step in your direction, you shoved at his chest with the surge of adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

“You son of a bitch!”

Frank stumbled backwards in surprise, eyes widening slightly in shock at your unexpected outburst. When his lips parted to speak, you shoved even harder at his chest, letting your fists rain down in a frenzy against his chest like furious daggers. 

“You left me! How the fuck could you leave me like that?!”

He didn’t even put up a defense as you pounded away at his chest and screamed at him, allowing you to force him backwards with every devastating blow you threw in his direction. There was a light furrow of remorse creasing between his dark brows, and if you hadn’t been so blinded by your own anger, you might have caught the guilt-ridden expression that tugged his features down.

“You fucking selfish asshole! I hate you!”

The sharp sting of your wounded palm striking against Frank’s cheek in a harsh slap didn’t even register in your brain. You couldn’t feel any sting but the one of betrayal, and the searing wrath that threatened to consume you entirely. He didn’t even flinch when you slapped him across the face. He just took it. 

He let you take it all out on him; the fear, the anger, the disappointment, the hurt, the treachery, all of it.

Frank accepted every single verbal and physical lash you struck him with until you ran out of steam. As soon as the ferocity started to disintegrate into the lingering and overwhelming emotions of terror and panic, the red mist of outrage started to clear from your vision, and out of the corner of your eye you saw Walker’s dead body surrounded by a puddle of deep crimson near the foot of your bed. A choked sob caught in your throat and you covered your mouth in horror as the reality and severity of the situation started to soak in. Frank instantly tried to pull your body into his arms, and when you weakly fought against him, he moved to block your view of Walker’s lifeless body to shield you from the bloodshed. His large hands grabbed onto your arms and held them down to prevent you from moving, dipping his head to catch your gaze.

“Hey…hey, listen to me. I need you to listen real carefully. We gotta go, alright? We gotta go now. It ain’t safe here, and we ain’t got much time. We gotta go right now, alright?”

Frank didn’t give you a moment to hesitate before ushering you out of your bedroom quickly, tucking your face into his chest to prevent you from seeing the evidence of his slaughter. Your mind was a whirlwind of disarray and confusion, emotions and thoughts coming down like a tumultuous hailstorm that you couldn’t take shelter from.

He adjusted the sling on his rifle to keep one hand on it and one protectively over your head while leading you out the front door. When the sharp chill of the night time breeze swept across the glaring cut in your palm, it seemed to snap you of your clamorous haze, and you gripped onto Frank’s bicep tightly with your good hand to pause his guidance.

“Wait! My phone-”

“Leave it.”

“No, I can’t. I got them confessing on tape. I need-”

When you went to turn around, Frank clamped down onto your shoulders a little forcefully to stop you. The firm force behind his hands and the surprise from his actions stopped you right in your tracks. There was a stern look of inflexibility in his eyes as he looked down at you.

“You ain’t goin’ back in there.”

“Frank-”

“I’ll get it. Where is it?”

The clipped tone of his voice was one you were all too familiar with. It was the one he used when he wasn’t in the mood for an argument, or when something wasn’t up for debate.

“Behind the coffee machine.”

Frank gave a curt nod and handed you the keys to his truck, gently pushing you towards that direction with his palm flat against your lower back.

“Get it started. There’s a first aid kit in the back. Wrap that hand to stop the bleedin’, I’ll take care of it later.”

As Frank disappeared back into your home, you sprinted towards his truck, keeping your head on a swivel for anyone suspicious or anything out of place. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, you could feel the pain starting to lick at the torn wounds in your hand and across your fingers. Fresh tears welled up in your eyes, both from the throbbing affliction in your palm, and from how incredibly overwhelmed you were. A sharp hiss left your lips when you started to wrap your hand in gauze, the agony only growing louder in volume the tighter you wrapped it. You didn’t know much about first aid, but you knew enough to know to keep pressure tight on an active bleed.

The sound of the truck door abruptly opening had you jumping in your seat, and Frank shot you a look of concern at your reaction. Quickly looking away to focus on your hand, your vision started to become blurry again with warm tears, and you bit down on your bottom lip harshly to will them away. Frank set your phone down in the middle console, eyeing you warily.

“Lemme see.”

“It’s fine.”

Frank pursed his lips at your snappy response, reaching his hand over towards the first aid kit in your lap.

“Here-”

“I got it.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I said I got it.”

Frank let out a deep exhale of frustration when you raised your voice at him in another terse quip, dragging his palm down his face in agitation before putting his truck in drive and peeling off down the street. The pain in your hand was almost unbearable by the time you finished wrapping it up, and there was already a maroon bloodstain forming in the center of the crisp white material. A few stray tears slipped past your waterline when you closed your eyes, and you swiftly wiped them away, turning your head to look out the window so that you didn’t have to look at Frank.

Letting out a shaky breath, you attempted to try and control the cyclone of emotions devastating you from the inside out. There were two dead men in your home right now, and it suddenly dawned on you that Frank had killed them. A shuddering breath left your lips when you finally had a moment to process that epiphany, and you swallowed the sob that threatened to escape your throat.

“We have to call the police.”

“No.”

Snapping your head in Frank’s direction, your eyes widened in bewilderment as you stared over at him in complete disbelief and confusion.

“Yes. Frank you just…killed two police officers. They’re dead, in my home, and you weren’t exactly quiet about it. We can’t just-”

“They were gonna hurt you.”

Frank’s jaw was set harshly, making the outline of it appear even sharper. He kept his hardened gaze ahead on the dark road. The cold and detached tone of his voice stunned you silent for a moment. There wasn’t a visible shred of guilt on his face or in his voice about what he had done, and you didn’t know whether to be horrified by that or not. 

When Frank’s eyes flickered over at you, the palpable anger on his face softened into something that resembled regret, as if he could see on your face how you felt about him in that moment. He urgently looked away, unwilling to see that reflection of himself in your eyes. Loosening his grip on the steering wheel, he let out a deep exhale through his nose.

“They were real cops, ran their badge numbers. We can’t call it in cause we don’t know if they got anyone else in their precinct workin’ with ‘em. I got a friend in Homeland, I’ll call her. She can handle cleanin’ up the mess and start lookin’ into ‘em, maybe find a lead.”

A layer of perplexity nestled on top of your trepidation at Frank’s words. All of a sudden, a thought emerged from the back of your mind about the whole situation, and you stared at him curiously.

“How did you get their badge numbers that quickly? And how did you know they were even there?”

Frank glanced over at you, his own face twisted in puzzlement as if you had just asked the most obvious question in the world.

“Put cameras ‘round your place when I got assigned to ya. I get alerts whenever there’s motion ‘round ‘em. Saw ‘em comin’ up on the camera and ran their badges, but then I heard ‘em say somethin’ ‘bout ‘needin’ to do it quietly’ and figured that meant trouble.”

After a minute of silence, he let out another deep exhale and ran his hand through his unruly dark hair in clear frustration, shaking his head slowly while he looked back at the road.

“You never shoulda opened that door.”

You clenched your hands into fists at his accusatory tone, glaring at the side of his face while your panic swiftly subsided into defensiveness.

“They were cops, Frank.”

“Didn’t mean ya had to open the door. Cops ain’t always the good guys, you know that. You shoulda known better than to open the door for anyone-”

“You shouldn’t have fucking left me.”

Frank immediately went silent and tensed up. You watched as a muscle feathered along his strong jaw. Scoffing dryly at his reaction, you slowly shook your head in annoyance while glancing out the window, brows knitting together in agitation while you tried to figure out where you were.

“Where are we going?”

“My place. We needa lay low for a bit.”

The anger poisoning your bloodstream left no room for the excitement you would’ve felt under normal circumstances about getting to see Frank’s home. It was something you had admittedly fantasized about after several glasses of wine, imagining scenarios in which Frank would take you back to his place, and you would get to experience the real him in more ways than one. But at the moment, you weren’t sure you even wanted to be around him at all.

»»———　　———««

You don’t know what you were expecting Frank’s place to look like, but it was certainly far more empty than you anticipated. The walls were completely bare, void of anything personal, and that seemed to be the running theme. The furniture was scarce, a modest couch and simple coffee table accompanied by a minuscule wooden stand with a small tv. Apart from Frank’s black denim jacket draped over the back of the couch, his rifle on the island, and a backpack in the corner of the room, it didn’t even look like anyone lived here.

Frank had silently gestured for you to take a seat on one of the plain metal stools at the kitchen island. You hissed when he disinfected the cut above your brow, carefully placing a thin white bandage over the tiny cut, and you prepared yourself for what was next.

The alcohol swab burned, even with Frank lightly dragging it over the cut in your hand and across your fingers as quickly as humanly possible, and you swore it would’ve hurt less holding it over an open flame. He might as well have been performing open heart surgery on your palm with the way he was meticulously pulling tiny glass fragments from the cut with tweezers.

You watched intently while Frank carefully and expertly stitched up your palm. He didn’t have anything to give you for the pain other than a bold shot of whiskey, and you winced with a noise of discomfort every time the needle pierced your irritated torn flesh, weaving the jagged edges back together with the thick black thread. Frank mumbled a quiet apology whenever he heard your noises of affliction, doing his best to keep his touch light and delicate. 

The silence surrounding the two of you was deafening, but you didn’t want to be the first to break it. Frank had yet to explain himself from this morning, and you were still incredibly pissed off at him for leaving. On top of that, you were also uncertain of your feelings about his nonchalance towards killing Walker and Cavella. The logical part of your brain rationalized the fact that Cavella had threatened to kill you, and he might have if Frank hadn’t shown up when he did. But Frank seemed completely indifferent about executing them.

He hadn’t even glanced at Walker’s body when he led you out of your room, like it wasn’t even there. The only shock that had been evident on his features was from your outrage towards him. There wasn’t an ounce of penitence detected in his tone when he voiced his justification. They were gonna hurt you, so he hurt them first. It seemed that simple to him, and in his black and white reasoning, there wasn’t a stitch of gray regarding repentance.

As Frank finished up the final stitch and wrapped your wound up properly, one of his large hands reached for your wrist, his thick fingers coiling around it completely. He lightly pulled your hand towards him, your fingertips barely grazing against his gray henley while he inspected his own handiwork. Frank paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought while he stared down at the gauze placed over your palm silently.

“I’m sorry.”

When your eyes flickered up towards his face, Frank was already staring at you, and his eyes were back to that warm chocolate brown that you adored. They seemed to be glowing with remorse under the dim amber light above the island. His plump lips were downturned at the corners in a frown, and you could see the guilt tinting his entire face. The heartwrenching look in his eyes nearly knocked the wind out of you. It sent a pang echoing throughout your chest, and all you wanted to do was surge forward and hug him, to do anything to make that look go away. 

But you needed answers.

“Why…”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence. Your voice broke off towards the end, and you had to look away to keep the onset of tears welling in your eyes from slipping. Frank carefully tightened his hold on your wrist, tilting his head to the side slightly as he followed your movements to try and catch your eyes.

“I shoulda said somethin’ before I left. Shoulda told ya I was gonna try and work somethin’ out. I’m sorry I didn’t. I…I was angry ‘bout the file-”

“Frank, I didn't read it. Okay whatever was in there that you didn’t want me to know about, I still don’t. I don’t know where it came from, and I’m sorry I never told you about it, but I would never do that to you. And the fact that you think that lowly of me-”

Frank let go of your wrist and leaned in closer to wrap his strong arms around your back, pulling you into his chest once your resolve broke. He cradled the back of your head with one of his large hands and held it against his chest protectively, pressing his lips in a soft kiss to the crown of your head as he shushed you quietly. Once the floodgates opened, you couldn’t stop them, and every emotion that you had experienced in the past twelve hours was pouring violently out of you.

“Hey, hey…s’alright. S’alright, I’m sorry. I shoulda listened to ya. I shoulda believed ya. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just…I fucked up, alright? I fucked up, and you got hurt cause of it. This…s’all on me. M’gonna fix it, yeah?”

Frank gently ran his fingers through your hair while he held you in a tight embrace, letting you wring out all your tears into his shirt, providing the safe space you needed to navigate and expunge all your emotions. He didn’t say anything while you cried, he just held you and did his best to comfort you with his apologetic touch. You don’t know how long you sat there with him like that. It felt like every drop of moisture in your body had been depleted from your eyes, but for the first time all day, your heart didn’t feel so heavy in your chest.

Once you felt a sense of calmness after your cathartic release, you slowly retracted from his embrace so that you could get a good look at him. Frank looked absolutely desolate, and it broke your heart. There was a faint red mark burning on his right cheek, and the corners of your mouth melted downwards in shame when you reached your hand up to lightly trace beneath it with your fingertips.

“I’m sorry I hit you.”

“Reckon I deserved that-”

“No, you didn’t. You saved my life-”

“After I put you in danger cause I was bein’ an asshole.”

You could see the evident self-condemnation in his eyes, and you felt guilty for contributing to those feelings of shame that he felt about himself. Frank didn’t flinch away from your touch, and you swore you felt him subtly lean into it. His sorrow filled eyes hadn’t torn away from yours once, and you couldn’t look away from him if you tried.

“I don’t hate you.”

You could see his body visibly relax at your words. All the tension in his broad shoulders and lingering in the crevices of his features seemed to evaporate, and his evident relief was illuminated in his eyes. There was the most miniscule of a smile skirting over the edge of his mouth, and you would’ve missed it if you didn’t know him so well. 

“Wouldn’t blame ya if you did.”

“I don’t.”

Frank stared at you silently while he processed the unwavering tone of your candor. You could see the conflict clearly on his face, and you wanted to prevent him from losing whatever war he was waging against himself. Letting out a soft sigh, you reluctantly dropped your hand from his cheek to run it through your hair, glancing around the nearly empty apartment before looking at him again.

“What now?”

Frank sat up a little straighter when he finally let go of you and reached across the kitchen island to grab his phone.

“Nothin’ ‘til I get ahold of my contact at Homeland. ‘Til we talk to her, you stay here. And you can’t talk to no one, alright? Not Ellison, not your friends or family, no one. Can’t trust nobody right now, you got that?”

A slight furrow formed between your brows as you stared at Frank in confusion.

“Frank, someone had to have heard those gunshots. I wouldn’t be surprised if cops were all over my place right now, and two dead cops are gonna raise a lot of attention. It’ll probably be on the news. And if Ellison sees it and can’t get in touch with me, he’ll probably report me missing.”

“Better people think you’re missin’ ‘til we figure this out. No one can hurt ya if they can’t find ya.”

“But if anyone checks those cameras, won’t they know I’m with you?”

“No ones got access to those cameras but me and Russo, and I cut ‘em off soon as I pulled up.”

The mention of Billy’s name abruptly caused more inquisitions to bubble around in your head.

“Why haven’t you called Billy for help?”

A look flashed across Frank’s face that you didn’t recognize, and it was gone before you could decipher what it was or what it meant. He gave a light shrug of his shoulders as he pursed his lips.

“Got his hands full right now.”

“What…what about Steven? Aren’t you supposed to be-’

“Fuck Steven. He’s someone else’s goddamn problem right now.”

You bit your lip to contain that smile that threatened to spread seeing the face Frank pulled at your question. He spit those words out as if they tasted bitter, his large nose scrunched up in a sour expression, and for some reason that spread heat in your lower belly.

“So, you’re not his bodyguard?”

Frank arched one of his dark brows and gave you a pointed look hearing the amusement lacing your teasing tone.

“You really think I woulda agreed to that?”

“I don’t think he would have. He’s scared of you.”

Frank’s eyes seemed to sparkle with delight at that, and the faintest of smirks tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Then maybe he ain’t so stupid after all.”

A knowing smile fought its way across your lips, and a sense of relief spread through you when he mirrored it. Frank stared at you for a moment, as if there was more he wanted to say, but he quickly glanced away and grabbed his phone while standing up.

“You should get some sleep. Take the bed.”

“Frank, I’m not-”

“You ever gonna stop arguin’ with me and just do what I ask?”

Frank tilted his head to the side as he looked down at you in pure entertainment, eyebrows lifted slightly in question with a light smirk on his lips. Glancing away with a light smile, you crossed your arms over your chest, shaking your head slowly before looking back up at him with a tiny grin. 

“No, probably not. But your couch seems a bit small for you.”

Frank chuckled lightly, his eyes flickering over to his couch before landing back on you.

“Appreciate the concern, but I’ve slept in far worse conditions. I’ll be fine. Go on, get some sleep.”

»»———　　———««

When you awoke the next morning, you felt more refreshed than you had in months. It was hard to fall asleep initially, brain still buzzing with the cataclysmic events of the day, and the knowledge that Frank was sleeping just on the other side of the thin wall. Being on good terms again filled you with a rush at the thought of sleeping in his bed, and you may have clutched one of his pillows to your chest pretending it was him. Frank’s bed was nothing special in theory, but there was something about being nestled in pillows and sheets that smelled just like him that lulled you into a peaceful and serene sleep. 

Frank was already awake when you walked out into the living room, and you could tell by the look on his face that something had happened while he had been waiting for you to wake up. He immediately stood up from the couch when you entered the living room, giving you a once over as he motioned in your direction with his chin.

“Sleep alright?”

“Uh…yeah. What’s going on?”

Frank eyed you for a moment, seemingly contemplating his next words carefully. He let out a soft sigh, turning his phone over in his hands and glancing down at it before looking back at you.

“Got a lead. There’s a location upstate the rest of ‘em might be hidin’ out at.”

That one sentence instantly sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you were suddenly wide awake.

“Where? When do we leave?”

Frank’s brows pulled together as he looked at you in puzzlement, shaking his head lightly.

“No, not we. You’re stayin’ here.”

Your lips parted as you stared over at him incredulously.

“What? No. I’m coming with you-”

“It could be dangerous-”

“More dangerous than being left alone? Do I need to remind you what happened last time you left me by myself?”

Lifting your wounded hand up as evidence, Frank clenched his jaw as his eyes flickered between your hand and your face. 

“No one knows you’re here. You’re safer here-”

“I’m safer with you.”

Frank pursed his lips into a dissatisfied pout as your words hung in the air. You could see the hesitation lingering in his eyes, and you quickly pounced on it, walking over to stand directly in front of him. You stared up into his eyes with a pleading expression, shaking your head slowly as you spoke in a calmer voice.

“You can’t leave me again. I’ll stay out of your way. I’ll do whatever you say, I swear. No arguing. No pushback. Just…don’t leave me alone. Please.”

He seemed to visibly soften hearing the vulnerability laced in your voice, and when he let out a deep sigh of exasperation, you knew you had won. He gave you another pointed look, his voice dipping into a more serious tone.

“You do what I ask, when I ask. This shit goes sideways, I needa know you’re gonna listen. You got that?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

You could see that Frank wasn’t pleased about the thought of you joining him, but you knew you were safer with him in a potentially life threatening situation than you were on your own. If anyone could take these fuckers down, it was Frank, and you wanted to be there when he did.

tags: @twoshields @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @ferns-fics @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @yeah3459 @collaps3r @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @annalism @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads

[regal-bones]

”A carcass. Decaying, and grey. The guts of the creature spilled across the landscape, rust eating at the metal pipes, and thickets of grass growing thick between shards of fallen debris. It sat at the centre of a great crater, the impact shifting the earth itself to a great ring of stone. Like a ripple in a pool of water set forever in unmoving rock. At the edge, a stranger looked outwards. Past the crash site, to the lush valley, the dense forests. Deep, rich lakes reflecting the sun, and stoic mountains looming in the distance. They wore a purple robe, tattered and old, and underneath the faded garb the gentle mechanics of their body ticked and whirred. Old machinery, forgotten machinery. The gentle beat of their processor in their chest was the only sound in the still land. Like a heartbeat - slow, steady, each pump pushed hot blood through the intricate web of piping that ran through their system. They shifted slightly, the sound of metal on metal could be heard, of glass vials clinking together from within their robe, and pistons compressing and extending. Even the subtlest of movements made a noise, unseen gears clicking and servos firing within their cold, steel bones, their metal fingers resting so softly in the grass. They looked outwards, and from under their weathered mask, a shaky sigh left the stranger. Such a human expression, they thought. How long had they been sitting there? They looked down to one of their legs, stretched out in front of them. Dandelions knitted themselves in between the intricacies of the sharp metallic shape, and tall grass sprouted from the motionless knee joint. A pale fungus, thin, with button-like caps, poked out of an open compartment. Within, a set of salvo missiles slept, a gentle blanket of spores dusting the warheads and lichen creeping over their ancient casings. Above them, it began to rain. The stranger looked up at the sky as the flecks of rain fell. Fat beads of water trailed down their steel mask, each lit with the brilliant blue light that leaked from the mask's visor and following the sharp geometry down to its chin, where they fell to the eager grass below. With a careful movement of their arm, the figure moved back their cloak to reveal something. Underneath the purple fabric, nestled within the robe, was another machine. The lifeless body of another robot. It was far smaller than the stranger. It had a small, spherical torso, two arms, and two boot-like legs. But, most notably, was its head - it looked just like a flower pot. Within the pot was neatly packed soil, and, softly, the rain fell on the coarse layer of dirt. The two sat, and the rain fell. The clouds churned above them, writhing, worming through the sky. Always moving, dancing, an endless parade across the vast stretch of sky. Far away, an eye opens. A wet, chesty cough, blood flecked phlegm working its way through a strained throat. The same rain falls on its hot, raw skin, and strained eyes gaze at the clouds. Over the distant canopy of trees, the sun dipped below the horizon. Night fell on the quiet carcass, and the stranger enjoyed this moment of silence. Who knows how long this peace might last?”

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[dreamlanderin]

You don't see me, part 6 (Sam x reader)

Summary: The aftermath, Follows after part 5.

Warnings: Blood, angst, mention of demons.

Words: 4k

The sound of the demons' guttural growls and the metallic clang of weapons echoed down the school’s halls, but Sam hardly noticed. His focus was razor-sharp, his movements precise, every swing of his blade and every word of an exorcism pouring from his lips with ruthless efficiency.

The demons came at him like a tide, their black eyes gleaming with malice, their bodies moving unnaturally fast. But Sam was faster. Stronger. His body moved like it wasn’t even his own, each step calculated, each attack devastating. He barely felt the strain in his muscles or the sweat dripping down his face. All he felt was the fire coursing through him, igniting something primal and dangerous inside.

Dean was at his side, hacking through the hoard, but Sam could sense it—the way Dean kept glancing at him, alarm flickering across his face between swings. Sam could feel the weight of those looks, but he didn’t have time to process them. Not when the demons kept coming, and definitely not when he knew you were somewhere in this hellish place.

It had all happened so fast. They’d been moving cautiously through the school, the thick smoke making it hard to see, when the hoard came barreling down the hallway. Dean had shouted, “Incoming!” as the demons poured out of the shadows like something out of a nightmare.

There were too many of them to stand and fight in the narrow hall, so they’d been forced to retreat. Sam had turned to cover Dean, but when they reached the end of the corridor, there was nowhere else to go. A massive, broken window had loomed in front of them, and without thinking, Sam had grabbed Dean by the arm and leapt through it.

The crash had been deafening, glass shattering around them as they hit the ground on the other side, rolling into a crouch. Dean had cursed under his breath, brushing shards of glass off his jacket, but Sam hadn’t stopped moving. That was when he’d seen you.

Through the thick wall of glass that separated the empty swimming pool from the outside, there you were. Bleeding, broken, and so pale you looked like a ghost. Sam’s breath hitched as his eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, the chaos around him dulled. He could see the blood smeared down your side, the trembling in your legs as you leaned against the glass for support. And you looked at him.

“No!” Sam roared, his voice breaking through the cacophony of noise as he charged toward the glass. His blade swung in a wild arc, cutting down a demon that had gotten too close.

Dean was shouting something behind him, his voice sharp and urgent, but Sam couldn’t hear it. The only thing he could see was you on the other side of that damn wall, your bloodied hand pressed against the glass.

The demons surged toward him, trying to block his path, but it didn’t matter. Sam moved through them like a storm, his blade cutting through flesh and bone, his voice ringing out with exorcisms that sent black smoke pouring from their bodies. He was relentless, brutal, every ounce of anger and desperation pouring into his attacks.

Dean fell into step beside him, slashing and firing with practiced precision, but Sam could tell his brother was watching him. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him, the unspoken questions and worry etched into his face.

“Sam!” Dean barked as he took down another demon. “What the hell are you doing?!”

But Sam didn’t slow down. He couldn’t. Not when you were so close and still so far. Not when you were bleeding out in that pool, and a child—a demon child—was standing there, taunting you like a predator savoring its kill.

And then you smiled at him.

It wasn’t a happy smile. It was soft, faint, and so tired it made something inside him snap.

Another demon lunged at him, and Sam twisted, driving his blade into its chest before spinning to kick a second one to the ground. His hands were slick with blood, demons blood. His breaths coming in short, ragged gasps, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

When the last of the demons fell, Sam barely registered the black smoke dissipating around him. His chest heaved, his vision swimming as the adrenaline started to wear off. He turned back to the glass, slamming his fists against it, his voice raw as he shouted your name.

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him, your expression soft, resigned. And that smile—God, that smile—it was the kind of thing that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“No!” Sam shouted, his voice hoarse as he slammed against the glass again. But his strength was fading, his body finally registering the toll of the fight. His arms felt like lead, his legs shaky beneath him. He’d burned through everything he had, and now he felt empty. Drained. Helpless. Dean tried his gun, but it was empty

Dean grabbed his arm, yanking him back. “Sam! Stop—it’s not breaking!” he shouted, his voice sharp with urgency. “We need a plan, now!”

But Sam couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. His hands balled into fists at his sides as he watched the child reach for you, the air around her shimmering with power. Every instinct screamed at him to do something, to save you, but his body wouldn’t obey.

And then the light came.

A brilliant, blinding white that engulfed the room, forcing him to shield his eyes. The demons’ screams filled the air, shrill and panicked, as their bodies disintegrated into smoke and ash. Sam squinted against the light, his heart pounding as a familiar sound reached his ears—the heavy thud of wings.

When the light dimmed, Castiel was standing inside the pool house, his gaze calm and unyielding as he stepped between you and the demon. Sam staggered forward, his breath hitching as relief and exhaustion crashed over him like a wave. He wasn’t shaking anymore, but he saw the child scream and her body fall to the earth.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

The first thing you felt was warmth—not the comforting kind, but something deeper, hotter, like a slow-burning fire spreading through your stomach and arm. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was strange, foreign, and for a moment, you thought it might be the pain of dying.

Your eyes fluttered open, sluggish and heavy, the light above you a harsh blur that made you squint. The air smelled of smoke and burnt ozone, and as your vision adjusted, you realized you were still in the pool house. The cracked tiles and the towering glass wall were unmistakable, though now the room was eerily quiet, the chaotic echoes of earlier replaced with a suffocating stillness.

You tilted your head slightly, your neck stiff, and saw him—Castiel. He was kneeling beside you, one hand resting gently on your stomach, the other on your injured arm. His eyes were closed, his expression calm but focused, as if he were channeling something through you. The warmth spread from his touch, radiating outward, and though your body screamed at you to move, you couldn’t. You felt rooted, pinned beneath the weight of exhaustion and whatever it was Castiel was doing.

“Hey,” a voice broke through the fog, familiar and rough. Dean. You turned your head slowly, your gaze meeting his. He was crouched next to you, his hands braced on his knees, his face tight with concern. His jacket was torn, and there was a streak of blood on his cheek—not his, you realized, but someone else’s. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was trying not to startle you.

For a second all of it felt like a dream. Had you gone somewhere else for a second? Everything had felt like a haze, and you could barely remember what happened.

On your other side, Sam stood stiffly, his broad frame hunched slightly as he watched Castiel work. His face was pale, beads of sweat clinging to his brow, and his eyes—god, his eyes—were glassy with something you couldn’t quite name. Guilt? Fear? Maybe both.

“You’re okay,” Sam said, his voice low and uneven, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. He stepped closer, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The warmth intensified, pulling your attention back to Castiel. His eyes opened, bright and piercing, as he removed his hands from your stomach and arm. “The bleeding has stopped,” he said simply, his voice steady and calm. “But she needs rest. Her body is weak.”

You tried to speak, you wanted to thank him, but your throat was dry, the words sticking there like sandpaper. You coughed softly, and Dean was by your side in an instant.

“Take it easy,” he muttered, his tone gruff but laced with relief. “You scared the crap out of us, you know that?”

Your lips curved faintly, though it took more effort than you expected. “Guess I… have a habit of that,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean snorted, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah, well, cut it out. You don’t get to do that again.”

Sam knelt beside you, his gaze searching your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. “We thought we lost you,” he said quietly, his voice breaking at the edges. “You were—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as he looked away, unable to finish the sentence.

You swallowed hard, your throat still raw, and forced your eyes to meet his. “I’m still here,” you said softly, the words as much for yourself as for them.

Castiel stood, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turned to Dean and Sam. “She will recover, but she needs time,” he said. “The wounds were severe.”

Dean nodded, his jaw set as he rose to his feet. “Thanks, Cas. You really pulled through.”

Castiel tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “You called me” his eyes flickered to Sam as he said it so simply. He stepped back and looked at the corpse of the little girl Lilith had possessed.

"It was a demon called Lilith" Cas said, his brows scrunched. He could not understand why she would bother with a town like this.

Dean stood and glanced at Castiel, his hands resting on his hips as he took in the room one last time. "Alright, Cas, we got her breathing again—now how the hell are we supposed to get out of here? That whole damn town’s crawling with demons."

Castiel turned his sharp gaze toward Dean, his expression as unreadable as ever. “You don’t have to worry about the demons. I’ve taken care of them.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Taken care of them? You mean—”

“They’re gone,” Castiel interrupted, his tone final. “But I suggest you get to the car and leave before they decide to come back.”

“The demon Lilith, she isn’t at her full capacity yet, I won’t be able to stop her next time”

Sam couldn't help how his face hardened. Lilith. He won't forget the name.

Dean opened his mouth to respond, likely to ask for more details, but before the words could form, Castiel tilted his head slightly, his eyes flickering with that otherworldly glow. And then, with a rustle of wings, he was gone, leaving only the faint scent of ozone in his wake.

“Damn it, Cas,” Dean muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. Every time.

Dean crouched back down, his hands reaching to help you up. “Alright, let’s get you outta here. You can sleep it off in the car.”

But before he could touch you, Sam was already moving. He knelt beside you, his large hands slipping under your arms and knees, lifting you carefully, like you were made of glass. “I’ve got her,” he said, his voice firm but soft.

You weakly shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “Sam, I can walk…”

“No, you can’t,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. His grip was steady, but you could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his body carried the strain of exhaustion and something more—a weight you couldn’t quite name. “Just let me do this.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue, your head resting against his chest as he carried you. You felt small in his arms, like the world had shrunk down to the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. Sam was here. He was holding you. This wasn't how you had wanted to see them again. Not like this. Even in your haze, you noticed the blood. His jacket was stiff with it, the coppery smell clinging to him like a second skin. It wasn’t just his. It couldn’t be.

As the three of you stepped out into the open air, the remnants of the battle came into sharp focus. The town wasn’t bustling anymore. It was empty, the silence pressing against your ears like a weight. Bodies littered the streets—human shells that had been vessels for demons, now lifeless and broken. Blood pooled in the cracks of the pavement, dark and glistening under the bright sun.

The sight made your stomach turn, your exhaustion warring with the nausea rising in your chest. You swallowed hard, your voice rasping. “Sam… you’re covered in blood.”

He didn’t answer right away, his jaw tight as he kept walking toward the Impala. His arms didn’t waver, even as you felt the faint tremor in his hands. Finally, he said, “It’s not mine.”

The words were simple, but they carried a weight that settled heavily in the air between you. You glanced up at him, his face pale and drawn, his eyes dark with something that wasn’t entirely human. Dean walked a few paces ahead, his shoulders tense, his hand gripping his gun like he was ready for another fight, even if there wasn’t one coming.

The Impala came into view, parked crookedly near the diner where this nightmare had begun. Dean moved toward your motorbike without a word, his jaw tight as he grabbed the few things you’d left behind. You knew they’d have to abandon it, and the thought stung, though not nearly as much as the ache in your body.

Sam carried you to the car, his movements deliberate, his arms steady despite the tension you could feel in every muscle. He eased you toward the back seat, his hands careful as if you might shatter under the slightest pressure. The worn leather felt familiar beneath you, a stark contrast to everything that had happened.

You didn't know what to say to him. Your recklessness and desire to prove yourself had almost ruined everything. You could have lost them, maybe forever.

You winced, trying to sit up, your feet still hanging outside the car. The warm air brushed against your skin, mixing with the warmth radiating from Sam as he knelt down in front of you. His hands moved with purpose—one steadying you by your shoulder, the other brushing gently against your hairline, pushing a stray strand out of your face. His touch was firm but soft, grounding you.

He didn’t speak right away. His eyes roamed over your face, taking in the cuts, the bruises, the dried blood streaking your skin. His thumb hovered just shy of a particularly nasty cut on your cheek, and he frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“You look like hell” he finally said, his voice rough but quiet. I was in hell.

You let out a weak, breathless laugh, your chest aching from the effort. “You’re one to talk,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes flicked over him—his bloodstained clothes, the dark circles under his eyes, the tightness in his jaw. “You’re worse than me.”

He shook his head, his hand lingering in your hair for a moment longer than it needed to. His gaze softened, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. “I thought we were gonna lose you,” he admitted, his voice cracking just enough to reveal the vulnerability he was trying to hide. “And after everything—”

You interrupted him, reaching up with a trembling hand to rest lightly on his wrist. “But I didn't” you whispered. “And you didn't. Castiel saved us”

Yes, Castiel, he thought.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple shifting visibly. “You scared the hell out of me,” he confessed, his thumb brushing against the side of your face in a gesture so tender it made your chest tighten. “You—damn it, why did you leave?”

“I—” You started to speak, but the words tangled in your throat. I'm sorry, is what you wanted to say. You felt like crying so he would just hold you. Your hand dropped from his wrist, resting limply in your lap as you searched for the answer, “I thought…” Your voice faltered, and you looked away, ashamed. “I thought you’d be better off without me.”

"That you didn't need me anymore"

His hand on your shoulder tightened, grounding you, forcing you to meet his gaze again. “Not need you?” he repeated, his voice louder now, incredulous. “How the hell could you think that?”

You flinched, his words hitting like a slap. “Because I’m a mess, Sam! I have no idea what I am doing, okay?” The words came spilling out, raw and unfiltered. “Every time I’m around, I just make things worse. I mean just look at what happened today"

Sam’s eyes widened slightly, the shock of your admission hitting him. But he didn’t let go. His hand moved from your shoulder to your face, his palm cradling your cheek as his thumb brushed away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen.

“You think you’re the only one who’s lost?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You think I’ve got it all figured out? I’m just as messed up as you are. Maybe worse.”

But you have Ruby, you wanted to say.

“Sam…” You tried to look away again, but he wouldn’t let you. His fingers pressed gently against your jaw, keeping your gaze locked on his.

“No, listen to me,” he insisted. “I’ve done things—things I’m not proud of, things that haunt me every damn day. But you? You’re not a burden. You never were.” His voice cracked again, and he leaned in closer, his forehead almost touching yours. “You’re my family. You’ve always been my family. And you don’t get to decide that we’re better off without you.”

Tears blurred your vision, and you hated how weak you felt in that moment, hated how easily he broke through the walls you’d tried so hard to build. “I didn’t want you to have to carry me,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His lips twitched into a faint, bitter smile. “That’s what we do—we carry each other. That’s how we survive.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for the first time in a long time, you felt the cracks in your armor start to give way. You wanted to argue, to push him away, but you couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like that, his eyes so full of pain and something else—something that felt like hope.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to stay.”

His expression softened, the anger fading into something gentler, though no less intense. “Then let us show you how,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to figure it out on your own. You never did.”

For a moment, the world around you disappeared. It was just the two of you, the weight of your shared pain and unspoken fears finally laid bare. His hand stayed on your face, his touch warm and steady, and you felt the faintest flicker of something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in a long time.

You nodded slowly, your breath hitching as you whispered, “Okay.”

“I’m sorry” He whispered. You just looked at him—really looked at him. There was so much etched into his face: the pain, the worry, the frustration, and underneath it all, the unwavering determination. You realized he wasn’t just telling you these things—he was showing you, every word reflected in his eyes.

And you knew he saw everything in you, too. He saw you. The guilt, the exhaustion, the fear. But there was something else in his gaze, something that made your throat tighten and your heart ache. He wasn’t just angry or hurt—he cared. He cared more than you thought anyone ever could.

You didn’t need words. Neither of you did. In that moment, you both said everything you needed to with a single look.

His hand was still on your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone, and you leaned into the touch without thinking. Your breath hitched as his eyes softened, his fingers trembling slightly against your skin. For a second, the world felt still, the chaos and blood and pain fading into the background. It was just you and him, a fragile moment suspended in time.

And then he leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against yours. His breath was warm against your lips, shallow and uneven, and you felt the tension radiating off him—the war he was fighting with himself, the fear of breaking you even more.

But you weren’t broken. Not in this moment.

"Stay" he whispered.

Your hand came up slowly, fingers brushing against his jaw, your thumb tracing the line of his cheek. He closed his eyes briefly, leaning into the touch like it was the only thing grounding him.

When his eyes opened again, they were heavy with emotion, the kind of weight that made your chest ache. He wasn’t just looking at you—he was seeing you, all of you, the parts you tried so hard to hide.

And you saw him, too. The cracks he tried to cover, the guilt he carried.

For a moment you mind conjured up that he would say her name again, instead of yours. But he doesn't.

It started small, a gentle chuckle escaping your lips, but then he laughed too, and the sound of it—rough, tired, but genuine—was like the first crack of sunlight breaking through a storm. His forehead stayed pressed to yours as the two of you shared that small, absurd moment, finding something human and warm.

It was such a quiet intimacy, you'd felt him lean forward, his breath tangle with yours—until an awkward cough shattered the silence.

Both of you turned, startled, to see Dean leaning casually against the side of the car, arms crossed and an exaggerated look of being grossed out.

“Well,” Dean drawled, his tone heavy with gruff. “This is all very touching and everything, but I think I’ve earned some pie after all this crap. And you two really need to break it up because it’s making me nauseous.”

Sam groaned, running a hand through his hair as he sat back on his heels, while if you hadn't been so pale, would have been burning red.

Dean’s expression softened just slightly at you, though he rolled his eyes for effect. “Seriously, lovebirds. Let’s get moving before Castiel’s angel dust wears off and this town decides it wants us dead again.”

Sam stood, his hand brushing your shoulder gently as he helped you ease back into the seat. He glanced down at you, his eyes full of something unspoken but steady, before shutting the door and turning back to Dean.

As Dean climbed into the driver’s seat, still grumbling under his breath about pie and melodrama, you shifted slightly, leaning back against the worn leather seat. Sam lingered by the open door for a moment, his hand resting on the edge as if he wasn’t quite ready to follow Dean's lead.

His face changed, though—just subtly. The quiet relief from earlier faded, replaced by a flicker of something heavier. His jaw tightened, and he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out the vial.

The now empty vial.

He stared at it for a moment, the glass catching the faint glow of the Impala’s headlights. His expression was unreadable, but there was a tightness around his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line. He hadn't been strong enough. He turned his head slightly, checking to make sure Dean wasn’t watching, and then, without a word, he let the vial drop.

It shattered soundlessly against the gravel beside the car, the shards glinting faintly in the moonlight. Sam didn’t look down. He just straightened, wiped his hand on his jeans, and stepped into the car, his movements careful as he sat beside you in the back seat.

“Alright, everyone in?” Dean asked from the front, starting the Impala with a low growl.

Sam nodded, settling beside you, his eyes focused on the passing darkness beyond the window. His hand found yours briefly, giving it a gentle squeeze as if grounding himself. He didn’t look at you, though, his gaze distant, the shadows playing across his face like a reflection of something he didn’t want you to see. He hadn't been strong enough, he'd almost lost everything to Lilith. His expression hardened a little, his mind shifting to dark places: Never again.

You were too tired to question it, too drained to notice the faint, almost imperceptible tension still coiled in his frame. The Impala rolled forward, its headlights cutting through the eerie quiet of Green Hollow as the shattered glass of the vial disappeared.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

AN: Well, Hope you guys enjoyed the story. It's on the shorter side, sorry ;)

Ps. I don't feel like this is a cliffhanger? But hey they made peace.

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